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Chapter Text

The battle raged across the desolate landscape of Arakko, the air thick with the acrid smell of ozone and destruction. Magneto, once the Master of Magnetism, now stood as a sentinel of this harsh world, his powers holding back the tide of annihilation brought by Uranos the Undying.

Uranos, an Eternal of unimaginable power, towered over the battlefield. His form was a grotesque fusion of organic matter and advanced technology, each movement sending shockwaves through the very fabric of reality. Magneto could feel the strain on his aging body as he manipulated the magnetic fields around him, creating barriers and lashing out with shards of metal torn from the ruins of Arakko's structures.

"You fight well, mutant," Uranos boomed, his voice a cacophony of grinding gears and thunderclaps. "But your struggle is futile. I am eternal. I am inevitable."

Magneto gritted his teeth, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. He had long since discarded his helmet, his silver hair matted with sweat and dust. "I've faced worse than you, machine," he spat. "And I'll face worse yet. But today, you will fall."

With a gesture, Magneto tore a massive slab of metal from a nearby building, hurling it at Uranos with the force of a meteor. The Eternal caught it with one massive hand, crushing it as if it were paper. But this was merely a distraction. Magneto used the moment to weave a complex web of electromagnetic energy around Uranos, attempting to disrupt the intricate systems that kept the monstrosity functioning.

For a brief moment, it seemed to work. Uranos stumbled, his movements becoming erratic. But then, with a roar that shook the foundations of Arakko itself, he broke free. Energy cascaded from his form in waves of destructive force.

Magneto barely had time to raise a shield before the blast hit him. He was thrown backward, slamming into a crumbling wall. Pain exploded through his body, and he tasted copper in his mouth. But still, he rose.

"Is that all you have, Eternal?" Magneto taunted, though each word sent spikes of agony through his chest. "I expected more from one of your... reputation."

Uranos' eyes, burning with eldritch energy, narrowed. "You dare mock me, insect?" He raised a hand, and the very air seemed to warp around it. "Let me show you the true meaning of power."

What followed was a barrage of attacks that pushed Magneto to his absolute limits. He dodged, deflected, and counterattacked with every ounce of skill and power he possessed. The landscape around them was reshaped by their battle, mountains crumbling and chasms opening in the earth.

But even as he fought, Magneto knew he was outmatched. Uranos was simply too powerful, too relentless. And yet, he refused to give up. He thought of Charles, of the children he had sworn to protect, of the future he had always dreamed of for mutantkind. He would not let it end here.

In a desperate gambit, Magneto reached deep within himself, tapping into reserves of power he had never dared to access before. The magnetic fields around him began to warp and twist in impossible ways. Reality itself seemed to bend to his will.

"Enough!" Magneto roared, his voice carrying the weight of decades of struggle and sacrifice. With a gesture that seemed to tear at the very fabric of space-time, he unleashed a maelstrom of electromagnetic energy unlike anything he had ever created before.

For a moment, it seemed to work. Uranos was caught off guard, his massive form buffeted by forces beyond even his comprehension. But then, with a sickening lurch, Magneto felt something give way inside him. The strain was too much.

As his power faltered, Uranos struck. A beam of pure energy lanced through Magneto's defenses, striking him squarely in the chest. He felt his heart stutter and stop, even as his magnetic powers instinctively tried to keep his blood flowing.

Magneto fell to his knees, the world growing dim around him. He could hear the sounds of battle in the distance - reinforcements arriving too late. As his consciousness faded, he saw a familiar figure approaching. Storm, her white hair a stark contrast against the blood-red sky of Arakko.

"Ororo," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Tell Charles... tell him I'm sorry. And... look after him for me."

With those final words, Erik Lehnsherr, Magneto, defender of mutantkind, closed his eyes for the last time.

The transition was not what he expected. There was no tunnel of light, no chorus of angels. Instead, Magneto found himself in a stark, white room. It was featureless, save for a single door on the far wall. The Waiting Room, he realized. He had heard whispers of this place, where mutant souls lingered before their resurrection.

But something was wrong. Magneto knew he had destroyed his Cerebro backups. There would be no resurrection for him. So why was he here?

As if in answer to his unspoken question, the door swung open. Beyond it, Magneto saw not the familiar halls of Krakoa, but an endless expanse of carved stone walls. With a sense of dread, he stepped through.

The space beyond defied description. It stretched in all directions, seemingly infinite. And every surface was covered in names, dates, faces - carved into the stone with painstaking detail. With growing horror, Magneto realized what he was seeing. Every life lost because of his actions, every death that could be laid at his feet, immortalized in this cosmic record.

He wandered for what felt like an eternity, reliving each moment, each decision that had led to these deaths. He saw friends and enemies alike, innocents caught in the crossfire of his crusade. The weight of it all threatened to crush him.

Just as despair was about to overwhelm him, everything shifted. The endless walls of guilt and regret faded away, replaced by a blanket of darkness. Magneto felt himself falling, tumbling through a void without end.

And then, abruptly, it stopped.

Magneto's eyes snapped open. He was lying on his back, staring up at a canopy of snow-laden trees. For a moment, he lay there, disoriented and confused. The last thing he remembered was dying on Arakko, and then the nightmare of the judgment space. But this... this was something else entirely.

He sat up, wincing at the stiffness in his body. As he moved, he noticed something strange. His hands were smaller, his skin smoother. With a start, he realized he was in the body of a teenager - no more than fourteen years old.

"What madness is this?" he muttered, his voice cracking in a way it hadn't in decades.

Struggling to his feet, Magneto took stock of his surroundings. He was in a dense forest, the ground covered in a thick blanket of snow. In the distance, he could make out the silhouette of a massive structure - a monastery or cathedral of some kind.

Chapter Text

Lady Rhea, the Archbishop of the Church of Seiros, walked through the snow-covered forest surrounding Garreg Mach Monastery. The crisp winter air nipped at her cheeks, but she paid it no mind, lost in her thoughts as she often was during these solitary walks.

The recent conflicts had taken their toll on the monastery and its inhabitants. Repairs were ongoing, and the weight of leadership felt heavier than ever on Rhea's shoulders. These walks were her rare moments of solitude, a chance to clear her head and reconnect with the nature that surrounded her beloved sanctuary.

As she moved deeper into the forest, the snow crunching softly beneath her feet, Rhea's keen senses picked up on something unusual. A faint sound, barely audible over the whisper of wind through the trees, caught her attention. It sounded like... breathing? Labored and uneven, as if someone was struggling.

Curiosity piqued, Rhea changed her course, following the sound. As she rounded a large oak tree, she came to an abrupt halt, her eyes widening in surprise.

There, huddled at the base of the tree, was a child. A boy, no more than ten years old by the look of him, though something about his eyes spoke of a wisdom beyond his years. His clothes were in tatters, completely unsuitable for the harsh winter weather. His skin was pale, almost blue from the cold, and he shivered violently.

For a moment, Rhea stood frozen, shocked by the unexpected sight. Then, her nurturing instincts took over, and she rushed to the child's side.

"By the goddess," she murmured, kneeling beside the boy. "Child, are you alright? What are you doing out here alone?"

The boy's eyes, a striking shade of gray-blue, met hers. His gaze was intense, almost unsettling in its focus. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words that came out were unlike anything Rhea had ever heard.

Rhea frowned, trying to make sense of the strange sounds. It was clearly a language, but not one she recognized. Not Fódlan, certainly, nor any of the neighboring territories she was familiar with.

"I don't understand," she said gently, switching to the trade language used by merchants from distant lands. But the boy's confused expression told her he didn't comprehend this either.

A flicker of frustration passed through Rhea. Communication would be difficult, it seemed. She pushed the feeling aside, focusing on the more immediate concern of the child's well-being.

"You must be freezing," she said, more to herself than to the boy. She began to remove her outer cloak, intending to wrap it around the shivering child.

As she reached out, however, the boy flinched away, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. Rhea paused, surprised by the reaction. Most children, especially those in distress, responded positively to her presence. There was something... different about this one.

"It's alright," she soothed, keeping her voice low and gentle. "I won't harm you. I only want to help."

Slowly, she extended the cloak again. This time, the boy allowed her to drape it over his shoulders, though his wary gaze never left her face.

As Rhea tucked the warm fabric around him, she took the opportunity to study the child more closely. His features were unlike any she had seen in Fódlan. The shape of his eyes, the set of his jaw - they spoke of distant lands, perhaps even beyond the known world. A thought occurred to her then, one that sent an uncomfortable shiver down her spine. Could this child be from Dagda? Or perhaps some land even further away, undiscovered by the people of Fódlan?

Rhea's lips thinned as she considered the implications. The Church of Seiros had worked tirelessly to maintain peace and order in Fódlan. The introduction of outside influences, especially in such uncertain times, could upset the delicate balance she had fought so hard to maintain.

For a brief, shameful moment, Rhea considered leaving the boy where she had found him. It would be simpler, cleaner. The harsh winter would likely claim him before long, and the potential threat he represented would disappear with him. The thought had barely formed before Rhea recoiled from it, disgusted with herself. How could she, the Archbishop, the voice of the goddess herself, even contemplate such a cruel act? This was a child, lost and alone in a foreign land. Whatever potential complications his presence might bring, abandoning him was not an option.

"Come," she said, forcing warmth into her voice as she pushed aside her darker thoughts. "We must get you somewhere warm."

The boy looked at her quizzically, clearly not understanding her words. Rhea sighed, then gestured towards herself, then in the direction of the monastery. She repeated the motion several times until understanding dawned in the child's eyes.

Slowly, cautiously, the boy stood. He swayed slightly, whether from cold or exhaustion, Rhea couldn't be sure. Without thinking, she reached out to steady him, but he shrugged off her touch, standing straighter as if to prove he needed no assistance.

Rhea raised an eyebrow at this display of pride. There was strength in this child, a resilience that belied his young age and fragile appearance. Despite her misgivings, she found herself intrigued.

They began the trek back to Garreg Mach, the boy following a few steps behind Rhea. She kept a close eye on him, ready to offer support if he faltered, but he maintained a steady pace despite the difficult terrain and his obvious discomfort.

As they walked, Rhea's mind raced with questions and potential problems. Where did this child come from? How had he ended up alone in the forest? And most pressingly, what was she going to do with him once they reached the monastery?

The political implications alone were staggering. If word got out that the Archbishop had taken in a foreign child of unknown origin, it could cause an uproar among the nobility. There were already whispers of discontent, murmurs that the Church held too much power. This could be seen as an attempt to introduce outside influence, to further consolidate the Church's control.

And yet, as Rhea glanced back at the boy trudging determinedly through the snow, she knew she couldn't simply turn him away. Whatever complications his presence might bring, she had a duty - both as the Archbishop and as a decent human being - to ensure his safety and well-being.

As the imposing silhouette of Garreg Mach Monastery came into view, Rhea made a decision. She would take the boy in, at least temporarily. She would find out where he came from, learn his story, and then decide on the best course of action. If nothing else, it would allow her to keep a close eye on him and assess any potential threat he might pose.

The boy's pace slowed as they approached the monastery gates. Rhea turned to find him staring up at the massive structure, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and apprehension.

"Welcome to Garreg Mach Monastery," Rhea said, knowing he wouldn't understand the words but hoping her tone would convey the sentiment. She gestured towards the gates with a smile, inviting him to continue.

After a moment's hesitation, the boy nodded and followed her through the gates. As they entered the monastery grounds, Rhea could feel the eyes of students, knights, and clergy alike turning towards them. The appearance of the Archbishop with a strange, bedraggled child was sure to set tongues wagging.

Ignoring the curious stares, Rhea led the boy towards the main building. She would take him to her private quarters for now, where she could tend to his immediate needs and begin to unravel the mystery of his presence.

As they climbed the stairs to the second floor, Rhea's mind was already formulating plans. She would need to inform Seteth, of course. Her advisor would likely have reservations, but she trusted him to see the necessity of her actions. They would need to find someone who could communicate with the boy, perhaps a scholar versed in foreign languages.

And then there was the matter of the boy's future. If they couldn't find his home or family, what then? The thought of integrating him into life at the monastery was both intriguing and concerning. Could he be educated alongside the other students? Or would his presence cause too much disruption?

These were questions for later, Rhea decided as she ushered the boy into her quarters. For now, she would focus on the immediate concerns: warmth, food, and rest for her unexpected guest.

As she closed the door behind them, shutting out the curious gazes and whispered speculation, Rhea turned to face the boy. He stood in the center of the room, his posture tense, eyes darting around as if searching for threats or escape routes.

"You're safe here," Rhea said softly, knowing he wouldn't understand the words but hoping her tone would convey the meaning. "No one will harm you."

The boy's gaze settled on her, that unsettling intensity back in his eyes. For a moment, Rhea felt as if she were being evaluated, judged by standards she couldn't begin to comprehend. Then the moment passed, and he was just a cold, tired child once more.

Rhea moved to her wardrobe, selecting a set of simple, warm clothes that she hoped would fit the boy. As she turned back, a thought struck her – she didn't even know his name.

"I am Rhea," she said, placing a hand on her chest. Then she gestured to the boy, raising her eyebrows in question.

The boy seemed to understand. He hesitated for a moment, then spoke a single word: "Max."

"Max," Rhea repeated, testing the unfamiliar name. It was short, simple – and yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it, more to him, than met the eye.

As she helped Max change into the warm clothes, tended to his immediate needs, and settled him into a chair by the fire, Rhea's mind was already racing ahead. This child – Max – represented both a challenge and an opportunity. His presence could upset the delicate balance she had worked so hard to maintain, but it could also be a chance for growth, for change.

Whatever the future held, Rhea knew one thing for certain: life at Garreg Mach Monastery was about to become far more interesting.

As Max drifted off to sleep, exhaustion finally overtaking him, Rhea stood by the window, gazing out at the snow-covered monastery grounds. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the pristine white landscape.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new questions to be answered. But for now, in this quiet moment, Rhea allowed herself to feel a glimmer of hope. Perhaps this unexpected arrival was a sign from the goddess herself, a chance for redemption, for a new beginning.

With a soft sigh, Rhea turned away from the window, her gaze falling on the sleeping child. Whatever Max's true identity, whatever his purpose in coming here, she would protect him. And in doing so, perhaps she could protect the future of Fódlan itself.

As night fell over Garreg Mach Monastery, the first chapter in this unexpected story came to a close. But Rhea knew that this was only the beginning. The true challenge – and the true adventure – lay ahead.

Chapter Text

As the door closed behind Lady Rhea, Magneto - or "Max" as he had introduced himself - let out a long, shaky breath. The events of the past few hours had been a whirlwind, and he was still struggling to process everything that had happened. His death at the hands of Uranos, the nightmarish journey through the afterlife, and now... this. Waking up in a child's body, in a world that was clearly not his own.

Magneto closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing as he tried to center himself. He had faced impossible odds before, had been thrown into situations that would have broken lesser men. This was just another challenge to overcome.

Opening his eyes, Magneto began to survey his surroundings more carefully. The room was opulent, befitting the quarters of a high-ranking religious figure. Tapestries depicting unfamiliar scenes hung on the walls, and ornate furniture filled the space. But it was what he couldn't see that interested him more.

With a thought, Magneto extended his awareness, sending out a gentle pulse of magnetic energy. It was a technique he had perfected over years of practice, allowing him to "sense" his environment through the interaction of magnetic fields with metal objects. But as the energy spread out from him, Magneto frowned.

Something was... off.

The magnetic fields of this world were different from what he was used to. The subtle variations in Earth's magnetic field that he had come to know as intimately as his own heartbeat were absent, replaced by patterns he couldn't begin to interpret. It was like trying to read a book written in an alien language.

Magneto's frown deepened as he pushed his awareness further, trying to make sense of the information flooding his senses. The structure of the building, the distribution of metal objects, even the subtle magnetic signatures of living beings - all were present, but distorted, as if viewed through a warped lens.

This wasn't just another Earth, another timeline in the vast multiverse he had encountered before. This was something else entirely. A world with its own rules, its own fundamental forces.

The realization sent a chill down Magneto's spine. In all his years of battling cosmic entities and traversing alternate realities, he had never felt so utterly... alien. Even his own body felt wrong, the familiar power that had been a part of him for so long now muted and strange in this teenage form.

But as the initial shock wore off, Magneto felt a familiar spark of curiosity ignite within him. This world, for all its strangeness, presented a unique opportunity. A chance to learn, to grow, to perhaps even start anew without the weight of his past sins.

He was pulled from his musings by the sound of footsteps approaching. Quickly, Magneto retracted his magnetic senses, not wanting to risk detection of his abilities just yet. He settled back into the chair by the fire, adopting the posture of a tired, confused child - which, he reflected wryly, wasn't entirely an act.

The door opened, and Lady Rhea entered, carrying two pieces of paper - one red, one green. Magneto watched her carefully, noting the mix of concern and wariness in her expression. She was clearly compassionate, but not naive. He would need to tread carefully.

"Max," Rhea said softly, kneeling down beside his chair. She held up the two pieces of paper, then pointed to herself and nodded, before shaking her head. It was a crude but effective way of establishing a yes/no system of communication.

Magneto nodded his understanding, allowing a flicker of gratitude to show on his face. It was a smart approach, he had to admit. Simple, yet potentially quite informative if the right questions were asked.

Rhea smiled, seemingly encouraged by his responsiveness. She pointed to Magneto, then made a shivering motion, before holding up the papers questioningly.

Magneto hesitated for a moment, considering his options. He could play up his condition, perhaps buy more time to assess his situation. But something in Rhea's kind eyes made him reconsider. She had shown him kindness when she could have easily left him to die in the snow. He owed her some measure of honesty, even if he couldn't reveal the full truth of his situation.

Slowly, he reached out and took the green paper, indicating that yes, he was still cold.

Rhea's smile widened, and she immediately stood, moving to a chest near the bed. She retrieved a thick blanket, which she draped around Magneto's shoulders. The gesture was so motherly, so genuine, that Magneto felt a pang of emotion he couldn't quite identify.

As Rhea settled back down, her expression grew more serious. She pointed to Magneto, then swept her arm in a wide arc before holding up the papers again. Magneto understood - she was asking if he was from far away.

This time, he didn't hesitate. He took the green paper, nodding emphatically. Rhea's brow furrowed, a mix of concern and curiosity in her eyes.

The questions continued, each one carefully considered and posed through a combination of gestures and the yes/no papers. Rhea asked if he had family (red paper), if he was lost (green paper), if he was hungry (green paper, accompanied by a rather embarrassing rumble from his stomach that made Rhea chuckle softly).

But as the impromptu interrogation went on, Magneto could see frustration growing in Rhea's eyes. The limitations of their communication were becoming apparent, and many of the more complex questions she clearly wanted to ask were impossible to convey through simple gestures.

Finally, after a particularly convoluted attempt to ask about his origins that left both of them confused, Rhea sat back with a sigh. She rubbed her temples, looking suddenly very tired.

"I'm sorry, Max," she said, her tone conveying her meaning even if the words were incomprehensible to Magneto. "This isn't fair to you. You've been through so much already."

Magneto watched her carefully, seeing the genuine concern and disappointment in her expression. For a moment, he was reminded of Charles - always trying to help, always pushing for understanding, even when the odds seemed insurmountable.

Without thinking, Magneto reached out, placing his small hand on Rhea's arm. When she looked up, surprised, he offered her a smile - small, but genuine. He may not have been able to speak her language, but he could show her that he understood, that he appreciated her efforts.

Rhea's eyes widened slightly, then softened. She placed her hand over his, squeezing gently. "Thank you, Max," she said softly. "We'll figure this out together, I promise."

As they sat there in companionable silence, the fire crackling softly in the background, Magneto felt a strange sense of peace settle over him. He was still lost, still trapped in a body and a world that weren't his own. But for the first time since he had awakened in this strange place, he felt a glimmer of hope.

Whatever challenges lay ahead, whatever mysteries this world held, he would face them. And perhaps, just perhaps, he would find a way to make this new life mean something.

The chapter ends as Rhea stands, gently patting Magneto's shoulder. "Rest now," she says, her tone making the meaning clear even if the words are foreign. "We have much to do tomorrow."

As she moves towards the door, Magneto settles back in the chair, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. His mind is already racing, planning, considering the possibilities that lie ahead. But for now, he allows himself to relax, to let the warmth of the fire and the unexpected kindness he has encountered lull him towards sleep.

The last thing he sees before his eyes close is Rhea's silhouette in the doorway, her posture straight and regal, yet somehow protective. In that moment, Magneto knows that whatever this new world holds, whatever challenges he must face, he is not alone.

And with that comforting thought, the Master of Magnetism, now a child once more, drifts off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

As the first rays of dawn crept through the stained-glass windows of Garreg Mach Monastery, Lady Rhea found herself once again standing outside the door to Max's quarters. It had become a routine over the past few weeks - rising early, checking on her mysterious young charge, and beginning their daily lessons. Yet despite the familiarity of the routine, Rhea couldn't shake the feeling of anticipation that gripped her each morning.

She knocked softly, then entered without waiting for a response. Max was already awake, as he always seemed to be, sitting cross-legged on the bed with an intensity in his eyes that belied his youthful appearance. Rhea had long since given up trying to determine his exact age - physically, he appeared to be around fourteen, but there was a wisdom and wariness in his gaze that spoke of far more years than his body suggested.

"Good morning, Max," Rhea said warmly, crossing the room to open the curtains fully. "I trust you slept well?"

As always, Max remained silent, but he nodded in response. It was a small gesture, but one that Rhea had come to cherish. In the early days after his arrival, Max had been almost completely unresponsive, his silence born not just of the language barrier but of a deep-seated wariness that Rhea could sense but not fully understand. Now, after weeks of patient effort, he at least acknowledged her presence and responded to simple queries.

Rhea settled into the chair beside Max's bed, smoothing her robes as she did so. "Shall we begin with our lessons?" she asked, more out of habit than expectation of a verbal response.

Max nodded again, his posture straightening almost imperceptibly. Rhea couldn't help but smile at his eagerness. Despite his silence, Max had proven to be an exceptionally quick study. His grasp of written Fódlan was progressing at a remarkable rate, and Rhea had caught glimpses of understanding in his eyes when she spoke, even if he never responded verbally.

"Very well," Rhea said, reaching for the slate and chalk she had brought with her. "Let's review some of the common phrases we've been working on."

As she began to write out simple sentences in the Fódlan script, Rhea found her mind wandering, as it often did during these lessons, to the mystery that was Max. In the weeks since she had found him in the snow, she had made numerous discrete inquiries, seeking any information about a missing child matching his description. But her efforts had yielded nothing. It was as if Max had simply appeared out of thin air, a stranger not just to Garreg Mach, but to all of Fódlan.

The lack of information should have been concerning, and in many ways, it was. But Rhea couldn't deny the growing affection she felt for the boy. His silence, rather than being a barrier, had become a kind of language in itself. She had learned to read the minute changes in his expression, the subtle shifts in his body language. And what she saw there intrigued her more with each passing day.

There was a depth to Max, a complexity that went far beyond his apparent years. When she spoke of the history of Fódlan, of the Church of Seiros and its role in maintaining peace, she often caught a flicker of... something in his eyes. Not confusion or awe, as one might expect from a child learning of these things for the first time, but a kind of critical assessment. It was as if he were comparing her words to some internal standard, weighing and evaluating each piece of information.

"Now," Rhea said, pulling herself back to the present moment, "can you read this sentence for me?"

She had written out a simple phrase: "The sun rises in the east." Max studied it for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration. Then, to Rhea's surprise and delight, he picked up the chalk and began to write beneath her sentence.

His script was hesitant, the letters formed with the careful precision of a new learner, but the words were clear: "And sets in the west."

Rhea felt a surge of pride and excitement. It was the longest and most complex sentence Max had written so far, and more importantly, it showed a level of comprehension and engagement that went beyond mere rote learning.

"Excellent, Max!" she exclaimed, unable to keep the enthusiasm from her voice. "That's absolutely correct. And a very astute addition."

Max's expression remained neutral, but Rhea could have sworn she saw a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes. It was moments like these that fueled her determination to break through his silence, to unravel the mystery of his past and help him find his place in this new world.

As the lesson continued, Rhea found herself increasingly impressed by Max's progress. His grasp of written Fódlan was advancing far more quickly than she had anticipated. She began to introduce more complex concepts, moving from simple nouns and verbs to more abstract ideas.

When she wrote out the word "power" on the slate, she noticed a subtle change in Max's demeanor. His posture stiffened slightly, and his eyes took on a faraway look, as if the word had triggered some deep memory or association.

"Power is a complex concept," Rhea said carefully, watching Max's reaction. "In Fódlan, it can refer to many things - the strength of a warrior, the authority of a ruler, or even the divine influence of the goddess."

Max's gaze snapped back to her, suddenly intensely focused. Rhea felt a shiver run down her spine. There was something in that look, something that went beyond mere curiosity or comprehension. It was the look of someone who understood power intimately, who had wielded it and perhaps even been burned by it.

But how could that be? Max was just a child, wasn't he? And yet, in moments like these, Rhea couldn't shake the feeling that there was far more to him than met the eye.

Pushing aside her unease, Rhea continued the lesson, guiding Max through increasingly complex sentences and concepts. By the time the monastery bells rang out the noon hour, they had covered more ground than in any previous session.

"I think that's enough for today," Rhea said, setting aside the slate. "You've done exceptionally well, Max. Your progress is truly remarkable."

Max inclined his head in what Rhea had come to recognize as his way of expressing gratitude. As she gathered her materials to leave, she noticed him eyeing the bookshelf in the corner of the room.

"Would you like something to read?" she asked, following his gaze. When he nodded, she crossed to the shelf and selected a slim volume - a collection of Fódlan folk tales that she thought might be approachable for his current level of comprehension.

"Here," she said, handing him the book. "This might be enjoyable. And it will give you a taste of our culture and history in a more... informal way."

Max took the book carefully, his fingers tracing the embossed title on the cover. For a moment, Rhea thought she saw a flicker of something - longing? nostalgia? - pass across his face. But it was gone so quickly she couldn't be sure.

"I'll leave you to rest now," Rhea said, moving towards the door. "Remember, if you need anything, you need only ask. My quarters are just down the hall."

As she reached for the door handle, Rhea paused, looking back at Max. He was already engrossed in the book, his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked through the unfamiliar words. The sight warmed her heart, even as it deepened the mystery surrounding him.

"Sleep well, Max," she said softly, knowing he wouldn't respond but feeling compelled to say it anyway. "May the goddess watch over your dreams."

With that, she slipped out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her. As she made her way back to her own quarters, Rhea's mind was awhirl with thoughts and questions. Max's rapid progress was encouraging, but it also raised new concerns. The more he learned, the more capable he became, the more pressing the question of his origins and purpose became.

Rhea had kept Max's presence a closely guarded secret, sharing the information only with Seteth and a handful of trusted individuals. But she knew that couldn't last forever. Sooner or later, decisions would have to be made about Max's future at Garreg Mach.

As she entered her own room, Rhea moved to the window, gazing out over the monastery grounds. The afternoon sun bathed the stone buildings in a warm light, and she could see students and faculty going about their daily routines far below.

What place could Max have in this world? Would he eventually join the students in their studies? Or was there some other path laid out for him - and for her?

Rhea closed her eyes, offering up a silent prayer to the goddess for guidance. Whatever challenges lay ahead, she was determined to help Max find his way. And perhaps, in doing so, she would find answers to some of her own long-held questions.

The days turned into weeks, and as the Red Wolf Moon waned, Rhea found herself marveling at the changes in Max. His progress with written Fódlan had advanced to the point where he was now working through some of the simpler texts in the monastery library. His comprehension of spoken language seemed to be improving as well, though he still steadfastly refused to speak.

One particularly chilly morning, as Rhea made her way to Max's room for their daily lesson, she found herself reflecting on the strange bond that had formed between them. Despite his silence, despite the lingering mystery of his origins, she had come to care deeply for the boy. His presence had brought an unexpected warmth to her life, filling a void she hadn't even realized was there.

As she entered his room, Rhea was surprised to find Max already seated at the small desk that had been brought in for his studies. He was bent over a book, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Good morning, Max," Rhea said, her tone warm despite the formality of her words. "I see you're eager to begin today's lessons."

Max looked up, acknowledging her presence with a nod. But there was something different in his eyes today - a glint of determination, or perhaps anticipation. Rhea felt a flutter of excitement in her chest. Could today be the day?

She moved to stand beside him, glancing down at the book he had been studying. To her surprise, it wasn't one of the simple texts she had provided, but a more advanced treatise on the history of Fódlan.

"This is quite advanced material," Rhea said, unable to keep the note of pride from her voice. "Are you finding it interesting?"

Max nodded, then did something that made Rhea's heart skip a beat. He reached for the slate and chalk, quickly writing out a sentence:

"The history is complex, but fascinating. I have many questions."

Rhea had to fight to keep her composure. It was by far the most complex statement Max had ever communicated to her. The implications were staggering - not only was he comprehending the advanced text, but he was forming critical thoughts about it.

"I would be more than happy to answer any questions you have," Rhea said, struggling to keep her voice steady. "Perhaps we could discuss the text together?"

For the next hour, Rhea found herself engaged in the most extraordinary "conversation" of her life. Through a combination of writing, gestures, and the occasional nod or shake of the head, Max posed a series of increasingly insightful questions about Fódlan's history and political structure.

His inquiries went far beyond simple facts, delving into motivations, consequences, and the complex interplay of power and religion. More than once, Rhea found herself taken aback by the depth of his analysis. It was as if she were discussing these matters with a seasoned scholar, not a young boy who had only been learning the language for a few weeks.

As their session drew to a close, Rhea felt a mixture of exhilaration and unease. Max's progress was nothing short of miraculous, but it also deepened the mystery surrounding him. No ordinary child, no matter how gifted, could have advanced this quickly or shown such depth of understanding.

"Max," Rhea said carefully as she prepared to leave, "I want you to know how proud I am of your progress. Your dedication to learning is truly remarkable."

Max looked up at her, his expression unreadable. For a moment, Rhea thought she saw a flicker of something in his eyes - gratitude? Amusement? It was gone too quickly for her to be sure.

"I hope," she continued, choosing her words carefully, "that soon you might feel comfortable enough to speak with me. I understand that you have your reasons for remaining silent, but please know that when you are ready, I am here to listen."

Max's expression softened slightly, and he gave a small nod. It wasn't much, but to Rhea, it felt like a victory.

As she left his room that day, Rhea's mind was awhirl with thoughts and possibilities. Max's rapid progress was both thrilling and concerning. The more he learned, the more questions arose about his true nature and origins. And yet, Rhea couldn't deny the growing affection she felt for him, the sense that his presence at Garreg Mach was somehow meant to be.

The days continued to pass, each one bringing new surprises in Max's development. His written communications became more complex and nuanced, and Rhea often found herself forgetting that she was corresponding with someone who, by all appearances, was barely more than a child.

It was on the last day of the Red Wolf Moon, as the first light of dawn was just beginning to creep over the monastery walls, that everything changed.

Rhea had risen early, as was her custom, to prepare for the day ahead. As she passed by Max's room on her way to the cathedral, she paused, as she often did, to listen for any sign that he might be awake. Usually, she heard nothing but silence.

But this morning was different.

As she stood there, hand poised to knock, she heard movement within the room. And then, so softly she almost thought she had imagined it, a voice.

Rhea's breath caught in her throat. Surely, she must have been mistaken. And yet...

Gathering her courage, she knocked gently on the door. "Max?" she called softly. "May I come in?"

There was a moment of silence, and then the sound of footsteps approaching the door. It swung open, revealing Max standing there, looking up at her with those intense, ageless eyes.

And then, in a voice that was slightly rough from disuse but clear and steady, he spoke:

"Good morning, Lady Rhea."

The world seemed to stop. Rhea felt her heart pounding in her chest, a rush of emotion threatening to overwhelm her. She had imagined this moment so many times, had dreamed of hearing Max's voice. But nothing could have prepared her for the reality of it.

"Max," she breathed, unable to keep the tremor from her voice. "You... you're speaking."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Max's mouth. "Yes," he said simply. "I believe it was time."

Rhea felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. Without thinking, she reached out, pulling Max into a gentle embrace. To her surprise and joy, he didn't pull away, instead leaning into the hug ever so slightly.

"Oh, Max," Rhea said, her voice thick with emotion. "You have no idea how happy this makes me. I... I've been so worried about you, so curious..."

As she pulled back, wiping at her eyes, she saw something in Max's expression that gave her pause. There was warmth there, certainly, but also a hint of... calculation? As if he were assessing her reaction, weighing it against some internal metric.

"I apologize for my prolonged silence," Max said, his words careful and measured. "I needed time to... acclimate. To understand this place, and my role within it."

Rhea nodded, trying to compose herself. "Of course," she said. "I understand. And I'm just so grateful that you feel comfortable enough now to speak with me."

Max's expression softened slightly. "You have shown me great kindness, Lady Rhea," he said. "More than I perhaps deserve. I hope that, moving forward, I can repay some of that kindness."

There was something in his tone, a depth and maturity that seemed at odds with his youthful appearance. Rhea felt a shiver run down her spine, a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

"You owe me nothing, Max," she said gently. "But I would very much like to learn more about you, if you're willing to share."

Max nodded slowly. "In time," he said. "There is much to discuss. But perhaps, for now, we could simply enjoy this moment?"

Rhea felt a smile spread across her face, warm and genuine. "Of course," she said. "Would you like to join me for breakfast? We can talk more then, if you'd like."

"I would like that very much," Max replied, and for the first time since she had found him in the snow, Rhea saw a true smile light up his face.

As they made their way towards the dining hall, Rhea's mind was racing with questions and possibilities. She knew that Max speaking was just the beginning - that there were still many mysteries to unravel, many challenges to face.

But in that moment, as the morning sunbathed Garreg Mach in its warm light and the sound of Max's voice echoed in her ears, Rhea felt a sense of hope and joy unlike anything she had experienced in centuries.

Chapter Text

The weeks following Max's first spoken words were a whirlwind of activity and emotion for Lady Rhea. The joy of hearing his voice, of finally being able to converse with the mysterious boy she had taken under her wing, was tempered by an increasing urgency to uncover the truth of his origins. As the Archbishop of the Church of Seiros, Rhea was accustomed to dealing with secrets and half-truths, but Max presented a puzzle unlike any she had encountered in her long life.

One crisp morning, as the first leaves of autumn began to turn, Rhea decided it was time to press for answers. She invited Max to join her in her private study, a room few were ever allowed to enter. As they settled into comfortable chairs by the fire, Rhea took a moment to study Max's face. There was something about his features that didn't quite match the typical Fódlan appearance, but she couldn't quite place what it was. Perhaps it was simply the intensity of his gaze, or the way he carried himself with a maturity far beyond his apparent years.

"Max," Rhea began gently, "I hope you know how much I've come to care for you these past months. Your presence here has been... a blessing." She paused, choosing her next words carefully. "But I can't help but feel there's still so much I don't know about you. About where you came from, and how you came to be here."

Max's expression remained carefully neutral, but Rhea noticed a slight tension in his shoulders. When he spoke, his voice was measured, each word chosen with precision. "I understand your curiosity, Lady Rhea. And I am grateful for all you've done for me. But I'm afraid my past is... complicated. There are things I'm not sure how to explain, or if I even should."

Rhea leaned forward, her green eyes filled with compassion. "Max, whatever your past holds, whatever secrets you carry, you can trust me. I've seen much in my life, more than most could imagine. There's very little that could shock me."

A flicker of something - amusement? disbelief? - passed across Max's face. "I wouldn't be so sure of that, Lady Rhea," he said softly. Then, with a sigh, he seemed to come to a decision. "I'll tell you what I can, but I ask that you keep an open mind. And please, understand that there are some things I simply cannot share, not because I don't trust you, but because the knowledge itself could be dangerous."

Rhea nodded, her curiosity piqued even further by this cryptic statement. "I understand, Max. Please, tell me what you can."

Max took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames in the fireplace. "I'm not from Fódlan," he began. "In fact, I'm not from anywhere you've ever heard of. The place I come from... it's very different from this one. There are no Crests, no Heroes' Relics. The conflicts there are of a different nature, but no less devastating."

"How did you come to be here?" she asked softly, careful not to push too hard.

Max's brow furrowed. "I'm not entirely sure," he admitted. " I thought I had died. And then... I woke up in the snow. I don't know if this is some form of punishment, or a chance at redemption, or simply a cosmic accident. But I'm here now, and I'm trying to make the best of it. To learn from my past mistakes and perhaps... do some good in this world."

Rhea sat back, her mind whirling with questions. Max's story was fantastical, bordering on the unbelievable. And yet, she could sense no deception in his words. Moreover, it explained so much about him - his advanced understanding, his maturity, the haunted look she sometimes caught in his eyes.

"Thank you for sharing this with me, Max," she said finally. "I know it couldn't have been easy. And I want you to know that it doesn't change how I feel about you. If anything, it only strengthens my resolve to help you find your place here."

Max looked up, surprise evident in his eyes. "You... believe me?"

Rhea smiled gently. "As I said, I've seen much in my life. More than you might imagine. Your story is extraordinary, yes, but not impossible. And it explains much about you that I've wondered about."

She leaned forward, taking one of Max's hands in her own. "Max, I want you to know that you have a home here, for as long as you wish it. In fact..." She hesitated for a moment, then pressed on, following an impulse she hadn't even realized she'd been harboring. "I'd like to formally adopt you, if you're willing."

Max's eyes widened in shock. "Adopt me? But... Lady Rhea, you hardly know me. And given what I've told you..."

"I know enough," Rhea said firmly. "I know you're someone who has suffered greatly, who carries the weight of past mistakes, but who is trying to do better. I know you're intelligent, compassionate, and wise beyond your years. And I know that, somehow, the goddess saw fit to bring you into my life. I believe that was for a reason."

Max sat in stunned silence for a moment, clearly struggling to process Rhea's words. "I... I don't know what to say," he finally managed. "Your offer is incredibly generous, but... are you sure? There could be consequences you haven't considered."

Rhea's smile widened. "I'm quite sure. As for consequences, well, I'm not unaccustomed to dealing with those. We'll face whatever comes together."

Just as Max opened his mouth to respond, there was a sharp knock at the door. Without waiting for a response, it swung open to reveal Seteth, Rhea's trusted advisor. His expression was a mixture of concern and irritation.

"Lady Rhea, I apologize for the interruption, but there's an urgent matter that requires your attention," Seteth began. Then, noticing Max, he paused. "Ah, I see you're with the boy. Perhaps this can wait..."

"No need, Seteth," Rhea said, rising from her chair. "Max and I were just finishing our conversation. In fact, I have some news I'd like to share with you." She turned to Max with a reassuring smile. "Why don't you take some time to think about what we've discussed? We can talk more later."

Max nodded, still looking somewhat dazed. As he left the room, Rhea turned back to Seteth, her expression resolute. "Seteth, I've made a decision. I'm going to adopt Max."

Seteth's reaction was immediate and predictable. His eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in concern. "Lady Rhea, surely you can't be serious. We know nothing about this boy's background, his true nature. To formally adopt him, to bring him into the heart of the Church... it's too risky."

Rhea held up a hand to stem the tide of Seteth's objections. "I understand your concerns, Seteth. But I've made my decision. Max has shared some of his past with me, and while I can't divulge everything, I can assure you that he poses no threat to the Church or to Fódlan."

Seteth's frown deepened. "Even if that's true, have you considered the political implications? The other noble houses will see this as a power play, an attempt to groom a successor..."

"Let them think what they will," Rhea said firmly. "I've spent centuries putting the needs of the Church and Fódlan first. For once, I'm making a decision based on what I want, what I believe is right."

Seteth's expression softened slightly, a hint of understanding creeping into his eyes. "Rhea... I know you've always longed for a family. But this... it's not the same as with Sitri. Max isn't..."

"I know what Max is and isn't," Rhea interrupted, a hint of steel entering her voice. "And I know what Sitri was. This is different. I'm not trying to resurrect the past or fulfill some grand design. I simply want to give a home to a child who needs one. And perhaps... to have something for myself as well."

Seteth was silent for a long moment, studying Rhea's face. Finally, he sighed. "I can see your mind is made up. I still have reservations, but... I trust your judgment, Rhea. If this is truly what you want, I'll support you. But we must be careful about how we present this to the public."

Rhea nodded, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders. "Thank you, Seteth. Your support means more to me than you know. We'll work out the details together, find a way to introduce Max that won't cause too much upheaval."

As Seteth left to attend to the matter that had originally brought him to Rhea's study, the Archbishop found herself lost in thought. She knew the path ahead wouldn't be easy. There would be questions, suspicions, perhaps even opposition from some quarters. But for the first time in a very long time, Rhea felt a sense of purpose that went beyond her duties to the Church and to Fódlan.

She thought of Max, of the pain and wisdom she saw in his eyes. Whatever his true origins, whatever secrets he still held, Rhea knew in her heart that he had been brought into her life for a reason. Perhaps, in helping him find his place in this world, she could find something she had been missing in her own life.

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Rhea made her way to the cathedral. She knelt before the altar, offering up a prayer of gratitude to the goddess. For the first time in centuries, she felt a glimmer of true hope for the future. Whatever challenges lay ahead, she would face them with a new purpose and a newfound strength.

In the days that followed, Rhea threw herself into preparations for Max's formal adoption. She worked closely with Seteth to craft a narrative that would satisfy the curious without revealing too much. They decided to present Max as a distant relative of Rhea's, orphaned under tragic circumstances and brought to Garreg Mach for safety and education.

It wasn't entirely a lie. In a way, Max was orphaned - cut off from his own world and everything he had known. And he was here for safety and education, even if the circumstances were far more complex than anyone could imagine.

As for Max himself, he seemed to be struggling to come to terms with Rhea's decision. Rhea often caught him lost in thought, his brow furrowed as if grappling with some internal conflict. She gave him space, understanding that this was a monumental change for him as well.

One evening, about a week after their initial conversation, Max sought Rhea out in her study. He looked tired, but there was a determination in his eyes that Rhea had come to recognize.

"Lady Rhea," he began, his voice steady despite the tension evident in his posture. "I've been thinking a great deal about your offer of adoption. I... I'm honored, truly. But I'm not sure it's the right decision."

Rhea felt her heart sink, but she kept her expression neutral. "I see," she said softly. "May I ask why you feel that way?"

Max ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that seemed at odds with his youthful appearance. "It's not that I'm ungrateful," he said quickly. "Your kindness has been... overwhelming. But I'm not who you think I am. The person I was before... I've done things, Rhea. Terrible things. To pretend to be a simple orphan, to let you take me in as if I were an innocent child... it feels like a lie."

Rhea listened patiently, her heart aching for the pain she could hear in Max's voice. When he finished, she stood and moved to kneel before him, taking his hands in hers.

"Max," she said gently, "do you think I haven't done terrible things? That I don't carry the weight of past mistakes? I am far, far older than I appear, and in that time, I've made choices that have shaped the fate of entire nations. Some for good, some... not so much."

Max's eyes widened in surprise, but Rhea pressed on. "I'm not adopting you because I think you're an innocent child. I'm adopting you because I see in you a kindred spirit. Someone who has seen too much, done too much, and now seeks a chance at redemption. I can't erase your past, Max, any more than you can erase mine. But perhaps, together, we can work towards a better future."

For a long moment, Max was silent, his eyes searching Rhea's face as if looking for any sign of deception. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "You really mean that, don't you?"

Rhea nodded, squeezing his hands gently. "I do. I won't force this on you, Max. If you truly don't want this, I'll understand. But know that my offer comes from a place of understanding, not ignorance."

Max closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. When he opened them again, there was a new resolve in his gaze. "Alright," he said softly. "If you're sure... then yes. I accept."

The joy that bloomed in Rhea's chest was unlike anything she had felt in centuries. She pulled Max into a gentle embrace, feeling him stiffen for a moment before relaxing into it. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for trusting me, for giving this a chance."

As they pulled apart, Rhea saw a small smile tugging at the corners of Max's mouth. It was a start, she thought. A beginning.

The following weeks were a flurry of activity as preparations for the adoption ceremony were made. Rhea worked tirelessly to ensure that everything was perfect, while also taking care not to overwhelm Max with too much attention or ceremony.

There were, of course, challenges. Some of the more conservative members of the Church hierarchy expressed concern about Rhea adopting an unknown child. There were whispers in the noble houses, speculation about Rhea's motives and the potential political implications.

But Rhea faced it all with a serene determination. She had faced far greater challenges in her long life, had weathered storms that would have broken lesser individuals. This... this was nothing compared to the joy of finally having a family of her own.

The day of the ceremony dawned bright and clear, as if the goddess herself were smiling upon the occasion. Rhea stood before the altar in the cathedral, resplendent in her ceremonial robes. Beside her stood Max, looking somewhat uncomfortable in the formal attire that had been prepared for him, but his eyes were clear and determined.

As Seteth read out the formal declaration of adoption, Rhea felt a sense of rightness settle over her. This was meant to be, she thought. Whatever forces had brought Max into her life, whatever challenges lay ahead, she knew in her heart that this was the right path.

When it came time for Max to speak his part of the vows, Rhea held her breath, half-afraid he might change his mind at the last moment. But his voice rang out clear and strong, echoing through the cathedral.

"I, Max, do hereby accept Lady Rhea as my mother and guardian. I swear to honor her, to learn from her wisdom, and to strive always to be worthy of the trust she has placed in me."

As the final words of the ceremony faded away, Rhea looked down at Max - her son, now, in the eyes of the Church and the law. She saw in his eyes a mixture of emotions - gratitude, determination, and something that might have been hope.

In that moment, Rhea felt a sense of peace she hadn't known in…a ;ong time. She knew there would be challenges ahead. Max's true nature and origins were still a mystery in many ways, and she had no doubt that his presence would continue to raise questions and perhaps even opposition.

But for now, in this moment, none of that mattered. She had a son, a family of her own. And for the first time in longer than she could remember, Rhea felt truly, completely happy.

As they turned to face the assembled crowd, Rhea placed a gentle hand on Max's shoulder. Together, they would face whatever the future held. And perhaps, in helping Max find his place in this world, Rhea would finally find the peace and purpose she had been seeking for so long.

The sun streamed through the stained-glass windows of the cathedral, bathing them in a warm, multicolored light. It felt like a blessing, Rhea thought. A new beginning, for both of them.

And as they made their way down the aisle, greeted by the respectful bows and curious glances of the assembled crowd, Rhea allowed herself to hope. Hope for a future brighter than she had dared to imagine in a very long time.

Chapter Text

The Guardian Moon cast its pale light over Garreg Mach Monastery, painting the ancient stones in shades of silver and shadow. Max stood at the window of his quarters, watching as delicate snowflakes drifted past, each one a tiny, fleeting work of art. The winter chill had settled deep into the bones of the monastery, but inside, fires blazed in hearths and life continued its steady rhythm.

It had been several months since Lady Rhea had formally adopted Max, and he was still adjusting to his new role and identity within the Church of Seiros. The transition had not been without its challenges. There were still whispers and curious glances from those who wondered about his sudden appearance and equally sudden elevation to Rhea's adopted son. But for the most part, the inhabitants of Garreg Mach had accepted him, if not with open arms, then at least with a cautious respect.

A soft knock at his door pulled Max from his reverie. "Come in," he called, turning from the window.

The door opened to reveal Seteth, his expression as serious as ever. "Max," he said with a short nod. "Lady Rhea requests your presence in her study. There's someone she'd like you to meet."

Max raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Oh? Who might that be?"

Seteth's lips thinned slightly, a hint of... something... flashing in his eyes. "I think it's best if Lady Rhea explains herself. Please, follow me."

As they made their way through the winding corridors of the monastery, Max's mind raced with possibilities. Who could this mysterious person be? Another church official? A visiting dignitary? Or perhaps someone more personally connected to Rhea?

When they reached Rhea's study, Seteth knocked once before opening the door. "Lady Rhea, I've brought Max as you requested."

Max stepped into the warmly lit room, his gaze immediately drawn to the unfamiliar figure seated across from Rhea. It was a young woman, perhaps in her early twenties, with long, pale green hair that cascaded down her back. Her eyes, when she turned to look at him, were a striking shade of green that seemed to mirror Rhea's own.

Rhea rose from her seat, a gentle smile on her face. "Max, thank you for coming. There's someone very special I'd like you to meet." She gestured to the young woman, who stood somewhat unsteadily. "This is Sitri. My daughter... and, I suppose, your sister now."

Max felt as if the air had been knocked from his lungs. A daughter? Rhea had never mentioned having a child before. And yet, looking at Sitri, he could see the resemblance. It wasn't just the color of her hair and eyes; there was something in the shape of her face, the grace of her movements, that echoed Rhea.

"It's... it's a pleasure to meet you, Sitri," Max managed to say, inclining his head respectfully.

Sitri's lips curved into a small, somewhat hesitant smile. "And you as well... brother," she said, her voice soft and melodious.

An awkward silence fell over the room. Max glanced at Rhea, seeing a mixture of joy and anxiety in her eyes. Clearly, this meeting meant a great deal to her.

"Sitri has been away from the monastery for some time, focused on her studies," Rhea explained, breaking the tension. "But she's returned to us now, and I thought it was high time for the two of you to meet."

Max nodded, still trying to process this new development. "I see. Well, I'm glad to have the opportunity. I hope we'll have the chance to get to know each other better."

Sitri's smile widened slightly. "I'd like that," she said. "Rhea has told me much about you in her letters. I must admit, I've been quite curious."

"All good things, I hope," Max said, attempting a light joke.

"Of course," Rhea interjected, her tone warm. "Sitri, why don't you show Max the gardens? The winter blooms are quite lovely this time of year, and I know how fond you are of the flowers."

Sitri nodded, her eyes lighting up at the mention of the gardens. "Yes, I'd like that very much. If... if you're amenable, Max?"

"Of course," Max agreed, sensing that Rhea was trying to give them some time alone to become acquainted. "Lead the way."

As they left Rhea's study, Max couldn't help but notice the way Sitri moved. There was a certain frailty to her steps, as if each one required careful consideration. He instinctively offered his arm for support, which she accepted with a grateful smile.

They made their way through the monastery in companionable silence, eventually emerging into the crisp winter air of the gardens. Despite the cold, there were indeed flowers blooming – delicate snowdrops and hardy winter jasmine adding splashes of color to the otherwise monochrome landscape.

Sitri's face seemed to come alive as they entered the garden, her eyes darting from plant to plant with obvious delight. "Oh, look at the hellebores," she said softly, pointing to a cluster of pink blossoms peeking out from beneath a light dusting of snow. "They're so resilient, blooming even in the depths of winter."

Max found himself smiling at her enthusiasm. "You seem to know a great deal about flowers," he observed.

Sitri nodded, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "They've always fascinated me. Each one is so unique, with its own story to tell. And they're so... honest, I suppose. A flower simply is what it is, without pretense or deception."

There was something in the way she said it that made Max wonder if Sitri sometimes felt overwhelmed by the complexities of human interaction. He could certainly relate to that feeling.

They continued their stroll through the garden, Sitri pointing out various plants and sharing little tidbits of botanical knowledge. Max listened attentively, finding himself genuinely interested. There was a passion in Sitri's voice when she spoke of the flowers that were absent in her more hesitant social interactions.

As they rounded a corner, they came upon a small greenhouse. Sitri's eyes lit up. "Oh, would you like to see inside? This is where we grow some of the more delicate plants that can't survive the harsh mountain winters."

Max nodded, and they stepped into the warm, humid air of the greenhouse. The scent of earth and growing things enveloped them, a stark contrast to the crisp winter air outside.

As Sitri led him through the rows of plants, pointing out rare specimens and explaining their care, Max found himself studying her more closely. There was a gentleness about her that seemed almost at odds with the often harsh realities of life at Garreg Mach. And yet, there was strength there too – the quiet strength of someone who had faced challenges and persevered.

"Sitri," he said during a lull in her explanations, "may I ask you something?"

She turned to him, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. "Of course."

"How do you feel... about all of this?" He gestured vaguely, encompassing the greenhouse, the monastery beyond, and by extension, the complicated family situation they now found themselves in.

Sitri was quiet for a long moment, her fingers gently tracing the leaf of a nearby plant. When she spoke, her words were carefully chosen. "It's... different. I've always known that my relationship with Rhea was... unique. But having a brother, even an adopted one... it's new territory for me." She looked up at him, her green eyes searching his face. "But I'm glad. Rhea seems happier than I've seen her in a long time. And I... I've always wondered what it might be like to have a sibling."

Max felt a surge of warmth at her words. "I'm glad too," he said softly. "And I hope that, given time, we can become close. Real siblings, not just in name."

Sitri's smile was small but genuine. "I'd like that very much."

As they continued their tour of the greenhouse, the initial awkwardness between them began to fade. They found common ground in their shared love of learning – Max's wide-ranging intellectual curiosity complementing Sitri's more focused botanical expertise.

"You mentioned that you've been away, studying," Max said as they paused to admire a particularly vibrant orchid. "What exactly were you studying, if you don't mind my asking?"

Sitri's eyes lit up at the question. "Oh, I was fortunate enough to spend time at the Royal School of Sorcery in Fhirdiad. My health often keeps me confined to the monastery, but Mother arranged for me to study there for a time. It was... eye-opening."

"In what way?" Max prompted, genuinely curious.

Sitri's gaze grew distant, as if looking back on cherished memories. "The world is so much larger than I had imagined. The people I met, the things I learned... it made me realize how much there is beyond these walls. I studied white magic primarily, but also delved into history, literature, and of course, botany."

As she spoke, Max could hear the longing in her voice – a desire to experience more of the world tempered by the reality of her fragile health.

"It sounds like it was a wonderful experience," Max said gently.

Sitri nodded, a hint of sadness creeping into her smile. "It was. I... I sometimes wish I could have stayed longer, seen more. But my health..." She trailed off, shaking her head slightly. "Well, I'm grateful for the time I had there."

Max felt a pang of sympathy. He understood all too well the feeling of being trapped, of yearning for experiences beyond one's reach. "Perhaps," he said carefully, "we could find ways to bring more of the world to you here. Through books, or visitors, or..."

He trailed off as Sitri's eyes widened, a spark of excitement igniting in their green depths. "Oh! That reminds me. There's something I'd love to show you, if you're interested. It's in the library."

Max smiled, intrigued by her sudden enthusiasm. "Lead the way."

They made their way back through the monastery, Sitri's steps seeming a bit lighter now. As they entered the vast library, Max couldn't help but be impressed. Row upon row of shelves stretched upward, filled with ancient tomes and scrolls.

Sitri led him to a secluded corner where a large table was piled high with books. "This is my little sanctuary," she explained, a hint of shyness creeping back into her voice. "When I can't travel myself, I travel through these pages."

Max ran his fingers lightly over the spines of the books, reading titles that spoke of far-off lands and ancient cultures. "This is incredible, Sitri. You've curated quite a collection."

She blushed slightly at the praise. "Thank you. I... I find that reading about other places, other ways of life, helps me feel less... confined. And it gives me hope that one day, perhaps, I'll be strong enough to see some of these places for myself."

As they settled into chairs at the table, Max found himself deeply moved by Sitri's quiet determination. Despite the limitations placed on her by her health, she had found a way to expand her world, to continue learning and growing.

"Tell me," he said, leaning forward with genuine interest, "what's the most fascinating place you've read about? Where would you go, if you could go anywhere?"

Sitri's face lit up at the question, and she launched into a detailed description of a distant land she had read about, full of sweeping deserts and ancient pyramids. As she spoke, her usual hesitancy fell away, replaced by an infectious enthusiasm.

Max listened, asking questions and sharing his own thoughts, and before they knew it, hours had passed. The awkwardness that had marked their initial meeting had melted away, replaced by the easy rapport of two kindred spirits discovering shared interests.

As the light outside the windows began to fade, signaling the approach of evening, Sitri suddenly looked up, a hint of surprise on her face. "Oh my, I've been talking for so long. I hope I haven't bored you."

Max shook his head emphatically. "Not at all. This has been fascinating. You have a wonderful way of bringing these places to life through your descriptions."

Sitri's smile was both pleased and a little shy. "Thank you. I... I'm not always good at expressing myself. But when it comes to books and the stories they contain, I find the words come more easily."

"I understand," Max said softly. "Sometimes it's easier to lose ourselves in other worlds, other stories. But Sitri, I want you to know that your own story, your own thoughts and feelings, are just as valuable and interesting."

A look of surprise flashed across Sitri's face, followed by a warm smile. "Thank you, Max. That... that means a great deal to me."

As they began to tidy up the books, a comfortable silence falling between them, Max found himself reflecting on the unexpected turn his life had taken. When he had first arrived in this world, he had been lost, alone, burdened by the weight of his past. And now, here he was, part of a family – unconventional though it might be.

"Sitri," he said as they prepared to leave the library, "I'm glad we had this chance to get to know each other. I hope we can spend more time together, perhaps make this a regular occurrence?"

Sitri's eyes lit up at the suggestion. "I'd like that very much. Perhaps... perhaps next time I could tell you about some of the stories I've heard from Jeralt. He's a knight here at the monastery, and he has the most wonderful tales of his travels."

Max nodded, noting the way Sitri's cheeks colored slightly at the mention of this Jeralt. "That sounds wonderful. I look forward to it."

As they parted ways for the evening, Max felt a sense of contentment settle over him. This new sister of his was a gentle soul, yes, but there was a quiet strength to her as well. He found himself looking forward to getting to know her better, to being the kind of brother she deserved.

Walking back to his quarters, Max's mind was awash with the stories Sitri had shared, the passion in her voice as she spoke of distant lands and ancient cultures. He realized that in helping her explore the world through books and conversation, he might find a way to make peace with his own past and the world he had left behind.

For the first time in a long while, Max felt truly hopeful about the future. Whatever challenges lay ahead, he knew he no longer had to face them alone. He had Lady Rhea, he had Sitri, and together, perhaps they could create something beautiful and meaningful in this new world he now called home.

As he prepared for bed that night, Max found himself smiling at the thought of future conversations with Sitri, of delving into more books and stories together. He made a mental note to ask Seteth about this Jeralt character, curious about the man who seemed to have captured his new sister's imagination with his tales.

Sleep came easily that night, Max's dreams filled with the vibrant images Sitri had painted with her words – of sun-baked deserts and ancient ruins, of lush jungles and bustling port cities. And woven through it all was a sense of belonging, of family, that he had thought lost to him forever.

The next morning dawned bright and clear, the winter sun casting long shadows across the fresh snow that had fallen overnight. Max rose early, eager to start the day. As he dressed, he found himself looking forward to breakfast, hoping to see Sitri there and perhaps continue their conversation from the previous day.

Making his way to the dining hall, Max's steps were light, his mind already racing with questions he wanted to ask Sitri about her studies, her favorite books, the places she most longed to see. He had always been driven by an insatiable curiosity, a desire to understand the world around him, and in Sitri, he sensed a kindred spirit.

As he entered the dining hall, his eyes scanned the room, searching for Sitri's distinctive pale green hair. He spotted her at a table near the back, her head bent over a book as she absently stirred a bowl of porridge. The sight brought a smile to his face – clearly, her love of reading extended to every moment of the day.

Max grabbed his own breakfast and made his way over to her table. "Good morning, Sitri," he said softly, not wanting to startle her. "May I join you?"

Sitri looked up, a brief flash of surprise crossing her face before it melted into a warm smile. "Oh, good morning, Max. Yes, please, sit down."

As Max settled into the seat across from her, he nodded toward the book she had been reading. "What's captured your interest this morning?"

Sitri's eyes lit up, that same passion he had seen yesterday when discussing her favorite subjects coming to the fore. "It's a treatise on the medicinal properties of plants found in the Oghma Mountains. It's fascinating how the harsh conditions here have led to the development of such unique and potent herbs."

Max leaned forward, just as intrigue.

Chapter Text

As the Guardian Moon drew to a close, the harsh winter winds that had buffeted Garreg Mach for weeks finally began to subside. It was on one of these milder days that I found myself walking alongside Sitri in the courtyards, listening as she enthusiastically described a rare flower she had recently read about.

Over the past few weeks, Sitri and I had fallen into a comfortable routine. We would meet most mornings in the library, pouring over ancient texts and discussing everything from history to botany. In the afternoons, weather permitting, we would take walks through the grounds, Sitri pointing out various plants and their properties. I found her company soothing, her gentle nature and quiet intelligence a balm to my often-tumultuous thoughts.

As we rounded a corner, Sitri suddenly stopped mid-sentence, her eyes lighting up. "Oh, Max! There's someone I'd like you to meet," she said, her voice tinged with excitement. She gestured towards two men standing near the Knight's Hall, deep in conversation.

One was tall and broad-shouldered, with shaggy blonde hair and a beard. He wore the armor of a Knight of Seiros, though it was clear from his bearing that he was no ordinary soldier. The other man was shorter, with reddish-brown hair and a kindly face. He wore the robes of a church official.

As we approached, both men turned to look at us. I couldn't help but notice the way their eyes seemed to linger on Sitri, a fact that immediately put me on guard.

"Jeralt! Aelfric!" Sitri called out, her usual shyness seemingly forgotten in her eagerness to make introductions. "I'm so glad you're both here. I'd like you to meet my brother, Max."

The blonde man - Jeralt, I presumed - stepped forward first, extending a calloused hand. "So you're the famous Max," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. "Sitri's told us a lot about you. I'm Jeralt Eisner, Captain of the Knights of Seiros."

I shook his hand, noting the strength in his grip. "A pleasure to meet you, Captain," I replied, studying him closely. So this was the man whose stories had so captivated my sister.

The other man stepped forward next, his smile warm and inviting. "And I am Aelfric Dahlman, Monk of the Church of Seiros. It's wonderful to finally meet you, Max. Sitri speaks of you often."

I shook Aelfric's hand as well, my mind working quickly to process this new information. A Knight Captain and a high ranking monk, both seemingly quite close to my sister. Interesting.

"It's good to meet you both," I said, keeping my tone neutral. "Sitri has mentioned you as well. I understand you have quite the repertoire of stories, Captain Jeralt."

Jeralt chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture that seemed almost bashful. "Ah, well, I've been around a bit. Seen some things. Nothing too exciting, I'm sure."

"Oh, don't be modest, Jeralt," Aelfric interjected, his voice warm with admiration. "Your exploits are legendary. Why, just the other day you were telling us about that time in Sreng..."

As Aelfric launched into a retelling of what was clearly a familiar tale, I found my attention drawn not to the story itself, but to the way both men kept glancing at Sitri. Jeralt's gaze was steady, almost protective, while Aelfric's eyes held a softer, more wistful look.

Sitri, for her part, seemed oblivious to the attention. Her eyes were wide with excitement as she listened to Aelfric's recounting, occasionally turning to me with a bright smile, as if to say, "Isn't this wonderful?"

I felt a twinge of discomfort. The admiration both men clearly held for my sister was obvious - painfully so. And yet, Sitri seemed completely unaware of it. I wasn't sure whether to be amused or concerned by her naivety.

As Aelfric finished his tale, Jeralt cleared his throat. "Say, Sitri," he began, his tone casual but his body language anything but, "I was thinking of taking a ride out to the nearby village tomorrow. There's a merchant there who specializes in rare plants. Thought you might like to come along, maybe find something new for that garden of yours."

Before Sitri could respond, Aelfric jumped in. "Oh, what a lovely idea! You know, I've been meaning to visit that village myself. Perhaps we could all go together? I'm sure Max would enjoy the outing as well."

I raised an eyebrow at being included in this plan without my input, but remained silent, curious to see how this would play out.

Sitri's face lit up with excitement. "That sounds wonderful! Oh, Max, you'll come too, won't you? The back of Garreg Mach is so beautiful this time of year, even with the snow."

Trapped by my sister's eager gaze and the expectant looks from Jeralt and Aelfric, I found myself nodding. "Of course, Sitri. I'd be happy to join you."

The relief on both men's faces was almost comical. Clearly, neither had been keen on the idea of the other having time alone with Sitri. 

As the conversation turned to the details of tomorrow's excursion, I found myself growing increasingly uncomfortable. The tension between Jeralt and Aelfric was palpable, their forced politeness to each other barely masking what I could only describe as rivalry. And through it all, Sitri remained blissfully unaware, chatting happily about the plants she hoped to find.

Unable to bear the awkwardness any longer, I made my excuses. "If you'll all excuse me, I just remembered I promised a scholar I'd help him with some research this afternoon. Sitri, I'll see you at dinner?"

Sitri nodded, giving me a warm smile. "Of course, Max. Don't work too hard!"

As I walked away, I could hear Jeralt and Aelfric both offering to escort Sitri back to the monastery proper. I shook my head, torn between amusement and exasperation. This situation was either going to resolve itself quickly or become unbearably awkward for everyone involved.

The next morning dawned clear and crisp, perfect weather for our planned excursion. As I made my way to the stables where we had agreed to meet, I steeled myself for what promised to be an interesting day.

Sitri was already there when I arrived, practically bouncing with excitement as she checked the saddlebags on her horse. Jeralt stood nearby, his own mount already prepared, watching Sitri with a fond expression that made me want to roll my eyes.

"Good morning, Max!" Sitri called out as she saw me approach. "Isn't it a beautiful day for a ride?"

I nodded, forcing a smile. "Indeed it is. Are we waiting for Aelfric?"

As if summoned by his name, the monk appeared, slightly out of breath as if he had been rushing. "Good morning, everyone! I hope I haven't kept you waiting."

Jeralt's expression tightened almost imperceptibly. "Not at all. We were just about to head out."

The ride to the village was... tense, to say the least. Jeralt and Aelfric both vied for position near Sitri, each trying to engage her in conversation. Sitri, bless her oblivious heart, seemed to think nothing of it, happily chatting with both of them about the local flora and the history of the region.

I hung back, observing the situation with a mixture of amusement and concern. Part of me wanted to pull Sitri aside and explain what was happening, but another part hesitated. Was it my place to interfere? And would Sitri even understand if I tried to explain?

As we entered the village, Sitri's excitement reached new heights. She practically leapt from her horse, eager to explore the market and find the plant merchant Jeralt had mentioned.

"Oh, look at all the stalls!" she exclaimed, her eyes wide as she took in the bustling marketplace. "Where should we start?"

Jeralt stepped forward, a hint of a smile on his usually stern face. "The plant merchant I mentioned is just down this way. Why don't I show you?"

Not to be outdone, Aelfric quickly interjected. "And there's a wonderful book stall nearby as well, Sitri. Perhaps we could stop there afterward? I know how you love rare texts."

I watched as Sitri's head swiveled between the two men, her expression one of delighted indecision. "Oh, they both sound wonderful! What do you think, Max? Where should we go first?"

Caught off guard by suddenly being included in this awkward dance, I fumbled for a response. "Why don't you go with Jeralt to see the plants, Sitri? Aelfric and I can check out the bookstall and meet you there afterward."

The look of gratitude Jeralt shot me was almost comical, as was the barely concealed disappointment on Aelfric's face. Sitri, of course, noticed none of this.

"What a lovely idea!" she said, already moving to follow Jeralt. "We won't be long, I promise!"

As Sitri and Jeralt disappeared into the crowd, I turned to Aelfric, who was watching them go with a wistful expression. "Shall we find that bookstall, Aelfric?"

Aelfric startled slightly, as if he had forgotten I was there. "Oh, yes, of course. This way, if you please."

As we made our way through the market, I decided to use this opportunity to gather some information. "You and Captain Jeralt seem to know my sister quite well," I commented, keeping my tone casual.

Aelfric's face softened at the mention of Sitri. "Oh yes, we've known Sitri for many years now. She's... well, she's quite special, isn't she?"

I nodded, watching Aelfric's expression carefully. "She is indeed. I'm curious, how did you come to know her?"

Aelfric's eyes took on a distant look, as if he were gazing into the past. "I've known Sitri since she was a child. I was often at the monastery, you see, and I would find her in the library or the gardens, always with her nose in a book or tending to some plant or another. She was such a quiet, serious child, but so full of wonder at the world around her."

His voice held such warmth, such fondness, that I felt a twinge of sympathy for him. It was clear his feelings for Sitri ran deep.

"And Captain Jeralt?" I prompted.

Aelfric's expression tightened slightly. "Jeralt... well, he's known Sitri for quite some time as well. He often brings her books or rare plants from his travels. She's always been fascinated by his stories."

I could hear the hint of jealousy in Aelfric's voice, though he tried to hide it. It was becoming increasingly clear that both men harbored deep feelings for my sister, feelings that had likely been developing for years.

As we reached the bookstall, I decided to press a bit further. "Sitri seems quite fond of both you and Captain Jeralt," I observed.

Aelfric nodded, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. "She's very kind, very caring. It's one of her many admirable qualities."

I hummed in agreement, browsing the books on display. "Indeed. Though I've noticed she can be a bit... oblivious at times. Especially when it comes to matters of the heart."

Aelfric's head snapped up, his eyes wide. "I... I'm not sure what you mean," he stammered.

I fixed him with a steady gaze. "I think you do, monk. And I think Captain Jeralt would understand as well."

Aelfric opened his mouth as if to protest, then closed it again, his shoulders sagging slightly. "Is it really that obvious?" he asked softly.

I nodded, feeling a mix of sympathy and exasperation. "To everyone except Sitri, it seems."

Aelfric sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Sitri has always been... innocent in such matters. It's part of her charm, really."

Before I could respond, I spotted Sitri and Jeralt making their way towards us through the crowd. Sitri's arms were full of plants, her face alight with joy.

"Max! Aelfric! Look at all the wonderful specimens we found!" she called out as they approached.

As Sitri launched into an enthusiastic explanation of each plant, I couldn't help but notice the way both Jeralt and Aelfric watched her. Their expressions were so similar - fond, protective, longing - that I had to stifle a laugh. How could Sitri not see it?

The rest of the day passed in much the same manner, with Jeralt and Aelfric vying for Sitri's attention while she remained blissfully unaware of the underlying tension. By the time we returned to the monastery, I was mentally exhausted from watching this awkward dance.

That night, as Sitri and I sat in the library going over her new acquisitions, I decided to broach the subject gently.

"You seem to have had a good time today," I began, watching her carefully arrange her new plants.

Sitri nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yes, it was wonderful! Jeralt and Aelfric are always so kind, taking time out of their busy schedules to accompany me on these outings."

I cleared my throat, choosing my next words carefully. "They do seem very... attentive to you."

Sitri looked up, her brow furrowed slightly in confusion. "Well, of course. They're my friends."

I resisted the urge to sigh. "Sitri, have you ever thought that perhaps their feelings for you might be... more than friendly?"

Sitri's eyes widened in surprise. "More than friendly? I'm not sure I understand, Max. They've always been kind to me, ever since I was young. That's just how they are."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache coming on. "Sitri, I'm talking about romantic feelings. Surely you've noticed the way they look at you? The way they compete for your attention?"

Sitri's face went through a series of expressions - confusion, disbelief, and then something akin to panic. "R-romantic feelings? But that's... that's impossible. Jeralt and Aelfric are just... they're just..."

She trailed off, her eyes unfocused as if she were replaying every interaction in her mind. I could almost see the wheels turning in her head.

"Oh," she said softly, her face flushing red. "Oh my. I... I never even considered..."

I reached out, patting her hand gently. "It's alright, Sitri. These things can be hard to see sometimes, especially when you're close to the people involved."

Sitri looked at me, her eyes wide and uncertain. "What should I do, Max? I... I've never thought of either of them that way. They're both so important to me, but..."

I shook my head, giving her a reassuring smile. "You don't have to do anything right now, Sitri. Just... be aware of it, I suppose. And if you find your feelings changing towards either of them, or if you're certain they'll never change, it might be kind to let them know."

Sitri nodded slowly, still looking somewhat shell-shocked. "I... I think I need some time to think about this."

I stood up, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Take all the time you need. And remember, I'm here if you want to talk about it."

As I left the library, I couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. Part of me felt guilty for potentially disrupting the comfortable dynamic Sitri had with Jeralt and Aelfric. But another part felt relieved that she was finally aware of the situation. Whatever happened next, at least it would be with open eyes.

The following days were... interesting, to say the least. Sitri, now aware of the potential romantic feelings directed her way, seemed to oscillate between hyper-awareness and complete avoidance when it came to Jeralt and Aelfric.

I watched with a mixture of amusement and sympathy as she fumbled through interactions that had once been easy and natural. She would blush furiously whenever Jeralt offered to help her carry books or when Aelfric complimented her knowledge of herbs. More than once, I saw her literally flee from a room when both men entered at the same time.

For their part, Jeralt and Aelfric seemed bewildered by Sitri's sudden change in behavior. I caught them exchanging confused glances more than once, clearly at a loss as to what had caused this shift.

And I won’t deny it, it was hilarious.

Chapter Text

The Guardian Moon was drawing to a close, it's cold winds gradually giving way to the promise of spring. Within the ancient walls of Garreg Mach Monastery, life continued its steady rhythm, the daily routines of students, knights, and clergy creating a comforting hum of activity.

On this particular evening, the 30th day of the Guardian Moon, Max found himself in Lady Rhea's private study. The warm glow of candles cast dancing shadows on the walls, lending an intimate atmosphere to the room. Rhea sat behind her ornate desk, her pale green hair cascading over her shoulders as she leaned forward, listening intently to Max's latest report on his studies and activities.

"...and so, I believe the integration of faith magic with reason-based spells could potentially lead to more efficient and powerful casting techniques," Max concluded, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. "Of course, further research would be needed to confirm this hypothesis."

Rhea nodded, a gentle smile gracing her features. "Your insights continue to impress me, Max. Your unique perspective brings fresh ideas to our understanding of magic. I'm curious to see where this line of inquiry leads you."

Max felt a warmth bloom in his chest at Rhea's praise. Despite the months that had passed since she had formally adopted him, he still found himself marveling at the genuine care and interest she showed in his pursuits. It was a far cry from the cold, manipulative relationships he had known in his past life.

"Thank you, Lady Rhea," he replied, inclining his head respectfully. "I'm grateful for the resources and support you've provided. It's allowing me to explore avenues of magical theory that I never would have considered before."

Rhea's smile widened, her eyes softening with affection. "It brings me joy to see you thriving here, Max. Your presence has been a blessing to us all." She paused, her expression turning thoughtful. "You've been with us for several months now, and yet I realize there's still so much about you I don't know. Perhaps we could take some time to remedy that?"

Max felt a flicker of unease at Rhea's words. While he had grown comfortable in his new role and identity, there were still aspects of his past - both real and fabricated - that he preferred to keep private. However, he knew that building trust with Rhea was crucial, so he nodded in agreement.

"Of course, Lady Rhea. What would you like to know?"

Rhea leaned back in her chair, her gaze warm but searching. "Tell me, Max, what was your life like before you came to us? You've spoken little of your childhood or your family."

Max's mind raced, carefully navigating the web of truth and fiction that made up his backstory. "There's... not much to tell, really," he began, his voice measured. "My childhood was rather unremarkable. My parents weren’t... distant per say. They provided for my physical needs but were not particularly affectionate. I spent most of my time studying, trying to understand the world around me."

It wasn't entirely a lie. His actual childhood, in another world and time, had indeed been marked by some emotional neglect and a drive to comprehend the forces that shaped society. The details might be different, but the essence of his experience remained true.

Rhea's expression softened with sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear that, Max. No child should feel unloved or overlooked by their parents. I hope you know that you are cherished here, by myself and by all who have come to know you."

Max felt a lump form in his throat at Rhea's words. Despite his initial skepticism about her motivations, he had come to genuinely care for her as well. It was a feeling that both comforted and terrified him.

"Thank you, Lady Rhea," he said softly. "Your kindness has meant more to me than I can express."

Rhea smiled warmly, then continued her gentle questioning. "And what of your interests outside of your studies? Surely a young man of your age must have hobbies or pastimes he enjoys?"

Max chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I'm afraid I'm not very exciting in that regard. Most of my free time is spent reading or experimenting with magical theory. Although," he added, a small smile tugging at his lips, "I have been enjoying the chess matches Seteth has been kind enough to engage me in."

"Ah yes, Seteth mentioned how impressed he was with your strategic mind," Rhea said, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "I believe he said something about finally having a worthy opponent."

Max felt a surge of pride at the compliment. Seteth was a formidable player, and their matches had become a highlight of his weeks at Garreg Mach.

As the conversation continued, Max found himself relaxing, sharing anecdotes about his interactions with the students and faculty of the monastery. He spoke of his growing friendship with Sitri, the lively debates he'd engaged in with some of the more intellectually curious students, and the quiet moments of contemplation he'd found in the cathedral.

Rhea listened attentively, her face alight with genuine interest and affection. As Max finished recounting a particularly amusing incident involving a misfired spell in the training grounds, she leaned forward, her expression turning slightly more serious.

"Max, there's something I've been meaning to ask you," she began, her tone careful. "I realize I never inquired about your date of birth. It's an oversight on my part, and I apologize for not thinking to celebrate it properly."

Max blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. His birthday was not something he had given much thought to since arriving in this world. In fact, he had actively avoided thinking about it, as it brought up complicated emotions and memories he preferred to keep buried.

"Oh, that's... it's not important, really," he said, trying to brush off the question. "I've never been one for big celebrations."

Rhea, however, was not so easily deterred. "Nonsense, Max. Every life is worth celebrating, especially the lives of those we hold dear. Please, when is your birthday? Even if you don't wish for a grand celebration, I would at least like to acknowledge it."

Max shifted uncomfortably in his seat, realizing that Rhea would not let this go. He sighed internally, deciding it was better to simply answer truthfully and hope the subject would be dropped.

"It's... well, actually, it's today," he said quietly, the words slipping out before he could fully consider their impact. "The 30th day of the Guardian Moon."

The moment the words left his mouth, Max knew he had made a mistake. Rhea's eyes widened in shock, her mouth falling open slightly as she processed this information.

"Today?" she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. "Your birthday is today, and you didn't say anything?"

Max winced at the hurt evident in Rhea's tone. "I... I didn't think it was important," he tried to explain. "As I said, I've never been one for celebrations, and I didn't want to make a fuss."

Rhea stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the stone floor. She moved around the desk, coming to stand directly in front of Max, her eyes searching his face intently.

"Max," she said, her voice thick with emotion, "of course it's important. You're important. How could I not have known? How could I have let this day pass without acknowledging it?"

Max felt a twinge of guilt at the distress he had inadvertently caused. "Lady Rhea, please, it's not your fault. You never asked, and I never thought to mention it. It's really not a big deal."

But Rhea was shaking her head, her expression a mixture of sadness and determination. "No, Max. It is a big deal. You are my son now, in all the ways that matter. Your birthday should be celebrated, should be marked as the joyous occasion it is."

She paused, taking a deep breath to compose herself. "Tell me, Max, how old are you today?"

Max hesitated for a moment, mentally calculating based on the backstory he had constructed. "I'm... fifteen," he said finally. "I'm fifteen today."

Rhea's eyes filled with tears, and for a moment, Max feared she might break down completely. But she rallied, squaring her shoulders and fixing him with a determined gaze.

"Fifteen," she repeated softly. "A milestone year, and I almost let it pass unnoticed. Well, that simply won't do. We may not have much of the day left, but we will celebrate you, Max. Even if it's small and last-minute, we will mark this day."

Before Max could protest, Rhea had moved to the door, calling out to a passing servant. "Quickly," she instructed, "gather Seteth, Jeralt, and Aelfric. Have them meet us in the small dining hall. And send word to the kitchens - we need a cake prepared as soon as possible."

The servant nodded, hurrying off to carry out Rhea's instructions. Max stood, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the sudden flurry of activity.

"Lady Rhea, really, this isn't necessary," he tried to argue. "I'm perfectly content with a quiet evening."

Rhea turned back to him, her expression softening. "Max, my dear boy, please allow us this. Allow me this. You may not see your birth as cause for celebration, but to me, to all of us who have come to care for you, it is a day of joy. Let us share that joy with you, even if only for a short while."

Faced with Rhea's earnest plea, Max found his resolve weakening. He had spent so many years pushing aside personal connections, focusing solely on his mission and his ideals. But here, in this new world, he had been given a chance at something he had long thought beyond his reach - a family, a sense of belonging.

"Alright," he conceded softly. "If it means that much to you, I won't object."

Rhea's face lit up with a radiant smile. "Thank you, Max. Now, come. Let's head to the dining hall. I'm sure the others will be arriving soon."

As they made their way through the monastery corridors, Max found himself lost in thought. He had never been one for birthdays, even in his youth. As Max Eisenhardt, he had seen too much suffering, experienced too much loss to find joy in marking the passing of another year. And as Magneto, well... personal celebrations had seemed trivial in the face of his grand mission.

But now, as Max, adopted son of the Archbishop he found himself feeling... different. There was a warmth in his chest, a lightness he couldn't quite explain. Perhaps, he mused, this was what it felt like to be truly cared for, to have people who genuinely wanted to celebrate your existence.

They arrived at the small dining hall to find it already bustling with activity. Servants were hurriedly setting out plates and cutlery, while others were arranging flowers in vases as impromptu decorations. In the center of the main table, a space had been cleared, presumably for the cake that was being hastily prepared in the kitchens.

Seteth was the first to arrive, his usual stern expression replaced by one of mild confusion and concern. "Lady Rhea," he said as he approached, "is everything alright? The servant said it was urgent."

Rhea smiled, placing a hand on Max's shoulder. "Everything is fine, Seteth. More than fine, in fact. We're having a celebration."

Seteth's brow furrowed. "A celebration? For what occasion?"

"For Max's birthday," Rhea replied, her voice warm with affection. "It's today, and we very nearly let it pass without acknowledgement."

Seteth's eyes widened in surprise, turning to Max. "Is this true? Today is your birthday?"

Max nodded, feeling slightly uncomfortable under the scrutiny. "Yes, though really, it's not-"

"Not a big deal, as he keeps insisting," Rhea interrupted gently. "But we know better, don't we, Seteth?"

A small smile tugged at Seteth's lips. "Indeed we do. Well then, Max, allow me to be the first to wish you a happy birthday. Fifteen, is it not? A significant year."

Before Max could respond, the doors burst open again, admitting a slightly out-of-breath Jeralt and a bemused-looking Aelfric.

"Lady Rhea," Jeralt said, his hand instinctively resting on the pommel of his sword, "what's the emergency? Are we under attack?"

Rhea chuckled softly, shaking her head. "No emergency, Captain. We're celebrating Max's birthday."

Jeralt's eyebrows shot up in surprise, his gaze shifting to Max. "Your birthday? Today? Well, I'll be damned. Happy birthday, kid."

Aelfric stepped forward, a warm smile on his face. "Indeed, happy birthday, Max. This is a joyous occasion. Though I must admit, I'm a bit surprised we're only learning of it now."

“It’s your birthday Max!” Sitri clasped her hands together. “Happy Birthday!”

Max felt a flush creep up his neck, uncomfortable with being the center of attention. "I... I don't usually celebrate my birthday. It never seemed important."

A shadow passed over Jeralt's face at Max's words, a flicker of something that might have been understanding or perhaps shared pain. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a gruff smile.

"Well, it's important now," Jeralt said firmly. "You're one of us, kid. That means we celebrate the good things when we can."

Aelfric nodded in agreement. "Precisely. Life offers us precious few moments of pure joy. We must seize them when we can."

As the small group settled around the table, Max found himself marveling at the scene before him. Never in his long life - both as Erik and as Magneto - had he experienced something quite like this. A gathering of people who genuinely cared for him, who wanted to celebrate his existence not for what he could do or what he represented, but simply because he was... him.

The doors opened once more, this time admitting a beaming kitchen servant carrying a small but beautifully decorated cake. As it was set in front of Max, he couldn't help but stare in wonder. The cake was simple, a vanilla sponge with white frosting, but someone had taken the time to pipe a delicate pattern of blue flowers around the edges. In the center, in careful script, were the words "Happy Birthday, Max."

"I hope this is acceptable," Rhea said, a hint of anxiety in her voice. "I know we didn't have much time to prepare, but-"

"It's perfect," Max interrupted, his voice thick with emotion. "Truly, it's... it's more than I ever expected."

Rhea's face softened with relief and joy. "I'm so glad. Now, shall we sing? It is tradition, after all."

Before Max could object, the small group burst into song, their voices blending in a somewhat off-key but heartfelt rendition of "Happy Birthday." Jeralt's deep baritone provided a steady base, while Aelfric's clear tenor added a musical quality to the impromptu performance. As they sang, Max felt a strange tightness in his chest, a burning behind his eyes that he hadn't experienced in... he couldn't remember how long.

As the song concluded, Rhea leaned forward, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Make a wish, Max," she said softly.

Max hesitated for a moment, then closed his eyes. What could he possibly wish for? In this moment, surrounded by warmth and genuine affection, he found he wanted for nothing. So instead, he simply wished for this feeling to last, for this newfound family to remain safe and happy.

He opened his eyes and blew out the candles in one breath, prompting a round of applause from the gathered group.

As Seteth began to cut and distribute slices of cake, the conversation flowed freely. Jeralt regaled them with tales of birthdays celebrated on the battlefield, while Aelfric spoke of the various birthday traditions he had encountered in his travels across Fódlan.

Max listened, content to simply absorb the warmth and joy radiating from those around him. As he took his first bite of cake - deliciously moist and not too sweet - he caught Rhea's eye across the table. She was watching him with an expression of such profound love and happiness that Max felt his breath catch in his throat.

"Thank you," he mouthed silently, hoping she could see the depth of his gratitude in his eyes.

Rhea's smile widened, and she nodded in understanding. No words were necessary; the bond between them, still new but growing stronger every day, spoke volumes.

As the impromptu celebration continued, Max found himself drawn into the conversations around him. Seteth engaged him in a lively discussion about the historical significance of various coming-of-age traditions across Fódlan, while Jeralt offered to give him some special training sessions as a "birthday gift."

Aelfric, ever observant, seemed to sense Max's slight overwhelm at being the center of attention. He gently steered the conversation towards more general topics, allowing Max moments of quiet reflection between interactions.

Sitri even gave a vase of all his favorite flowers. Using faith magic, preserving it.

It was a wonderful day, a joyous and wonderful day.

Chapter Text

The argument had been brewing for days, simmering beneath the surface of polite conversation and carefully maintained facades. Max had noticed the subtle discrimination against non-Fódlan residents and visitors to Garreg Mach, the sideways glances and whispered comments. At first, he had tried to ignore it, to focus on his studies and his growing relationships with Rhea and Sitri. But as the days passed, the weight of unspoken prejudice began to press down on him, bringing long-buried memories bubbling to the surface.

It was during a private dinner with Rhea and Sitri that the tension finally boiled over. The meal had started pleasantly enough, with Sitri excitedly sharing news of a rare flower she had managed to cultivate in the greenhouse. But as the conversation turned to recent events in the monastery, Max could no longer hold his tongue.

"I couldn't help but notice the way the Almyran merchants were treated in the marketplace yesterday," he said, his voice carefully controlled. "The whispers, the suspicious glances. It was... unsettling."

Rhea's brow furrowed slightly. "I'm not sure I understand your concern, Max. The merchants were allowed to conduct their business without interference. We maintain strict policies of fairness and equality within Garreg Mach's walls."

Max felt a flicker of frustration ignite in his chest. "Policies on paper are one thing, Lady Rhea. The reality of how people are treated is quite another. Those merchants may have been allowed to sell their wares, but they were made to feel unwelcome at every turn."

Sitri, sensing the rising tension, attempted to intervene. "Perhaps there was simply a misunderstanding? Cultural differences can sometimes lead to-"

"This was no misunderstanding," Max interrupted, his voice taking on an edge. "This was prejudice, plain and simple. And it's not limited to the Almyrans. I've seen similar treatment of people from Duscur, from Brigid, even from certain regions within Fódlan itself."

Rhea's expression hardened slightly. "Max, I understand you may have concerns, but I assure you that the Church of Seiros stands for equality and acceptance. We do not condone discrimination of any kind."

Max let out a bitter laugh. "Condone? Perhaps not openly. But by turning a blind eye to these 'small' acts of prejudice, by allowing them to continue unchallenged, you're tacitly approving them."

"That's not fair, Max," Sitri said softly. "The Church does a great deal of good, promoting understanding between different cultures and-"

"Understanding?" Max scoffed. "Is that what you call it when few students from Duscur are whispered about in the halls? When Brigid natives are mocked for their accents? When Almyran cuisine is deemed 'too foreign' for the dining hall?"

Rhea's eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and hurt. "You go too far, Max. We have worked tirelessly to create a welcoming environment for all at Garreg Mach. If there have been isolated incidents of prejudice, they are not reflective of our values or our policies."

Max stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the stone floor. "Isolated incidents? Lady Rhea, with all due respect, you're blind to the reality of what's happening under your very nose. This isn't about isolated incidents. It's about a pervasive culture of prejudice that goes unchallenged because those in power refuse to see it!"

Sitri gasped softly at Max's outburst, while Rhea's face flushed with a combination of anger and shame. The Archbishop opened her mouth to retort, but Max pressed on, years of pent-up frustration and pain fueling his words.

"Do you have any idea what unchecked prejudice can lead to? The horrors that can unfold when people are deemed 'other' or 'less than' based on their ethnicity or place of birth?" Max's voice cracked slightly, memories he had long suppressed threatening to overwhelm him.

Rhea stood as well, her usually serene demeanor cracking under the weight of Max's accusations. "Max, I understand you feel strongly about this, but you cannot possibly compare the situation here to-"

"To what?" Max interrupted, his eyes blazing. "To genocide? To systematic extermination? Because let me tell you, Lady Rhea, that's exactly where this kind of thinking leads if left unchecked!"

A heavy silence fell over the room. Sitri looked between Max and Rhea, her eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and concern. Rhea, for her part, seemed stunned by the intensity of Max's outburst.

Max took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging within him. He hadn't meant to lose control like this, hadn't intended to let his past bleed so violently into his present. But now that the floodgates had opened, he found he couldn't stop.

"I've seen it," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've lived it. The end result of unchallenged prejudice and hatred."

Rhea's expression softened, concern replacing anger in her eyes. "Max, what are you saying?"

Max closed his eyes, steeling himself for what he was about to reveal. He had never spoken of his past in this world, had carefully constructed a vague backstory that would satisfy curiosity without inviting too many questions. But in this moment, faced with the specter of prejudice he had fought against for so long, he felt compelled to speak the truth – or at least, a version of it.

"I wasn't entirely honest with you about my past," he began, sinking back into his chair. "The truth is... I came from a place where prejudice and hatred were allowed to fester and grow unchecked. A place where people like me – my family, my friends – were systematically dehumanized, persecuted, and eventually... exterminated."

Sitri gasped softly, her hand flying to her mouth. Rhea remained silent, her eyes fixed intently on Max's face.

"I was born in a country called Germany," Max continued, his voice taking on a distant quality as he delved into memories he had long tried to suppress. "My family was Jewish – a religious and ethnic minority. For centuries, we had faced discrimination and persecution, but we had always persevered. We believed that education, that reason, that basic human decency would eventually prevail."

Max paused, a bitter smile twisting his lips. "We were wrong."

He went on to describe the gradual erosion of rights and dignity that preceded the Holocaust. The laws that stripped Jews of their citizenship, that barred them from certain professions, that forced them to wear identifying markers. He spoke of Kristallnacht, the Night of Broken Glass, when Jewish homes, businesses, and synagogues were ransacked and destroyed while authorities looked the other way.

"It started small," Max said, his voice hollow. "Whispers, sideways glances, 'jokes' at our expense. Not so different from what I've observed here. But it didn't stop there. It grew, festered, until we were no longer seen as human beings, but as vermin to be exterminated."

Rhea and Sitri listened in horrified silence as Max recounted his family's flight from Germany to Poland, only to find themselves trapped in the Warsaw Ghetto. He described the overcrowding, the starvation, the disease that ran rampant through the cramped streets.

"And then came the deportations," Max said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Hundreds, thousands of people herded onto trains like cattle. We didn't know where they were being taken, only that those who left never returned."

He spoke of his family's attempt to escape, of the moment when Nazi soldiers caught up with them. "My father..." Max's voice cracked, and he had to take a moment to compose himself. "My father pushed me out of the way when they opened fire. I fell into a mass grave, buried under the bodies of my family and countless others. By some miracle, I survived."

Sitri was openly weeping now, while Rhea's face had gone pale, her eyes wide with shock and sorrow.

Max pressed on, feeling compelled to lay bare the full horror of what he had experienced. He described his capture and imprisonment in Auschwitz, the infamous death camp where millions of Jews and other "undesirables" were systematically murdered.

"The smell," he said, his eyes unfocused as if seeing something far away. "That's what I remember most. The constant, overwhelming stench of death. It permeated everything – our clothes, our skin, the very air we breathed."

He spoke of the brutal conditions in the camp, the backbreaking labor, the meager rations, the constant threat of violence or death for the slightest infraction. He described the selections, where prisoners were divided into those who would live and those who would die, based on nothing more than a Nazi officer's whim.

"I became a Sonderkommando," Max said, his voice filled with a mixture of shame and defiance. "It was the only way to survive. We were forced to assist in the extermination process – leading people to the gas chambers, disposing of the bodies afterward. Can you imagine? Being forced to participate in the murder of your own people?"

Rhea made a small, choked sound, her hand covering her mouth in horror. Sitri had gone very still, her face streaked with tears.

Max described the gas chambers in clinical detail – the packed rooms, the panic as people realized what was happening, the terrible silence that followed. He spoke of the crematoria, where the bodies were burned, the ash falling like snow over the camp.

"And through it all," Max said, his voice growing hard, "there were those who turned a blind eye. Who convinced themselves that it wasn't happening, or that it wasn't as bad as people said. Who told themselves that it wasn't their problem, that they couldn't do anything to stop it."

He fixed Rhea with an intense gaze. "That's why I can't stay silent when I see even the smallest acts of prejudice. Because I know where it can lead. I've seen the end result, and I refuse to let it happen again."

A heavy silence fell over the room as Max finished speaking. For a long moment, no one moved or spoke, the weight of Max's revelations hanging in the air like a physical presence.

Finally, Rhea stood, moving around the table to kneel beside Max's chair. Her eyes were filled with tears as she reached out to take his hand in both of hers.

"Max," she said softly, her voice choked with emotion. "I... I had no idea. The horrors you've endured... I can't even begin to imagine."

Sitri moved as well, coming to stand behind Max's chair, her hand resting gently on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, her voice thick with tears. "So sorry for what you've been through, and... and for not seeing the problems you were trying to point out."

Max felt a lump form in his throat at their genuine sorrow and compassion. He had not shared his story to gain sympathy – indeed, he had revealed far more than he had initially intended. But the warmth of their response, the horror and outrage on his behalf, touched something deep within him.

"I didn't tell you this to make you feel guilty," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I just... I needed you to understand why this matters so much to me. Why we can't afford to ignore even the smallest acts of prejudice or discrimination."

Rhea nodded, squeezing Max's hand gently. "You're right," she said, her voice filled with determination. "We have been... complacent. Blind to the subtle forms of prejudice that have taken root here. That ends now."

She stood, her eyes blazing with a fierce light. "I promise you, Max, we will do better. We will root out these attitudes wherever we find them, challenge them openly, and work to create a truly inclusive environment here at Garreg Mach."

Sitri nodded in agreement, her hand still resting on Max's shoulder. "And we'll start by listening," she added softly. "To you, and to others who have faced discrimination. We can't change what we don't understand."

Max felt a wave of emotion wash over him – relief, gratitude, and a cautious hope. He had carried the weight of his past for so long, had fought against the specter of prejudice and hatred in various forms across multiple lifetimes. To have his experiences validated, to see genuine understanding and commitment to change from Rhea and Sitri... it was more than he had dared to hope for.

"Thank you," he said simply, his voice thick with unshed tears. "That's... that's all I ask. That we remain vigilant, that we challenge these attitudes wherever we find them."

Rhea pulled Max into a gentle embrace, her arms wrapping around him protectively. "We will," she promised. "And Max... thank you for trusting us with your story. I know it couldn't have been easy to relive those memories."

Sitri joined the embrace, her arms encircling both Max and Rhea. For a long moment, they simply held each other, offering silent comfort and support.

As they finally pulled apart, Max felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He had carried the burden of his past alone for so long, had guarded his secrets so carefully. To have shared even a portion of his truth with Rhea and Sitri, to have been met with understanding and compassion rather than disbelief or rejection... it was a balm to his long-wounded soul.

"There's still so much to do," he said, wiping away a stray tear. "So many attitudes to change, so much education needed..."

Rhea nodded, her expression determined. "And we will face it together. You've opened our eyes, Max. Now it's our responsibility to act on what we've learned."

Sitri squeezed Max's shoulder gently. "We're here for you," she said softly. "Whatever you need, whatever we can do to help... you're not alone in this fight anymore."

Max felt a small smile tug at his lips, the first genuine one since the argument had begun. "Thank you," he said again, his voice filled with gratitude. "Both of you. I... I'm glad I told you. Glad you understand."

As the evening wore on, the three of them remained together, talking quietly about Max's experiences and the changes they could implement at Garreg Mach. The initial anger and tension had dissipated, replaced by a shared sense of purpose and understanding.

Max knew that the road ahead would not be easy. Changing ingrained attitudes and prejudices was a monumental task, one that would likely take years of consistent effort. But as he looked at Rhea and Sitri, saw the determination in their eyes and the compassion in their hearts, he felt a flicker of hope ignite within him.

For the first time in longer than he could remember, Max felt truly understood, truly supported in his fight against prejudice and hatred. And while the scars of his past would never fully heal, he knew that with Rhea and Sitri by his side, he could face whatever challenges lay ahead.

As the night deepened and the candles burned low, Max found himself reflecting on the unexpected turns his life had taken. From the horrors of Auschwitz to this moment of connection and understanding in a world so far removed from his own... it was a journey he could never have anticipated.

But as Rhea squeezed his hand and Sitri offered him a gentle smile, Max realized that perhaps, just perhaps, he had finally found a place where he truly belonged. A place where his experiences could be used to effect real change, where the lessons of his past could help shape a better future.

And for now, in this moment of quiet understanding and shared purpose, that was enough.

Chapter Text

As the Lone Moon cast its pale light over Garreg Mach Monastery, Max found himself in a contemplative mood. The year had been a whirlwind of changes, challenges, and unexpected joys. Now, as the calendar drew to a close, he felt an unfamiliar urge to gather those closest to him and reflect on the journey they had shared.

In Lady Rhea's private study, a fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Max sat in a comfortable armchair, surrounded by the small circle of people who had become his family in this new world. Rhea, Seteth, Jeralt, Aelfric, and Sitri were all present, each nursing a warm drink as they shared stories and memories of the past year.

"I must say," Seteth began, a small smile playing on his usually stern features, "this has been a year of surprises. Not least of which was the addition of our young Max to our ranks."

Max felt a warmth bloom in his chest at Seteth's words. He recalled their first meeting, how wary and uncertain he had been. Now, he counted Seteth among his closest confidants.

"Indeed," Rhea agreed, her eyes softening as she gazed at Max. "Your arrival has been a blessing, my dear. You've brought new life and perspective to our little family."

Max ducked his head, still unused to such open displays of affection. "I'm the one who should be grateful," he said softly. "You've all given me more than I ever expected to find here."

Jeralt chuckled, raising his mug in a toast. "Well, kid, you've certainly made things more interesting around here. I've never seen the training grounds so lively as when you're experimenting with your magic."

This elicited a round of laughter from the group, as they all recalled some of Max's more... explosive magical mishaps.

"Oh, do you remember when he accidentally magnetized all the training weapons?" Sitri chimed in, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "It took us days to sort out which sword belonged to whom!"

Max felt a flush creep up his neck, but he couldn't help but join in the laughter. It was a far cry from the serious, often grim atmosphere he had known as Magneto. Here, surrounded by warmth and genuine affection, he found himself able to laugh at his own mistakes.

As the night wore on, the conversation turned more reflective. Aelfric, ever the philosopher, posed a question to the group: "What would you say is the most valuable lesson you've learned this year?"

A thoughtful silence fell over the room. Max found himself pondering the question deeply. After a moment, he spoke up.

"I think... I've learned the value of connection," he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. "For so long, I thought strength came from independence, from relying solely on oneself. But being here, with all of you... I've realized that true strength often comes from the bonds we form with others."

Rhea reached out, placing a gentle hand on Max's arm. "That's a powerful realization, Max. And one that I hope you'll carry with you always."

The others nodded in agreement, each sharing their own reflections on the year past. Jeralt spoke of learning to open his heart again after years of guarding it closely. Seteth mused on the importance of adaptability in the face of change. Sitri, with her usual cheerfulness, talked about finding joy in the smallest moments of everyday life.

As the fire burned low and the moon climbed higher in the sky, Max found himself filled with a sense of peace he had rarely known in his long life. Here, in this moment, he wasn't Magneto, the mutant revolutionary. He wasn't even Max Eisenhardt, the survivor of unspeakable horrors. He was simply Max, a young man surrounded by people who genuinely cared for him.

"You know," he said, breaking a comfortable silence that had fallen over the group, "I never really celebrated the new year before. It always seemed... arbitrary, I suppose. Just another day passing."

Rhea tilted her head, her expression curious. "And how do you feel about it now, Max?"

Max paused, considering the question. "Now... now I think I understand. It's not just about marking the passage of time. It's about acknowledging growth, cherishing memories, and looking forward with hope."

Aelfric nodded approvingly. "Well said, Max. The turn of the year is a reminder that we are all on a journey, constantly growing and changing. It's a time to honor where we've been and to set our sights on where we wish to go."

As the night drew to a close, the group stood together at one of the monastery's high windows, watching as the first light of the new year began to paint the sky. Max felt Rhea's arm wrap around his shoulders, a maternal gesture that still surprised him with its easy affection.

"Happy New Year, my dear," she said softly. "May it bring you continued growth, joy, and peace."

Max leaned into the embrace, allowing himself to fully experience the moment. "Happy New Year," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. "To all of you. Thank you... for everything."

As the sun rose on a new year, Max felt a sense of anticipation and hope that he hadn't experienced in decades. Whatever challenges lay ahead, he knew he wouldn't face them alone. Here, in this strange new world, he had found something he had long thought lost to him: a family, a home, and a chance at redemption.

The Lone Moon had passed, and with it, a chapter of Max's life had closed. But as he stood there, surrounded by his newfound family, he realized that the end of one chapter simply meant the beginning of another. And for the first time in a very long time, Max found himself looking forward to what the next page might bring.

Chapter Text

As the days passed, Jeralt and Aelfric found themselves increasingly perplexed by Sitri's sudden change in behavior. The once comfortable and easy interactions they had shared with her had become awkward and stilted, leaving both men utterly baffled.

One afternoon, Jeralt was making his way to the library, hoping to find Sitri and perhaps unravel the mystery of her recent demeanor. As he turned a corner, he nearly collided with Aelfric, who seemed to be on a similar mission.

"Ah, Aelfric," Jeralt said, nodding curtly to the monk. "I don't suppose you've seen Sitri today?"

Aelfric shook his head, a look of concern etched on his features. "I'm afraid not. I was actually hoping to speak with her myself. She's been... rather difficult to pin down lately."

Jeralt grunted in agreement. "You've noticed it too, then? I can't for the life of me figure out what's gotten into her."

As they spoke, they caught sight of Sitri at the far end of the corridor. Her arms were laden with books, and she was so focused on her task that she hadn't yet noticed them. Both men straightened, preparing to offer their assistance.

"Sitri!" they called out in unison, then exchanged awkward glances.

Sitri's head snapped up at the sound of their voices. Her eyes widened comically, and a deep blush spread across her cheeks. "O-oh! Jeralt! Aelfric! I... I didn't see you there!"

She took a step backward, nearly dropping her books in the process. Jeralt moved forward instinctively to help, but Sitri shook her head vigorously.

"No, no! I'm fine! I just... I just remembered I have a very important... thing. To do. Right now. Excuse me!"

With that, she turned on her heel and practically sprinted down the corridor, leaving Jeralt and Aelfric staring after her in bewilderment.

"Did she just...?" Aelfric began, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Run away from us? Yeah, I think she did," Jeralt finished, scratching his head.

In the shadows of a nearby alcove, Max watched the scene unfold, struggling to contain his laughter. He had to admit, seeing his usually composed sister so flustered was highly entertaining.

Over the next few days, Jeralt and Aelfric found themselves engaged in an unintentional game of cat and mouse with Sitri. Every time they thought they had cornered her for a conversation, she would find some improbable excuse to escape.

In the greenhouse, Aelfric approached Sitri as she tended to her plants. "Sitri, I was hoping we could talk-"

"Oh! I just remembered I promised to help in the kitchens. So sorry!" Sitri blurted out, practically throwing her watering can aside as she dashed out.

Later, in the training grounds, Jeralt spotted Sitri observing some new recruits. He made his way over, determined to get to the bottom of things.

"Sitri, do you have a moment?"

Sitri's face flushed bright red. "I... I think I hear the library calling my name! Must go organize some... books!"

And off she went, leaving a trail of dust in her wake.

As the day wore on, Jeralt and Aelfric found themselves comparing notes, their rivalry temporarily set aside in the face of this shared mystery.

"She told me she had to go count the fish in the pond," Aelfric said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Jeralt snorted. "That's nothing. She told me she urgently needed to alphabetize the clouds."

They shared a look of exasperation and concern. What could have possibly happened to cause such a drastic change in Sitri's behavior?

Unbeknownst to them, Max observed their confusion with great amusement. He considered telling them the truth but decided against it. This was Sitri's situation to handle, after all. Besides, it was far too entertaining to watch them fumble about.

As the sun began to set, Jeralt and Aelfric found themselves in the courtyard, both lost in thought about the day's events.

"We have to get to the bottom of this," Jeralt said firmly. "Something's clearly bothering Sitri, and I can't stand seeing her so out of sorts."

Aelfric nodded in agreement. "Perhaps we should approach her together? She might feel more comfortable if we're both there to listen."

Jeralt considered this for a moment before nodding. "Alright. Tomorrow then. We'll corner her in the library first thing in the morning and get this sorted out."

As they shook hands on their plan, neither noticed Sitri peeking out from behind a pillar, her face a brilliant shade of scarlet as she overheard their conversation. She quickly ducked back into hiding, her mind racing with how she could possibly face both of them at once.

From his vantage point on a nearby balcony, Max chuckled softly to himself. Tomorrow promised to be quite the spectacle indeed.

Chapter Text

The sun had barely crested the horizon when Jeralt and Aelfric met outside the library, their faces set with determination. They had spent a restless night pondering Sitri's strange behavior, and both were eager to finally get to the bottom of the mystery.

"Ready?" Jeralt asked gruffly, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword out of habit.

Aelfric nodded, smoothing down his robes. "As I'll ever be. Let's hope Sitri is willing to talk to us today."

They pushed open the heavy wooden doors, the familiar scent of old books and parchment greeting them as they entered. The library was quiet at this early hour, with only a few dedicated scholars hunched over tomes in the corners.

And there, in her usual spot by the window, sat Sitri. She was so engrossed in the book before her that she didn't notice their approach, her brow furrowed in concentration as she scribbled notes on a piece of parchment.

Jeralt and Aelfric exchanged a glance, silently agreeing on their approach. They moved forward together, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpets.

"Sitri?" Aelfric called softly, not wanting to startle her.

Despite his gentle tone, Sitri jumped in her seat, her quill leaving a long ink streak across her notes. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of both men standing before her, and a faint blush began to creep up her neck.

"O-oh! Good morning, Jeralt, Aelfric," she stammered, her eyes darting between them and the exit. "I... I didn't expect to see you both so early."

Jeralt stepped forward, his face softening with concern. "Sitri, we need to talk. You've been acting... well, frankly, you've been acting strange lately. We're worried about you."

Aelfric nodded in agreement. "Indeed. If something's troubling you, we want to help. You know you can trust us with anything, right?"

Sitri's blush deepened, and she began fidgeting with the edges of her book. "I... I don't know what you mean. Everything's fine, really. I've just been... busy. With research. Very important research."

Jeralt raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Research that requires you to alphabetize clouds?"

Sitri winced, realizing how ridiculous her excuses had been. "Well, you see, that was... I mean..."

Aelfric moved closer, his voice gentle. "Sitri, please. We care about you deeply. If something's wrong, we want to know. Has someone upset you? Are you ill?"

As both men leaned in, their faces etched with worry, Sitri felt her heart begin to race. She could feel the heat radiating from their bodies, smell the familiar scents of leather and incense that always clung to them. Memories of Max's words echoed in her mind, making her all too aware of their proximity.

"I... I..." she stuttered, her face now a brilliant shade of red.

Jeralt reached out, intending to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Sitri, whatever it is, you can tell us. We're here for you, always."

It was too much. The concern in their voices, the warmth in their eyes, the gentle touch of Jeralt's hand - it all came crashing down on Sitri at once. In a moment of pure panic and embarrassment, she did the only thing her flustered mind could think of.

She punched them both.

Her fists connected with their jaws simultaneously, the force of her unexpected attack sending both men stumbling backward. Books clattered to the floor as they collided with a nearby shelf, their expressions a comical mix of shock and confusion.

Sitri stared at her clenched fists in horror, hardly believing what she had just done. "I... I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to... Oh, goddess!"

Before either man could recover enough to speak, Sitri grabbed her books and bolted from the library, leaving a trail of loose papers in her wake.

Jeralt and Aelfric remained on the floor, rubbing their jaws and staring at each other in stunned silence. Around them, the few other occupants of the library gawked at the scene, whispers already beginning to circulate.

"Did... did Sitri just punch us?" Aelfric asked, his voice filled with disbelief.

Jeralt nodded slowly, wincing as he moved his jaw. "I think she did. Didn't know she had it in her, to be honest."

They helped each other to their feet, still trying to process what had just happened. The Sitri they knew was gentle, kind, and above all, non-violent. This outburst was so out of character that it left them more confused than ever.

"Well," Jeralt said, straightening his armor, "I think it's safe to say we didn't see that coming."

Aelfric shook his head, still dazed. "Indeed not. But it does confirm that something is definitely troubling her. Perhaps more severely than we realized."

As they made their way out of the library, ignoring the curious stares of the other patrons, they tried to piece together what could have caused such a reaction.

"Maybe she's under some kind of spell?" Jeralt suggested, though he didn't sound convinced.

Aelfric frowned, considering the possibility. "It's not impossible, I suppose. But who would want to cast a spell on Sitri? And to what purpose?"

They spent the next few hours brainstorming increasingly unlikely scenarios, each more outlandish than the last. By midday, they had covered everything from secret assassination plots to divine possession, but none of their theories seemed to fit.

Meanwhile, Sitri had barricaded herself in her room, mortified by her actions. She paced back and forth, alternating between burying her face in her hands and staring out the window in despair.

"I can't believe I did that," she muttered to herself. "I punched them. I actually punched Jeralt and Aelfric. Oh, goddess, what must they think of me now?"

As Sitri wallowed in her embarrassment, Jeralt and Aelfric had decided to seek out the one person who might be able to shed some light on the situation: Max.

They found him in the training grounds, observing a group of young knights as they practiced their swordplay. As they approached, Max turned to greet them, his eyes twinkling with barely suppressed amusement.

"Ah, Jeralt, Aelfric," he said, nodding to each of them. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Jeralt cut straight to the chase. "It's about Sitri. She's been acting strange lately, and we were hoping you might know why."

Max raised an eyebrow, his expression one of polite interest. "Oh? Strange how?"

Aelfric stepped forward, his face etched with concern. "She's been avoiding us, making excuses to leave whenever we're around. And this morning, well..."

"She punched us," Jeralt finished bluntly.

Max's eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, it looked like he might burst out laughing. He quickly composed himself, however, clearing his throat. "I see. That does sound... unlike her."

Jeralt narrowed his eyes, sensing that Max knew more than he was letting on. "You don't seem very surprised by this news."

Max shrugged, his face a mask of innocence. "Sitri has always been somewhat... unpredictable. Perhaps she's just going through a phase?"

Aelfric shook his head, not satisfied with this explanation. "This is more than just a phase, Max. We're truly worried about her. If you know something, please, tell us."

For a moment, Max seemed to consider telling them the truth. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, apparently thinking better of it. "I'm afraid I can't be of much help," he said finally. "Sitri's business is her own. If she wants to share it with you, she will."

Frustrated but unable to press further without seeming suspicious, Jeralt and Aelfric thanked Max for his time and left the training grounds. As they walked away, they failed to notice the way Max's shoulders shook with silent laughter.

Back in her room, Sitri had finally gathered the courage to face the consequences of her actions. She knew she owed Jeralt and Aelfric an explanation and an apology. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out into the hallway, determined to find them.

As fate would have it, she didn't have to look far. Jeralt and Aelfric were just rounding the corner, deep in conversation. They stopped short when they saw her, their expressions a mix of concern and wariness.

"Sitri," Jeralt said cautiously, as if approaching a spooked horse. "Are you... feeling better?"

Sitri felt her face heat up again, but she forced herself to meet their eyes. "I... I'm so sorry about earlier. I don't know what came over me. I've never... I mean, I didn't mean to..."

Aelfric held up a hand, his voice gentle. "It's alright, Sitri. We're not angry. We're just worried about you. This isn't like you at all."

Sitri nodded, wringing her hands nervously. "I know. I've been... I've had a lot on my mind lately. But that's no excuse for my behavior. I hope you can forgive me."

Jeralt stepped forward, his usual gruff demeanor softening. "Of course we forgive you, Sitri. We just want to understand what's going on. You know you can talk to us about anything, right?"

As both men moved closer, their faces filled with genuine concern and affection, Sitri felt her heart begin to race again. She was acutely aware of their presence, of the way Jeralt's armor gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the windows, of the subtle scent of incense that clung to Aelfric's robes.

"I... I..." she stammered, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks once more.

Aelfric reached out, intending to place a comforting hand on her arm. "Sitri, please. Let us help you."

It was happening again. The closeness, the warmth in their eyes, the gentle touch - it was all too much for Sitri's frazzled nerves. Before she could stop herself, she felt her fists clench.

"Not again!" she cried out, more to herself than to them.

This time, however, instead of punching them, Sitri did the only other thing her panicked mind could think of. She turned on her heel and ran, sprinting down the hallway as if her life depended on it.

Jeralt and Aelfric were left standing in the corridor, their outstretched hands slowly lowering as they watched Sitri disappear around a corner.

"Well," Jeralt said after a long moment of silence, "at least she didn't punch us this time."

Aelfric nodded, his brow furrowed in concern. "Indeed. But I fear we're no closer to understanding what's troubling her."

As they stood there, trying to make sense of Sitri's behavior, they failed to notice Max leaning against a nearby pillar, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of confusion and missed opportunities. Jeralt and Aelfric tried several more times to corner Sitri, but each attempt ended in failure. She seemed to have developed a sixth sense for their presence, always managing to slip away just before they could reach her.

By evening, both men were exhausted and no closer to solving the mystery of Sitri's strange behavior. They found themselves in the dining hall, picking at their meals without much enthusiasm.

"I just don't understand," Aelfric said, pushing his plate away. "Sitri has always been so open with us. What could have possibly happened to make her act this way?"

Jeralt grunted in agreement, taking a long swig of his ale. "It's like she's a completely different person. One minute she's apologizing, the next she's running away like we're carrying the plague."

As they continued to ponder the situation, neither noticed Sitri enter the dining hall. She spotted them immediately and froze, her eyes darting around for an escape route. Unfortunately, the only exit was behind them.

Taking a deep breath, Sitri steeled herself. She could do this. She just had to walk past them quickly, without making eye contact. Simple.

She began to move, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on the floor. She was almost past their table when Jeralt's voice rang out.

"Sitri? Is that you?"

Sitri's head snapped up involuntarily, her eyes meeting Jeralt's. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. She saw the concern in his eyes, the way Aelfric leaned forward eagerly, hope written across his features.

And then, to her horror, she felt her face begin to heat up once more.

"I... I..." she stammered, backing away slowly. "I just remembered I have to... polish the ceiling tiles! Very important task. Can't be late!"

With that, she turned and fled, leaving behind a trail of bewildered diners and two very confused men.

Jeralt and Aelfric exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of frustration and worry.

"Polish the ceiling tiles?" Aelfric repeated incredulously. "That doesn't even make sense!"

Jeralt shook his head, pushing away from the table. "That's it. We need to get to the bottom of this, once and for all."

They spent the next hour searching the monastery, determined to find Sitri and finally get some answers. They checked the library, the greenhouse, even the fishing pond, but there was no sign of her.

As night fell, they found themselves in the courtyard, both at a loss.

"Where could she possibly be hiding?" Aelfric wondered aloud, his voice tinged with frustration.

Jeralt was about to suggest checking the stables when a flicker of movement caught his eye. There, ducking behind a pillar, was a familiar figure.

"There!" he called out, pointing. "I saw her!"

Sitri, realizing she had been spotted, let out a small squeak of surprise and took off running. Without hesitation, Jeralt and Aelfric gave chase.

What followed was a comical scene that would have been more at home in a theater performance than the hallowed halls of Garreg Mach. Sitri darted through corridors and ducked around corners, with Jeralt and Aelfric hot on her heels.

Students and faculty alike pressed themselves against the walls as the trio thundered past, leaving a wake of confused murmurs in their path.

"Sitri, wait!" Aelfric called out, his robes billowing behind him. "We just want to talk!"

"We're not angry!" Jeralt added, his armor clanking with each step. "Just tell us what's wrong!"

But Sitri was beyond hearing reason. Her mind was a whirl of embarrassment and panic, focused solely on escape. She rounded another corner, only to find herself facing a dead end.

Turning around, she saw Jeralt and Aelfric approaching, both out of breath but looking determined.

"Sitri," Jeralt said, his voice gentle despite his heavy breathing. "Please, no more running. Just talk to us."

Aelfric nodded in agreement. "Whatever it is, we can help. We care about you, Sitri. More than you know."

As they moved closer, their faces filled with concern and something else - something Sitri was only now beginning to recognize - she felt her heart racing for an entirely different reason.

"I... I..." she stammered, her back pressed against the wall.

Jeralt and Aelfric exchanged glances, then slowly, carefully, they each reached out a hand towards her.

"It's okay, Sitri," Aelfric said softly. "You can trust us."

Jeralt nodded, his usual gruff demeanor softened by genuine affection. "We're here for you, no matter what."

Sitri looked from one to the other, her mind whirling. She saw the care in their eyes, the gentle set of their mouths, the way they both leaned towards her ever so slightly. And suddenly, with crystal clarity, she understood what her brother had been trying to tell her.

They cared for her. Truly, deeply cared for her. And not just as a friend or a student, but as something more.

The realization hit her like a thunderbolt, and she felt her face flush a deeper red than ever before.

"Oh," she whispered, her eyes wide. "Oh!"

And then, before either man could react, Sitri did the only thing her overwhelmed mind could think of.

She fainted.

Jeralt and Aelfric lunged forward, catching her before she could hit the ground. They looked at each other over her unconscious form, their expressions a mix of concern and utter bewilderment.

"Well," Jeralt said after a moment of stunned silence, "I guess we finally caught her."

Aelfric nodded, still trying to process what had just happened. "Indeed. Though I'm not sure this brings us any closer to understanding what's going on."

As they carefully lifted Sitri to the infirmary, Magento could only shake his head in the background both with amusement and disappointment. This had gotten a bit out of hand.

Chapter Text

The morning sun filtered through the stained glass windows of Garreg Mach Monastery, casting colorful patterns on the stone floors. Sitri paced nervously outside her brother's quarters, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her robes. After the events of the previous day - the chase, the realization, and her embarrassing fainting spell - she knew she needed advice. And who better to turn to than the person who had tried to explain it all to her in the first place?

Taking a deep breath, Sitri knocked on the door. A moment later, it swung open to reveal Max, his eyebrow raised in amusement as he took in his sister's flustered appearance.

"Well, well," he said, stepping aside to let her in. "I was wondering when you'd show up."

Sitri entered the room, immediately resuming her pacing. Max watched her for a moment, then gently guided her to sit in a nearby chair.

"Alright, big sis," he said, taking a seat across from her. "Why don't you tell me what's on your mind?"

Sitri took a shaky breath, her cheeks already turning pink. "Max, I... I think you were right. About Jeralt and Aelfric, I mean. I think they... they have feelings for me."

Max nodded, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "And how does that make you feel?"

"Confused!" Sitri burst out, throwing her hands up. "Overwhelmed! I... I care for them both, deeply. But I never thought... I mean, I didn't realize..."

"That they might see you as more than just a friend?" Max finished for her.

Sitri nodded miserably. "What am I supposed to do now, Max? They're both such wonderful men. I don't want to hurt either of them, but I... I don't even know how I feel about all this."

Max leaned back in his chair, considering her words carefully. "Well, Sitri, I think the first step is to figure out how you feel about each of them. And the best way to do that might be to spend some one-on-one time with each of them."

Sitri's eyes widened. "You mean... like a date?"

Max nodded. "Exactly like a date. Go on an outing with each of them, separately. See how you feel when you're alone together. It might help you understand your own feelings better."

Sitri bit her lip, considering the idea. "But... won't that be leading them on? What if I end up hurting one of them?"

Max reached out, patting her hand reassuringly. "Sitri, you're not making any promises by going on a date. You're simply giving yourself, and them, a chance to explore these feelings in a more direct way. Be honest with them about your intentions. Tell them you're still figuring things out, but you'd like to spend some time with each of them to better understand your feelings."

Sitri nodded slowly, the idea starting to make sense. "And... what should I do on these dates?"

Max chuckled. "Just be yourself, Sitri. Do something you enjoy with each of them. Maybe go fishing with Jeralt, or visit the library with Aelfric. The important thing is to relax and see how you feel in their company."

Sitri took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. "Alright. I... I think I can do that. But Max, what if... what if I develop feelings for both of them?"

Max's expression turned serious. "Then you'll have a difficult decision to make. But cross that bridge when you come to it. For now, focus on understanding your own heart. And remember, no matter what happens, both Jeralt and Aelfric care about you deeply. They'll understand if you need time to sort through your feelings."

Sitri stood up, feeling a newfound sense of determination. "Thank you, Max. I don't know what I'd do without your advice."

Max grinned, standing to give his sister a quick hug. "That's what little brothers are for. Now go on, I believe you have some dates to plan."

As Sitri left the room, her mind already whirling with possibilities, Max shook his head fondly. He had a feeling the coming days would be quite interesting indeed.

Chapter Text

The icy wind whistled through the stone corridors of Garreg Mach Monastery as Sitri stood outside Aelfric's office, her hand poised to knock. Snowflakes drifted lazily past the frosted windows, adding to the thick blanket of white that covered the grounds. Sitri pulled her woolen cloak tighter around her shoulders, steeling herself for the conversation ahead.

"Come on, Sitri," she muttered, her breath visible in the cold air. "You can do this. It's just Aelfric. Just... Aelfric."

But that was precisely the problem. It wasn't "just" Aelfric anymore. After the chaotic events of the past few days - the punching, the running, the fainting - Sitri had come to realize that her feelings for both Aelfric and Jeralt ran deeper than she had ever imagined. And now, following Max's advice, she was about to take the first step in exploring those feelings.

With one final steadying breath, Sitri rapped gently on the door, the sound echoing in the silent hallway.

"Come in," Aelfric's warm voice called from within, a stark contrast to the chill outside.

Sitri pushed open the door, her heart racing as she stepped into the office. A roaring fire in the hearth cast a warm glow over the room, and Aelfric sat at his desk, surrounded by stacks of ancient tomes and scrolls. He looked up as she entered, a smile spreading across his face that seemed to thaw the winter's chill.

"Sitri," he said, his voice filled with pleasant surprise. "What a lovely unexpected visit. Please, come in and warm yourself by the fire."

Sitri managed a shy smile as she approached, grateful for the warmth. "Good morning, Aelfric. I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."

Aelfric shook his head, setting aside the book he had been reading. "Not at all. Your visits are always welcome. How are you faring in this bitter cold? After the... events of the other day, I mean."

Sitri felt her cheeks warm at the memory, and not just from the fire's heat. "I'm feeling much better, thank you. And... I wanted to apologize again for my behavior. It was most unbecoming."

Aelfric waved away her concerns. "Think nothing of it. We're just glad you're alright. Though I must admit, I'm still curious about what caused such... unusual reactions."

This was it. The perfect opening. Sitri took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she was about to say.

"Actually, Aelfric, that's part of why I'm here," she began, her voice quavering slightly. "I've been doing a lot of thinking, and... well... I was wondering if perhaps you might like to... to go on an outing with me?"

Aelfric's eyes widened, a faint blush creeping up his neck that had nothing to do with the fire's warmth. "An outing? You mean, just the two of us? In this weather?"

Sitri nodded, her own blush deepening. "Yes. I thought perhaps we could spend some time together, away from the monastery. To... to talk and... explore our feelings. The winter scenery can be quite beautiful, don't you think?"

For a moment, Aelfric sat in stunned silence, his expression a mix of surprise and joy. Then, slowly, a warm smile spread across his face, rivaling the fire's glow.

"Sitri," he said softly, "I would be honored to accompany you on an outing, regardless of the weather. In fact, I can think of nothing I'd enjoy more than braving the cold with you by my side."

Sitri felt a wave of relief wash over her, followed quickly by a flutter of excitement. "Wonderful! I was thinking perhaps we could take a walk in the snow-covered forest this evening? There's a lovely clearing not far from the monastery that I've always found quite peaceful, even in winter."

Aelfric nodded enthusiastically. "That sounds perfect. The snow does lend a certain magic to the landscape. Shall I meet you at the monastery gates at sunset? I'll be sure to bring extra furs to keep us warm."

"Yes, that would be lovely," Sitri replied, her smile growing more confident. "I'll bring some hot spiced wine and warm treats for a small winter picnic, if that's alright?"

"More than alright," Aelfric assured her. "A perfect way to ward off the chill. I look forward to it immensely."

As Sitri turned to leave, her heart light with anticipation, Aelfric called out to her once more.

"Sitri?"

She paused at the door, looking back at him. "Yes?"

Aelfric's expression was soft, his eyes filled with warmth that seemed to melt the winter's frost. "Thank you. For taking this step. I... I've been hoping for an opportunity like this for quite some time."

Sitri felt her breath catch in her throat. She managed a small nod before slipping out of the office, her mind whirling with emotions that contrasted sharply with the cold stone walls around her.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of anticipation and preparation. Sitri found herself alternating between excitement and nervousness as she went about her duties, the bitter cold outside barely registering as she focused on the evening ahead. She carefully packed a basket with thermoses of hot spiced wine, warm bread, aged cheeses, and sweet pastries from the kitchen, all chosen to provide comfort against the winter chill.

As the sun began to dip towards the horizon, painting the snow-covered landscape in hues of pink and gold, Sitri made her way to her quarters to prepare for the evening. She chose a warm, elegant dress in a deep forest green, layering it with a thick, fur-lined cloak. After a moment's hesitation, she added a delicate silver necklace - a gift from Jeralt on her last birthday. The thought of Jeralt sent a pang through her heart, reminding her of the complexity of her feelings. She pushed the thought aside, focusing on the evening ahead.

The monastery bells were chiming the hour as Sitri arrived at the gates, her breath visible in the frigid air. Aelfric was already waiting, looking handsome in warm robes and a thick cloak, a pair of fur-lined boots completing his winter ensemble. His face lit up as he caught sight of her, his smile a beacon of warmth in the winter twilight.

"Sitri," he breathed, his eyes taking in her appearance. "You look... radiant. Like a winter goddess come to life."

Sitri felt her cheeks warm at the compliment, a stark contrast to the icy air around them. "Thank you, Aelfric. You look quite dashing yourself. Ready to brave the cold?"

Aelfric offered his arm, which Sitri took with only a slight hesitation. "With you by my side, I feel I could brave the fiercest blizzard."

Together, they set off down the path that led into the surrounding forest, their feet crunching in the fresh snow.

The evening was crisp and clear, perfect for a winter stroll. The setting sun cast long shadows across the snow-covered landscape, the bare trees creating intricate patterns on the white ground. Their breath fogged in the air as they walked, creating a small, intimate atmosphere around them.

As they walked, Sitri found herself relaxing in Aelfric's company, the cold forgotten as they chatted easily about various topics - the latest archaeological discoveries in the library, the progress of the newest group of students, the upcoming winter solstice celebrations at the monastery.

"I've always loved this time of year," Aelfric commented as they passed a group of snow-laden pine trees, their branches bowing under the weight. "The way the whole monastery seems to glow with warmth and light against the darkness of winter. It reminds me of when I was a student here, all those years ago."

Sitri smiled, trying to imagine a younger Aelfric engaged in snowball fights with his fellow students. "You must have so many wonderful memories of those days."

Aelfric nodded, a wistful expression crossing his face. "Indeed I do. Though I must say, some of my fondest memories have been made more recently." He glanced at her, his meaning clear even in the dim light.

Sitri felt her heart skip a beat at his words. She was saved from having to respond immediately as they arrived at the clearing she had mentioned.

It was a breathtaking sight. The small stream that ran along one edge was partially frozen, creating intricate ice formations that glittered in the fading light. The open space was blanketed in pristine snow, unmarred save for the occasional track of a winter hare or fox. The trees surrounding the clearing were dusted with snow, their bare branches creating a delicate latticework against the deepening twilight sky.

"Oh, Sitri," Aelfric breathed, taking in the scene. "This is magnificent. How did you ever find such a perfect spot?"

Sitri smiled as she began to spread out the thick fur blanket she had brought. "I discovered it quite by accident one day when I was out gathering winter herbs. I've always found it to be a wonderful place for quiet contemplation, even in the depths of winter."

They settled onto the blanket, and Sitri began to unpack the basket of refreshments, the steam from the hot spiced wine creating swirling patterns in the cold air. As she poured them each a cup, she decided it was time to address the real reason for their outing.

"Aelfric," she began, her voice soft but determined. "I want to be honest with you about why I asked you here tonight."

Aelfric set down his cup, giving her his full attention, his breath visible in the frigid air between them. "Of course, Sitri. You can tell me anything."

Sitri took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "I've... recently come to realize that my feelings for you might be... more than just friendship. But I'm also aware that I have similar feelings for... for Jeralt as well."

Aelfric's expression remained gentle, though she could see a flicker of something - perhaps disappointment? - in his eyes. "I see," he said softly. "And this outing is to...?"

"To explore those feelings," Sitri finished. "To spend time with you, away from our usual routines, and see how I truly feel. I... I hope you can understand. I don't want to hurt you, or Jeralt, but I need to understand my own heart before I can move forward."

Aelfric was quiet for a moment, considering her words. Then, slowly, he reached out and took her gloved hand in his. "Sitri, I appreciate your honesty. And I understand. Matters of the heart are rarely simple, much like navigating a storm. I'm honored that you would trust me enough to share this with me, and to give me this opportunity to... to show you how I feel."

Sitri felt a wave of relief wash over her, warmer than any fire. "Thank you, Aelfric. Your understanding means more to me than I can express."

They shared a smile, the atmosphere between them warm and comfortable despite the freezing air around them. As they began to eat, the talk turned to lighter topics once more, but there was a new undercurrent of awareness between them.

As the night deepened and the stars began to twinkle in the clear winter sky, Aelfric suggested a moonlit walk around the clearing. Sitri agreed, and they walked side by side, their gloved hands occasionally brushing in a way that sent shivers up Sitri's spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

They paused at a particularly beautiful spot where the moonlight glinted off the ice-covered stream. Aelfric turned to face Sitri, his expression serious but filled with warmth that seemed to melt the winter chill around them.

"Sitri," he said softly, his breath creating a small cloud between them, "I want you to know that, whatever you decide, your friendship means the world to me. But I would be remiss if I didn't tell you that my feelings for you run far deeper than friendship. You are... extraordinary. Your kindness, your intelligence, your gentle spirit - they illuminate the lives of all around you, like a beacon in the darkest winter night. Mine most of all."

Sitri felt her breath catch in her throat at his words. The moonlight cast a soft glow on Aelfric's features, highlighting the sincerity in his eyes. She found herself drawn to him, her heart racing beneath her many layers.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Aelfric began to lean towards her. Sitri felt herself moving to meet him, her eyes fluttering closed...

But just before their lips could meet, an image flashed through Sitri's mind - Jeralt's face, his eyes filled with the same warmth she had just seen in Aelfric's. She pulled back suddenly, her eyes wide, her sudden movement causing a small flurry of snow to fall from a nearby branch.

"I... I'm sorry, Aelfric," she stammered, taking a step back, her boots crunching in the snow. "I can't... not yet. It wouldn't be fair to you, or to Jeralt, or to myself."

Aelfric straightened, a mix of disappointment and understanding crossing his features. "Of course, Sitri. I apologize if I overstepped."

Sitri shook her head, offering a small, slightly sassy smile to lighten the mood. "No need to apologize. After all, I can hardly blame you for being utterly captivated by my charms, even when I'm bundled up like a winter bear. But I'm afraid you'll have to work a bit harder to melt this ice maiden's heart."

Aelfric chuckled, the tension between them easing like ice cracking in the spring thaw. "Well, consider me properly chastised - and even more determined. Though I must say, your sass is yet another quality I find utterly endearing, a warmth that rivals even the hottest fire."

They shared a laugh, their breath mingling in the cold air between them, and as they began to walk back towards the picnic blanket, Sitri felt a sense of relief. The evening hadn't gone exactly as she had imagined, but she felt she had gained some clarity about her feelings - and about the complexity of the situation she found herself in.

As they packed up the remains of their picnic and prepared to head back to the monastery, their movements slightly clumsy in the cold, Aelfric turned to Sitri once more.

"Thank you for this evening, Sitri," he said softly, his words almost lost in the whisper of the winter wind. "It's been... illuminating. And while I won't pretend I'm not disappointed that we didn't... well. I respect your decision, and I appreciate your honesty. Whatever happens, please know that you can always count on me as a friend, a warmth in the coldest of times."

Sitri felt a rush of affection for him, warmer than any fire. "Thank you, Aelfric. Your friendship means the world to me. And this evening... it's given me a lot to think about."

They walked back to the monastery in comfortable silence, both lost in their own thoughts, the crunch of snow under their feet the only sound in the still winter night. As they reached the gates, Aelfric took Sitri's gloved hand and raised it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles, his warm breath a stark contrast to the cold leather.

"Goodnight, Sitri," he murmured. "May your dreams be as warm as this evening has been."

Sitri felt her cheeks warm at the gesture, a blush visible even in the dim light. "Goodnight, Aelfric. And thank you, for everything."

As she made her way back to her quarters, the cold barely registering, Sitri's mind was whirling with thoughts and emotions. The evening had been lovely, and Aelfric had been everything she could have hoped for - kind, understanding, and clearly devoted to her. And yet...

The image of Jeralt's face still lingered in her mind, as warm and comforting as a hearth fire on a cold winter's night. She knew that before she could make any decisions, she would need to explore her feelings for him as well. The thought both excited and terrified her, like standing on the edge of a frozen lake, unsure if the ice would hold.

As she prepared for bed, warming herself by her room's small fireplace, Sitri found herself both looking forward to and dreading the conversation she would need to have with Jeralt. But for now, she allowed herself to relive the moments of the evening - the warmth of Aelfric's smile, the gentle touch of his gloved hand, the almost-kiss by the moonlit, frozen stream.

Whatever happened next, Sitri knew that this evening had been an important step in understanding her own heart, as clear and crisp as the winter night outside. As she drifted off to sleep, her dreams were filled with moonlight on snow, the crackle of ice, and the faces of two men who had come to mean more to her than she had ever imagined possible, each a beacon of warmth in the cold winter of her uncertainty.

Chapter Text

The icy winds of the Pegasus Moon whistled through the stone corridors of Garreg Mach Monastery, carrying with them the promise of yet another snowfall. Sitri pulled her woolen cloak tighter around her shoulders as she made her way towards the knights' training grounds, her heart racing with a mixture of anticipation and nervousness.

After her enlightening outing with Aelfric just a few days prior, Sitri had spent many sleepless nights pondering her feelings. While she cared deeply for both men, she couldn't deny the way her heart seemed to skip a beat whenever she thought of Jeralt. His rugged charm, his unwavering loyalty, and the warmth in his eyes when he looked at her - all of these things combined to create a feeling she couldn't ignore any longer.

As she approached the training grounds, she could hear the familiar sound of steel clashing against steel. Peering around the corner, she saw Jeralt sparring with one of the younger knights, his movements fluid and precise despite the biting cold. Sitri watched for a moment, mesmerized by his skill and strength.

When the sparring match ended, Jeralt noticed Sitri standing at the edge of the grounds. His face lit up with a smile that seemed to melt the frost around them. "Sitri!" he called out, jogging over to her. "What brings you out in this frosty weather?"

Sitri felt her cheeks warm despite the cold. "Hello, Jeralt. I was actually hoping to speak with you for a moment, if you're not too busy."

Jeralt's expression turned curious. "For you, I'm never too busy. What's on your mind?"

Taking a deep breath, Sitri steeled herself for what she was about to say. "Well, I was wondering if perhaps... if you might like to go on an outing with me this evening? Just the two of us?"

For a moment, Jeralt looked stunned, his eyes widening in surprise. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face, rivaling the sun peeking through the winter clouds. "An outing? With you? I'd be honored, Sitri. Did you have something in mind?"

Sitri felt a wave of relief wash over her, quickly followed by a flutter of excitement. "I thought perhaps we could take a ride through the snow-covered forest? I know a beautiful spot not far from the monastery that's particularly lovely in winter."

Jeralt nodded enthusiastically. "That sounds perfect. I know just the horses for the job - sturdy beasts that won't shy away from a little snow. How about I meet you at the stables at sunset? I'll make sure we're well-prepared for the cold."

"Yes, that would be wonderful," Sitri replied, her smile growing more confident. "I'll bring some provisions for a small winter picnic if that's alright?"

"More than alright," Jeralt assured her, his eyes twinkling with anticipation. "I look forward to it immensely, Sitri."

As Sitri turned to leave, her heart light with excitement, Jeralt called out to her once more.

"Sitri?"

She paused, looking back at him. "Yes?"

Jeralt's expression was soft, his eyes filled with a warmth that seemed to chase away the winter chill. "Thank you. For asking me. I... I've been hoping for a chance like this for quite some time."

Sitri felt her breath catch in her throat. She managed a small nod before hurrying away, her mind whirling with emotions that contrasted sharply with the cold stone walls around her.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of anticipation and preparation. Sitri found herself alternating between excitement and nervousness as she went about her duties, the bitter cold outside barely registering as she focused on the evening ahead. She carefully packed a basket with thermoses of hot spiced cider, warm bread, aged cheeses, and sweet pastries from the kitchen, all chosen to provide comfort against the winter chill.

As the sun began to dip towards the horizon, painting the snow-covered landscape in hues of pink and gold, Sitri made her way to her quarters to prepare for the evening. She chose a warm, elegant riding outfit in a deep burgundy, layering it with a thick, fur-lined cloak. After a moment's hesitation, she added the delicate silver necklace Jeralt had given her on her last birthday.

The monastery bells were chiming the hour as Sitri arrived at the stables, her breath visible in the frigid air. Jeralt was already there, looking ruggedly handsome in his riding gear, a pair of fur-lined boots completing his winter ensemble. His face lit up as he caught sight of her, his smile a beacon of warmth in the winter twilight.

"Sitri," he said, his voice filled with admiration. "You look... absolutely stunning."

Sitri felt her cheeks warm at the compliment, a stark contrast to the icy air around them. "Thank you, Jeralt. You look quite dashing yourself. Are we ready?"

Jeralt grinned, gesturing to two sturdy horses he had prepared. "As ready as we'll ever be. I've chosen Edur for you - she's sure-footed and gentle, perfect for navigating snowy terrain. And I'll be riding Jacks. They're both fitted with special shoes for better grip on the ice."

He helped Sitri mount her horse, his strong hands lingering for just a moment longer than necessary as he steadied her. The touch sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the cold. Once they were both mounted, they set off down the path that led into the surrounding forest, the horses' hooves crunching softly in the fresh snow.

The evening was crisp and clear, perfect for a winter ride. The setting sun cast long shadows across the snow-covered landscape, the bare trees creating intricate patterns on the white ground. Their breath fogged in the air as they rode, creating a small, intimate atmosphere around them.

As they rode, Sitri found herself relaxing in Jeralt's company, the cold forgotten as they chatted easily about various topics - the latest developments in knight training techniques, the progress of the newest group of students, the upcoming end of the year celebrations at the monastery.

"I've always loved this time of year," Jeralt commented as they passed a group of snow-laden pine trees, their branches bowing under the weight. "The way the whole world seems to slow down, wrapped in a blanket of white. It's peaceful, in its own way."

Sitri smiled, watching the way the fading sunlight played across Jeralt's features. "It is beautiful. Though I imagine it presents its own challenges for a knight."

Jeralt nodded, a wry grin crossing his face. "That it does. But there's something exhilarating about facing those challenges. The bite of the cold, the crunch of snow beneath your feet - it makes you feel alive."

As they continued their ride, the forest around them grew denser, the trees closing in on either side of the narrow path. The snow beneath them grew deeper, and Sitri marveled at the sure-footedness of their mounts as they navigated the treacherous terrain.

Suddenly, a gust of wind whipped through the trees, sending a shower of snow cascading from the branches above. Sitri's horse, startled by the sudden movement, reared up with a frightened whinny. Sitri clung to the reins, her heart racing as she struggled to maintain her seat.

In an instant, Jeralt was there beside her, his strong hand reaching out to steady her mount. "Whoa, easy there," he murmured, his voice calm and reassuring. The horse settled under his touch, and Sitri felt her own panic subside.

"Are you alright?" Jeralt asked, his eyes filled with concern as he looked up at her.

Sitri nodded, her breath coming in short gasps. "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you, Jeralt. That was... quite exhilarating."

Jeralt's worried expression melted into a grin. "That's one way to put it. You handled yourself well, Sitri. Not everyone could keep their seat in a situation like that."

Sitri felt a surge of pride at his words, along with a rush of something else - admiration for Jeralt's quick thinking and steady presence. She realized, with a start, how safe she felt with him, even in the face of danger.

They continued their ride, more cautiously now, with Jeralt keeping a closer eye on Sitri's mount. As they crested a small hill, Sitri gasped in delight. Before them lay a small, frozen lake, its surface glittering like a thousand diamonds in the last rays of the setting sun. The trees surrounding it were heavy with snow, creating a picturesque winter wonderland.

"Oh, Jeralt," Sitri breathed, taking in the scene. "It's magnificent. How did you know about this place?"

Jeralt smiled, a hint of pride in his voice. "I discovered it on a patrol a few years back. I've always thought it was one of the most beautiful spots near the monastery, especially in winter. I'm glad I finally get to share it with someone."

They dismounted, tethering the horses to a nearby tree, and Jeralt helped Sitri spread out the thick fur blanket she had brought. As they settled onto it, Sitri began to unpack the basket of refreshments, the steam from the hot spiced cider creating swirling patterns in the cold air.

As they ate and drank, the sun finally dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in brilliant hues of orange and pink before giving way to the deep blue of twilight. The first stars began to twinkle overhead, their light reflecting off the frozen lake in a dazzling display.

"You know," Jeralt said softly, his gaze fixed on the starry sky above, "I've seen a lot of beautiful sights in my travels, but nothing quite compares to this. The stars, the snow, the silence... and the company, of course."

Sitri felt her heart skip a beat at his words. She turned to look at him, finding his eyes already on her, filled with a warmth that seemed to melt the winter chill around them.

"Jeralt," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, "I want to be honest with you about why I asked you here tonight."

Jeralt set down his cup, giving her his full attention. "Of course, Sitri. You can tell me anything."

Sitri took a deep breath, gathering her courage. "I've recently come to realize that my feelings for you are... more than just friendship. I care for you deeply, Jeralt, in a way I've never cared for anyone before. And I... I wanted to explore those feelings with you, away from the monastery."

For a moment, Jeralt was silent, his expression unreadable in the dim light. Then, slowly, he reached out and took her gloved hand in his. "Sitri," he said, his voice rough with emotion, "I can't tell you how long I've hoped to hear those words from you. You are... extraordinary. Your kindness, your strength, your gentle spirit - they've captured my heart in a way I never thought possible."

Sitri felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, overwhelmed by the depth of emotion in Jeralt's words. "Oh, Jeralt," she whispered, squeezing his hand.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Jeralt began to lean towards her. Sitri felt herself moving to meet him, her eyes fluttering closed as their lips met in a soft, tender kiss. Despite the cold air around them, Sitri felt warmth spread through her entire being, as if Jeralt's kiss had kindled a fire within her soul.

When they finally parted, both slightly breathless, Sitri opened her eyes to find Jeralt gazing at her with an expression of pure adoration. She knew, in that moment, that her heart had made its choice. While she cared for Aelfric deeply as a friend, it was Jeralt who held her heart.

"Jeralt," she said softly, reaching up to cup his cheek with her gloved hand, "I want to be with you. I know now that it's you I've been waiting for all this time."

Jeralt's smile was brighter than any star in the winter sky. "And I want to be with you, Sitri. You've brought a light into my life that I never knew I was missing."

As they sat there, wrapped in each other's arms under the starry sky, Sitri felt a sense of peace settle over her. She knew that there would be challenges ahead - not least of which would be breaking the news to Aelfric. But she also knew, with a certainty that warmed her to her core, that with Jeralt by her side, she could face anything.

The ride back to the monastery was filled with a comfortable silence, broken only by the soft crunching of snow beneath their horses' hooves and the occasional burst of laughter as they shared secret smiles. The cold no longer seemed to bother Sitri, wrapped as she was in the warmth of her newfound love.

As they approached the monastery gates, Jeralt reined in his horse, turning to face Sitri. "Thank you for this evening, Sitri," he said softly, his words almost lost in the whisper of the winter wind. "It's been... perfect. More than I ever could have hoped for."

Sitri smiled, her heart full to bursting. "Thank you, Jeralt. For everything. This night... it's one I'll cherish forever."

They dismounted, leading their horses back to the stables. As they worked together to unsaddle and brush down the animals, their movements in perfect sync, Sitri marveled at how natural it felt to be by Jeralt's side. It was as if they had been partners for years, rather than having just acknowledged their feelings for each other.

Once the horses were settled, Jeralt walked Sitri back to her quarters, their gloved hands intertwined. At her door, he paused, turning to face her once more.

"Sitri," he said, his voice low and serious, "I want you to know that I understand the position you're in. I know about your friendship with Aelfric, and I respect the care you have for him. If you need time to sort things out, to speak with him, I understand."

Sitri felt a rush of affection for Jeralt, warmed by his consideration and understanding. "Thank you, Jeralt. I do need to speak with Aelfric. He's a dear friend, and he deserves to hear the truth from me. But please know that my heart is certain. It's you I want to be with."

Jeralt's expression softened, his eyes filled with love and admiration. "And I'll be here, waiting for you, for as long as it takes."

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Goodnight, Sitri," he murmured. "Sweet dreams."

Sitri felt her cheeks warm at the gesture, a blush visible even in the dim light. "Goodnight, Jeralt. And thank you, for a truly magical evening."

As she entered her quarters, closing the door behind her, Sitri leaned against it for a moment, her heart full to bursting with joy and love. The evening had been more perfect than she could have ever imagined, and she knew, with absolute certainty, that she had made the right choice.

She moved to her window, looking out at the snow-covered monastery grounds, bathed in the soft light of the moon. The winter landscape, which had seemed so cold and forbidding just days ago, now appeared beautiful and full of promise. It was as if her newfound love for Jeralt had changed her entire perception of the world around her.

As she prepared for bed, warming herself by her room's small fireplace, Sitri's mind was filled with thoughts of the future. She knew that there would be challenges ahead - not just in breaking the news to Aelfric, but in navigating the complexities of a relationship within the monastery's strict hierarchy. But she also knew that with Jeralt by her side, she could face anything.

She thought of Aelfric, feeling a pang of regret for the pain she knew her decision would cause him. He was a good man, kind and intelligent, and she valued his friendship deeply. She hoped that in time, he would understand and that their friendship could endure this test.

As she drifted off to sleep, Sitri's dreams were filled with images of the evening - the glittering snow, the starry sky, and Jeralt's warm smile. She dreamed of future winters spent by his side, of challenges faced together, of a love that would endure through all seasons.

In the quiet of the winter night, as the monastery slumbered under its blanket of snow, a new chapter in Sitri's life had begun. A chapter filled with the promise of love, of partnership, of a future brighter than she had ever dared to imagine. And as the Pegasus Moon continued its cold vigil over Garreg Mach, Sitri slept peacefully, her heart warm with the knowledge that she had found her place in the world - by Jeralt's side.

Chapter Text

The crisp winter air nipped at Sitri's cheeks as she made her way through the monastery grounds, her steps quick and purposeful. The events of the past few days weighed heavily on her mind, a whirlwind of emotions and decisions that left her feeling both exhilarated and overwhelmed. There was only one person she could turn to now, someone who had always been there with sage advice: her brother, Max.

As she approached Max's quarters, Sitri took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation ahead. She knew her brother would listen, but she also knew he wouldn't be able to resist a few playful jabs at her expense. With a determined set to her shoulders, she knocked on the heavy wooden door.

"Enter at your own risk," Max's voice called from within, a hint of amusement already evident in his tone.

Sitri pushed open the door to find her brother lounging in an armchair, a thick tome balanced precariously on his knee. He looked up at her entrance, one eyebrow raised in that infuriatingly knowing way of his.

"Well, well," he drawled, closing his book with a snap. "If it isn't the monastery's very own femme fatale. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? Come to regale me with tales of your romantic conquests?"

Sitri felt her cheeks flush, partly from embarrassment and partly from the lingering cold. "Max, please. This is serious."

Max's expression softened slightly, though the mischievous glint remained in his eyes. He gestured to the chair across from him. "Alright, big sis. Have a seat and spill the beans. I'm all ears... and commentary."

Sitri sank into the offered chair, gathering her thoughts. Where to begin? She took a deep breath and launched into her tale, starting with her outing with Aelfric.

As she described the romantic winter walk and picnic, Max listened intently, only interrupting occasionally with a quip or two. "A moonlit stroll in the snow? How dreadfully cliché. I expected better from Aelfric," he remarked at one point, earning a half-hearted glare from Sitri.

When Sitri recounted the almost-kiss and her sudden retreat, Max leaned forward, his interest piqued. "Ah, the old 'pull away at the last second' trick. Classic Sitri. I bet poor Aelfric got a face full of snowflakes for his trouble."

Sitri ignored the jab and pressed on, describing how she and Aelfric had parted on good terms, their friendship intact despite the awkwardness of the moment. "He was so understanding, Max. I felt terrible for leading him on, even unintentionally."

Max nodded sagely. "Aelfric's a good man. Bit of a bookworm for my taste, but he's got a heart of gold. Now, don't keep me in suspense. What about our rugged knight in slightly dented armor?"

Sitri's cheeks flushed deeper as she moved on to her encounter with Jeralt. She described their horseback ride through the snowy forest, the picnic by the frozen lake, and the heartfelt conversation that had led to their kiss.

As she spoke, Max's eyebrows climbed higher and higher. When she finished, he let out a low whistle. "Well, well. Who knew my sister had it in her? Seducing the Captain of the knights of Seiros under the starry winter sky. If I didn't know better, I'd think you'd been taking lessons from those romance novels Seteth has hidden from the library."

"Max!" Sitri exclaimed, her face now burning. "It wasn't like that at all. It was... sincere. Beautiful."

Max held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. No need to get your cloak in a twist. So, am I to understand that you and our esteemed captain are now an item?"

Sitri nodded, a small smile playing on her lips despite her brother's teasing. "We are. It's still new and we're taking things slowly, but... I'm happy, Max. Truly happy."

"Well, knock me over with a feather," Max said, his tone softening. "My big sister, all grown up and breaking hearts left and right. I suppose I should be preparing my 'protective brother' speech for Jeralt, eh?"

Sitri laughed, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. "I think Jeralt might be more intimidated by your sharp tongue than any physical threats you could make."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Max mused, flexing an arm dramatically. "I've been known to strike fear into the hearts of men."

Rolling her eyes, Sitri continued, "There's more, though. I spoke with Aelfric again, after everything. I wanted to make sure he was truly alright with how things turned out."

Max's expression turned serious for a moment. "And? How did our scholarly friend take the news?"

"Better than I could have hoped," Sitri admitted. "He was disappointed, of course, but he values our friendship too much to let this come between us. We've agreed to remain close friends and colleagues."

"Wow," Max exclaimed. "A love triangle resolved with maturity and mutual respect? Where's the drama? The intrigue? The swordplay at dawn?"

Sitri couldn't help but chuckle at her brother's theatrics. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm rather glad things worked out this way. It's been... complicated enough as it is."

Max leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. "You know, Sitri, for all my joking, I'm proud of you. You handled this situation with grace and honesty. Though I must say, I'm a little disappointed I won't get to see Jeralt and Aelfric duel for your hand. That would have been quite the spectacle."

"Max!" Sitri admonished, though she couldn't keep the smile from her face. "This isn't one of your adventure novels."

"More's the pity," Max sighed dramatically. "But I suppose real life has its charms too. So, tell me, does this mean I'll be seeing more of our gruff captain at family dinners? Should I start stocking up on ale and bear meat?"

Sitri shook her head, amused despite herself. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"It's part of my charm," Max replied with a wink. "Now, as your wise and incredibly younger brother, I feel it's my duty to offer some advice."

"Oh?" Sitri raised an eyebrow, curious despite her better judgment. "And what words of wisdom do you have for me?"

Max leaned forward, his expression comically serious. "Always remember, dear sister: in matters of the heart, it's important to keep your head cool... and your kisses hot."

Sitri groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I don't know why I bother coming to you for advice."

"Because deep down, you know I'm the smartest person in this monastery," Max replied cheerfully. "Now, run along and go canoodle with your knight in shining armor. But not too much canoodling, mind you. I'm not ready to be an uncle just yet."

As Sitri stood to leave, her cheeks still flushed but her heart lighter, Max called out one last quip. "And remember, if Jeralt ever breaks your heart, I know at least seventeen ways to make it look like a training accident!"

Sitri shook her head, a mix of exasperation and fondness warming her chest. As she closed the door behind her, she could hear Max's laughter echoing in the room. Despite his relentless teasing, she felt grateful for her brother's support and his unique way of putting things into perspective.

As she made her way back to her own quarters, Sitri found herself smiling. The path ahead might not be entirely smooth, but with Jeralt by her side, Aelfric's friendship intact, and Max's irreverent support, she felt ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. The winter air no longer seemed so biting, warmed by the glow of new love and the comfort of enduring bonds.

Chapter Text

As the Great Tree Moon dawned over Garreg Mach Monastery, Max Eisenhardt, now nineteen years old, found himself at a familiar crossroads. The start of a new year at the Officer's Academy brought with it a fresh wave of excitement and anticipation - emotions that Max could only observe from afar.

Four years had passed since that reflective night in Lady Rhea's study, where Max had felt so embraced by his newfound family. While those bonds remained strong, he couldn't help but feel a growing restlessness. The monastery grounds, once a sanctuary, now seemed to close in around him like the bars of a gilded cage.

Max stood at his window, watching as new students arrived, their faces bright with hope and nervousness. He sighed, running a hand through his silver hair. Once again, he had pleaded his case to Lady Rhea, presenting carefully crafted arguments for why he should be allowed to join the Academy. And once again, she had denied him, her gentle but firm refusal brooking no argument.

"My dear Max," she had said, her eyes full of love and worry, "your gifts are extraordinary. But the Academy is not the right place for you. Not yet. Perhaps not ever."

Max understood her protectiveness, but it didn't ease the sting of rejection. He had hoped that reaching nineteen might change her mind, but Lady Rhea remained unmoved. Most in the monastery had forgotten that Max was her adopted son, seeing him instead as a friendly, if somewhat mysterious, scholar. He didn't mind the misconception - it gave him a degree of freedom. But it also highlighted the distance between him and his peers.

Turning from the window, Max's gaze fell on the stack of books on his desk. If he couldn't join the Academy officially, he would continue his studies independently. He had always been a voracious reader, his mind hungry for knowledge. But lately, even his beloved books seemed insufficient.

A soft knock at his door roused him from his thoughts. "Come in," he called, expecting it to be Seteth with another stack of tomes.

Instead, Sitri's gentle face appeared. "Good morning, brother," she said, her smile as warm as ever. "I thought you might want some company."

Max felt a rush of affection for his sister. "Sitri," he said, managing a small smile. "I'm glad to see you. I don't suppose you've had any luck convincing Mother to change her mind?"

Sitri's face fell slightly. "I'm sorry, Max. I've tried, truly I have. But you know how she can be when she's made up her mind."

Max nodded, unsurprised but still disappointed. "It's alright," he said, trying to keep the frustration from his voice. "I appreciate your effort."

Sitri crossed the room, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "Why don't you come to the library with me? A change of scenery might do you good."

Max considered for a moment, then nodded. He gathered up the books he needed to return and followed Sitri out of his room.

The library was quieter than usual, with most of the monastery abuzz with the arrival of new students. Max approached the desk where Fannar, the librarian, sat organizing a pile of ledgers.

"Good morning, Fannar," Max said, placing his stack of books on the counter. "I've finished with these."

Fannar looked up, adjusting his spectacles. "Ah, Max! Finished already? You do go through them quickly. Did you find what you were looking for?"

As Max began to respond, the library door opened, admitting a young man with blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. He looked around uncertainly, clearly new to the monastery.

"Excuse me," the newcomer said, approaching the desk. "I'm looking for the section on Kingdom history. Could you point me in the right direction?"

Max turned, intrigued by the newcomer's accent. "I can show you," he offered. "I was just heading that way myself."

The young man smiled gratefully. "Thank you. I'm Lambert, by the way. Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd."

Max's eyebrows rose slightly at the name. A member of the Faerghus royal family, here at the Academy? This was certainly interesting. "I'm Max," he replied, extending his hand. "Welcome to Garreg Mach."

As they shook hands, Max felt a familiar spark of curiosity. Perhaps this year at the monastery would be more interesting than he had anticipated, even if he couldn't join the Academy officially. He may not be a student, but that didn't mean he couldn't make connections and learn in his own way.

With a nod to Sitri and Fannar, Max led Lambert towards the history section, already formulating questions about life in the Kingdom. As they walked, he couldn't help but feel that this chance meeting might be the beginning of something significant. The year ahead, it seemed, held more promise than he had initially thought.

Chapter Text

Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd closed the hefty tome on Kingdom history with a satisfied sigh. The library's quiet ambiance had provided the perfect setting for his research, and he had found more information than he had initially hoped for. As he gathered his notes and stood to return the book to its proper place, his thoughts drifted to the silver-haired young man who had assisted him earlier.

Max, he had called himself. Lambert couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this friendly scholar than met the eye. He had an air of mystery about him, a depth of knowledge that seemed beyond his years. Eager to express his gratitude and perhaps engage in further conversation, Lambert scanned the library. To his disappointment, Max was nowhere to be seen.

Approaching the librarian's desk, Lambert cleared his throat politely. "Excuse me, Fannar? The young man who helped me earlier - Max - do you know where I might find him?"

Fannar looked up from his ledgers, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Ah, Max? He comes and goes like the wind, that one. Never quite know where he'll turn up next. Is there something I can help you with instead, Your Highness?"

Lambert shook his head, trying not to let his disappointment show. "No, thank you. I just wanted to express my gratitude for his assistance. I'll catch him another time, I'm sure."

As he left the library, Lambert's mind was buzzing with questions. Who exactly was Max? Why did he seem so at home in the monastery despite not being a student? And why did Lambert feel such an inexplicable pull to know more about him?

The corridors of Garreg Mach were alive with activity as Lambert made his way back to the Blue Lions' classroom. It had been a year since he first arrived at the Officer's Academy, and in that time, he had risen to become the head of his house. The responsibility weighed heavily on his shoulders, but it was a burden he bore with pride and determination.

As he entered the classroom, he was greeted by the familiar faces of his classmates and friends. Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius, his loyal right-hand man, was the first to notice his arrival.

"Lambert! There you are," Rodrigue called out, his face breaking into a warm smile. "We were beginning to wonder if the library had swallowed you whole."

Lambert chuckled, taking his seat at the front of the room. "Nearly, my friend. I found myself quite engrossed in our kingdom's history. But something else has captured my attention as well."

Rodrigue raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? Do tell."

Lambert leaned in, lowering his voice slightly. "Have any of you heard of a scholar here named Max? Silver hair, about our age?"

A murmur of recognition rippled through the small group gathered around him. Matthias Raoul Gautier, known for his boisterous personality, spoke up first.

"Max? Yeah, I've heard of him. Bit of a mystery, that one. Some say he's Lady Rhea's ward, others think he's just a gifted scholar she took under her wing. Why do you ask?"

Lambert's eyes lit up with interest. "He assisted me in the library today. There's something... intriguing about him. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I feel as though there's more to his story than meets the eye."

Rodrigue nodded thoughtfully. "I've seen him around the monastery. Always with his nose in a book or deep in conversation with the faculty. But you're right, there's an air of mystery about him."

"Well, well, little brother. Developing a crush on the local bookworm, are we?"

The teasing voice came from behind Lambert, and he turned to see his older brother, Rufus, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk on his face. Despite the jest, there was an undercurrent of something darker in Rufus's tone - a hint of the jealousy that had been growing between them over the years.

Lambert felt a familiar mix of affection and wariness at his brother's arrival. "Rufus, always a pleasure. And no, it's not a crush. I'm simply curious about a fellow scholar."

Rufus sauntered into the room, his presence immediately changing the atmosphere. While Lambert was respected and loved by his peers, Rufus had a way of making people uneasy. His charm was tinged with an edge of unpredictability that kept others on guard.

"Curious, eh?" Rufus mused, pulling up a chair and straddling it backwards. "Well, you've always had a nose for interesting tales. What's so special about this Max character?"

Lambert hesitated, unsure how much to share with his brother. While he loved Rufus dearly, their relationship had become strained in recent years. Rufus's jealousy of Lambert's position as heir to the Kingdom throne had created a rift between them, one that Lambert desperately wished to mend.

"There's just something about him," Lambert said carefully. "He seems to know so much, yet he's not a student here. I'm curious about his background, his role at the monastery."

Rufus's eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and something harder to define. "A mystery, indeed. Well, if you're so interested, why don't we do a little digging? Could be fun to uncover the secrets of Garreg Mach's resident enigma."

Lambert felt a twinge of unease at the suggestion. "I'm not sure that's appropriate, Rufus. If Max values his privacy, we should respect that."

"Oh, come now, little brother," Rufus cajoled, his voice smooth as silk. "Where's your sense of adventure? Besides, if this Max is as close to the church authorities as rumors suggest, it might be good for the future King of Faerghus to know more about him. Political acumen and all that."

Lambert frowned, torn between his curiosity and his sense of propriety. He looked to his friends for their opinions.

Rodrigue, ever the voice of reason, spoke up first. "I understand your curiosity, Lambert, but I agree that we should be cautious. If this Max is indeed under Lady Rhea's protection, prying too deeply could cause diplomatic issues."

Matthias, on the other hand, seemed more enthusiastic about the idea. "I don't know, it could be exciting to play detective for a bit. As long as we're careful not to overstep, what's the harm in learning a bit more about our mysterious scholar?"

Lambert pondered their words, weighing the potential risks and rewards. As he opened his mouth to respond, a sharp knock on the classroom door interrupted their discussion.

Dean Warrin, a stern-faced man with graying hair, entered the room. His eyes swept over the gathered students, lingering for a moment on Lambert and Rufus.

"Your Highness," he addressed Lambert formally, "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. I must advise you to curb your curiosity regarding Max. His presence here at the monastery is... complicated. It would be best for all involved if you focused on your studies and left such matters to the church authorities."

Lambert felt a flash of frustration at being dismissed so easily, but years of diplomatic training kept his face neutral. "Of course, Dean Warrin. I apologize if our discussion was inappropriate."

The Dean nodded curtly and left, but his warning only served to intensify Lambert's interest. As soon as the door closed behind Warrin, Rufus let out a low whistle.

"Well, well," he drawled, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Nothing piques the interest quite like an official warning, eh? Now I'm even more curious about this Max fellow."

Lambert shot his brother a warning look. "Rufus, we should heed the Dean's advice. Whatever Max's situation is, it's clearly sensitive."

Rufus waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, live a little, Lambert. Where's the fun in always following the rules? Besides, as future king, shouldn't you be practicing how to uncover hidden truths? You never know when such skills might come in handy."

Lambert felt torn. On one hand, he knew Rufus had a point - a king should be adept at uncovering secrets and navigating complex political situations. On the other hand, he was uncomfortable with the idea of going against the Dean's explicit wishes.

Rodrigue, sensing Lambert's inner conflict, placed a hand on his shoulder. "Lambert, I know you're curious, but I have a bad feeling about this. Rufus's suggestion could lead us into trouble."

Lambert noticed the way Rodrigue's eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced at Rufus. He knew his friend had never fully trusted his brother, sensing the undercurrent of jealousy and resentment that Rufus tried to hide.

"Perhaps we could find a middle ground," Lambert suggested, trying to diffuse the tension. "We won't actively investigate Max or pry into his affairs, but we could keep our eyes and ears open. If we happen to learn more about him through natural interactions, that wouldn't be going against the Dean's wishes, would it?"

Matthias nodded enthusiastically. "That sounds reasonable. We'll be like passive observers, gathering information as it comes to us naturally."

Rufus rolled his eyes but didn't argue. "Fine, if you want to play it safe. But don't come crying to me when your curiosity gets the better of you and you need help with some real investigating."

Lambert chose to ignore his brother's jab, instead turning to address his classmates. "Alright, then it's settled. We'll remain open to learning more about Max, but we won't actively seek out information or do anything that might make him uncomfortable. Agreed?"

The others nodded their assent, though Rufus's agreement seemed reluctant at best. As the group began to disperse for their afternoon classes, Lambert couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of a much larger mystery.

Over the next few weeks, Lambert found himself constantly on the lookout for the silver-haired scholar. He caught glimpses of Max in the corridors, always with a book in hand or deep in conversation with a faculty member. But every time Lambert tried to approach him, something seemed to get in the way - a call from a professor, a sudden crowd of students, or most frustratingly, the watchful eye of Dean Warrin.

One evening, as Lambert sat in the Blue Lions' common room poring over tactical manuscripts, Rodrigue approached him with a concerned expression.

"Lambert," he said quietly, taking a seat beside his friend. "I need to speak with you about Rufus."

Lambert looked up, noting the serious tone in Rodrigue's voice. "What is it? Has something happened?"

Rodrigue shook his head. "Not exactly, but... I'm worried about his interest in this Max situation. I've seen him asking questions around the monastery, trying to gather information. I fear he's not respecting the boundaries we agreed upon."

Lambert frowned, a familiar knot of worry forming in his stomach. "Are you sure? Perhaps he's just being friendly, getting to know people."

"I wish that were the case," Rodrigue sighed. "But you know how Rufus can be. There's an edge to his inquiries, a hunger for information that goes beyond mere curiosity. I'm concerned about his motivations."

Lambert leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his blonde hair. He knew Rodrigue wasn't one for baseless suspicions, especially when it came to Rufus. The two had never seen eye to eye, with Rodrigue often serving as a protective buffer between the brothers.

"What do you think he's after?" Lambert asked, though part of him feared he already knew the answer.

Rodrigue's eyes met Lambert's, filled with a mixture of concern and determination. "I think he sees Max as a potential tool, a way to gain leverage or information that could be useful in the future. You know how... ambitious Rufus can be."

The unspoken implication hung heavy in the air. Rufus's ambition, his jealousy of Lambert's position as heir, had been a source of tension for years. While Lambert wanted to believe the best of his brother, he couldn't ignore the growing distance between them.

"What should we do?" Lambert asked, feeling the weight of his position as house leader and future king pressing down on him.

"For now, we watch and wait," Rodrigue advised. "But we also need to be prepared to intervene if Rufus goes too far. Max, whatever his story may be, doesn't deserve to be caught in the middle of... family politics."

Lambert nodded, grateful as always for Rodrigue's steady presence and wise counsel. "You're right, of course. We'll keep a closer eye on Rufus, and if necessary, I'll speak to him directly about respecting Max's privacy."

As if summoned by their conversation, Rufus chose that moment to saunter into the common room, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

"Well, well, what are you two whispering about so seriously?" he asked, his tone light but his eyes sharp.

Lambert exchanged a quick glance with Rodrigue before answering. "Just discussing some tactical theories for our next mock battle. Care to join us?"

Rufus waved his hand dismissively. "No, no, I'll leave the war games to you future generals. I've got more interesting pursuits to attend to."

As Rufus turned to leave, Lambert called out to him. "Rufus, wait. I was hoping we could talk... about Max."

Rufus paused, turning back with a raised eyebrow. "Oh? Has your curiosity finally gotten the better of you, little brother?"

Lambert stood, moving closer to Rufus and lowering his voice. "I've heard you've been asking questions about him. I thought we agreed to let the matter rest."

A flash of something - annoyance? defiance? - crossed Rufus's face before his usual smirk returned. "Come now, Lambert. I'm just being sociable, getting to know the lay of the land. Isn't that what you're always telling me I should do more of?"

"Rufus, please," Lambert said, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice. "Whatever Max's story is, it's clear the church wants it kept private. We shouldn't be prying."

Rufus's eyes hardened slightly. "And since when do we of House Blaiddyd simply accept what the church deems appropriate for us to know? Are you not curious about why they're so protective of this commoner scholar?"

Lambert felt Rodrigue tense beside him, ready to intervene if needed. But Lambert raised a hand slightly, signaling he would handle this.

"Of course I'm curious," Lambert admitted. "But there are more important things than satisfying our curiosity. We have a responsibility to respect the privacy of others, especially when we're guests here at the monastery."

Rufus studied Lambert for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he shrugged, his carefree demeanor sliding back into place. "If you say so, little brother. Far be it from me to question the wisdom of our future king."

The words were respectful, but Lambert couldn't miss the undercurrent of resentment in Rufus's tone. As his brother turned and left the common room, Lambert felt a pang of sadness. When had the gap between them grown so wide?

Rodrigue placed a comforting hand on Lambert's shoulder. "You handled that well," he said softly.

Lambert sighed, suddenly feeling much older than his years. "Did I? Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing more harm than good in trying to rein him in."

"You're doing what you must," Rodrigue assured him. "As future king, and as his brother. Rufus's actions could have consequences far beyond his understanding."

Lambert nodded, grateful for his friend's unwavering support. "You're right, of course. But I can't help feeling that this situation with Max is just the beginning of something larger. Something that could change everything."

As if in response to his words, a commotion erupted in the hallway outside. Lambert and Rodrigue exchanged a quick glance before rushing to see what was happening.

In the corridor, they found a small crowd gathering around two figures - one, to Lambert's surprise, was Max, looking flustered and defensive. The other was a student Lambert didn't recognize, red-faced and angry.

"What's going on here?" Lambert demanded, his authoritative tone causing the crowd to part as he approached.

The angry student turned to Lambert, recognition and a hint of fear flashing in his eyes as he realized who he was addressing. "Your Highness! I... This outsider was snooping around the student dormitories. He has no right to be there!"

Lambert turned to Max, who met his gaze steadily despite his obvious discomfort at being the center of attention. "Is this true, Max?"

Max straightened, his voice calm but firm as he responded. "I was delivering a message from Lady Rhea to one of the professors. I took a shortcut through the dormitory courtyard. I meant no harm or intrusion."

Lambert nodded, believing Max's explanation. He turned back to the accusing student. "It seems there's been a misunderstanding. Max is a respected member of the monastery community, even if he's not a student. I'm sure he meant no offense."

The student looked ready to argue but thought better of it under Lambert's stern gaze. With a mumbled apology, he slunk away, the crowd dispersing in his wake.

As the excitement died down, Lambert found himself alone with Max for the first time since their meeting in the library. He noticed Rodrigue hovering protectively nearby, while Rufus watched the scene unfold from a distance, his expression a mixture of curiosity and calculation.

"Thank you for your intervention, Your Highness," Max said, his voice calm but with a hint of gratitude. "I apologize for causing any disturbance."

Lambert shook his head, offering a friendly smile. "No need to apologize, Max. And please, call me Lambert. I'm glad I could help clear up the misunderstanding."

Max nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Lambert, then. I appreciate your fairness in handling the situation."

Lambert saw an opportunity to satisfy some of his curiosity without overstepping bounds. "I must admit, I've been hoping to speak with you again since our meeting in the library. Your knowledge of Kingdom history was impressive."

A flicker of something - pride? caution? - passed through Max's eyes. "You're too kind. I simply enjoy learning about the rich history of Fódlan. Each nation has its own fascinating tales and traditions."

Lambert was about to inquire further when he noticed Dean Warrin approaching, his face set in its usual stern expression. 

"Your Highness, Mr. Eisenhardt," the Dean addressed them formally. "I trust the earlier disturbance has been resolved?"

"Yes, Dean Warrin," Lambert replied. "It was merely a misunderstanding, now cleared up."

The Dean nodded, his gaze lingering on Max. "Very good. Mr. Eisenhardt, I believe Lady Rhea was looking for you. Perhaps you should see to that now."

Max straightened, his demeanor becoming more formal. "Of course, Dean Warrin. Thank you for informing me." He turned to Lambert, offering a polite bow. "Your High- Lambert, thank you again. I hope we'll have the chance to speak more in the future."

As Max departed, followed closely by Dean Warrin, Lambert couldn't shake the feeling that he had just missed an opportunity. He turned to find Rodrigue and Rufus approaching, their expressions mirroring his own curiosity and frustration.

"Well, that was interesting," Rufus drawled, his eyes following Max's retreating figure. "Our mysterious scholar seems to have quite the protector in Dean Warrin, doesn't he?"

Rodrigue frowned, his voice low as he addressed Lambert. "It does seem that the faculty is very... attentive when it comes to Max's interactions with students."

Lambert nodded, his mind racing. "Indeed. But why? What could be so sensitive about Max's presence here that requires such vigilance?"

Rufus clapped a hand on Lambert's shoulder, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. "That, dear brother, is the question we should be asking. Perhaps it's time we did some real investigating, hmm?"

Lambert hesitated, torn between his sense of duty and his growing curiosity. He knew that as the future king, he should respect the church's authority and privacy. But as a leader, shouldn't he also seek to understand the forces at play within his kingdom and its institutions?

"I'm not sure that's wise, Rufus," Lambert said slowly. "We don't want to cause any issues with the church."

Rodrigue nodded in agreement. "Lambert's right. We should be cautious about prying into matters the church clearly wants to keep private."

Rufus rolled his eyes, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. "Always so proper, aren't you? Both of you. Don't you see? This could be important. If the church is hiding something - or someone - significant, don't we have a right to know? For the sake of the kingdom?"

Lambert felt the weight of the decision pressing down on him. He knew Rufus had a point, even if his motivations might not be entirely pure. As future king, he did have a responsibility to understand the workings of all major institutions within his realm, including the church.

"Perhaps," Lambert said carefully, "we could find a middle ground again? If we “happen” to learn more about Max through “natural” interactions, we'll share what we learn with each other. But we must be careful not to overstep or make Max uncomfortable."

Rodrigue nodded, though he still looked wary. "That seems reasonable. We'll be observant, but respectful."

Rufus grinned, a glint of excitement in his eyes. "Now you're talking, little brother. A bit of palace intrigue to liven up our academic year."

As they made their way back to the Blue Lions' common room, Lambert couldn't shake the feeling that they were stepping onto a path that could lead to significant changes. Whether those changes would be for better or worse, he couldn't say.

Over the next few weeks, Lambert found himself increasingly aware of Max's presence around the monastery. He noticed the silver-haired scholar in the library more often, always surrounded by stacks of books on various subjects. Sometimes, Lambert would catch glimpses of Max in deep conversation with Lady Rhea, their expressions serious and intent.

Despite his best efforts, Lambert found it difficult to engage Max in conversation. It seemed that whenever he approached, someone from the faculty would appear, whisking Max away on some errand or another. The constant interruptions only served to fuel Lambert's curiosity further.

One evening, as Lambert was returning to his dormitory after a late training session, he spotted Max sitting alone in the monastery gardens. The moonlight cast a silvery glow over the scene, giving Max an almost ethereal appearance as he sat reading by the light of a small magelight.

Taking a deep breath, Lambert decided to seize the opportunity. He approached quietly, not wanting to startle Max or draw attention from any watchful faculty members.

"Good evening, Max," Lambert said softly as he drew near. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

Max looked up, surprise flickering across his features before a small smile appeared. "Lambert. Good evening. Not at all, please, join me if you'd like."

Lambert sat down on the bench beside Max, feeling a mixture of excitement and nervousness. This was the first time they'd had a chance to speak privately since their initial meeting in the library.

"What are you reading?" Lambert asked, genuinely curious.

Max closed the book, keeping his finger in place to mark his page. "A treatise on the history of magic in Fódlan. It's fascinating how the development of magical techniques has influenced the course of history in each nation."

Lambert nodded, impressed by Max's wide-ranging interests. "I've always been more focused on military history myself, but I can see how the two would be intertwined."

"Indeed," Max agreed, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. "The application of magic in warfare has shaped many pivotal moments in Fódlan's history. Take the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, for instance..."

As Max launched into a detailed explanation of how magical tactics had influenced the famous battle, Lambert found himself captivated. It wasn't just the depth of Max's knowledge that impressed him, but the way he connected seemingly disparate pieces of information to paint a comprehensive picture of historical events.

Their conversation flowed easily from topic to topic, touching on history, politics, philosophy, and more. Lambert was struck by how comfortable he felt talking with Max, despite the air of mystery that surrounded him. It was refreshing to engage in intellectual discourse without the weight of his title and responsibilities hanging over him.

As the night grew later, Lambert reluctantly realized he would need to return to his dormitory soon. But before he left, he wanted to satisfy at least some of his curiosity about Max's situation.

"Max," he began carefully, "I hope you don't find this question too forward, but I can't help but wonder... Why aren't you a student at the Officer's Academy? With your knowledge and skills, you'd be an incredible asset to any of the houses."

Max's expression shifted, a shadow passing over his features. For a moment, Lambert feared he had overstepped, but then Max spoke, his voice soft and tinged with a hint of sadness.

"It's... complicated," Max said, choosing his words carefully. There are... aspects of my background that make formal enrollment challenging."

Lambert nodded, sensing the weight behind Max's words. "I see. I apologize if I've made you uncomfortable. I admit, I've been curious about your role here, but I understand if it's not something you wish to discuss."

Max offered a small, grateful smile. "Thank you for understanding, Lambert. I wish I could be more forthcoming, but there are certain... complexities to my situation that require discretion. I hope you can respect that."

"Of course," Lambert assured him. "Your privacy is your own. I'm just glad we've had the chance to talk like this. Perhaps we could do so again sometime?"

Max's smile widened slightly. "I'd like that. It's been a pleasure conversing with you, Lambert."

As they stood to part ways, Lambert felt a mix of satisfaction and lingering curiosity. He had learned more about Max, certainly, but in many ways, the young scholar remained as enigmatic as ever.

Returning to his dormitory, Lambert found Rodrigue waiting for him, a concerned expression on his face.

"Lambert, where have you been? I was worried when you didn't return from training," Rodrigue said, relief evident in his voice.

Lambert explained his encounter with Max, watching as Rodrigue's expression shifted from concern to interest to wariness.

"Be careful, Lambert," Rodrigue cautioned after hearing the full account. "I know you're curious about Max, but remember, there's clearly a reason the church is being so protective of him. We don't want to inadvertently cause any diplomatic issues."

Lambert nodded, understanding his friend's concerns. "I know, Rodrigue. I promise I'm being careful. But I can't help feeling that there's something important that we're missing."

As Lambert prepared for bed, his mind was buzzing with thoughts of his conversation with Max. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was on the cusp of uncovering something significant, something that could have far-reaching implications for the future of Fódlan.

Chapter Text

Rufus Thierry Blaiddyd sauntered through the halls of Garreg Mach Monastery, his usual smirk firmly in place. Unlike his younger brother Lambert, who seemed to take every aspect of academy life with utmost seriousness, Rufus preferred to approach his time at the Officer's Academy with a more... relaxed attitude. After all, why stress over exams and training when he wasn't even the one destined for the throne?

As he passed by groups of students, Rufus couldn't help but notice the way their eyes followed him. Some looked on with admiration, others with wariness, and a select few with poorly disguised disdain. He reveled in all of it. Let them look, let them wonder. It was far more entertaining than being the perfect, predictable prince everyone expected Lambert to be.

His wanderings brought him to the Knight's Hall, a place he didn't frequent often. The constant clanging of weapons and shouts of exertion from the training grounds nearby usually drove him away. Today, however, something drew him in – or rather, someone.

Standing amidst the bookshelves, silver hair catching the afternoon light streaming through the windows, was the mysterious figure his brother had become so obsessed with: Max Eisenhardt. Rufus had seen him from afar, of course, but this was the first time he'd had the opportunity to observe the enigmatic scholar up close without the watchful eyes of the faculty hovering nearby.

Max – or Magnus, as some of the students had taken to calling him due to his apparent affinity for reason magic – was engrossed in a thick tome, his brow furrowed in concentration. He seemed oblivious to Rufus's presence, or perhaps he was simply choosing to ignore it.

Rufus cleared his throat, adopting his most charming smile. "Well, well. If it isn't the monastery's resident mystery man. Fancy meeting you here, Max."

Max's eyes flicked up from the book, regarding Rufus with a cool, assessing gaze. "Rufus Thierry Blaiddyd," he said, his tone neutral. "To what do I owe the... pleasure?"

The slight pause before 'pleasure' wasn't lost on Rufus. His smile widened, taking on a predatory edge. "Oh, you know. Just thought I'd introduce myself properly. We keep missing each other at social gatherings."

"How unfortunate," Max replied dryly, returning his attention to the book.

Rufus, undeterred, sidled closer. "I must say, you've caused quite a stir among the student body. A mysterious scholar, neither student nor faculty, with the ear of the Archbishop herself. It's all very intriguing."

Max raised an eyebrow, not bothering to look up. "Is it? I find the contents of this book on battle tactics far more intriguing, personally."

"Come now," Rufus cajoled, leaning against the bookshelf with calculated casualness. "Surely you can spare a moment for some friendly conversation. I'd love to hear more about your work here at the monastery."

At this, Max finally closed the book, fixing Rufus with a penetrating stare. "Friendly conversation? Is that what we're calling thinly veiled interrogations these days? How quaint."

Rufus felt a flash of irritation at Max's dismissive tone but quickly suppressed it. He'd dealt with far more difficult personalities in the royal court. This was just another game, and Rufus did not lose games.

"You wound me, Max," Rufus said, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. "I'm simply trying to get to know the man who's captured my dear brother's attention so thoroughly. Is that so wrong?"

A flicker of something – surprise? concern? – passed over Max's face at the mention of Lambert, but it was gone so quickly Rufus almost thought he'd imagined it.

"Your brother," Max said carefully, "is a fine young man with a keen intellect. Our conversations have been enlightening. I fail to see how that's any of your concern."

Rufus's smile took on a sharper edge. "Oh, but everything concerning the future King of Faerghus is my concern. Family loyalty and all that. I'm sure you understand."

Max's eyes narrowed slightly. "I understand that you seem to have an inflated sense of your own importance in matters that don't concern you. How's that for understanding?"

The barb stung more than Rufus cared to admit. He felt his carefully constructed mask of affability slipping, revealing a glimpse of the bitterness and resentment that lurked beneath.

"Now who's being wounded?" Rufus sneered. "I'd think someone in your... unique position would be more careful about making enemies."

"Is that a threat, Your Highness?" Max asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "How very noble of you. I'm sure your brother would be proud."

Rufus felt his temper flaring. This was not going according to plan. He'd expected to charm or intimidate Max into revealing something – anything – about his mysterious background. Instead, he found himself on the defensive, his usual tactics failing spectacularly against Max's razor-sharp wit.

"Listen here, you silver-haired upstart," Rufus hissed, dropping all pretense of friendliness. "I don't know what game you're playing, cozying up to the church and my brother, but I will find out. And when I do-"

"When you do what, exactly?" 

The new voice cut through the tension like a knife. Rufus whirled around to find Jeralt Eisner, the legendary Blade Breaker himself, standing in the doorway of the Knight's Hall. His expression was neutral, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes that made Rufus take an involuntary step back.

"Captain Jeralt," Rufus said, quickly composing himself. "I was just having a friendly chat with our esteemed guest here."

Jeralt's eyebrow rose skeptically. "Is that so? It didn't sound very friendly from where I was standing."

Before Rufus could formulate a response, Jeralt turned to Max. "Lady Rhea's looking for you, kid. Something about those old texts you were translating."

Max nodded, closing the book he'd been holding and replacing it on the shelf. As he moved to leave, he paused beside Rufus, his voice low enough that only the prince could hear.

"A word of advice, Your Highness," Max said, his tone deceptively mild. "Curiosity killed the cat, but it's satisfaction that brought it back. Be careful which cats you choose to chase – some have very sharp claws."

With that cryptic warning, Max strode out of the Knight's Hall, leaving Rufus seething in his wake. Jeralt watched the exchange with interest, his weathered face revealing nothing of his thoughts.

"You know," Jeralt said conversationally, "in my experience, it's usually best to leave church matters to the church. Especially when you're a guest in their home."

Rufus bristled at the implied rebuke. "With all due respect, Captain, I don't believe I asked for your opinion on the matter."

Jeralt shrugged, seemingly unperturbed by Rufus's hostility. "No, you didn't. Consider it free advice from someone who's seen what happens when nobles start poking their noses where they don't belong. It rarely ends well for anyone involved."

With that parting shot, Jeralt turned and left, following the path Max had taken moments before. Rufus stood alone in the Knight's Hall, his fists clenched at his sides, frustration and anger roiling within him.

This was not how things were supposed to go. He was Rufus Thierry Blaiddyd, prince of Faerghus, master of charm and manipulation. He should have been able to wrap Max around his finger, to tease out the secrets the church was so desperate to keep hidden. Instead, he'd been outmaneuvered at every turn, left feeling like a chastised schoolboy rather than a formidable political player.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the Knight's Hall, Rufus made a silent vow. He would uncover the truth about Max Eisenhardt, no matter the cost. If the direct approach had failed, then he would need to be more subtle, more cunning. He would find Max's weakness, his pressure point, and when he did...

Rufus's lips curled into a cruel smile. Let them all underestimate him – Lambert, Max, the church. He would show them just how dangerous the "spare" prince could be when pushed too far.

With renewed determination, Rufus strode out of the Knight's Hall, his mind already spinning with new plans and schemes. The game was far from over, and Rufus Blaiddyd intended to emerge victorious, no matter who he had to step on to reach the top.

Chapter Text

In the days following his confrontation with Max in the Knight's Hall, Rufus found himself nursing both wounded pride and a renewed sense of determination. The silver-haired scholar had proven to be a far more formidable opponent than Rufus had anticipated, but that only made the prince more eager to unravel the mystery surrounding him.

Rufus knew he needed to change tactics. Direct confrontation had failed spectacularly, so he would need to be more subtle, more patient. He began to weave a web of connections throughout the monastery, cultivating relationships with students, faculty, and staff alike. Each conversation, each seemingly casual interaction, was carefully calculated to gather bits of information about Max and his role at Garreg Mach.

One sunny afternoon, Rufus found himself in the greenhouse, ostensibly helping a group of students with their gardening duties. As he half-heartedly pruned a rose bush, he steered the conversation towards the topic of the monastery's more unusual residents.

"You know," Rufus said, his tone deliberately casual, "I've always wondered about that Max fellow. The one who's always in the library? Does anyone know what he actually does here?"

A shy girl from the Golden Deer house piped up, "I heard he's Lady Rhea's personal researcher. They say he can read ancient languages that even the professors struggle with."

Rufus raised an eyebrow, feigning mild interest. "Is that so? How fascinating. I wonder where he learned such rare skills."

Another student, this one from the Black Eagles, leaned in conspiratorially. "There's a rumor going around that he's not even from Fódlan. Some say he's from a distant land across the sea."

Rufus filed away this tidbit of information, his mind already spinning with possibilities. "Across the sea, you say? My, my, the plot thickens."

As the days passed, Rufus continued his subtle information gathering. He flattered kitchen staff into revealing Max's favorite meals, bribed stable hands for details on his comings and goings, and even managed to charm a young monk into sharing gossip about Max's late-night visits to the cathedral.

All the while, Rufus maintained a facade of disinterest whenever Max was mentioned in his presence. He knew that appearing too eager would only raise suspicions. Instead, he played the role of the carefree prince, more interested in parties and flirtations than in the comings and goings of a mysterious scholar.

But despite his best efforts at subtlety, Rufus couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. More than once, he caught glimpses of Max observing him from afar, those piercing eyes seeming to see right through Rufus's carefully constructed mask.

One evening, as Rufus was leaving the dining hall after another fruitful session of casual eavesdropping, he nearly collided with Max in the doorway.

"Oh, pardon me," Rufus said, his voice dripping with false politeness. "I didn't see you there, Max. How... clumsy of me."

Max's lips quirked into a sardonic smile. "No harm done, Your Highness. Though I must say, for someone so interested in my comings and goings, you seem remarkably unobservant."

Rufus felt a chill run down his spine, but he maintained his composure. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean. I've hardly given you a thought since our last... encounter."

"Of course," Max replied, his tone making it clear he didn't believe a word. "Just as I'm sure it's pure coincidence that every person I've spoken to in the past week has been questioned about me by a certain charming prince shortly thereafter."

Rufus's mask slipped for just a moment, revealing a flash of anger and frustration. "You seem to have an inflated sense of your own importance, Max. Not everything revolves around you."

Max's smile widened, taking on a predatory edge. "Oh, I'm well aware of that, Your Highness. But I'm also aware of the games people play when they're desperate for information. You're not nearly as subtle as you think you are."

Before Rufus could formulate a retort, Max brushed past him, pausing only to add in a low voice, "Be careful, Prince Rufus. You're playing a game you don't understand, with stakes far higher than you can imagine."

As Max disappeared down the corridor, Rufus stood rooted to the spot, his mind reeling. How had Max known? He'd been so careful, so meticulous in his information gathering. And yet, somehow, the enigmatic scholar had seen right through his schemes.

Shaken but not deterred, Rufus retreated to his quarters to regroup. He spent hours pacing the floor, muttering to himself as he tried to piece together the scraps of information he'd gathered. There had to be a pattern, a key to unlocking the mystery of Max Eisenhardt.

As the night wore on, Rufus found himself growing increasingly paranoid. Every shadow seemed to hide a potential spy, every whisper of wind carried the threat of discovery. He began to wonder if he was in over his head, if perhaps he should heed the warnings and back off.

But then he thought of Lambert, of the easy rapport his brother seemed to share with Max, and jealousy flared hot in his chest. No, he couldn't give up now. He was Rufus Thierry Blaiddyd, and he would not be outmaneuvered by some upstart scholar with delusions of grandeur.

The next morning, bleary-eyed from lack of sleep but filled with renewed determination, Rufus set out to continue his investigations. He was more careful now, more cautious in his questioning. He began to use intermediaries, spreading coins and favors to create a network of informants throughout the monastery.

As the weeks passed, Rufus's web of intrigue grew ever more complex. He started to notice patterns in Max's behavior – the way he always seemed to disappear just before major church events, the hushed conversations with Lady Rhea in the early hours of the morning, the strange visitors who arrived under cover of darkness and left before dawn.

But for every piece of the puzzle Rufus managed to uncover, new questions arose. The more he learned about Max, the less he felt he truly understood. It was maddening, and Rufus found himself becoming obsessed with solving the mystery.

His academic performance began to suffer as he devoted more and more time to his clandestine investigations. Lambert noticed his brother's distraction and tried to intervene, but Rufus brushed off his concerns with sarcastic quips and feigned nonchalance.

"Worried about me, little brother?" Rufus drawled one afternoon as Lambert confronted him about his falling grades. "How touching. But I assure you, I have everything well in hand. Some of us simply have... broader interests than endless training and stuffy lectures."

Lambert frowned, concern evident in his eyes. "Rufus, I'm serious. Whatever game you're playing, it's affecting your studies. If you're having trouble with the coursework, I'd be happy to help-"

Rufus cut him off with a harsh laugh. "Help? From you? Oh, that's rich. The perfect prince, offering to tutor his wayward brother. How noble of you, Lambert. But I think I'll pass. I have far more important matters to attend to than impressing a bunch of stuffy professors."

As Rufus stormed off, leaving a bewildered Lambert in his wake, he failed to notice the figure watching from the shadows. Max observed the exchange with a mixture of concern and resignation, knowing that the prince's obsession was leading him down a dangerous path.

Later that evening, as Rufus was skulking near the cathedral hoping to overhear another of Max's late-night meetings with Lady Rhea, he was startled by a hand on his shoulder.

"You know," Max's voice came from behind him, soft but filled with unmistakable warning, "there are easier ways to get my attention, Your Highness."

Rufus spun around, his face flushing with a mixture of anger and embarrassment at being caught. "I don't know what you're talking about. I was simply... enjoying an evening stroll."

Max's eyebrow arched skeptically. "Of course. And I suppose the fact that you've been following me for weeks, questioning everyone I speak to, and generally making a nuisance of yourself is all just a coincidence?"

Rufus felt his carefully constructed facade crumbling. Anger and frustration boiled over as he hissed, "What are you hiding, Max? What's so important that the church feels the need to keep you under such tight wraps? And why does my brother trust you so implicitly when he barely knows you?"

For a moment, something like sympathy flashed in Max's eyes. But it was quickly replaced by his usual guarded expression. "Your obsession is becoming dangerous, Rufus. Not just to yourself, but to those around you. I'm giving you one last warning – let this go. For your own sake, and for the sake of those you care about."

With that, Max turned and walked away, leaving Rufus seething in the shadows of the cathedral. As he watched the silver-haired figure disappear into the night, Rufus made a decision. He would not be deterred, not by threats or warnings or his own growing sense of unease.

He would uncover the truth about Max Eisenhardt, no matter the cost. And when he did, he would finally step out of his brother's shadow and show everyone – Lambert, their father, the entire Kingdom of Faerghus – just how formidable Rufus could be.

As he slipped back to his quarters, Rufus's mind was already racing with new plans, new angles of attack. The game was far from over, and he intended to emerge victorious, even if it meant burning every bridge and betraying every confidence along the way.

Chapter Text

In the sprawling grounds of Garreg Mach Monastery, Rufus found himself once again on the hunt for information about the enigmatic Max. His previous attempts at subtlety had failed spectacularly, with Max seeing through his schemes with frustrating ease. Now, Rufus was determined to try a different approach – one that would force Max to reveal more about himself, whether he wanted to or not.

As luck would have it, Rufus spotted his quarry in the courtyard, silver hair gleaming in the afternoon sun as Max pored over yet another ancient tome. With a practiced smirk, Rufus sauntered over, his voice dripping with false casualness.

"Well, well, if it isn't our resident mystery man. Enjoying another thrilling read about... what is it this time? The mating habits of Albinean woodpeckers?"

Max glanced up, his piercing eyes narrowing slightly at the interruption. "Prince Rufus," he acknowledged, his tone dry as desert sand. "I see your talent for inane small talk remains undiminished. To what do I owe the dubious pleasure of your company this time?"

Rufus's smirk widened, undeterred by Max's barb. "Oh, come now, Max. Can't a man simply enjoy a friendly chat with his brother's... what are you to Lambert, exactly? Mentor? Confidant? Long-lost twin separated at birth?"

"Fascinating theories, Your Highness," Max replied, closing his book with a snap. "Have you considered applying that vivid imagination of yours to your studies? I hear your professors are quite concerned about your... shall we say, lackluster performance as of late."

A flicker of annoyance passed over Rufus's face, quickly masked by his usual air of nonchalance. "My, my, keeping tabs on my academic progress? I'm flattered, truly. But let's not pretend you're here out of concern for my education. What exactly is your role here, Max? Because from where I'm standing, it seems awfully convenient for a man of your... talents to suddenly appear and ingratiate himself with the future leaders of Fódlan."

Max's eyes hardened, a hint of steel entering his voice. "My role, Prince Rufus, is none of your concern. Perhaps you should focus on your own responsibilities rather than concocting elaborate conspiracies."

Rufus leaned in, his voice low and challenging. "Oh, but it is my concern, Max. Anything that affects my brother, affects me. And you, my friend, are quite the unknown variable in this little equation."

For a moment, tension crackled between them like electricity. Then, suddenly, Rufus's face split into a wide, almost manic grin. "I have an idea! Why don't we settle this like true nobles? A friendly duel, perhaps? Nothing clears the air quite like crossing blades, wouldn't you agree?"

Max's eyebrows shot up in surprise, then lowered in exasperation. "A duel? Really, Rufus? I thought we'd moved past such barbaric methods of conflict resolution. Besides, I'm hardly a student here. It wouldn't be appropriate for me to engage in such activities."

Rufus waved his hand dismissively. "Nonsense! It's just a bit of sport between... well, I hesitate to say friends, but let's call it a scholarly exchange. Unless, of course, you're afraid of a little friendly competition?"

Max's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I assure you, Your Highness, fear has nothing to do with it. I simply have better things to do with my time than indulge in your childish games."

"Childish games?" Rufus repeated, his voice taking on a sharper edge. "Is that what you think this is? Tell me, Max, what are you so desperate to hide that you'd refuse a simple duel?"

For a long moment, Max said nothing, his face an unreadable mask. Then, with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of decades, he spoke. "Very well, Rufus. If it will put an end to your incessant meddling, I'll agree to your duel. On one condition."

Rufus's eyes lit up with triumph. "Name it."

"If I win," Max said, his voice low and intense, "you will cease this ridiculous investigation of yours. No more questions, no more spying, no more harassing the monastery staff for scraps of information about me. You'll leave me be. Are we clear?"

Rufus's grin widened. "Crystal. And if I win, you'll answer three questions of my choosing, truthfully and completely. Deal?"

Max hesitated for a moment, then nodded curtly. "Deal. Though I warn you, Prince Rufus, you may find that the answers you seek are far more complicated than you anticipate."

With the terms set, the two men made their way to the training grounds. As they entered, they found they weren't alone. Lambert and Albert von Aegir, the boisterous head of the Black Eagle house, were already there, engaged in what appeared to be an animated discussion about lance techniques.

Lambert looked up as they entered, surprise and concern flickering across his face. "Rufus? Max? What brings you two here together?"

Before Max could respond, Rufus clapped a hand on his shoulder, grinning widely. "Ah, perfect timing, little brother! You and Albert can bear witness to our friendly little duel. Nothing like a bit of martial exercise to strengthen the bonds of... whatever it is Max is to our little family."

Albert's face lit up with enthusiasm, his voice booming through the training grounds. "A duel? How marvelous! There's nothing quite like the clash of steel to invigorate the spirit and forge lasting friendships! I, Albert von Aegir, would be honored to officiate this noble contest!"

Max shot Rufus a look that could have curdled milk. "Your enthusiasm is... overwhelming, Lord von Aegir. But I assure you, this is merely a simple sparring match, nothing more."

Lambert's brow furrowed in concern. "Rufus, what exactly is going on here? This isn't another one of your schemes, is it?"

Rufus placed a hand over his heart in mock offense. "Schemes? Me? You wound me, brother. Can't a man simply enjoy a friendly bout with his... what was it you called Max the other day? Ah yes, his 'trusted advisor'?"

Max pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse in a language none of them recognized. "Let's just get this over with, shall we? The sooner we begin, the sooner I can return to my actual responsibilities."

As Max and Rufus moved to opposite ends of the training ground to select their weapons, Lambert pulled his brother aside, his voice low and urgent. "Rufus, whatever game you're playing, I'm begging you to reconsider. Max is not someone to be trifled with."

Rufus's eyes glittered with a mixture of excitement and something darker, more dangerous. "Oh, I'm counting on that, little brother. It's high time we found out exactly who – or what – your precious Max really is."

Before Lambert could protest further, Albert's booming voice filled the training grounds. "Gentlemen! Take your positions! May this duel be a shining example of chivalry, skill, and the bonds of friendship that unite us all!"

Max and Rufus faced each other, training lances at the ready. The difference in their stances was immediately apparent. Rufus held his weapon with the confidence of a trained noble, his posture perfect, every movement textbook. Max, on the other hand, seemed almost casual in his grip, his stance loose and unconventional.

"Begin!" Albert cried, his voice ringing with enthusiasm.

Rufus wasted no time, launching into a flurry of attacks that would have overwhelmed a lesser opponent. His lance was a blur of motion, each thrust and swipe executed with precision and power. But to his growing frustration, Max seemed to anticipate every move, deflecting or dodging with an ease that bordered on supernatural.

"Come now, Max," Rufus taunted between strikes, "surely you can do better than this. Or is your reputation for brilliance limited solely to dusty old books?"

Max's eyes narrowed, a hint of steel entering his voice. "Patience, Your Highness. The battle is young, and you may find that experience trumps youthful exuberance."

As they continued to exchange blows, the onlookers watched with a mixture of awe and concern. Lambert's face was a mask of worry, his eyes darting between the two combatants as if trying to decide whether to intervene. Albert, on the other hand, was practically bouncing with excitement, shouting encouragement to both fighters with equal fervor.

"Magnificent! Simply magnificent!" Albert crowed. "Behold the dance of steel, the poetry of combat! Truly, this is a duel for the ages!"

Rufus, growing increasingly frustrated by his inability to land a solid hit, began to take more risks. His attacks became wilder, less controlled, as he sought to break through Max's seemingly impenetrable defense.

"What's the matter?" Rufus sneered, his breath coming in short gasps. "Afraid to show us what you're really capable of? Or is this pathetic display the extent of your abilities?"

Something flickered in Max's eyes then – a flash of anger, quickly suppressed but unmistakable. "You should be careful what you wish for, Prince Rufus," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Some truths are better left uncovered."

Suddenly, Max's entire demeanor changed. Gone was the defensive stance, the careful deflections. Now, he moved with a fluid grace that seemed to defy the laws of physics. His attacks came with lightning speed and precision, each one driving Rufus back a step.

Rufus found himself on the defensive for the first time, struggling to keep up with Max's onslaught. He could feel the eyes of the onlookers on him, could practically taste Lambert's concern and Albert's excitement. But more than that, he saw something in Max's eyes that both thrilled and terrified him – a glimpse of something ancient, powerful, and utterly inhuman.

As the duel reached its crescendo, Rufus made a desperate lunge, putting all his strength behind a thrust aimed at Max's midsection. For a split second, it seemed as though the blow would land. But then, in a move that defied explanation, Max's lance seemed to move of its own accord, intercepting Rufus's weapon with impossible speed and precision.

There was a sharp crack, and Rufus found himself staring in disbelief at the splintered remains of his lance. The weapon had shattered on impact, leaving him holding nothing but a useless stub of wood.

Silence fell over the training grounds, broken only by the sound of Rufus's ragged breathing. Max stood perfectly still, his own lance held loosely at his side, his face an unreadable mask.

"I... I don't understand," Rufus stammered, staring at the broken weapon in his hand. "How did you...?"

Max's voice was quiet, but it carried easily in the stunned silence. "It seems your lance was defective, Your Highness. A unfortunate occurrence, but these things happen in training. I believe this concludes our... friendly bout."

Rufus's eyes snapped up, meeting Max's gaze with a mixture of suspicion and dawning realization. "Defective? No, that's not possible. I checked the weapon myself before we began. You did something, didn't you? Some kind of... of magic?"

Max's expression remained impassive, but there was a new tension in his shoulders, a wariness in his eyes. "I assure you, Prince Rufus, I did nothing of the sort. Perhaps it would be wise to have the monastery's weaponsmith examine your equipment more closely in the future."

Before Rufus could press the issue further, Lambert stepped forward, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Rufus, that's enough. It was a fair match, and Max emerged victorious. I believe you owe him the courtesy of honoring your agreement."

Rufus shrugged off his brother's hand, his eyes never leaving Max's face. "Oh, I'll honor our agreement, little brother. But make no mistake – this is far from over. You may have won the battle, Eisenhardt, but the war has only just begun."

With that, Rufus stormed out of the training grounds, leaving a wake of tension behind him. Albert, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrents of conflict, began to applaud enthusiastically.

"Bravo! Bravissimo! What a spectacular display of skill and sportsmanship! Truly, this duel will be remembered in the annals of Garreg Mach history!"

Lambert shot Albert a quelling look before turning to Max, concern etched on his features. "Max, I apologize for my brother's behavior. I don't know what's gotten into him lately, but I assure you-"

Max held up a hand, cutting off Lambert's apology. "There's no need, Lambert. Your brother's... curiosity... is understandable, if misguided. I only hope that this encounter will put an end to his more invasive inquiries."

As Max made his own exit from the training grounds, his mind was racing. He had allowed his emotions to get the better of him, had revealed more than he intended in that moment of anger. The broken lance would raise questions – questions he wasn't prepared to answer.

For a man who had lived for over eight decades, who had seen the rise and fall of empires and faced threats that would make even the bravest warriors quail, Max found himself unnerved by the piercing gaze of a young prince barely out of boyhood.

As he walked back to his quarters, Max couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted. The carefully constructed facade he had maintained since arriving at Garreg Mach was beginning to crack, and he feared that Rufus might be just stubborn and clever enough to tear it down completely.

With a heavy sigh, Max began to consider his options. He had come to the monastery with a purpose, to live a peaceful life. He couldn't allow the petty rivalries and curiosities of mortals to derail everything he had worked for.And yet, as he thought of Lambert's unwavering trust, of the potential he saw in the young leaders, Max felt a flicker of doubt. 

As night fell over Garreg Mach Monastery, two men lay awake, their minds churning with plans and possibilities. Rufus, driven by a mixture of wounded pride and burning curiosity, vowed to uncover the truth about Max Eisenhardt, no matter the cost. And Max, weighing the potential consequences of revelation against the dangers of continued deception, began to contemplate a future where his true nature might finally be known.

Chapter Text

Four years had passed since that magical winter evening when Jeralt and Sitri's love blossomed under the starry sky. Now, as the warm breezes of spring swept through Garreg Mach Monastery, Jeralt found himself at a crossroads, his heart filled with both love and uncertainty.

The Blade Breaker, as he was known throughout the monastery, had faced countless foes on the battlefield without flinching. But the thought of proposing marriage to Sitri left him feeling more vulnerable than any enemy's sword ever had. He knew he loved her with every fiber of his being, but the weight of commitment and the fear of the unknown gnawed at him.

In his moment of doubt, Jeralt sought counsel from an unlikely source: Max, Sitri's younger brother. At 19 years old, Max was known for his quick wit, often providing unexpected wisdom beyond his years.

Jeralt found Max in the courtyard, idly twirling a small metal pendant between his fingers. "Max," Jeralt began, his voice gruff with nervousness, "I need your advice."

Max raised an eyebrow, pocketing the pendant. "The great Jeralt, seeking advice from me? Has spring fever addled your brains, or have you finally realized that matters of the heart require a more... youthful perspective?"

Jeralt sighed, already regretting his decision. "It's about your sister. I... I want to propose to her, but I'm not sure if I should."

Max's laugh echoed through the courtyard. "Oh, my dear future brother-in-law! You've faced demons, bandits, and who knows what else, yet you quiver at the thought of putting a ring on it? How delightfully human of you."

"This is serious, Max," Jeralt growled, his patience wearing thin.

Max's expression softened, if only slightly. "Very well. Tell me, Jeralt, why do you hesitate? Is it fear of commitment, or fear of losing her?"

Jeralt paused, considering the question. "Both, I suppose. Our life here is dangerous. What if something happens to me?"

"Ah, the classic 'what if' scenario," Max mused, leaning against a nearby pillar. "Let me ask you this: If the world were to end tomorrow, would you regret not having married her?"

The question struck Jeralt like a thunderbolt. He saw in his mind's eye all the moments he and Sitri had shared over the past four years - the laughter, the quiet moments. He imagined a future without her, and the thought was unbearable.

"No," Jeralt said firmly. "I'd regret not having every moment with her that I could."

Max smiled, a rare genuine expression on his face. "Then you have your answer, my friend. Life is uncertain, especially for those who choose to protect others. But that uncertainty is precisely why you should seize happiness when you find it."

Jeralt nodded, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders. "Thank you, Max. I never thought I'd say this, but your advice is actually helpful."

"Of course it is," Max scoffed, his usual sass returning. "I didn't become the smartest 19-year-old in Garreg Mach by spouting nonsense. Now go, before I change my mind and decide to keep you here for more scintillating conversation."

With newfound determination, Jeralt set about preparing for the proposal. He commissioned a ring from the monastery's finest craftsmen, a delicate silver band inlaid with small, perfect emeralds and other jewels, that reminded him of Sitri's eyes. He arranged for a private moment in the greenhouse, Sitri's favorite place in all of Garreg Mach, now bursting with spring blossoms.

On the night of the proposal, Jeralt led Sitri to the greenhouse, his heart pounding beneath his stoic exterior. The air was thick with the scent of fresh blooms, and soft lantern light cast a warm glow over the vibrant foliage.

"Sitri," Jeralt began, taking her hands in his, "these past four years with you have been the happiest of my life. You've brought light to my world in ways I never thought possible."

Sitri's eyes shimmered with unshed tears as Jeralt continued, his voice thick with emotion. "I know our life isn't easy, and the future is uncertain. But I know that whatever comes, I want to face it with you by my side."

Jeralt knelt, presenting the ring. "Sitri, will you marry me?"

For a moment, the greenhouse was silent save for the soft rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of spring birds. Then Sitri's face broke into a radiant smile, tears of joy spilling down her cheeks. "Yes, Jeralt. Yes, with all my heart."

As Jeralt slipped the ring onto Sitri's finger, he felt a sense of peace and rightness settle over him. Whatever the future held, they would face it together, their love a beacon of hope in an uncertain world.

And somewhere in the monastery, Max smiled to himself, pleased with another successful matchmaking endeavor, all while keeping his own mysterious abilities a well-guarded secret.

Chapter Text

Max Eisenhardt, stood atop the walls of Garreg Mach Monastery, his silver hair ruffling in the gentle breeze. His piercing eyes surveyed the makeshift battlefield below, where the students of the Officers Academy were preparing for their annual Mock Battle. Despite his youthful appearance, Max's eyes held the weight of decades, if not centuries, of experience.

As he watched the three houses take their positions, Max couldn't help but feel a twinge of... something. Was it nostalgia? Regret? Or perhaps a longing to be part of the action once more? He quickly pushed such thoughts aside. He was here as an observer, nothing more. His days of shaping the course of history through direct intervention were behind him - or so he told himself.

The Blue Lions, led by the charismatic Prince Lambert, took up their position to the northwest. Max's gaze lingered on Lambert, seeing in him the potential for greatness, but also the seeds of tragedy that seemed to follow those destined for power. Beside Lambert stood his ever-loyal friend Rodrigue, along with the boisterous Matthias Gautier and other member of their house.

To the southwest, the Golden Deer assembled under the command of the cunning Godfrey von Riegan. Max had to admire the young man's strategic mind, even if his laid-back attitude sometimes grated on the ancient mutant's nerves.

Finally, to the southeast, the Black Eagles gathered, led by the fiery Albert von Aegir. His determination reminded Max of another strong-willed leader he had known in a different life, in a different world.

As Jeralt Eisner, the renowned Blade Breaker, gave the signal to begin, Max felt a familiar surge of energy coursing through his veins. The magnetic fields around him pulsed and swirled, invisible to all but him. It took every ounce of his considerable willpower not to reach out and influence the metal weapons and armor worn by the students below.

The battle began in earnest, with each house employing different strategies. The Golden Deer, true to their reputation, focused on ranged attacks, peppering their opponents with arrows from a distance. The Black Eagles adopted a more aggressive approach, with Albert leading a frontal assault against the Blue Lions' position.

Max watched with growing interest as Lambert rallied his troops, his natural leadership shining through even in this simulated conflict. The prince's tactical acumen was impressive, adapting quickly to the changing dynamics of the battlefield.

As the skirmish progressed, Max found himself increasingly engrossed in the unfolding drama. He leaned forward, his hands gripping the stone parapet, as Lambert orchestrated a daring flanking maneuver against the Black Eagles. The move caught Albert off guard, forcing him to divide his forces.

Seeing an opportunity, Godfrey attempted to capitalize on the chaos, sending a contingent of Golden Deer to strike at the Blue Lions' exposed rear. But Lambert, displaying a level of foresight that impressed even Max, had anticipated this move. He had positioned Rodrigue and a small group of skilled fighters to intercept the Golden Deer's advance.

The clash that followed was intense, with Rodrigue's unwavering loyalty to Lambert manifest in every swing of his training sword. Max found himself holding his breath, his heightened senses picking up the clash of metal on metal, the grunts of exertion, and the shouts of encouragement and command.

As the battle reached its climax, Max's eyes were drawn to a familiar figure on the edges of the conflict. Rufus, Lambert's older brother, watched the proceedings with a mixture of boredom and barely concealed jealousy. Max frowned, recognizing in Rufus the same dangerous ambition he had seen in countless others throughout his long life.

With a final, decisive push, Lambert led the Blue Lions to victory. His strategic brilliance, combined with the unwavering support of his classmates, proved too much for the other houses to overcome. As Jeralt called an end to the battle, cheers erupted from the Blue Lions, with Lambert at the center of the celebration.

Max allowed himself a small smile as he watched the scene unfold. There was something undeniably inspiring about witnessing the next generation of leaders coming into their own. For a moment, he allowed himself to hope that perhaps this time, things could be different. Perhaps these young people could avoid the mistakes of their predecessors and create a better world.

But as quickly as the thought came, Max dismissed it. He had seen too much, lived through too many cycles of hope and disappointment, to fully embrace such optimism. Still, as he watched Lambert accept congratulations from his peers and even his defeated opponents, Max couldn't entirely quash the small spark of hope that flickered in his aged heart.

As the students began to file off the battlefield, still buzzing with excitement and post-battle analysis, Max turned away from the parapet. He had work to do, research to continue, and secrets to keep. But for now, he allowed himself one last glance at the young leaders below, particularly at the golden-haired prince who had so impressively led his house to victory.

"Well done, Lambert," Max murmured to himself, his voice carrying a weight of knowledge and foresight that none around him could truly comprehend. "Let us hope your reign is as successful as this day."

With that, Max Eisenhardt retreated from his vantage point. The Mock Battle was over, and while he couldn't help but feel a certain pride in the Blue Lions' victory, he knew that far greater challenges lay ahead - for the students, for the monastery, and for himself. As he descended the stairs back into the heart of Garreg Mach, Max steeled himself for the trials to come, knowing that his role in shaping the future of this world was far from over.

Chapter Text

Max Eisenhardt, the man once known as Magneto in another life, leaned against a bookshelf in the Garreg Mach Monastery library, a mischievous glint in his eye. His silver hair caught the afternoon sunlight streaming through the high windows, giving him an almost ethereal appearance. But there was nothing ethereal about the smirk playing on his lips as he bantered with his friend, the school librarian Fannar.

"Come now, Fannar," Max drawled, idly levitating a quill with his powers when he was sure no one else was looking. "Surely you must have some juicy tidbit to share. The walls of this monastery practically ooze with secrets."

Fannar, a portly man with a receding hairline and spectacles perched precariously on his nose, glanced around furtively before leaning in close. "Well," he whispered, his voice barely audible, "have you heard the latest about Aelfric?"

Max's eyebrow shot up with interest. "Aelfric? Do tell."

Fannar's eyes gleamed with the excitement of a master gossip about to deliver prime material. "Oh, it's quite the tale. Apparently, he was arrested not too long ago."

"Arrested?" Max repeated, his interest piqued. "Whatever for?"

"That's not even the juiciest part," Fannar continued, warming to his subject. "Word has it that while he was in jail, he... well, he had relations with one of the knights. Every. Single. Night."

Max's eyes widened in disbelief. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, but I am," Fannar insisted. "And it gets better. Now that he's out, he's embroiled in a custody battle with said knight over children that may or may not even be his!"

At this point, Max couldn't contain himself. With a flick of his wrist, he grabbed a bucket of popcorn from…who knows where, much to Fannar's amazement. "Do go on," Max said, munching on the snack. "This is far more entertaining than any book I've read lately."

Fannar, momentarily distracted by the sudden appearance of popcorn, shook his head and continued. "Well, apparently, the knight had triplets. Aelfric doesn't think the knight is fit to be a parent, but he's not even sure if the children are his. And now, if you can believe it, the church is getting involved in the whole mess!"

Max nearly choked on his popcorn. "Triplets? The church? Fannar, are you quite certain you haven't been imbibing some of the monastery's sacramental wine?"

Fannar puffed up indignantly. "I'll have you know, Max, that my sources are impeccable. This is the talk of the entire monastery!"

Max shook his head, a bemused smile playing on his lips. "It's certainly... quite the tale. Though I must admit, it seems a bit far-fetched, even for him."

As Fannar launched into more details about the alleged custody battle, Max found his mind wandering. The story was so outlandish, so utterly unbelievable, that it almost seemed like something out of a poorly written novel. And yet, wasn't that what made it so entertaining?

A thought began to form in Max's mind. He had long lamented the fact that he couldn't officially enroll as a student at the Officers Academy due to his... unique situation. But perhaps there was another way to channel his vast knowledge and experiences.

As Fannar finally wound down his tale, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, Max made a decision. "Fannar, my friend," he said, a new light of determination in his eyes, "you've inspired me."

"Oh?" Fannar asked, curious. "How so?"

Max gestured grandly, nearly knocking over a stack of books in his enthusiasm. "If I can't join the Academy as a student, perhaps I can contribute in another way. These stories, these wild tales and rumors... they're begging to be written down, embellished, turned into something... more."

Fannar's eyes widened in understanding. "You mean... you want to write books?"

"Precisely!" Max exclaimed. "Fiction, of course. Stories inspired by the gossip and whispers that fill these hallowed halls. After all, with my... unique perspective, I'm sure I could craft tales that would make even Aelfric's “alleged” exploits seem tame by comparison."

As Max's mind raced with possibilities, he could already see the stories taking shape. Tales of magic and intrigue, of love and betrayal, all set against the backdrop of a world not unlike the one he now called home. It was perfect.

"Well," Fannar said, adjusting his spectacles, "I suppose the library could always use more original works. Just... try to keep it somewhat tasteful, won't you?"

Max's grin was positively wicked. "My dear Fannar, where would be the fun in that?"

As the sun began to set outside the library windows, casting long shadows across the rows of books, Max Eisenhardt, now self-proclaimed author-to-be, began to plot his first novel. It would be a tale of scandal and redemption, of power and responsibility, drawn from the wild rumors he'd just heard but infused with the wisdom of his many lifetimes.

And as he scribbled his first notes, a mischievous glint in his eye, Max couldn't help but think that perhaps this new endeavor would be just as exciting as any battle he'd ever fought. After all, the pen, as they say, is mightier than the sword - or in his case, mightier than even the power to control magnetic fields.

Chapter Text

A young Empress Charlotte entered the chamber at Kew Palace, her heart racing. She found Emperor George, freshly bathed, eating frantically as if he hadn't been fed in days. His movements were shaky, his demeanor raw. Charlotte watched him silently until he finished his meal.

Breaking the silence, Charlotte spoke gently, "A warm meal and a bath must be a balm. You seem more yourself. You look better."

George just stared at her, his eyes betraying a mix of emotions.

Charlotte tried again, "Do you...do you feel better?"

"You should not have come," George replied, his voice low and strained.

"I was most happy to come," Charlotte said, her tone hopeful.

"No," George insisted.

Charlotte's words tumbled out, "I am so sorry, I should have come sooner...Do not fear, I shall remain by your side-"

"NO," George interrupted forcefully. "Charlotte. Listen to my words: You should not have come. I do not want you here."

Confusion and hurt flashed across Charlotte's face. "George?"

"Go back to Buckingham House. Please," George pleaded. After a moment of silence, he continued, more insistently, "Do you hear me? I said go back to Buckingham House. That is where you live. That is where you belong. Go."

Charlotte remained unmoving, her determination evident. George, overwhelmed by emotion, rose and approached her, his voice rising to a shout.

"I do not want you. I want never to see you. Leave! -- GET OUT! -- I order you!"

Charlotte stood her ground. "No. No, George."

"Charlotte-" George began, but she cut him off.

"You cannot force me away. I will not go."

"I command it! GO!" George's voice thundered through the room.

Charlotte matched his intensity, "I WILL STAY! I COMMAND IT!!"

George was startled by her force, and a heavy silence fell between them.

"Please. Charlotte. Please go," George pleaded, his voice softer now.

"No," Charlotte replied firmly.

As George tried to reason with her, Charlotte interrupted, her voice thick with emotion. "I am. I have heard that you wish I had not come, that you want me to go, that you do not want to see me-"

"Charlotte-" George attempted to interject, but she pressed on.

"-What I have not heard is that you do not love me."

Charlotte's words poured out, revealing her inner turmoil. "I have been suffering and alone and believing I am a failure as a wife and as your Queen because you stayed from me as though I am a disease."

Then, with all the courage she could muster, she asked, "Do you love me?"

George tried to deflect, "I never intended to marry. I wanted-"

But Charlotte persisted, "Do you love me?"

The pain in George's eyes was evident as he pleaded, "Charlotte. Please. Stop."

Yet Charlotte wouldn't relent. She continued, her voice filled with hope and desperation, "And then today it quite suddenly occurred to me, that perhaps there is another reason. A better reason. Perhaps you stay away from me because you care for me. Perhaps you stay away because you love me. Do you love me?"

"I am trying to protect you-" George began, but Charlotte interrupted once more.

"Do you love me?"

George's resolve was crumbling. "I cannot...we cannot...this conversation is not...I cannot do this."

Charlotte laid her heart bare. "Is it that you do not believe that I could love you? I do. I love you, George. I love you so much that I will do as you wish. If you do not love me. All that you have to say is that you do not love me and I will go. I will go back to Buckingham House and we can live our separate lives and I will have this baby alone and make do and fill my days and survive all on my own. I will do that. But first you have to say that you do not love me. You have to tell me that I am utterly alone in this world."

The silence that followed was deafening. Finally, George spoke, his voice trembling.

"I am a madman. I am a danger. In my mind, there are other worlds creeping in. The heavens and the Earth collide and I do not know where I am."

Charlotte's response was unwavering. "GEORGE. I will stand with you between the heavens and the Earth. I will tell you where you are. DO YOU LOVE ME?!"

At last, the walls around George's heart crumbled. "I love you… From the moment I saw you trying to go over the wall, I have loved you desperately. I cannot breathe when you are not near. I love you, Charlotte. My heart calls your name."

They fell into each other's arms, their kisses desperate and passionate.

George's words tumbled out between kisses. "I wanted to tell you, I wanted you to know but...this madness has been my secret my entire life, this darkness is my burden. You bring the light."

Charlotte's response was simple yet powerful. "George. It is you and me. We can do this. Together."

As they held each other close, their kisses spoke of a love that had endured separation and misunderstanding. In that moment, they were not king and queen, but simply George and Charlotte – two young people in love, facing an uncertain future with newfound strength and unity.

The candle flickered, casting dancing shadows across the parchment as Max penned the final words of his manuscript. He sat back, a satisfied smile playing on his lips as he surveyed the fruits of his labor.

"The Empress's Tale" had flowed from his quill with surprising ease, drawing on his vast knowledge of history and his own experiences with power, love, and loyalty. While the story was set in a fictional version of the Adrestian Empire, Max couldn't help but see echoes of the real-world politics and relationships he observed daily at Garreg Mach Monastery.

As he carefully bound the completed manuscript, Max's mind wandered to the potential impact of his work. Would readers see the parallels he had drawn between Empress Charlotte's struggles and the challenges faced by real-world leaders? Would they recognize the themes of love, duty, and sacrifice that he had woven throughout the narrative?

With a contented sigh, Max extinguished the candle and prepared for bed. As he drifted off to sleep, his mind was already racing with ideas for his next literary endeavor. Perhaps a tale of star-crossed lovers from rival nations, or an epic saga of a commoner rising to power through wit and determination.

Whatever story came next, Max knew that he had found a new and powerful way to share his wisdom and influence the world around him. As sleep finally claimed him, a small smile played on his lips, the satisfied expression of a man who had discovered a new purpose in a world far from the one he once knew.

Chapter Text

Prince Lambert of Faerghus could hardly contain his excitement as he burst into the Blue Lions' common room, clutching a leather-bound book to his chest. His golden hair was slightly disheveled, and his blue eyes sparkled with an almost manic enthusiasm that made Rodrigue and Matthias exchange wary glances.

"My friends!" Lambert exclaimed, practically bouncing on his heels. "You simply must hear about this incredible novel I've just finished reading. It's called 'The Empress's Tale,' and it's absolutely captivating!"

Rodrigue, ever the loyal friend, managed a polite smile. "That's wonderful, Lambert. I'm glad you enjoyed it."

Matthias, less inclined to hide his feelings, let out a barely audible groan. This was not the first time Lambert had regaled them with tales of his latest literary obsession, and if history was any indication, it would not be the last.

Oblivious to his friends' lack of enthusiasm, Lambert launched into a detailed synopsis of the novel. He paced back and forth, gesticulating wildly as he described the trials and tribulations of Empress Charlotte and Emperor George.

"Can you imagine the emotional turmoil?" Lambert asked, his voice filled with wonder. "To love someone so deeply, yet feel compelled to push them away for their own protection? It's heart-wrenching!"

Rodrigue nodded mechanically, his eyes glazing over slightly. Matthias, meanwhile, had given up all pretense of interest and was openly examining the ceiling, counting the wooden beams to pass the time.

From a shadowy corner of the room, Rufus watched the scene unfold with poorly concealed amusement. His younger brother's passionate ramblings were irritating, to be sure, but watching Rodrigue and Matthias squirm was worth enduring the impromptu book report.

As Lambert delved into a particularly lengthy description of the novel's climactic confrontation between Charlotte and George, Matthias finally cracked.

"Lambert," he interrupted, his voice strained with forced politeness, "while this all sounds... fascinating, perhaps we could discuss something else? We do have battle strategies to review for our next misson."

Lambert blinked, momentarily thrown off his narrative stride. "Oh, of course! But don't you see? This novel is full of strategic insights! The way Charlotte navigates the treacherous waters of court politics while trying to reach George... it's a masterclass in diplomacy and perseverance!"

Rodrigue shot Matthias a look that clearly said, "Nice try." Clearing his throat, Rodrigue attempted to steer the conversation in a different direction. "Speaking of perseverance, how about we discuss our training regimen for the upcoming—"

"You know," Lambert interjected, his mind already racing back to the novel, "the author's use of metaphor is truly inspired. The way he describes the 'heavens and Earth colliding' in George's mind... it's such a powerful representation of internal struggle!"

Matthias slumped in his chair, defeated. Rodrigue maintained his polite façade, but the strain was beginning to show around his eyes. Rufus, still lurking in the background, had to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud at their misery.

As the afternoon wore on, Lambert continued to expound on every aspect of "The Empress's Tale," from its intricate plot twists to its profound themes of love, duty, and sacrifice. He drew parallels between the fictional empire and the Kingdom of Faerghus, finding lessons in governance and leadership that he swore would one day make him a better king.

The sun was setting by the time Lambert finally paused for breath, his eyes shining with the fervor of a true believer. Rodrigue and Matthias, looking thoroughly shell-shocked, seized the opportunity to make their escape.

"Well, Lambert, this has been... enlightening," Rodrigue said, rising from his chair with barely concealed relief. "But I'm afraid I have some... urgent matters to attend to."

"Same here," Matthias added quickly, already halfway to the door. "Very urgent. Can't wait. See you at dinner!"

As his friends beat a hasty retreat, Lambert called after them, "I'll lend you both my copy once I've finished my second read-through! You'll love it, I promise!"

The slamming of the common room door was the only response.

Left alone with his thoughts (and his book), Lambert settled into an armchair, eager to revisit his favorite passages. From his corner, Rufus finally emerged, a sardonic smile playing on his lips.

"Well, little brother," Rufus drawled, "you certainly have a gift for literary analysis. And for driving your friends to the brink of madness."

Lambert looked up, surprise and delight lighting up his features. "Rufus! I didn't realize you were here. Have you read 'The Empress's Tale'? It's simply magnificent!"

"Can't say that I have," Rufus replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "But after such a thorough and impassioned review, how could I possibly resist?"

Missing the irony entirely, Lambert beamed. "Oh, you must read it, brother! I'm sure you'll find it as inspiring as I do!"

Rufus smirked, already plotting how he could use this situation to his advantage. "You know what? I think I will pick it up. Just for fun, of course."

As he sauntered out of the room, leaving Lambert to his beloved book, Rufus couldn't help but chuckle. He might not share his brother's enthusiasm for literature, but he knew an opportunity when he saw one. If nothing else, reading this novel would give him ample material to torment Rodrigue and Matthias in the coming weeks.

After all, what were older brothers for, if not to make life just a little bit more miserable for everyone else?

Chapter Text

The soft glow of candlelight flickered across the worn pages of ancient tomes as Aelfric hunched over his desk in the monastery library. His brow furrowed in concentration, but it wasn't the arcane texts before him that occupied his thoughts. No, a far more personal matter weighed heavily on his mind.

Max lounged in a nearby chair, idly levitating a quill between his fingers. "You know," he drawled, breaking the silence, "brooding doesn't suit you. It clashes terribly with your aesthetic."

Aelfric looked up, a wry smile tugging at his lips despite his troubled expression. "I suppose you're right, Max. It's just... these rumors. They're completely unfounded, and yet they spread like wildfire."

Max's eyebrow arched in interest. "Ah yes, the salacious tale of Aelfric the Jailbird Lothario. Quite the page-turner, I must say."

"Max, please," Aelfric sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is serious. My reputation, my work... it's all at stake because of some baseless gossip."

The levitating quill dropped as Max leaned forward, his tone growing serious. "You're right, of course. My apologies. What do you say we get to the bottom of this? A little detective work to clear your good name?"

Aelfric's eyes lit up with determination. "You'd help me?"

"What are friends for?" Max grinned, rising to his feet. "Besides, I've always fancied myself a bit of a sleuth. Shall we begin our investigation, my dear Watson?"

Over the next few days, Max and Aelfric scoured the monastery, questioning staff and students alike. Max's sharp wit and Aelfric's gentle persistence made for an oddly effective combination. They followed leads, pieced together snippets of conversation, and gradually narrowed down their list of suspects.

"It's like trying to find a needle in a haystack," Aelfric groaned one evening, slumping against a bookshelf.

Max quirked an eyebrow. "More like trying to find a specific piece of hay in a haystack, if you ask me. But fear not, my friend. I have a hunch."

Their breakthrough came in the form of a timid kitchen maid who, under Max's intense questioning (and Aelfric's reassuring presence), finally cracked. She revealed that she had overheard two monks gossiping late one night, embellishing a simple story about Aelfric's brief detainment for a misunderstanding into the wild tale that now circulated the monastery.

"Bingo," Max declared, a triumphant gleam in his eye. "Shall we pay our creative storytellers a visit?"

Aelfric nodded, his jaw set in grim determination. "Indeed we shall."

They found the two monks in a secluded courtyard, chuckling over some private joke. Max hung back, curious to see how his usually mild-mannered friend would handle the confrontation.

What happened next left even the unflappable Max Eisenhardt speechless.

Aelfric approached the monks, his voice deceptively calm as he addressed them. But as they began to stammer excuses, something in Aelfric snapped. With a speed and ferocity that seemed at odds with his scholarly demeanor, Aelfric launched into a tirade that would have made even the most hardened knight quake in his boots.

Words flew like arrows, sharp and precise, as Aelfric systematically dismantled every aspect of their character. His vocabulary, usually employed in academic discourse, now served as a weapon, each syllable a blow against the monks' rapidly crumbling defenses.

But Aelfric didn't stop at verbal evisceration. In a move that left Max's jaw hanging open, the scholar grabbed the nearest monk by his robes and delivered a right hook that would have made Jeralt proud. The second monk, attempting to intervene, received an elbow to the solar plexus for his troubles.

What followed was a flurry of fists, feet, and righteous anger. Aelfric moved with a grace that belied his usual bookish demeanor, ducking and weaving as he rained blows upon the hapless monks. It was as if years of pent-up frustration had found their release in this moment of fury.

By the time Aelfric stepped back, breathing heavily, the two monks lay groaning on the ground, thoroughly thrashed both physically and verbally.

"I believe," Aelfric said, straightening his robes with dignified calm, "that we have reached an understanding about the dangers of spreading malicious gossip."

He turned to Max, whose expression was a mixture of shock and admiration. "Shall we, my friend? I believe I'm in the mood for some tea."

As they walked away, leaving the battered monks to contemplate their life choices, Max finally found his voice. "Aelfric, remind me never to get on your bad side. I daresay you just sent those poor souls to meet the Goddess and back."

Aelfric's lips quirked in a small smile. "Everyone has hidden depths, Max. Even scholars."

Max shook his head in wonder, still processing what he had witnessed. The prim and proper Aelfric, dealing out such a thorough thrashing? It was as if the world had turned upside down.

As they made their way back to the library, Max couldn't help but cast sideways glances at his friend. Aelfric had returned to his usual serene demeanor, looking for all the world like a man who spent his days lost in dusty tomes rather than someone who had just demonstrated a surprising talent for pugilism.

Max opened his mouth, no doubt to deliver some pithy comment about Aelfric's hidden talents, but for once, words failed him. He simply shook his head again, a bemused smile playing on his lips.

One thing was certain: he would never look at Aelfric quite the same way again.

Chapter Text

In the shadowy corridors of Garreg Mach Monastery, Rufus, had cultivated a reputation as a sharp-tongued cynic. His quips and sardonic smirks were legendary among the students and faculty alike. Yet, beneath this prickly exterior lay a secret that would shock even his closest acquaintances – Rufus had a soft spot for children and a newfound love for literature.

It all began when Lambert, in his typical exuberant fashion, had practically forced a copy of "The Empress's Tale" into Rufus's hands. Initially, Rufus had accepted the book with an exaggerated eye-roll and a drawled, "Oh joy, more bedtime reading." But as he began to read in the privacy of his quarters, he found himself unexpectedly drawn into the story of Empress Charlotte and Emperor George.

Rufus would never admit it aloud, but he found the tale of love, duty, and personal struggle deeply moving. He empathized with George's inner turmoil and admired Charlotte's unwavering devotion. The book stirred something in him, a longing for connection that he usually kept buried beneath layers of sarcasm and cynicism.

One sunny afternoon, Rufus decided to indulge in his secret pastime – reading to children at the public library in a nearby village. He had stumbled upon this activity by accident months ago when he had sought refuge from his brother's incessant chatter in the quiet library. A group of children had mistaken him for a storyteller, and rather than correct them, he had found himself reading aloud from a nearby picture book.

To his surprise, he had enjoyed the experience immensely. The children's wide-eyed wonder and innocent questions were a refreshing change from the political machinations and social posturing he usually dealt with at the monastery. And so, he had made it a habit to visit the library regularly, always careful to ensure no one from Garreg Mach discovered his secret.

On this particular day, Rufus arrived at the library with "The Empress's Tale" tucked under his arm. He hadn't intended to read it to the children, thinking it might be too mature for their young minds. However, as he settled into the worn armchair in the children's section, a precocious little girl named Lily spotted the unfamiliar book.

"Mr. Rufus," she chirped, her green eyes sparkling with curiosity, "what's that book you've got there? It looks fancy!"

Rufus glanced down at the leather-bound volume, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Oh, this? It's just a silly story my brother recommended. Nothing you'd be interested in, I'm sure."

But Lily was not so easily dissuaded. "Can you read it to us? Please? We like new stories!"

The other children quickly chimed in with their agreement, and Rufus found himself outnumbered. With a dramatic sigh that belied his inner excitement, he relented. "Very well, but don't blame me if you find it dreadfully boring."

As Rufus opened the book and began to read, he was unaware of a figure lurking in the shadows of the library stacks. Max, had followed Rufus out of curiosity. He had noticed the prince's brother sneaking off regularly and had decided to investigate.

Rufus's rich voice filled the library as he began the tale:

"A young Empress Charlotte entered the chamber at Kew Palace, her heart racing. She found Emperor George, freshly bathed, eating frantically as if he hadn't been fed in days. His movements were shaky, his demeanor raw. Charlotte watched him silently until he finished his meal."

The children leaned in, captivated by the story and by Rufus's surprisingly expressive reading. He found himself getting lost in the narrative, his usual sarcastic demeanor melting away as he brought the characters to life.

As he read Charlotte's impassioned plea, Rufus's voice softened with emotion:

"'Is it that you do not believe that I could love you? I do. I love you, George. I love you so much that I will do as you wish. If you do not love me. All that you have to say is that you do not love me and I will go. I will go back to Buckingham House and we can live our separate lives and I will have this baby alone and make do and fill my days and survive all on my own. I will do that. But first you have to say that you do not love me. You have to tell me that I am utterly alone in this world.'"

A collective gasp arose from his young audience. Lily's eyes were wide with concern. "Oh no! Poor Charlotte! George does love her, doesn't he, Mr. Rufus?"

Rufus smiled gently at the girl. "Well, let's keep reading and find out, shall we?"

As the story unfolded, Rufus found himself fully immersed in the tale. He gave each character a distinct voice, from George's tortured growl to Charlotte's determined declarations. The children hung on his every word, their reactions ranging from giggles at the lighter moments to shocked silence during the more intense scenes.

When he reached the climactic confrontation, Rufus's voice rose with passion:

"'GEORGE. I will stand with you between the heavens and the Earth. I will tell you where you are. DO YOU LOVE ME?!'"

The children were on the edge of their seats, some even holding hands in anticipation. Rufus paused for dramatic effect before continuing:

"At last, the walls around George's heart crumbled. 'I love you… From the moment I saw you trying to go over the wall, I have loved you desperately. I cannot breathe when you are not near. I love you, Charlotte. My heart calls your name.'"

A collective sigh of relief echoed through the library. Lily clapped her hands in delight. "I knew it! I knew he loved her!"

Rufus chuckled, a warm sound rarely heard within the walls of Garreg Mach. "Indeed he did, little one. Love can be a complicated thing, even for emperors and empresses."

As he finished the story, Rufus was surprised to find that the sun had nearly set. He had been reading for hours, completely losing track of time. The children, however, seemed just as enthralled as when he had begun.

"That was the best story ever, Mr. Rufus!" exclaimed a young boy named Tom. "Can you bring more books like that next time?"

Rufus felt a warmth in his chest that he wasn't quite sure how to handle. "We'll see," he said, trying to inject some of his usual sarcasm into his tone but failing miserably. "Now, off you go. I'm sure your parents are wondering where you've all disappeared to."

As the children scampered off, chattering excitedly about the story, Rufus began to pack up his things. He was lost in thought, reflecting on the unexpected impact the book had had on him, when a familiar drawl cut through the quiet of the library.

"Well, well, well. Who knew our resident cynic had such a flair for the dramatic?"

Rufus whirled around to find Max leaning casually against a bookshelf, a smirk playing on his lips. The boy’s eyes danced with amusement.

"I particularly enjoyed your rendition of Charlotte. You really captured her desperation quite beautifully. Have you considered a career in the theater?"

Rufus felt his face grow hot with embarrassment. He opened his mouth to deliver a scathing retort, but found himself uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

Max continued, clearly enjoying Rufus's discomfort. "And here I thought you were sneaking off for some nefarious purpose. Instead, I find you entertaining children with tales of love and sacrifice. How delightfully unexpected."

Finally finding his voice, Rufus snarled, "If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I'll-"

"You'll what?" Max interrupted, his tone light but with a hint of challenge. "Read me to death? Dramatically recite my doom?"

Rufus grabbed his book and pushed past Max, his usual composure completely shattered. As he stormed out of the library, he could hear Max's laughter echoing behind him.

In his haste to escape, Rufus failed to notice the small smile that had formed on his lips. Despite his embarrassment, there was a part of him that felt oddly liberated. His secret was out – at least to one person – and the world hadn't ended.

As he made his way back to Garreg Mach, Rufus found himself already planning his next visit to the library. Perhaps he would bring "The Empress's Tale" again. After all, the children had seemed to enjoy it, and he had to admit, he wouldn't mind revisiting the story himself.

For the first time in years, Rufus felt a sense of purpose that had nothing to do with politics or his position as the prince's brother. It was a strange feeling, but not an unpleasant one. And as he walked, he allowed himself a genuine smile, hidden from the world by the gathering darkness.

Chapter Text

In the bustling halls of Garreg Mach Monastery, there was one threat greater than any demonic beast or invading army: Sitri's cooking. The gentle, kind-hearted sister of Max, now happily engaged to Jeralt, had many talents, but culinary prowess was decidedly not one of them.

Max, known to his friends as Magnus due to his uncanny ability to attract “things”(and the occasional piece of metal), had first encountered the horror of Sitri's cooking shortly after her engagement . Eager to show off her newfound domestic skills, Sitri had invited Max over for dinner.

As Max took his first bite of what was supposed to be a simple beef stew, his taste buds recoiled in terror. The meat was somehow both overcooked and raw, the vegetables had the consistency of wet parchment, and the broth... oh, the broth. It tasted like someone had boiled old boots in dishwater and then sprinkled it with sawdust for flavor.

Max's face turned an impressive shade of green as he struggled to swallow the concoction. He glanced at Jeralt, expecting to see a similar expression of disgust, but to his amazement, the Blade Breaker was calmly eating as if nothing was amiss. Max wondered if years of battle had destroyed Jeralt's sense of taste, or if this was some new form of endurance training.

"How is it?" Sitri asked, her eyes shining with hope.

Max opened his mouth to reply, but all that came out was a strangled whimper. Jeralt, seeing his brother-in-law to be in distress, quickly intervened. "It's... unique, dear. Very... flavorful."

Sitri beamed with pride, completely missing the look of desperation Max shot at Jeralt.

From that day forward, Max made it his mission to save the monastery from Sitri's culinary experiments. Whenever he heard that his sister was on kitchen duty, he would spring into action like a superhero.

Using his quick wit and stealthy skills (honed from years of sneaking extra desserts and other straining missions in the Earth - 616 universe and Multiverse.), Max would slip into the kitchen when Sitri wasn't looking. With the precision of a master alchemist, he would add spices, adjust temperatures, and occasionally perform complete ingredient swaps to salvage the meals.

One memorable incident involved Aelfric, who had once been Sitri's admirer. Upon hearing that Sitri was cooking, the scholar had turned pale and muttered something about an urgent research project before fleeing the dinning hall at a speed that would have impressed even the swiftest pegasus knight.

Max's secret crusade wasn't without its close calls. Once, while rescuing a batch of cookies that more closely resembled charcoal briquettes, he nearly got caught when Sitri returned to the kitchen unexpectedly. In a panic, Max had to use his magnetism to float a whisk in mid-air as a distraction while he dove behind a sack of potatoes.

Despite the chaos and near-misses, Max never revealed his culinary interventions to Sitri. He couldn't bear to break his sister's heart or dampen her enthusiasm. Instead, he took pride in the smiles of relief on the faces of unsuspecting diners when they discovered that Sitri's latest creation was actually edible.

As time went on, Max's secret adventures became legendary among those in the know. Jeralt, who had long suspected something was amiss, once cornered Max after a particularly successful "rescue" of Sitri's attempt at roast pheasant.

"I don't know how you're doing it, kid," Jeralt said gruffly, "but keep it up. You're saving more lives than I ever did on the battlefield."

Max simply winked and replied, "Some heroes wear capes, others wear aprons. Just don't tell Sitri – this is one secret I'll take to my grave."

Chapter Text

As the Harpstring Moon dawned over Garreg Mach Monastery, the Blue Lions house found themselves preparing for their first real combat mission. Professor Cherith, a stern but caring woman with a wealth of battlefield experience, had been drilling her students relentlessly for this moment. Now, as they journeyed to Zanado, the Red Canyon, to face off against a group of bandits, the weight of what was to come hung heavy in the air.

Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius, at the ripe old age of 18, was no stranger to combat. He, along with his childhood friends Lambert, Matthias, and Halden, had already faced the grim reality of taking a life during the Maiden battle they'd endured at the tender age of 15. But as he glanced around at his fellow classmates, he could see the nervous energy radiating from those who had yet to experience the harsh reality of warfare.

Freya, Rodrigue's betrothed, was fidgeting with the hem of her uniform, her face pale and drawn. Sofie, a commoner who had joined their house with dreams of knighthood, was uncharacteristically quiet, her usual cheerful demeanor replaced by a solemn silence. Even Natalie, the eldest daughter of Count Charon, known for her cool composure, seemed to be struggling to maintain her usual poise.

As their caravan wound its way through the rugged terrain leading to Zanado, Rodrigue found himself seated next to Lambert. Despite the serious nature of their mission, Lambert's eyes sparkled with a mix of excitement and determination.

"Ready for some action, Rodrigue?" Lambert asked, his voice low enough not to carry to the more nervous members of their group.

Rodrigue nodded, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "As ready as one can be for such things. Though I must admit, I'm more concerned about how some of our classmates will fare."

Lambert's expression sobered as he glanced around at their companions. "Yes, I see what you mean. It's easy to forget that not everyone has... our experience."

From the front of the caravan, they heard Rufus's distinctive laugh. The older Blaiddyd brother was something of an anomaly in their class, having delayed his enrollment at the Officer's Academy for reasons he refused to discuss. Now, he seemed to be regaling Professor Cherith with some undoubtedly embellished tale of his past exploits.

"And there's Rufus, making light of the situation as always," Rodrigue muttered, unable to keep the note of disapproval from his voice.

Lambert sighed, a flicker of sadness passing over his features. "He means well, in his own way. I think he's trying to lighten the mood for everyone."

Before Rodrigue could respond, their caravan came to a halt. Professor Cherith's voice rang out, clear and authoritative. "We've arrived, students. Remember your training, stay in formation, and above all, watch out for each other. Our objective is to neutralize the bandit threat with minimal casualties on both sides if possible."

As they disembarked and formed up into their pre-assigned groups, Rodrigue found himself with Freya and Sofie. He could see the terror in Sofie's eyes and the way Freya's hands trembled as she gripped her lance.

"Stay close to me," Rodrigue told them, his voice low and reassuring. "Remember, we're a team. We'll get through this together."

As they advanced into the canyon, the first signs of the bandit camp came into view. Crude tents and makeshift fortifications dotted the landscape, and soon, shouts of alarm rang out as their presence was detected.

The clash of steel on steel filled the air as the Blue Lions engaged the bandits. Rodrigue moved with practiced efficiency, his sword flashing in the sunlight as he cut down one opponent after another. But even as he fought, he kept a watchful eye on his less experienced companions.

Freya, to her credit, was holding her own, her lance work precise if a bit hesitant. But it was when she landed her first killing blow that Rodrigue saw the color drain from her face. The bandit, a grizzled man with a vicious scar across his cheek, crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath him. Freya stumbled back, her eyes wide with shock, and for a moment, Rodrigue thought she might vomit.

"Freya!" he called out, dispatching another foe before rushing to her side. "Are you alright?"

She nodded mechanically, her gaze still fixed on the fallen bandit. "I... I didn't think it would be like this," she whispered.

Rodrigue placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Take a deep breath. Remember, it's us or them. You did what you had to do."

A heart-wrenching sob drew their attention. Sofie, who had been holding her own with her bow, had just loosed an arrow that found its mark in a bandit's throat. As the man fell, gurgling and clutching at the shaft protruding from his neck, Sofie dropped her bow, tears streaming down her face.

"I can't... I can't do this," she choked out between sobs. "There's so much blood..."

Rodrigue moved quickly, positioning himself between Sofie and the ongoing battle. "Sofie, listen to me. I know it's hard, but we need to keep moving. Stay behind me, alright? I'll protect you."

As they pressed on, Rodrigue caught glimpses of his other classmates in various states of distress. Natalie, surprisingly, seemed to be handling the situation with an eerie calm. After each opponent she felled with her magic, she would pause for a brief moment, murmuring what sounded like an apology to the corpse before moving on.

Lambert and Matthias were working in tandem, their years of training together evident in the way they seamlessly covered each other's blind spots. Halden, the 19-year-old Galatea heir, was providing aerial support, his wyvern's screeches adding to the cacophony of battle.

And then there was Rufus. Despite his usual sarcastic demeanor, Rodrigue couldn't help but notice the grim determination on the older Blaiddyd's face as he cut through the bandit ranks with his lance. It was a stark reminder that beneath his flippant exterior, Rufus was still a formidable warrior.

As the battle raged on, Rodrigue found himself separated from his group, pushed towards the heart of the bandit camp by the ebb and flow of combat. It was there that he encountered her - Gwyneira, the leader of this motley crew of outlaws.

She was a fearsome sight to behold, her wild hair matted with blood and her eyes blazing with a manic intensity. In her hands, she wielded a wicked-looking curved blade that seemed to dance in the air as she moved.

"Well, well," Gwyneira called out, her voice carrying over the din of battle. "What have we here? A little lordling come to play at war?"

Rodrigue raised his sword, settling into a defensive stance. "Surrender now," he called back, "and we can end this without further bloodshed."

Gwyneira's laugh was harsh and bitter. "Surrender? Oh, you noble types are all the same. You think you can just waltz in here and demand our submission? You have no idea what drives us, what we've been through!"

As she spoke, she lunged forward, her blade whistling through the air. Rodrigue parried just in time, the impact of their weapons sending shockwaves up his arm. They traded blows back and forth, neither able to gain a clear advantage.

From somewhere behind him, Rodrigue heard Rufus's voice call out, "Just finish the bitch already, Fraldarius!"

Gwyneira's eyes flashed with anger at Rufus's words. "I'm not just a bitch!" she snarled, redoubling her assault on Rodrigue. "I'm a bitch with a backstory!"

The sheer absurdity of her declaration caught Rodrigue off guard, and he nearly lost his footing. "What?" he managed to sputter, barely deflecting another of her strikes.

"You heard me!" Gwyneira pressed on, both verbally and with her blade. "You think we chose this life? You think we woke up one day and decided, 'Hey, let's become bandits, it'll be fun!'? No! We were driven to this by your precious nobility, by a system that grinds us down and spits us out!"

Rodrigue found himself in the bizarre position of trying to fend off both Gwyneira's physical attacks and her impassioned monologue. Around them, the sounds of battle seemed to fade as more and more combatants paused to watch this strange confrontation.

"I... I'm sorry?" Rodrigue offered, not entirely sure how to respond to a bandit leader's impromptu life story mid-combat.

"Sorry doesn't cut it, boy!" Gwyneira shot back, her blade coming dangerously close to Rodrigue's neck. "Do you have any idea what it's like to watch your family starve because some noble decided to raise taxes on a whim? To see your home burned to the ground because you couldn't pay your debts?"

As Gwyneira continued her tirade, Rodrigue caught sight of Lambert and Matthias approaching from behind her, weapons at the ready. He subtly shook his head, silently asking them to hold back. Something told him that this confrontation needed to play out.

"I... I understand your anger," Rodrigue said, cautiously lowering his sword a fraction. "But surely there must be a better way than this? Than preying on innocent travelers and villages?"

Gwyneira's eyes narrowed, but her grip on her weapon loosened slightly. "A better way? Like what? Begging on the streets? Selling ourselves to the highest bidder? At least this way, we have some control over our lives!"

By now, a small crowd had gathered around them, both bandits and Blue Lions students watching this surreal exchange with a mixture of confusion and fascination. Rodrigue could see Professor Cherith in the distance, her brow furrowed as she assessed the situation.

"Perhaps... perhaps there could be another path," Rodrigue ventured, his mind racing. "If you were to surrender now, lay down your weapons... I give you my word as a Fraldarius that I would speak on your behalf. To seek justice for the wrongs done to you and your people, through proper channels."

Gwyneira barked out a laugh, but there was less bitterness in it now. "Justice? Through proper channels? Oh, you sweet summer child. Do you really believe that's possible?"

"I have to," Rodrigue replied, his voice firm. "Otherwise, what are we fighting for? If we can't make the system better, then we're no better than... well, than bandits ourselves."

A heavy silence fell over the makeshift battlefield. Gwyneira's eyes searched Rodrigue's face, looking for any sign of deceit. For a long moment, no one moved, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

Then, with a heavy sigh, Gwyneira lowered her weapon. "You're either the most naive fool I've ever met," she said, "or the most dangerously idealistic. Either way... I suppose it's worth a shot. Better than dying here in this godforsaken canyon."

As if a spell had been broken, the remaining bandits began to lay down their arms. The Blue Lions, still on guard, moved in to secure the captives under Professor Cherith's watchful eye.

Rodrigue felt a hand clap him on the shoulder and turned to see Rufus standing there, an unreadable expression on his face. "Well done, Fraldarius," Rufus said, his usual sarcasm notably absent. "Though I have to say, your negotiation tactics could use some work. Next time, maybe try not to let the enemy give you their entire life story before you disarm them?"

Before Rodrigue could retort, Lambert joined them, his face a mixture of relief and amusement. "That was... certainly something," the prince said. "I don't think I've ever seen a battle end quite like that before."

As the adrenaline of combat began to fade, Rodrigue became acutely aware of the aftermath of their mission. All around, his classmates were dealing with the reality of what they had just experienced in various ways.

Freya had finally succumbed to her nausea, retching behind a nearby rock as Natalie held her hair back, murmuring soothing words. Sofie sat on the ground, her knees pulled up to her chest, staring blankly at nothing as Halden awkwardly tried to comfort her.

Matthias, ever the practical one, was already helping Professor Cherith organize the captives and tend to the wounded on both sides. And Rufus... Rufus was watching Rodrigue with an expression that mixed grudging respect with something that might have been concern, though he quickly masked it when he noticed Rodrigue's gaze.

As Rodrigue moved to help with the aftermath, he couldn't shake the feeling that this day had changed things, not just for him, but for all of them. They had come to Zanado as students playing at war. They were leaving as something else entirely.

The journey back to Garreg Mach was a somber one. The initial flush of victory had faded, replaced by a heavy silence as each student grappled with the realities of what they had done and seen. Rodrigue found himself seated next to Freya, who had regained some of her color but still looked shaken.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly, careful not to draw attention from the others.

Freya managed a weak smile. "I will be, I think. It's just... it's one thing to train for combat, to know intellectually what it means to be a knight. It's another thing entirely to actually... to take a life."

Rodrigue nodded, understanding all too well. "It never really gets easier," he admitted. "Nor should it, I suppose. The day it becomes easy is the day we lose a part of our humanity."

From across the caravan, Sofie's voice piped up, still trembling but with a note of determination. "Does it always feel like this? Like... like you're carrying the weight of every life you've taken?"

To Rodrigue's surprise, it was Rufus who answered. "It does," he said, his usual sarcastic tone replaced by something more solemn. "But you learn to carry it. You have to, or it'll crush you."

Lambert, spoke up next. "What we did today... it wasn't pleasant. But it was necessary. Those bandits were hurting innocent people. We stopped them. That doesn't make it easy, but it does make it right."

"And yet," Natalie mused, her voice thoughtful, "can we really say it's that simple? After hearing Gwyneira's story... it makes one wonder how many others like her are out there. Driven to desperation by circumstances beyond their control."

The caravan fell silent as they all pondered this. Rodrigue found his mind drifting back to the bizarre confrontation with Gwyneira. He had made her a promise, one he intended to keep. But how? How could he, a single noble, hope to address the systemic issues that had driven people like Gwyneira to banditry?

As if reading his thoughts, Professor Cherith spoke up from the front of the caravan. "What you're all feeling right now... this questioning, this discomfort... it's normal. More than that, it's necessary. It's easy to see the world in black and white, to divide people into 'good guys' and 'bad guys.' But the reality is far more complex. As future leaders, it's your responsibility to grapple with these complexities, to strive for true justice, not just easy answers."

Her words hung in the air, each student absorbing them in their own way. Rodrigue caught Lambert's eye and saw in his friend's gaze a mix of determination and uncertainty that he knew was mirrored in his own.

As the walls of Garreg Mach came into view, Rodrigue made a silent vow to himself. He would keep his promise to Gwyneira, yes, but more than that, he would dedicate himself to understanding the root causes of the injustices that plagued their society. It wouldn't be easy, and he knew he would face resistance, but it was necessary.

After all, what was the point of all their training, all their noble ideals, if they couldn't use them to make the world a better place?

As they passed through the monastery gates, Rodrigue felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Rufus, an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face.

"Don't think this changes anything between us, Fraldarius," Rufus said, his voice low. "But... what you did back there, with Gwyneira... it wasn't half bad. For a self-righteous prick, anyway."

Before Rodrigue could respond, Rufus had already moved away, leaving Rodrigue to ponder this backhanded compliment. It wasn't much, but coming from Rufus, it was practically a declaration of brotherhood.

Chapter Text

As the sun cast its warm glow over Garreg Mach Monastery, Prince Lambert found himself in one of his characteristically whimsical moods. The young royal, known for his unpredictable bursts of curiosity and penchant for asking oddly specific questions, approached his best friend Rodrigue with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Say, Rodrigue," Lambert began, his voice carrying the casual tone of someone about to drop a conversational bombshell, "I've been pondering something rather... unorthodox."

Rodrigue, who had long since learned to brace himself for Lambert's peculiar inquiries, raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what might that be, Your Highness?"

Lambert leaned in conspiratorially, his blue eyes twinkling with barely contained amusement. "If you could, hypothetically of course, square up with any person at the monastery - you know, hit them dead in the face, beat them up, catch them on sight with your bare hands - who would it be?"

For a moment, Rodrigue stared at his friend, processing the bizarre question. Then, without missing a beat, he looked Lambert dead in the eye and said with unwavering conviction, "Rufus."

Lambert's jaw dropped, his expression a comical mix of shock and delight. "My brother? Really?"

Before Rodrigue could elaborate, Matthias and Halden, who had been eavesdropping nearby, chimed in simultaneously: "Rufus."

The prince spun around, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You too? All of you want to fight my brother?"

Matthias nodded solemnly. "With all due respect, Your Highness, your brother has a way of... inspiring such sentiments."

Halden, usually the most reserved of the group, added, "I believe 'punchable' is the term that comes to mind when thinking of Rufus."

Lambert, caught between amusement and bewilderment, couldn't help but laugh. "I... I don't know whether to be offended on Rufus's behalf or impressed by your unanimous decision."

Rodrigue, seeing the humor in the situation, decided to explain. "Lambert, your brother is... well, he's Rufus. Remember last week when he replaced all the training dummies with scarecrows dressed in our clothes? Or the time he convinced the kitchen staff that you were allergic to anything that wasn't boiled cabbage?"

"Oh, and don't forget," Matthias added, "the incident with the wyvern dung and our boots."

Lambert winced at the memories. "Alright, I see your point. But surely there must be someone else in the monastery who's more... deserving?"

The three friends exchanged glances before Halden spoke up. "Your Highness, with all due respect, Rufus is in a league of his own when it comes to being... Rufus."

As if summoned by the mere mention of his name, Rufus appeared around the corner, his trademark smirk firmly in place. "Well, well, what's this? A secret meeting of the 'I Wish I Were As Charming As Rufus' club?"

The group fell silent, exchanging guilty looks. Lambert, ever the peacemaker (and perhaps enjoying the irony a bit too much), quickly intervened. "Brother! We were just discussing... hypothetical sparring partners! Yes, that's it."

Rufus raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Is that so? And who, pray tell, is the lucky individual you'd all like to 'spar' with?"

The tension in the air was palpable as Rodrigue, Matthias, and Halden struggled to keep straight faces. Lambert, caught between loyalty to his brother and amusement at the situation, blurted out the first name that came to mind.

"Volkhard! We were all saying how... educational it would be to spar with Volkhard."

Rufus stared at them for a long moment before bursting into laughter. "Oh, little brother, you are many things, but a good liar isn't one of them. Don't worry, your secret's safe with me... whatever it is."

As Rufus sauntered away, still chuckling to himself, Lambert turned to his friends with a sheepish grin. "Well, that was... interesting. Perhaps next time we should discuss less violent hypotheticals?"

Rodrigue, Matthias, and Halden nodded in agreement, though they couldn't help but share a secret smile. They may not have gotten to "square up" with Rufus in reality, but the shared fantasy had brought them closer together - and given them a story they'd be laughing about for years to come.

Chapter Text

As the Garland Moon dawned over Garreg Mach Monastery, Freya found herself caught in a peculiar limbo between trauma and tedium. It had been a month since the infamous "Bandits and Backstories" incident in Zanado, and the young noblewoman was still grappling with the aftermath of her first true battle experience. The weight of that first kill lingered in her dreams, turning restful nights into a parade of blood-soaked memories and philosophical quandaries.

Yet, as if the universe had a twisted sense of humor, Freya now found herself facing a challenge that seemed both trivial and insurmountable in comparison: a research project assigned by Professor Cherith, complete with the dreaded requirement of citing all sources.

"By the Goddess," Freya muttered as she stomped through the monastery's expansive library, her face a storm cloud of frustration. "We've barely had time to process nearly dying, and now we're expected to become scholars? What's next, a pop quiz on the proper etiquette for tea with bandits?"

As she rounded a corner, arms laden with books she had no intention of reading cover-to-cover, Freya collided with a tall, handsome young man. Books went flying, and for a moment, the air was filled with a flurry of papers and muffled curses.

"My apologies," the young man said, hurriedly gathering the scattered tomes. "I was too busy lamenting my own academic woes to watch where I was going."

Freya, still caught off guard, found herself face-to-face with none other than Volkhard von Arundel, the 19-year-old heir to House Arundel. She had seen him around the monastery before but had never spoken to him directly.

"No harm done," Freya replied, accepting a stack of books from Volkhard. "I was too busy planning my professor's untimely demise to notice much myself."

Volkhard's eyebrows shot up, a mix of amusement and intrigue dancing in his eyes. "Oh? And what heinous crime has your professor committed to warrant such dire consequences?"

Freya glanced around conspiratorially before leaning in. "Professor Cherith has assigned us a research project," she whispered, her voice dripping with mock horror. "And we must cite. All. Our. Sources."

For a moment, Volkhard stared at her blankly. Then, to Freya's surprise, he burst into laughter. "By the Goddess, you too? Professor Caldwell has inflicted the same torture upon us Black Eagles!"

And just like that, a bond was formed over shared academic misery.

As they found a quiet corner of the library to commiserate, Freya and Volkhard discovered they had more in common than just their current assignment woes. Both were still processing the realities of their combat training, struggling to reconcile their noble upbringings with the harsh truths of the world beyond the monastery walls.

"It's like they expect us to flip a switch," Freya vented, gesticulating wildly with a quill. "One day we're taking lives, the next we're supposed to care about proper citation format? Make it make sense, Volkhard!"

Volkhard nodded sagely, his own quill tucked behind his ear like some sort of scholarly fashion statement. "Indeed. It's as if the professors are in a competition to see who can devise the most mind-numbing busywork. I'm half convinced it's all an elaborate plot to keep us too exhausted to stage a coup."

As the afternoon wore on, their study session devolved into an increasingly ridiculous brainstorming session on how to thwart the professors' nefarious plans. Suggestions ranged from the practical ("We could start a petition for more relevant coursework") to the absurd ("What if we replaced all the library books with identical copies that only contained the phrase 'The cake is a lie' repeated for hundreds of pages?").

By the time the library candles had burned low, Freya realized that for the first time in weeks, the weight of her recent experiences had lifted, if only temporarily. In Volkhard, she had found not just a study partner, but a friend who understood the bizarre duality of their lives as students and future leaders.

As they parted ways, promising to meet again to actually work on their projects (or plot more elaborate schemes), Freya couldn't help but smile. Perhaps, she thought, there was something to be said for the professors' methods after all. In assigning this seemingly trivial task, they had inadvertently created an opportunity for connection and healing.

Of course, Freya mused as she headed back to her dormitory, that didn't mean she wouldn't still fantasize about replacing Professor Cherith's lecture notes with Gwyneira's bandit manifestos. After all, what was the point of higher education if you couldn't dream up a little academic anarchy now and then?

Chapter Text

As the Garland Moon cast its whimsical glow over Garreg Mach Monastery, Rufus Blaiddyd found himself in a predicament that would have made even the most optimistic soul question the Goddess's sense of humor. Professor Cherith's, in her infinite wisdom (or perhaps a moment of divine madness), had assigned the Blue Lions their latest academic torture - individual research projects.

While his fellow classmates received topics that aligned perfectly with their strengths - Rodrigue poring over ancient battle tactics, Sofie delving into the history of pegasus knights, and even his own brother Lambert somehow managing to turn a study of diplomacy into an excuse to charm every noble within a five-mile radius - Rufus sat staring at his assigned topic with all the enthusiasm of a cat facing a bath.

Magic. Of all the subjects in the vast realm of knowledge, he had been tasked with presenting on magic. Rufus, whose magical ability made a potato look like a prodigy, was expected to not only research but demonstrate magical techniques in front of the entire class.

"Marvelous," Rufus muttered, his voice dripping with enough sarcasm to fill the monastery's fishing pond. "Why stop there? Perhaps I could also demonstrate advanced wyvern riding while juggling flaming swords. Surely that would be equally within my realm of expertise."

As if the Goddess herself was cackling at his misfortune, Rufus remembered that their class presentation was scheduled mere days before the Blue Lions' next mission to Adrestian. Because clearly, what every student needs before risking life and limb is the stress of public humiliation.

With a sigh that could have withered the monastery's prized roses, Rufus gathered his meager research materials and trudged towards the library. His gait was that of a man marching to his own execution, each step accompanied by a colorful mental image of how spectacularly he might fail.

"Perhaps I'll accidentally turn myself into a toad," he mused darkly. "At least then I'd have an excuse to skip the mission. Though knowing my luck, I'd probably end up as a particularly sarcastic lily pad instead."

As he entered the library, Rufus's eyes scanned the room with the desperate hope of finding someone, anyone, who might be able to salvage this academic disaster. His gaze landed on a familiar figure, and for a moment, he considered whether facing certain doom alone might be preferable to seeking help from this particular individual.

There, surrounded by a fortress of books and wearing a smirk that could curdle milk, sat Max.

Rufus paused, weighing his options. On one hand, Max was undeniably skilled in magic. On the other hand, he was... well, Max. The same Max who had discovered Rufus's secret penchant for reading children's stories and had been gleefully holding it over his head ever since.

As Rufus stood frozen in indecision, Max looked up, his eyes lighting with mischievous glee as he spotted the clearly distressed Blue Lion.

"Well, well," Max drawled, his voice carrying easily across the quiet library. "If it isn't our resident storyteller. Come to research some new bedtime tales, or are you finally ready to admit you need help with something more... explosive?"

Rufus felt his eye twitch, a vein in his forehead throbbing with the effort of not throttling Max on the spot. But as much as it pained him to admit it, he knew he had no choice. With his dignity already in tatters and the looming specter of magical incompetence threatening to make him the laughingstock of not just his class, but potentially the entire monastery, Rufus took a deep breath and prepared to do the unthinkable: ask Max for help.

As he opened his mouth to speak, Rufus couldn't shake the feeling that somewhere, the Goddess was laughing her divine head off. And frankly, he couldn't blame her. If he weren't the butt of this cosmic joke, he might even find it amusing himself.

Chapter Text

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the monastery grounds, Max found himself in the unenviable position of magical tutor to Garreg Mach's most sarcastic student. Rufus stood before him, arms crossed, looking about as enthusiastic as a cat in a bathtub.

"Shall we begin with the basics, or would you prefer to jump straight to turning yourself into a toad?" Max drawled, his eyes glinting with mischief. "I hear it's quite the party trick in certain circles."

Rufus's eye twitched, a vein in his forehead pulsing dangerously. "Oh, by all means, let's start with advanced transfiguration. I'm sure that won't end in disaster at all."

Max smirked, secretly enjoying the verbal sparring. It had been a while since he'd met someone who could match his level. "Very well, we'll start with something simpler. Perhaps a basic fire spell? Try not to singe those luscious locks of yours."

As Rufus attempted to conjure even the tiniest spark, Max found himself oddly captivated. There was something almost endearing about the way Rufus's brow furrowed in concentration, his usual sarcastic demeanor replaced by genuine effort.

"You know," Max mused, circling Rufus like a particularly sassy shark, "for someone so verbally gifted, you're remarkably inept at channeling that energy into actual magic."

Rufus shot him a glare that could have curdled milk. "Perhaps if my teacher spent less time admiring my hair and more time actually instructing, we might make some progress."

Max raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Oh? And here I thought you were enjoying our little tête-à-tête."

For a moment, something flickered in Rufus's eyes - a mix of frustration, amusement, and something else Max couldn't quite place. Clearing his throat, Max decided to switch tactics. "Alright, let's try something different. Close your eyes and focus on the energy within you. Imagine it as a current, flowing through your veins."

Rufus complied, his face relaxing slightly. Max found himself studying the sharp lines of Rufus's jawline, the way his eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks. He shook his head, banishing the distracting thoughts.

"Now," Max continued, his voice dropping to a low, almost intimate tone, "imagine that energy pooling in your hands. Feel the warmth, the power."

To both their surprise, a tiny flame flickered to life in Rufus's palm. His eyes snapped open, wide with shock and a hint of pride.

"Well, well," Max drawled, ignoring the odd flutter in his chest, "it seems you're not entirely hopeless after all."

Rufus's usual smirk returned, though there was a new warmth to it. "High praise indeed from you Max. Should I swoon now, or would you prefer I wait until after class?"

As their lessons continued over the next few weeks, something shifted between them. The barbs became less cutting, the silences less awkward. They found themselves lingering after each session, trading quips and stories long after the sun had set.

One evening, as they sat side by side on a secluded balcony, Rufus turned to Max with an uncharacteristically serious expression. "Why did you agree to help me? I know I'm not exactly your favorite person."

Max was quiet for a moment, contemplating the stars above. "Perhaps I saw a bit of myself in you," he admitted finally. "A misfit with a sharp tongue and a lot to prove."

Rufus snorted, but there was no real heat behind it. "Are you saying we're kindred spirits? How nauseating."

"Oh, absolutely revolting," Max agreed, his eyes dancing with amusement. "We should probably stop spending time together immediately."

Neither of them moved.

As the day of Rufus's presentation approached, Max found himself oddly invested in his student's success. He'd never admit it out loud, but he'd grown rather fond of the sarcastic Blue Lion.

On the morning of the presentation, Max caught Rufus outside the classroom, looking uncharacteristically nervous. Without thinking, he reached out and straightened Rufus's collar.

"You've got this," Max said softly, his hand lingering perhaps a moment too long. "Just remember, if all else fails, you can always turn Professor Cherith into a toad."

Rufus laughed, the tension in his shoulders easing. "I'll save that for my grand finale."

As Rufus disappeared into the classroom, Max leaned against the wall, a small smile playing at his lips. He had a feeling this was just the beginning of a very interesting partnership.

Chapter Text

Rufus, the crown prince of sarcasm and second in line to the throne of Faerghus, was having a spectacularly mediocre week at Garreg Mach Monastery. It all began on Monday when he found himself once again in the unenviable position of magical tutee to the monastery's most enigmatic and frustratingly competent person, Max.

"Ah, Rufus," Max drawled as Rufus trudged into the classroom, "so kind of you to grace us with your presence. I was beginning to think you'd turned yourself into a particularly grumpy stone gargoyle."

Rufus's eye twitched. "Oh, the temptation was there, believe me. Anything to escape another thrilling lesson on how not to set my eyebrows on fire."

Max smirked, circling Rufus like a particularly shark. "Well, we can't have that. Your eyebrows are one of your few redeeming features."

The lesson proceeded with its usual mix of begrudging effort on Rufus's part and sardonic commentary from Max. By the end, Rufus had managed to produce a flame that was less "raging inferno" and more "mildly perturbed candle," which Max declared a rousing success.

Tuesday found Rufus in the library, attempting to research magical theory while simultaneously avoiding his brother Lambert's enthusiastic ramblings about his latest literary obsession.

"Rufus!" Lambert exclaimed, appearing from behind a bookshelf like an overly cheerful ghost. "You simply must read 'The Empress's New Clothes.' It's a fascinating exploration of politics and fashion in the Empire!"

Rufus groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Lambert, dear brother, unless this book contains a spell to make me disappear, I'm afraid I'll have to pass."

Wednesday brought a new round of torment as Rufus found himself paired with Max for stable duty. As they mucked out stalls, Max regaled him with an unnecessarily detailed history of Fódlan's horse breeding practices.

"Did you know," Max said, pausing to lean on his pitchfork, "that the Blaiddyd line once bred a horse so stubborn it refused to move for an entire year?"

Rufus snorted. "Ah, yes. Great-Uncle Fergus. We don't talk about him much."

Thursday saw Rufus attempting to avoid both Max and Lambert by hiding in the greenhouse. His plan was foiled when he discovered them both there, engaged in an animated discussion about the magical properties of carnivorous plants.

"Rufus!" Lambert called out. "Come join us! Max was just explaining how the Adrestian Pitcher Plant can be used in truth serums."

"Fascinating," Rufus deadpanned. "I don't suppose it works on overbearing little brothers?"

Max raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid not. Though I hear it's quite effective on sarcastic older siblings."

By Friday, Rufus was seriously considering whether it was possible to fake his own death and escape to a remote corner of Sreng. His plans were interrupted by Max, who cornered him in the dining hall.

"Rufus," Max said, his voice dripping with false sweetness, "I couldn't help but notice you've been avoiding our supplementary lessons. Shall we schedule a makeup session for tomorrow? Say, at dawn?"

Rufus's face contorted into a grimace that could have curdled milk. "Oh, joy. Nothing I love more than combining magic and early mornings. Why don't we make it interesting and do it while standing on our heads?"

Max's eyes glinted dangerously. "An excellent suggestion. I'll make the necessary arrangements."

Saturday dawned bright and early, with Rufus seriously regretting his life choices as he found himself attempting to cast fire spells while inverted. Lambert, ever the supportive brother, had shown up to cheer him on.

"You're doing great, Rufus!" Lambert called out encouragingly. "Your face is almost the same color as your flame!"

Rufus, blood rushing to his head, managed to growl out, "Lambert, I swear by all that is holy, if you don't stop talking, I will use what little magic I've learned to turn you into a very enthusiastic toad."

As the week drew to a close on Sunday, Rufus found himself in the common room, nursing a headache and his wounded pride. Max sauntered in, looking far too pleased with himself.

"Well, Rufus," he said, taking a seat across from the prince, "I must say, your magical abilities have shown marginal improvement. At this rate, you might be able to light a candle without setting the monastery ablaze by the time you graduate."

Rufus glared at him. "Your confidence in me is truly heartwarming. I don't suppose you'd care to demonstrate the proper technique for turning insufferable instructors into sea slugs?"

Max chuckled. "I'm afraid that's a bit beyond your current abilities. Perhaps we should start with something simpler. How about turning pebbles into slightly larger pebbles?"

As Rufus prepared a suitably scathing retort, Lambert burst into the room, clutching yet another book to his chest. "Rufus! Max! You won't believe what I just read about the migratory patterns of Albinean singing fish!"

Rufus and Max exchanged a look of shared exasperation, a momentary truce forming in the face of Lambert's boundless enthusiasm.

"Well," Rufus sighed, "I suppose there are worse fates than magical ineptitude and sarcasm."

Max nodded sagely. "Indeed. We could be trapped listening to Lambert's fish facts for eternity."

And so ended another week at Garreg Mach, with Rufus vowing to find new and creative ways to avoid both magical training and his brother's latest obsessions.

Chapter Text

As the Garland Moon cast its gloomy shadows over Garreg Mach Monastery, Prince Lambert found himself in a peculiar predicament. The young royal, known for his boundless enthusiasm and penchant for asking oddly specific questions, was about to embark on a journey that would test not only his combat skills but also his ability to maintain his signature optimism in the face of harsh realities.

It all began when Archbishop Rhea, in her infinite wisdom, decided to assign Professor Cherith and her students a new quest. The mission: to travel with the Knights of Seiros, led by the legendary Jeralt Eisner, to deal with the aftermath of a rebellion against the church. This rebellion, raised by a minor lord in Arundel territory, promised to be a perfect blend of political intrigue and hands-on combat experience - just what every budding noble needed to round out their education.

Lambert, ever the eager student, couldn't contain his excitement. "A real mission!" he exclaimed to Rodrigue, who was attempting to pack his bags with a modicum of dignity. "Think of all we'll learn! Do you suppose the rebellious lord has a manifesto? Oh! Maybe we could ask for a copy for our library!"

Rodrigue, long-suffering as always, merely sighed. "Your Highness, I don't think collecting enemy propaganda is part of our mission brief."

"But think of the historical value!" Lambert protested, his eyes shining with academic fervor. "Future generations could study it and learn... um... how not to rebel!"

Rodrigue shifted in his seat, trying to come up with a response that wouldn't fuel Lambert's newest obsession. But before he could speak, Volkhard von Arundel entered the room. Volkhard usually composed face was now set in a scowl of disapproval. His sharp features were accentuated by a furrowed brow and tightly pursed lips. He walked with purpose, his steps deliberate and firm, exuding an aura of authority. His stern expression seemed to radiate an air of seriousness and no-nonsense.

"Your Highness, Rodrigue," Volkhard greeted them with a nod. "I trust you're prepared for the journey ahead?"

Lambert beamed. "Of course! Though I must admit, I'm curious about your presence, Volkhard. Are you joining us as well?"

Volkhard's expression tightened almost imperceptibly. "Indeed. As this... unfortunate business is taking place in Arundel territory, it's my duty to accompany you and offer any assistance I can."

"Splendid!" Lambert clapped his hands together. "And your sister, Anselma? Will she be joining us as well?"

A shadow passed over Volkhard's face. "I'm afraid not. Anselma has fallen ill and must remain here. It's... probably for the best, given the circumstances."

As Lambert opened his mouth to inquire further, probably about the exact nature of Anselma's illness and its potential impact on Arundel's agricultural output, Rodrigue swiftly intervened. "We're sorry to hear that, Volkhard. Please give her our best wishes for a speedy recovery."

Volkhard nodded gratefully, and the conversation turned to more practical matters of their impending departure. As they discussed supplies and travel routes, Lambert couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Volkhard's presence - and Anselma's absence - than met the eye. But before he could formulate a suitably probing question, they were interrupted by a familiar drawl.

"Well, well, if it isn't the Three Musketeers, plotting to save the world one textbook at a time."

Rufus, Lambert's older brother, sauntered into view, his trademark smirk firmly in place. Lambert's face lit up at the sight of his brother, while Rodrigue and Volkhard exchanged long-suffering glances.

"Rufus!" Lambert exclaimed. "Have you come to see us off? Or perhaps you're joining the mission as well?"

Rufus raised an eyebrow. "Join you on a merry jaunt through rebel-infested territory? As tempting as that sounds, I'm afraid I must decline. Someone has to stay behind and make sure the monastery doesn't spontaneously combust in your absence."

"Are you quite certain?" Lambert pressed, undeterred by his brother's sarcasm. "Your magical abilities could be quite useful, you know. Why, just the other day, I saw you turn a pebble into a slightly larger pebble! Imagine the possibilities on the battlefield!"

For a moment, Rufus's carefully cultivated mask of indifference slipped, revealing a flicker of genuine amusement. "Ah, yes. I'm sure the rebels will tremble in fear at my ability to mildly inconvenience them with marginally increased tripping hazards."

As the brothers continued their good-natured banter, Rodrigue and Volkhard exchanged knowing looks. Despite their constant verbal sparring, it was clear that Lambert and Rufus shared a deep bond - one that would undoubtedly be tested in the days to come.

The next morning, as the first rays of sunlight peeked over the monastery walls, Professor Cherith's class assembled in the courtyard. The air was thick with a mixture of excitement and apprehension as the students adjusted their armor and checked their weapons one last time.

Jeralt Eisner, the renowned Blade Breaker, surveyed the group with a critical eye. "Alright, listen up," he began, his gruff voice cutting through the morning chill. "This isn't a training exercise. We're dealing with real rebels with real weapons and real grudges. Stay alert, follow orders, and for the love of the Goddess, try not to get yourselves killed."

Lambert, practically vibrating with enthusiasm, raised his hand. "Captain Jeralt! I have a question!"

Jeralt sighed, already regretting his decision to allow questions. "Yes, Your Highness?"

"In your extensive experience dealing with rebellions, have you ever encountered a rebel with a particularly fascinating reason for their actions? Perhaps someone rebelling against unfair taxation on exotic cheeses or-"

"Your Highness," Jeralt interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose, "rebellions are rarely about cheese. Let's focus on the mission at hand, shall we?"

As they set out on their journey, the rhythmic sound of hooves against dirt filled the air. Lambert rode alongside Volkhard, his trusted advisor and friend, who appeared deep in thought. Seizing the opportunity for conversation, Lambert asked, "Volkhard, as this rebellion is taking place within your territory, do you have any insights or information to share?"

Volkhard's face darkened as he pondered the question. The tension was palpable as he carefully chose his words before responding. "The situation is... complex, Your Highness. The lord in question has long been a thorn in my family's side, constantly testing the boundaries of his authority. But this... this is unprecedented." His voice trailed off, betraying a sense of unease and worry about the events unfolding within his own territory.

Lambert nodded sagely. "Ah, yes. The delicate balance of power between nobles and their vassals. Fascinating stuff! Do you think-"

But before Lambert could launch into what would undoubtedly have been a long and winding tangent about feudal politics and their impact on local cheese production, they were interrupted by a commotion at the front of the group.

A church soldier, his face pale and drawn, had ridden up to Jeralt with urgent news. "Captain! We've received reports from our scouts. The numbers of the rebellion are far greater than we initially predicted. It seems... it seems many villagers and commoners have joined their ranks."

A hush fell over the group as the implications of this news sank in. Lambert's ever-present smile faltered for the first time since they'd left the monastery. He glanced at Volkhard, whose face had become an unreadable mask.

Professor Cherith, her usual calm demeanor slightly strained, addressed her students. "This changes things, but our mission remains the same. We must quell this rebellion and restore order. Remember your training, stay close to your assigned groups, and... and may the Goddess watch over us all."

As they drew nearer to the site of the rebellion, the cacophony of battle intensified. The metallic clangs of swords meeting, the anguished cries of combatants, and the pungent stench of burning buildings filled their senses. Lambert's initial determination now replaced with a grim sense of duty, he drew his sword and braced himself for the impending fight.

The skirmish that followed was chaotic and savage. In the midst of the chaos, Lambert found himself facing off not against trained soldiers, but ordinary citizens armed with farm tools and makeshift weapons. Each strike he landed left him feeling conflicted, knowing that he was fighting his own people.

Amidst a brief lull in the fighting, Lambert and Rodrigue stood back-to-back, their chests heaving from exertion as they fended off another group of rebels. The weight of their actions weighed heavily on them both, but they knew they had to continue fighting for what they believed was right.

"Rodrigue," Lambert panted, parrying a blow from a man who looked more suited to tilling fields than wielding a sword, "does something about this feel... wrong?"

Rodrigue, ever focused on the task at hand, replied tersely, "Now's not the time for philosophical debates, Your Highness. We need to push through to the rebel leader."

As they fought their way towards the center of the conflict, Lambert couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this rebellion than met the eye. The desperation in the eyes of the villagers, the whispered pleas for mercy, the way some seemed to fight not with anger but with fear - it all painted a picture that didn't quite match the briefing they'd received.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of combat, they reached the minor lord who had instigated the rebellion. The man, cornered and outnumbered, fought with the ferocity of one who knew he had nothing left to lose.

"You don't understand!" he shouted as Jeralt disarmed him with a powerful blow. "The church... they're not what you think! There are secrets-"

But before he could finish, an arrow from one of the Knights of Seiros found its mark, silencing him forever. Lambert, his sword arm trembling from exertion and emotion, stared at the fallen lord with a mixture of pity and confusion.

As the dust settled and the remaining rebels surrendered, Lambert found himself helping with the aftermath. As he assisted in tending to the wounded - both friend and foe - he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that they had missed something crucial.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a warm orange glow across the sky, Lambert and his fellow students settled down for the night. The usual sparkle of excitement in Lambert's eyes had been replaced by a thoughtful frown as he attempted to voice his concerns.

"Don't you find it rather peculiar?" he asked, breaking the silence that had fallen over the group. "Why would so many villagers join a rebellion against the church? And what was the lord trying to convey at the end?"

His classmates, drained and emotionally exhausted from the day's events, were in no mood for deep contemplation.

"Your Highness," Natalie spoke up softly, "perhaps some people simply make bad choices. It is not our place to question the church's judgment."

Matthias chimed in, "We must focus on regaining our strength and moving forward. Dwelling on the past won't change what has happened." Despite their words of reassurance, there was a sense of unease lingering in the air, like a thick fog settling over their minds.

Discouraged but not deterred, Lambert sought out those he knew might be more receptive to his concerns. He found Rodrigue first, sitting alone by the fire, his usual stoic expression marred by a troubled frown.

"Rodrigue," Lambert began, sitting beside his friend, "tell me I'm not the only one who thinks there's more to this rebellion than we've been told."

Rodrigue was quiet for a long moment before responding. "You're not alone, Your Highness. Something about this doesn't sit right with me either. But... we must be cautious. Questioning the church's actions, especially after a battle like this, could be seen as... problematic."

Lambert nodded, grateful for his friend's honesty. "I understand. But we can't just ignore our doubts, can we?"

As Rodrigue opened his mouth to respond, the tranquil silence was shattered by the sound of hurried footsteps. They turned to see Volkhard approaching them, his face an emotionless mask that revealed nothing. His voice was low and measured as he greeted them with a respectful nod.

"Your Highness, Rodrigue," he addressed them. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. Your concerns are not unfounded."

Lambert leaned in, his eyes filled with curiosity. "What do you mean, Volkhard? Do you know something?"

Volkhard's gaze flickered around briefly, making sure they were not being overheard. When he spoke again, his words were carefully chosen. "The situation is... complicated. The church's involvement in such matters is not always transparent."

Lambert persisted, "But the rebellion—"

"May have been a mere symptom of a larger issue," Volkhard interjected softly. "The lord we fought today... his grievances may have had more validity than we were led to believe. And my sister, Anselma... her absence is connected to these matters in ways that I am unable to reveal fully."

The implications of Volkhard's cryptic words hung heavy in the air. Lambert's mind raced with questions, but before he could speak, they were interrupted by Rufus's arrival.

"Well, well," Rufus drawled, his usual sarcastic tone tempered by a hint of genuine concern, "what's this? A secret meeting of the 'We Have Doubts But We're Too Polite To Say It Outright' club?"

Lambert, for once, didn't rise to his brother's bait. "Rufus... do you think-"

"That this whole situation stinks more than the monastery stables after a wyvern feeding frenzy?" Rufus finished, dropping his voice to a whisper. "Obviously. I may spend most of my time avoiding responsibility and making questionable life choices, but I'm not blind."

The four of them huddled closer, their voices barely above a whisper. Volkhard remained largely silent, offering only brief, pointed observations that subtly called into question the church's narrative. As the night wore on, one thing became clear: there was far more to this rebellion than any of them had initially realized.

As they prepared to turn in for the night, Lambert found himself staring up at the stars, his mind whirling with unanswered questions. The weight of the day's events, combined with the cryptic warnings from Volkhard and the shared concerns of his friends, left him feeling both determined and unsettled.

"Rodrigue," he whispered, knowing his friend was still awake beside him, "what do we do now?"

Rodrigue was quiet for a long moment before responding. "We keep our eyes open, Your Highness. We watch, we listen, and we prepare. Whatever's really going on here, I have a feeling this is just the beginning."

As Lambert drifted off into an uneasy sleep, he couldn't shake the feeling that their lives at Garreg Mach were about to become far more complicated than any of them had ever imagined. The rebellion might have been quelled, but the questions it raised were just beginning to take root.

As Lambert tossed and turned in his sleep, images of the brutal battle flooded his mind. The cries of the innocent villagers echoed in his ears, along with the haunting words of their fallen leader. His friends' pained expressions only added to his turmoil. Amidst the chaos and confusion, one thought burned bright: something was not right. But as determined as he was to uncover the truth, a part of him feared what he might discover.

Chapter Text

Prince Lambert of Faerghus burst into the Blue Lions' common room, his golden hair even more disheveled than usual, clutching a leather-bound book to his chest as if it were a priceless relic. His blue eyes gleamed with a fervor that made his friends Rodrigue and Matthias exchange knowing, weary glances.

"My friends!" Lambert exclaimed, practically vibrating with excitement. "You simply must hear about this incredible novel I've just finished reading. It's called 'Life Eternal,' and it's by the same author who wrote 'The Empress's Tale'!"

Rodrigue, ever the loyal friend, managed a polite smile. "That's... wonderful, Lambert. I'm glad you found another book you enjoy."

Matthias, less inclined to hide his feelings, let out an audible groan. "Oh no, not again..."

As Lambert delved into a particularly lengthy description of Damien's party of courageous warriors and their quest to seal away the Calamity, he suddenly turned bright red and fumbled with the book, nearly dropping it.

"And then... well... there are certain... scenes..." Lambert stammered, his face now resembling a ripe tomato. "I must admit, I wasn't quite prepared for the, um, intimate nature of Damien's relationship with Astarion."

Rodrigue's eyebrows shot up in surprise, while Matthias leaned forward, suddenly interested. "Oh?" Matthias smirked. "Do tell, Lambert. What kind of 'intimate nature' are we talking about?"

Lambert's blush deepened impossibly further. "Well, you see... there are quite a few... detailed descriptions of their... encounters. I found myself having to throw the book across the room several times out of sheer embarrassment!"

Rodrigue couldn't help but chuckle at his friend's discomfort. "Lambert, you do realize you didn't have to finish the book if it made you uncomfortable, right?"

"But I had to know how it ended!" Lambert protested. "Besides, once I got past my initial shock, I realized how important these scenes were to the overall narrative."

Lambert's expression turned serious as he continued, "This book, my friends, it's not just a fantastical tale. It holds a mirror up to our own society. The homophobia Damien and Astarion face, the racism between different races, the ableism towards those affected by the tadpoles... it's all a reflection of the problems we face in our own world."

Matthias and Rodrigue exchanged surprised glances, not expecting such profound observations from their usually oblivious friend.

"It's truly opened my eyes," Lambert continued, his voice filled with newfound conviction. "As future leaders, we must strive to create a world where love is celebrated in all its forms, where people of all races and abilities are treated with respect and dignity."

There was a moment of stunned silence in the common room. Then, slowly, Rodrigue stood up and placed a hand on Lambert's shoulder. "You know, Lambert, I think I might actually want to read this book now."

Matthias nodded in agreement. "Yeah, me too. It sounds like there's a lot more to it than just... mind flayers and vampires."

Lambert beamed at his friends, his earlier embarrassment forgotten. "Oh, you must read it! I'm sure you'll find it as inspiring as I do! And don't worry, I'll warn you before the more... intimate scenes."

As Lambert launched into another passionate discourse about the book's themes and characters, Rodrigue and Matthias settled in to listen, their initial reluctance replaced by genuine interest. Perhaps, they thought, there was more to Lambert's literary obsessions than they had given him credit for.

And if they occasionally teased him about his blushing reactions to the steamier scenes, well, that's what friends were for, after all.

Chapter Text

The sun had barely begun to set over Garreg Mach Monastery when the peaceful evening was shattered by the sound of heated voices echoing through the stone corridors. At the epicenter of this unexpected disturbance was none other than Prince Lambert of Faerghus, his golden hair askew and his blue eyes blazing with righteous indignation.

Beside him stood Halden, one of Lambert's childhood friends, his face contorted in a mixture of disgust and disbelief. The two young men had been engaged in what had started as a friendly catch-up session but had quickly devolved into a heated debate that was drawing curious glances from passing students and faculty alike.

"I just don't understand how you can defend such... unnatural behavior," Halden spat, his voice dripping with disdain. "Two men together? It's revolting!"

Lambert's face flushed red, but whether from anger or embarrassment was hard to tell. His fingers tightened around the leather-bound copy of "Life Eternal" that he still carried with him everywhere.

"Halden, my friend," Lambert began, his voice strained with the effort of remaining calm, "I think you're missing the point entirely. This isn't just about two men being together. It's about love, acceptance, and overcoming trauma!"

Halden scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Oh please, spare me the sappy nonsense. It's wrong, plain and simple."

It was at this precise moment that Rodrigue and Matthias, having heard the commotion, rounded the corner. Their eyes widened as they took in the scene before them: Lambert, practically vibrating with barely contained energy, facing off against a sneering Halden.

"Uh oh," Matthias muttered under his breath. "Looks like Lambert's found a new audience for his book report."

Rodrigue elbowed him in the ribs, but couldn't quite suppress his own look of trepidation. They both knew from experience that once Lambert got started on his latest literary obsession, there was no stopping him.

True to form, Lambert seized upon their arrival as an opportunity to expand his audience. "Rodrigue! Matthias! Perfect timing. Perhaps you can help me explain to Halden the nuances of Astarion's character arc!"

Halden turned to the newcomers with a look of desperation. "Please tell me you're not buying into this nonsense too?"

Before either Rodrigue or Matthias could formulate a response, Lambert launched into full lecture mode, his voice taking on the passionate tone of a scholar defending his life's work.

"Astarion," Lambert declared, holding his book aloft like a holy text, "is a very well-made character. If we strip the fantasy aspect of his story, his experiences are very similar to the stories of SA victims. More specifically, the hypersexual side that SA survivors can experience."

Halden's face twisted in confusion. "SA? What in the name of the goddess are you talking about?"

Lambert's expression softened slightly, a flicker of sympathy crossing his features. "Sexual assault, Halden. It's a serious issue that affects many people, regardless of gender or orientation."

Rodrigue and Matthias exchanged shocked glances. This was not the direction they had expected the conversation to take. They had known Lambert was enthusiastic about his new book, but they hadn't realized just how deeply he had analyzed its themes.

Undeterred by the stunned silence of his audience, Lambert pressed on. "You see, Astarion uses sex as a defense mechanism, even though he personally may find it repulsive. It's a coping strategy, a way to maintain control in a world that has so often stripped him of his agency."

Halden's disgust was slowly being replaced by bewilderment. "I... what? Lambert, it's just a book. A fantasy story with vampires and mind flayers. You're reading too much into this."

Lambert's eyes flashed with determination. He flipped open his book, thumbing through the pages with the practiced ease of someone who had read the tome multiple times. "Oh, but it's so much more than that! Let me show you. In Act 1, Astarion and Damien are unsynchronized and are just going through the motions until Act 2. This is where we find out his true feelings towards sex, and how a good chunk of that is because Cazador essentially forced him into prostitution."

Rodrigue's eyebrows shot up so high they nearly disappeared into his hairline. Matthias, meanwhile, looked as though he was torn between fascination and the desperate desire to be anywhere else.

Lambert, oblivious to the growing discomfort of his friends, continued his impassioned defense. "Don't you see? Astarion's story is a powerful narrative about overcoming trauma, about finding love and acceptance in a world that has shown him nothing but cruelty. His relationship with Damien isn't just some... some frivolous fantasy. It's a journey of healing, of learning to trust and love again!"

Halden, who had been rendered temporarily speechless by Lambert's fervor, finally found his voice. "But... but they're both men! How can that possibly be natural?"

Lambert's expression softened, his voice taking on a gentler tone. "Halden, my friend, love knows no boundaries. Gender, race, social status... these are all constructs that we impose upon ourselves. What matters is the connection between two souls, the mutual respect and understanding they share."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over his captive audience. Rodrigue and Matthias stood frozen, as if afraid any movement might redirect Lambert's attention towards them. Halden looked as though he had been hit over the head with a training sword, his worldview visibly crumbling before their eyes.

"Besides," Lambert continued, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, "if we're talking about what's 'natural,' let's remember that Astarion is a vampire and Damien has a mind flayer tadpole in his brain. I'd say their gender is the least unusual thing about their relationship."

A snort of laughter escaped Matthias before he could stop himself. Even Rodrigue's lips twitched in amusement. Halden, however, remained unconvinced.

"But... but the church teachings..." he stammered weakly.

Lambert's eyes blazed with renewed passion. "The church teachings also tell us to love and accept one another, do they not? To show compassion and understanding? Astarion and Damien's story is a testament to the power of love to overcome even the darkest of circumstances. How can that be anything but good and right?"

He took a step closer to Halden, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "Think about it, Halden. How many people in our world suffer in silence, afraid to be their true selves because of narrow-minded prejudices? How many potential friendships, alliances, even great loves are lost because we can't see past our own preconceptions?"

Halden's resistance was visibly crumbling. He opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again, looking lost.

Lambert pressed his advantage. "People like you, Halden... people who cling to these outdated, harmful beliefs... you're the real problem. You're the ones standing in the way of progress, of a more accepting and compassionate world."

A heavy silence fell over the group. Rodrigue and Matthias held their breath, waiting to see how Halden would react to this blunt assessment.

To everyone's surprise, it was Halden who broke the silence. His voice was quiet, almost thoughtful. "I... I never thought about it like that before. I mean, I still don't fully understand, but... maybe I've been too quick to judge."

Lambert's face lit up with a brilliant smile. "That's all I ask, my friend. To keep an open mind, to be willing to learn and grow. That's the first step towards creating a better world for all of us."

He clasped Halden's shoulder warmly, then turned to Rodrigue and Matthias. "And you two! I can't thank you enough for your support. It means the world to me that you're willing to listen and engage with these important issues."

Rodrigue and Matthias exchanged panicked glances, realizing they had inadvertently been drafted into Lambert's crusade for social justice.

"Of course, Lambert," Rodrigue managed, his voice only slightly strained. "That's what friends are for, right?"

Matthias nodded vigorously, not trusting himself to speak without laughing.

Lambert beamed at them all, practically glowing with enthusiasm. "This is wonderful! We should form a book club, discuss these themes in more depth. I have so many more insights to share about 'Life Eternal' and its commentary on societal issues!"

The color drained from Halden's face. Rodrigue and Matthias looked as though they were seriously contemplating making a run for it.

Suddenly, Lambert's expression shifted, a look of contrition crossing his features. "Oh, but where are my manners? I've monopolized the conversation entirely. I'm so sorry for going on like that. You must all think me terribly rude."

Before anyone could assure him that it was fine (or take the opportunity to escape), Lambert continued, "I should go and collect my thoughts. Perhaps write down some of these ideas for our future discussions. Yes, that's what I'll do!"

With a final bright smile and a wave, Lambert turned on his heel and strode off down the corridor, his mind already racing with plans for their newly formed (and entirely unagreed upon) book club.

Halden, Rodrigue, and Matthias stood in stunned silence for several long moments after Lambert's departure. Finally, Halden spoke, his voice faint. "Is he... always like that?"

Rodrigue and Matthias shared a long-suffering look. "You have no idea," Matthias sighed.

"Well," Halden said slowly, "I suppose I have some thinking to do. And maybe some reading, too." He nodded to the other two and wandered off, looking slightly dazed.

As Rodrigue and Matthias watched him go, they failed to notice the figure lurking in the shadows nearby. Rufus, Lambert's older brother, stepped out from his hiding place once the coast was clear, a sardonic smile playing on his lips.

He had witnessed the entire exchange, from Lambert's impassioned defense of fictional characters to Halden's grudging reconsideration of his beliefs. And through it all, Rufus had maintained his silence, content to observe the chaos his little brother so effortlessly created.

"Oh, Lambert," Rufus murmured to himself, shaking his head in amused disbelief. "Never change, little brother. Never change."

Chapter Text

In the bustling halls of Garreg Mach Monastery, Sitri paced back and forth, her brow furrowed in concentration. The upcoming four month anniversary of her engagement to Jeralt loomed large, and she was at a loss for what to give the stoic Blade Breaker as a gift.

Enter Max, Sitri's younger brother, known for his quick wit. As Sitri explained her dilemma, a mischievous glint appeared in Max's eye.

"Why not crochet him a scarf?" Max suggested, twirling a small metal pendant between his fingers. "Nothing says 'I love you' quite like a handmade noose for the neck."

Sitri's face lit up at the idea, but quickly fell as she realized a crucial flaw in the plan. "But Max, I don't know how to crochet."

Max's grin widened. "Well, dear sister, you're in luck. I happen to be something of an expert in the art of yarn manipulation."

And so began the most unlikely crochet lesson in the history of Fódlan. Max, with his years of experience gained from a dark chapter in his past, took on the role of instructor. Sitri, eager to learn but utterly clueless, became his pupil.

As they sat in Sitri's quarters, surrounded by balls of yarn that seemed to gravitate towards Max, he began his unorthodox lesson.

"Now, pay attention," Max said, his voice taking on an oddly sinister tone. "Crocheting is simple. Just remember these steps: Stab it, strangle it, scoop out its guts, throw it off a cliff."

Sitri's eyes widened in shock, her mouth hanging open. She stared at her brother, wondering if perhaps he had finally lost his mind after years of exposure to her cooking.

Max, oblivious to her reaction, continued his demonstration. "See? You stab the hook through the loop, strangle it with the yarn, scoop out the new loop, and throw it off the hook. Easy as pie... well, easier than your pie, at least."

As Sitri watched her brother's hands move with surprising grace, she couldn't help but wonder where he had learned such a skill. The violent imagery combined with the delicate craft created a cognitive dissonance that left her momentarily stunned.

"Um, Max," Sitri ventured cautiously, "where exactly did you learn to crochet?"

Max's hands paused for a moment, a shadow passing over his face. "Let's just say it was a skill I picked up during the... less than pleasant time in my life. But hey, look on the bright side – at least I'm not teaching you how to cook!"

Sitri, deciding it was best not to press the issue, focused on mimicking her brother's movements. As she fumbled with the yarn, she couldn't help but notice how the metal crochet hook seemed to move almost on its own in Max's hands, as if drawn by an invisible force.

Over the next few weeks, Max and Sitri's crochet sessions became the talk of the monastery. Students and faculty alike would pause in the corridors, listening to the odd mix of Max's colorful instructions and Sitri's occasional yelps of frustration.

Jeralt, passing by one day, overheard Max's now-familiar refrain: "Remember, Sitri! Stab, strangle, scoop, and throw!"

The Blade Breaker shook his head, muttering to himself, "I'm not sure what's more terrifying – Sitri's cooking or her brother's teaching methods."

As the anniversary approached, Sitri finally completed her project. The scarf, while not exactly symmetrical and sporting a few mysterious metal filings embedded in its fibers, was a labor of love.

On the morning of their anniversary, Sitri presented the scarf to Jeralt with trembling hands. "Happy four month anniversary, my love. I made this for you... with a little help from Max."

Jeralt, his eyes suspiciously moist, wrapped the scarf around his neck. "It's perfect," he said, his gruff voice softening. "Though I have to ask – why does it smell faintly of brimstone and taste like your Tuesday night stew?"

Sitri just smiled and hugged her fiancé, while somewhere in the monastery, Max chuckled to himself, idly levitating a set of knitting needles as he plotted his next craft.

Chapter Text

In the bustling halls of Garreg Mach Monastery, where young nobles honed their skills and occasionally their wit, an unlikely debate was about to unfold. The catalyst for this intellectual discourse was none other than Max, a man whose sarcasm could cut sharper than any sword.

It was a balmy afternoon, and the Blue Lions house had gathered in their common room for what they assumed would be a typical study session. Lambert, ever the diligent prince, was poring over a hefty tome on Fódlan's political history when Max burst into the room, his face a perfect storm of confusion and indignation.

"Lambert!" he exclaimed, causing the prince to nearly jump out of his skin. "I require your expertise on a matter of utmost importance."

Lambert, used to Max’s dramatic entrances, simply raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what might that be?"

Max paced the room, his hands gesticulating wildly. "I've been observing the sartorial choices of the noble ladies in this establishment, and I find myself utterly baffled. Why, pray tell, is it deemed unacceptable for them to parade about with their ankles and knees on display?"

The room fell silent, all eyes turning to Lambert, who looked as though he'd rather be facing down a demonic beast than answering this particular question.

"Well," Lambert began cautiously, "I believe it's a matter of fashion and... er... tradition."

Max’s eyes narrowed. "Tradition? I've consulted with the highest authority in this monastery on the matter, and do you know what she told me?"

Lambert, sensing danger, attempted to deflect. "I'm sure I couldn't possibly-"

"She said," Max's plowed on, his voice rising, "that most nobles believe it to be sexually distracting!"

At this point, Rufus, who had been pretending to study in the corner, couldn't contain his mirth any longer. A snort escaped him, which he poorly disguised as a cough.

Lambert, ever the diplomat, tried to salvage the situation. "Well, you see, Max, societal norms often evolve over time, and what was once considered scandalous may become-"

"BITCH!" Magneto roared, causing even the usually unflappable Matthias to flinch. "WHO THE FUCK IS SEXUALLY ATTRACTED TO KNEECAPS?!"

The dam broke. Rufus collapsed into his chair, howling with laughter. Matthias, usually the picture of decorum, was doubled over, tears streaming down his face. Even Sofie, sweet, innocent Sofie, was giggling behind her hand, her cheeks flushed pink.

Max stood in the center of the room, his chest heaving, looking for all the world like a man who had just declared war on fashion itself. "This is preposterous! Are we to believe that the sight of a kneecap is enough to send the male population into a frenzy of lust? What's next? Shall we cover our elbows lest someone find them too alluring?"

By now, the entire room was in stitches. Lambert had given up any pretense of maintaining order and was slumped over his desk, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

"And another thing!" Max continued, undeterred by the hilarity surrounding him. "If kneecaps are so irresistible, why aren't men's knees subject to the same scrutiny? Are we to believe that the male kneecap is somehow less tantalizing?"

This sent a fresh wave of laughter through the room. Rufus, who had managed to catch his breath, wheezed out, "Perhaps... perhaps we should conduct a study. Compare the allure of various kneecaps across genders."

Matthias, wiping tears from his eyes, added, "We could call it 'The Great Kneecap Conspiracy: Uncovering the Truth Behind Fódlan's Most Controversial Joint.'"

As the laughter finally began to subside, Max stood amidst his chuckling classmates, arms crossed, a look of utter exasperation on his face. "I fail to see what's so amusing about this grave societal issue," he huffed.

Lambert, still chuckling, managed to compose himself enough to place a hand on Max’s shoulder. "My friend," he said, his voice trembling with suppressed mirth, "sometimes it's best not to question these things too deeply."

Max shrugged off the hand, his eyes narrowing. "I will not rest until I get to the bottom of this kneecap conundrum," he declared, marching towards the door. "Mark my words, this is not the last you'll hear of this matter!"

As he stormed out, the room erupted into laughter once more. This would go down in Blue Lions history as one of their most memorable study sessions, though it's safe to say that very little studying was actually accomplished that day.

Chapter Text

In the aftermath of the mission in Arundel territory, Garreg Mach Monastery buzzed with tension. Archbishop Rhea stood in her ornate office, her emerald eyes clouded with concern as she processed the grave news Jeralt had just delivered. A message, recovered during their recent expedition, revealed a sinister plot to attack innocent citizens during the upcoming Goddess's Rite of Rebirth.

Rhea's voice, usually melodious and serene, carried a sharp edge as she issued orders to heighten security and alert the students. "We must be vigilant," she declared, her gaze sweeping over the assembled knights and faculty. "Every student is to be on high alert. We cannot allow harm to befall those under our protection."

As the meeting dispersed, Rhea noticed a familiar figure lingering in the doorway. Max, her adopted son, stood with a determined set to his jaw. She knew that look all too well.

"Mother," Max began, his voice filled with a maturity that belied his youthful appearance, "I want to help. Let me join the defense efforts."

Rhea felt a pang in her heart. She had known this moment would come, but she had hoped to delay it. "Max, no. You can assist in other ways, but I cannot allow you on the frontlines."

Max's eyes flashed with frustration. "But I'm capable! You know I have skills that could be useful. Why keep me sidelined when I could make a difference?"

"Because you're not ready," Rhea countered, her voice rising slightly. "This isn't a game or a training exercise. Lives are at stake."

"Exactly!" Max exclaimed. "That's why you need every able person. I'm not a child, Rhea. I've faced dangers before."

The use of her name instead of 'Mother' stung, but Rhea pressed on. "Facing danger doesn't make you prepared for this. My decision is final."

Their voices had risen, the argument echoing off the stone walls. Rhea could see the hurt building in Max's eyes, mixing with his frustration. She felt her own temper fraying, centuries of control slipping in the face of this new, unfamiliar conflict.

"Enough!" Rhea snapped, her voice carrying a note of divine authority that she rarely used. The word seemed to reverberate through the room, silencing Max mid-protest.

For a moment, they stood in tense silence, the air heavy between them. Then, without another word, Max turned and left, his shoulders rigid with suppressed emotion.

As the door closed behind him, Rhea felt the fight drain out of her, replaced by a wave of guilt and uncertainty. She sank into her chair, suddenly feeling every one of her many years.

This was new territory for her. For centuries, she had led the Church, made decisions that affected the fate of nations. But being a mother, especially to someone like Max, was a challenge she had not fully prepared for.

As evening fell, Rhea found herself in the cathedral, kneeling before the altar. The familiar scent of incense and the soft glow of candles usually brought her comfort, but tonight her mind was turbulent.

"Mother," she whispered, her eyes fixed on the ornate symbol of the goddess. "What am I to do? I only wish to protect him, but in doing so, I fear I may push him away."

Rhea closed her eyes, remembering the hurt in Max's gaze. She had seen glimpses of his capabilities, knew that he carried knowledge and experiences far beyond his apparent years. And yet, the thought of him in danger made her heart clench with a fear she had not felt in centuries.

"Is this what it means to be a mother?" she murmured. "This constant battle between protection and trust? Between holding close and letting go?"

As always, the goddess remained silent, but in the quiet of the cathedral, Rhea felt a sense of peace slowly settle over her. She realized that perhaps there was no perfect answer, no divine guidance that could solve this dilemma.

Being a mother, she was learning, meant navigating these choppy waters day by day. It meant making mistakes, feeling that gut-wrenching fear, and somehow finding the strength to keep going.

As Rhea rose from her prayers, she made a decision. She couldn't change her mind about keeping Max off the frontlines - her need to protect him was too strong. But she could apologize for her harshness, could try to explain her fears and listen to his frustrations.

It wouldn't be easy. Centuries of being the unquestioned leader of the Church had not prepared her for the give-and-take of parenthood. But as she made her way back to her quarters, intending to seek out Max in the morning, Rhea felt a glimmer of hope.

Chapter Text

As the Blue Sea Moon waned, Garreg Mach Monastery bustled with activity. The air was thick with anticipation and tension as the Goddess's Rite of Rebirth approached. Archbishop Rhea stood atop the star terrace, her emerald eyes scanning the grounds below. She watched as students and knights alike scurried about, making final preparations for the impending threat.

The weight of responsibility pressed heavily upon Rhea's shoulders. She had faced countless challenges in her long life, but the combination of a looming attack and her recent argument with Max left her feeling unusually vulnerable.

Professor Cherith approached, bowing respectfully. "Your Grace, the Blue Lions are ready to take their positions."

Rhea nodded, her voice calm despite her inner turmoil. "Very good, Professor. Please remind them to stay vigilant. We cannot afford to overlook any potential threat."

As Cherith departed, Rhea's gaze followed the Blue Lions as they moved into position. She saw Lambert, the young prince, leading his classmates with a determination that reminded her of his father. Rodrigue stayed close to his side, ever the loyal friend. Sofie and Matthias worked in tandem, securing entrances, while Halden kept a watchful eye from higher ground. Natalie busied herself with setting up defensive magic barriers, and even Rufus, usually so carefree, seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation. And Freya, moved with a grace that belied her combat prowess.

Rhea's heart swelled with pride at their dedication, even as worry gnawed at her. These were children, she reminded herself, thrust into a dangerous adult world. Much like Max...

The thought of her adopted son sent a pang through her chest. They had barely spoken since their argument, and Rhea longed to make amends. But duty, as always, came first.

As the day wore on, Rhea made her rounds through the monastery. She checked in with Godfrey, the charismatic leader of the Golden Deer, who assured her that his house had the grounds well-covered. Albert, the fiery head of the Black Eagles, reported that his students were positioned strategically throughout the cathedral.

Finally, as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the monastery, Rhea made her way to the Holy Mausoleum. The sacred chamber, usually sealed, was now open to the public for the Rite of Rebirth. As she descended the stairs, the cool air and flickering torchlight transported her to centuries past.

Rhea knelt before the tomb at the center of the mausoleum, her fingers tracing the intricate carvings. "Mother," she whispered, "grant us your protection in this time of need."

Suddenly, a commotion from above shattered the silence. Rhea's head snapped up, her body tensing for action. The sounds of shouting and clashing weapons echoed down the stairwell.

Heart pounding, Rhea rushed toward the entrance, her robes billowing behind her. As she emerged into the cathedral proper, the scene that greeted her was one of chaos.

Mysterious figures with pale, almost translucent skin had infiltrated the monastery. They moved with inhuman speed and precision, engaging the students and knights in fierce combat. Rhea's eyes widened in shock and recognition. It couldn't be...

She saw Lambert and his Blue Lions fighting valiantly, their training put to the ultimate test. Godfrey's Golden Deer provided covering fire from strategic positions, while Albert led his Black Eagles in a flanking maneuver.

But despite their efforts, the pale intruders seemed to be pushing them back, inching closer to the Holy Mausoleum with each passing moment.

Rhea stood frozen for a split second, the weight of centuries pressing down upon her. These enemies were not just a threat to the monastery, but to everything she had worked to protect for so long. The secrets buried deep beneath Garreg Mach, the carefully maintained order of Fódlan – all of it was at risk.

As she prepared to join the fray, to unleash powers she had kept hidden for ages, a flicker of movement caught her eye. There, amidst the chaos, was a familiar figure. Max, his face set in grim determination, was fighting alongside the students, holding his own against the pale invaders.

Rhea's heart lodged in her throat. Pride, fear, and regret warred within her as she watched her adopted son throw himself into the very danger she had tried to protect him from.

With a deep breath, Rhea steeled herself. There would be time for reconciliation later. For now, she had a monastery to defend, children to protect, and ancient enemies to face.

As Rhea stepped forward, her eyes blazing with divine light, the battle raged on. The fate of Garreg Mach – and perhaps all of Fódlan – hung in the balance.

Chapter Text

Max sat on the edge of his bed, his fingers absently tracing the intricate patterns on the bedspread. The room around him, usually a source of comfort, felt stifling. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns across the floor, but he barely noticed. His mind was still replaying yesterday's argument with Rhea, her words echoing in his head.

"Because you're not ready," she had said, her voice firm and unyielding. "This isn't a game or a training exercise. Lives are at stake."

The frustration that had been simmering since their confrontation threatened to boil over once again. Max clenched his fists, trying to keep his emotions in check. He understood Rhea's desire to protect him, but didn't she see that he was capable? That he wanted – needed – to help?

A soft knock at the door interrupted his brooding. "Max?" a gentle voice called. "Can I come in?"

He recognized the voice immediately. "It's open, Sitri," he replied, making an effort to smooth out the irritation in his tone.

The door creaked open, and Sitri stepped into the room. His sister's presence always seemed to bring a sense of calm with it. Today, her long green hair was braided neatly down her back, and her eyes – so similar to Rhea's – were filled with concern.

"You missed breakfast," Sitri said, settling beside him on the bed. "I thought I'd check on you."

Max shrugged, not meeting her gaze. "I wasn't hungry."

Sitri was quiet for a moment, studying her brother's face. "You're still upset about the argument with Mother, aren't you?"

"She hasn't even tried to talk to me since yesterday," Max burst out, the words tumbling from him in a rush. "It's like she doesn't trust me at all. I'm not a child anymore, Sitri. I can help. I want to help."

Sitri reached out, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I know you do, Max. And Mother knows it too. She's just... protective. Sometimes too protective."

"But why?" Max asked, frustration evident in his voice. "I've trained. I've studied. I know I can be useful in defending the monastery. Why can't she see that?"

Sitri sighed, her expression thoughtful. "Mother carries a lot of responsibility, Max. The weight of the Church, the safety of everyone here – it all rests on her shoulders. And when it comes to us... well, I think her fear sometimes overrides her reason."

Max stood up abruptly, pacing the length of the room. "But that's just it! We're not ordinary children, Sitri. You know that as well as I do. We are capable. Keeping us on the sidelines doesn't protect anyone – it just wastes our potential."

Sitri watched him, her eyes filled with a mixture of sympathy and something else – a flicker of agreement, perhaps? "I understand, Max. Really, I do. But defying Mother outright isn't the answer. We need to find a way to show her that we're ready, that we can be trusted to help without putting ourselves in unnecessary danger."

Max turned to respond, but before he could speak, a thunderous boom shook the monastery. The stained-glass windows rattled in their frames, and both Max and Sitri instinctively ducked.

"What was that?" Max exclaimed, rushing to the window.

The scene outside made his blood run cold. Plumes of smoke rose from various points around the monastery grounds. As they watched in horror, a ball of fire arced through the air, slamming into one of the towers with a deafening crash.

Sitri gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "We're under attack!"

The reality of the situation hit Max like a physical blow. This was no drill, no training exercise. The threat Rhea had been preparing for had arrived, and it was far worse than anyone had anticipated.

For a moment, they stood there, watching as chaos erupted across the monastery grounds. Students and knights alike scrambled for positions, their training kicking in even as fear was evident on many faces. Civilians – visiting commoners and merchants – ran in panic, seeking shelter from the onslaught.

Sitri was the first to snap out of her shock. "We need to move," she said urgently, grabbing Max's arm. "Mother's instructions were clear – in case of an attack, we're to head to the underground infirmary immediately."

Max hesitated, his eyes still fixed on the scene outside. Another explosion rocked the building, closer this time. The sound of screams and clashing weapons drifted through the window.

"Max!" Sitri's voice was sharp now, tinged with fear. "We have to go. Now!"

He turned to his sister, seeing the worry etched on her face. For a moment, he was tempted to agree, to follow her to the relative safety of the underground chambers. But then he thought of the civilians he'd seen fleeing in terror, of the students and knights putting their lives on the line to defend the monastery.

"You go ahead," Max said, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. "I'll be right behind you."

Sitri's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Max..."

"I promise," he insisted, managing a reassuring smile. "I just need to grab something. I'll meet you down there."

For a second, it seemed like Sitri might argue further. But another distant explosion spurred her into action. "Alright," she conceded. "But don't you dare do anything foolish. Straight to the infirmary, understand?"

Max nodded, watching as his sister hurried from the room. As soon as she was gone, he sprang into action. He knew he was betraying Sitri's trust, knew that Rhea would be furious. But he couldn't sit idly by while others fought and suffered.

Quickly, he changed into more practical clothing – sturdy boots, pants that allowed for easy movement, and a reinforced jacket. He grabbed a small pack, stuffing it with a few essential items: a water skin, some bandages, a small knife.

As he worked, Max's mind raced. The attack had come so suddenly, catching everyone off guard despite the increased security measures. Who were these assailants? What was their goal? The level of coordination and firepower suggested this was no ordinary bandit raid.

Another explosion, this one close enough to send tremors through the floor, jolted Max back to the present. He had to move, now.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped out into the corridor. The usual bustle of monastery life had been replaced by an eerie quiet, punctuated by distant sounds of combat. Max moved swiftly, keeping close to the walls and staying alert for any signs of danger.

As he descended the stairs towards the main hall, the sounds of battle grew louder. He could hear the clash of steel on steel, shouts of command mingling with cries of pain. The acrid smell of smoke filled the air, making his eyes water.

Max paused at the bottom of the stairs, peering cautiously around the corner. The main hall, usually a place of serenity and devotion, had become a battleground. Knights of Seiros fought desperately against pale-skinned assailants who moved with inhuman speed and precision. Among them, he could see students from all three houses, their training put to the ultimate test as they defended their home.

For a moment, Max felt a surge of pride at their bravery. But it was quickly replaced by a wave of horror as he saw a group of civilians – elderly commoners and young children among them – huddled in a corner, trapped by the fighting.

Without thinking, Max stepped out from his hiding place. He knew he should head for the infirmary as he'd promised Sitri. He knew Rhea would be furious if she discovered he'd disobeyed her direct orders. But in that moment, none of that mattered. People needed help, and he was in a position to provide it.

Moving swiftly, Max made his way along the edge of the hall, using fallen debris and overturned furniture for cover. His heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline sharpening his senses. He could feel a familiar energy building within him, power thrumming just beneath his skin.

As he neared the group of civilians, one of the pale attackers noticed him. The creature – for Max wasn't sure he could call it human – turned towards him with unnatural speed, its blank eyes fixing on him with predatory focus.

Time seemed to slow. Max saw the attacker raise its weapon – a wickedly sharp blade that gleamed in the chaotic light of the burning hall. He saw the terror on the faces of the civilians behind him. And in that moment, something within him shifted.

Max raised his hand, focusing on the energy he felt coursing through his body. With a thought, he reached out, feeling for the metal of the attacker's weapon and armor. The power flowed from him in an invisible wave, and suddenly, the attacker's charge was halted.

The creature's eyes widened in surprise as its armor constricted, the metal twisting and warping at Max's command. With another gesture, Max sent the attacker flying backwards, crashing into a group of its companions.

There was no time to marvel at what he'd done. Max turned to the civilians, his voice steady despite the chaos around them. "This way," he called, gesturing towards a side passage. "Quickly now!"

The group needed no further urging. They scrambled to their feet, the able-bodied helping those who struggled. Max positioned himself between them and the raging battle, poised to unleash his dormant power if the need arose. The sensation of wielding his abilities once more was invigorating, like awakening a long-slumbering giant within. It was as if he were stretching an ancient, forgotten limb, shaking off the rust and reclaiming his strength.

As they moved towards the relative safety of the passage, Max caught sight of a familiar face across the hall. Lambert, the young prince of Faerghus, was locked in combat with two of the pale attackers. Even from a distance, Max could see the prince was tiring, his movements becoming desperate.

For a split second, Max hesitated. His path to escape with the civilians was clear, but Lambert needed help. The weight of responsibility settled heavily on his shoulders. What would Rhea do in this situation? What was the right choice?

In the end, it wasn't really a choice at all. "Keep going," Max instructed the civilians, pointing them towards the passage. "Follow this path and you'll reach the underground chambers. You'll be safe there."

As the last of the group disappeared down the passage, Max turned back to the battle. Lambert was still holding his own, but only just. Taking a deep breath, Max stepped forward, hands raised and power surging within him.

The metal fixtures around the room began to tremble. Fallen weapons rose from the ground, twisting in mid-air to form a barrier between Lambert and his attackers. The prince's eyes widened in shock, but he wasted no time in taking advantage of the unexpected assistance.

Max moved closer, his focus intense as he manipulated the metal around him. Suits of armor that had stood as silent sentinels for centuries now came to life, stepping off their pedestals to engage the enemy. Chandeliers creaked and groaned, their chains elongating to wrap around pale limbs and weapons.

The tide of the battle in their immediate vicinity began to turn. Knights and students alike rallied, bolstered by the strange and powerful assistance. Max felt a surge of exhilaration, tempered by the sobering reality of the destruction around him.

As the last of the nearby attackers fell or retreated, Lambert approached Max, his expression a mixture of gratitude and awe. "That was... incredible," the prince said, slightly out of breath. "I've never seen magic like that before."

Max managed a tight smile, even as he scanned the hall for further threats. "It's not exactly magic," he explained briefly. "But now's not the time for explanations. We need to get more people to safety."

Lambert nodded, his expression turning serious once more. "Agreed. I saw a group of younger students near the dining hall earlier. They might still be trapped there."

"Then that's where we'll go," Max decided. He knew he was going against everything Rhea had ordered, knew that he was putting himself in grave danger. But looking at the determination on Lambert's face, at the bravery of those fighting around him, Max knew he had made the right choice.

As they made their way towards the dining hall, Max couldn't help but think of Rhea and Sitri. Were they safe? What would they think when they realized he hadn't come to the infirmary? A pang of guilt shot through him at the thought of the worry he must be causing them.

But there was no time for regret now. The monastery – his home – was under attack. People needed help. And Max was finally, truly, in a position to make a difference.

With renewed determination, Max pressed forward, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. The battle for Garreg Mach was far from over, and he intended to see it through to the end.

Chapter Text

The chaos of battle engulfed Garreg Mach Monastery, transforming the once-peaceful grounds into a nightmarish landscape of fire and bloodshed. Amidst the carnage, Prince Rufus of Faerghus found himself with Halden, a fellow Blue Lion student he had often dismissed as unremarkable. Yet here they were, fighting side by side against an onslaught of pale-skinned attackers that seemed to materialize from the very shadows.

Rufus's lance danced through the air, its deadly precision a testament to years of rigorous training. With each thrust and parry, he dispatched another foe, his usual sarcastic demeanor replaced by a grim determination. Beside him, Halden wielded his axe with surprising skill, his face set in a mask of concentration.

"I must say, Halden," Rufus called out between strikes, unable to completely suppress his sardonic nature even in the heat of battle, "you're not nearly as useless as I'd imagined. Perhaps there's hope for you yet."

Halden grunted in response, too focused on the fight to engage in Rufus's banter. They had been at it for what felt like hours, their bodies aching from exertion and their clothes stained with sweat and blood – both their own and their enemies'.

As they fought, Rufus's mind raced. Where was Lambert? His younger brother, the crown prince, should have been at the forefront of the defense. And what of the others? Natalie, Matthias, Freya, Sofie – had they survived the initial assault?

A momentary lull in the fighting allowed Rufus to catch his breath. He scanned the battlefield, taking in the devastation. Smoke billowed from several buildings, and the air was thick with the acrid smell of burning wood and flesh. In the distance, he could see flashes of magic and hear the clash of steel on steel.

"We need to regroup," Rufus said, his voice hoarse from shouting commands. "Find the others, coordinate our efforts."

Halden nodded, wiping blood from a cut above his eye. "Agreed. Last I saw, Natalie was with Matthias and Freya, helping the knights near the cathedral. Sofie said something about assisting the other houses before we got separated."

Rufus felt a twinge of worry for his classmates, though he'd never admit it aloud. "Right. We should-"

His words were cut short as another wave of attackers surged towards them. Rufus raised his lance, ready to meet the threat, but Halden stepped forward, his axe gleaming in the firelight.

"Go," Halden said, his voice surprisingly steady. "Find Lambert. I can handle the rest here."

Rufus hesitated, torn between his duty to his brother and his reluctance to leave a classmte behind. "Are you certain? These pale bastards seem endless."

Halden managed a grim smile. "I'm tougher than I look, Your Highness. Besides, someone needs to make sure our future king hasn't gotten himself killed."

For a moment, Rufus felt a flicker of shame at Halden's words. Because deep down, buried beneath layers of duty and familial love, a small, dark part of him whispered that perhaps it wouldn't be so terrible if Lambert didn't survive this day. The thought was there and gone in an instant, but its very existence left a bitter taste in Rufus's mouth.

"Very well," Rufus said, pushing aside his conflicting emotions. "Try not to die, Halden. It would be terribly inconvenient to train a new sparring partner."

With that, Rufus turned and sprinted towards the heart of the monastery, where he suspected Lambert would be. As he ran, he couldn't help but marvel at the surreal nature of the situation. Just this morning, his biggest concern had been devising new ways to uncover Max”s secrets. Now, he was running through a war zone, desperately searching for his brother amidst a sea of death and destruction.

Rufus dodged fallen debris and leapt over the bodies of the fallen, his eyes constantly scanning for threats. He dispatched several attackers along the way, his movements fluid and precise despite his exhaustion. Years of training had honed his body into a weapon, and now that training was being put to the ultimate test.

As he neared the main hall, Rufus caught sight of a familiar shock of blond hair. Lambert was there, fighting alongside a group of knights, his sword flashing as he held the line against the relentless assault. Rufus felt a surge of relief, quickly followed by a twinge of resentment at his own reaction.

But as he moved to join his brother, something else caught Rufus's eye. There, amidst the chaos, was Max Eisenhardt. The man stood apart from the main fighting, his hands raised in a strange gesture. And then Rufus saw something that made him stop dead in his tracks.

With a mere wave of his hand, Max sent a group of attackers flying through the air as if they weighed no more than leaves in the wind. 

Rufus stood frozen, his mind reeling from what he had just witnessed. In that moment, a memory surfaced – a duel with Max months ago, when Rufus could have sworn he saw his lance bend and break in a way that defied explanation. At the time, he had dismissed it as a trick of the light or a flaw in the weapon. But now...

The realization hit Rufus like a physical blow. Max possessed some kind of unnatural power – the ability to control metal, perhaps? And suddenly, countless small oddities and inconsistencies in Max's behavior over the past months began to fall into place.

As Rufus watched, Max continued to use his strange abilities to turn the tide of the battle. Some enemies were flung aside, their weapons torn from their grasp by an invisible force. Knights and students alike looked on in confusion, not knowing why they were escaping so easily. Clearly, they didn’t see what was being displayed to Rufus himself.

But even as part of Rufus's mind raced with the implications of this discovery, another part of him couldn't help but admire the sheer power and control Max demonstrated. It was terrifying, yes, but also breathtaking in its raw potential.

Rufus found himself torn between conflicting impulses. One part of him urged him to rush to Lambert's side, to fight alongside his brother and protect the future king of Faerghus. But another part, the part that had always thirsted for knowledge and power, wanted nothing more than to confront Max then and there, to demand answers about the nature of his abilities.

In the end, Rufus did neither. He remained where he was, observing the battle with new eyes. He watched as Max, seemingly unaware of Rufus's presence, continued to use his powers to protect Lambert and the others. And in that moment, Rufus realized that despite his suspicions and investigations, he had never truly understood the man he had been trying to unravel.

As the fighting began to die down, the attackers either defeated or in retreat, Rufus's mind whirled with possibilities. Max's powers could change everything – the balance of power in Fódlan, the very nature of warfare itself. And the Church of Seiros, always so quick to suppress anything they deemed unnatural or heretical, must know about Max's abilities. Why else would they allow such a potentially dangerous individual to remain at the monastery?

Rufus's lips curved into a sardonic smile as he considered the implications. The Church, it seemed, was playing a dangerous game, keeping Max's powers a secret while no doubt seeking to use them for their own ends. And now, Rufus held a piece of that secret.

As the last echoes of battle faded and the grim task of tending to the wounded began, Rufus made a decision. He would keep this knowledge to himself, for now. He would watch, and wait, and gather more information. Because knowledge, as his father had always taught him, was power. And Rufus was determined to understand the full extent of Max Eisenhardt's power before making his next move.

With one last glance at Max, who was now helping to clear debris and assist the injured, Rufus finally moved to join his brother. As he approached, Lambert looked up, relief evident on his face.

"Rufus! Thank the goddess you're alright," Lambert said, pulling his brother into a brief, fierce embrace.

Rufus returned the hug, pushing aside his earlier, darker thoughts. "It takes more than a few pale-skinned monstrosities to bring down a son of Faerghus," he quipped, falling back on his usual sarcasm. "Though I must say, brother, you seem to have had quite the exciting afternoon without me."

Lambert's expression turned grim. "This attack... it was unlike anything I've ever seen. If it hadn't been for Max and the others..."

Rufus's eyes flicked to Max, who was now deep in conversation with Rhea and several senior knights. "Yes," he murmured, "it seems we owe our mysterious friend quite a debt."

As the survivors began to gather, assessing the damage and planning their next moves, Rufus found his gaze continually drawn back to Max. The man who had been a thorn in his side, a puzzle to be solved, now represented something far more complex and potentially dangerous.

Rufus realized that his relationship with Max had been slowly shifting over the past months. Their verbal sparring matches had become less hostile, tinged with a grudging respect that neither would openly acknowledge. And now, after witnessing Max's true capabilities, Rufus found himself reassessing everything he thought he knew about the man.

As night began to fall over the battered monastery, Rufus made a silent vow. He would uncover the full truth about Max and his connection to the Church, no matter the cost. Because in a world where such power existed, knowledge truly was the greatest weapon of all.

With these thoughts swirling in his mind, Rufus turned his attention to the immediate tasks at hand – tending to the wounded, securing the monastery against further attacks, and preparing for whatever challenges the coming days might bring. But even as he worked alongside his brother and classmates, a part of his mind remained fixed on the enigma that was Max, and the secrets that still lay hidden within the walls of Garreg Mach.

Chapter Text

In the aftermath of the devastating attack on Garreg Mach Monastery, Archbishop Rhea stood atop the Star Terrace, her emerald eyes surveying the damage below. The setting sun cast long shadows across the battered grounds, painting a somber picture of destruction and resilience. Despite the chaos that had engulfed the monastery mere hours ago, a semblance of order was slowly being restored.

Rhea's face, usually a mask of serene composure, betrayed the weight of her responsibilities. The attack had been unlike anything she had witnessed in centuries, and the implications of such a brazen assault on the heart of the Church of Seiros were staggering. Yet, as always, she kept her true thoughts carefully guarded.

With a deep breath, Rhea descended from her vantage point, her ornate robes swishing softly as she made her way through the corridors. The once-pristine halls bore the scars of battle – scorch marks on walls, shattered windows, and the acrid smell of smoke that lingered in the air. But amidst the destruction, Rhea could see signs of hope and resilience.

Knights and students alike worked tirelessly to clear debris and tend to the wounded. The infirmary, where Sitri was stationed alongside other priests and bishops, was a hive of activity. As Rhea passed by, she could hear the murmur of healing incantations and the soft groans of the injured. Her heart swelled with pride at the dedication of her people, even as it ached for their suffering.

As she continued her rounds, Rhea's mind turned to the events of the day. The mysterious pale-skinned attackers, the bravery of the students and knights, and... Max. Her brow furrowed slightly at the thought of him. There had been some reports of strange occurrences during the battle, small objects moving in ways they shouldn't, weapons flying out of enemies' hands. And somehow, Max seemed to be at the center of it all.

It was a mystery she needed to unravel, especially now.

Rhea's path took her to the cathedral, where many of the monastery's residents had sought refuge. The air was thick with the scent of incense and the soft murmur of prayers. As she entered, heads turned and voices hushed. She could see the mix of fear and hope in their eyes, all looking to her for guidance and reassurance.

With practiced grace, Rhea moved among them, offering words of comfort and gentle touches of blessing. "The goddess watches over us all," she intoned, her voice carrying easily through the cavernous space. "Though we have been tested, our faith remains unshaken. We will rebuild, stronger than ever."

As she spoke, Rhea scanned the crowd, noting familiar faces and taking stock of those who were missing. Her eyes lingered for a moment on Prince Lambert of Faerghus, who stood with a group of Blue Lions students. The young man looked exhausted but determined, already discussing plans for fortifying the monastery's defenses with his classmates.

Rhea felt a flicker of pride at the sight. These young leaders were the future of Fódlan, and they had proven their mettle in the face of overwhelming odds. Yet with that pride came a twinge of unease. What exactly had transpired during the battle? How much did these students know?

Pushing aside her concerns, Rhea continued her circuit of the cathedral. She spoke with knights, comforted frightened children, and offered blessings to the injured. All the while, her mind worked furiously, planning their next moves and considering the potential ramifications of the day's events.

As the night wore on and the immediate crisis began to subside, Rhea found herself drawn back to the matter of Max. She had allowed him considerable freedom within the monastery, trusting in his discretion and valuing his unique perspective. But today's inexplicable events threatened to upset the delicate balance she had worked so hard to maintain.

Finally, as the moon rose high over Garreg Mach, Rhea spotted Max alone in one of the less damaged courtyards. He was sitting on a bench, his head bowed and his shoulders slumped with exhaustion. For a moment, Rhea was struck by how ordinary he looked – a far cry from the center of the mysterious occurrences reported during the battle.

Taking a deep breath, Rhea approached him. "Max," she said softly, her voice carrying a hint of steel beneath its gentle tones.

Max's head snapped up, surprise and wariness flashing across his face before he schooled his features into a neutral expression. "Lady Rhea," he acknowledged, rising to his feet. "I hope you're not here to thank me. I only did what was necessary."

Rhea's lips curved into a small, enigmatic smile. "No, Max. I'm not here to thank you. Though your actions today undoubtedly played a role in our survival, they have also raised... questions."

Max's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. "Questions? I'm not sure I understand, Lady Rhea. I fought alongside everyone else to defend the monastery."

"There have been reports, Max," Rhea said, her voice low and intense. "Strange occurrences that defy explanation. And somehow, you seem to be at the center of it all."

Max opened his mouth to speak, but Rhea held up a hand, silencing him. "I don't know what happened out there today, but I intend to find out. Until we can assess the full impact of today's events and determine what exactly transpired, you are to remain in your quarters. Consider yourself... under observation."

For a long moment, Max stared at her, a myriad of emotions flashing across his face – fear, frustration, and finally, resignation. He nodded once, his shoulders sagging slightly. "I understand, Lady Rhea.”

Rhea watched as Max turned and walked away, his footsteps heavy with the weight of secrets and consequence. As he disappeared into the shadows of the monastery, Rhea allowed herself a moment of vulnerability, her composure slipping ever so slightly.

She closed her eyes, feeling the cool night air on her face and the weight of centuries on her shoulders. The road ahead would be fraught with danger and difficult decisions. But as always, she would persevere. For the sake of Fódlan, for the future she had fought so long to protect, she would uncover the truth.

With a final glance at the star-strewn sky, Rhea turned and made her way back into the heart of the monastery. There was much work to be done, and dawn would come all too soon.

Chapter Text

In the quietude of her chambers, Sitri sat at her vanity, methodically brushing her long green hair. The soft bristles glided through her locks, a soothing rhythm that belied the tumult of her thoughts. Her gaze, reflected in the ornate mirror before her, was distant and contemplative.

The recent argument between Max and their mother, Archbishop Rhea, weighed heavily on her mind. Sitri understood both perspectives - Rhea's fierce protectiveness and Max's burning desire to prove himself. As the mediator in their family dynamic, she often found herself caught between conflicting loyalties.

With a soft sigh, Sitri set down her brush and rose gracefully. She knew her brother well enough to predict his current state - brooding in his room, frustration simmering just beneath the surface. It was time for some intervention.

As she made her way through the monastery's winding corridors, Sitri's steps were light but purposeful. She paused briefly outside Max's door, composing herself before knocking gently. "Max?" she called, her voice soft and inviting. "Can I come in?"

Upon entering, she found Max exactly as she had expected - perched on the edge of his bed, tension evident in the set of his shoulders. Sitri settled beside him, her presence a calming influence in the charged atmosphere of the room.

Their conversation unfolded as it often did, with Sitri offering a sympathetic ear and gentle wisdom. She understood Max's frustration, his desire to be seen as capable and trusted. Yet she also sought to help him see their mother's perspective, the weight of responsibility that Rhea carried.

As the discussion wound down, Sitri decided a change of subject was in order. A mischievous glint appeared in her eyes as she leaned back, a small smile playing on her lips. "You know, all this talk of proving oneself reminds me of my early days of training with Jeralt."

Max's eyebrow quirked upward, a mix of curiosity and wariness in his expression. "Oh?" he prompted, unable to resist his sister's storytelling bait.

Sitri's smile widened as she launched into her tale, her voice taking on a dreamy quality. "Oh yes, those training sessions were... quite something. There was this one time, it was a particularly hot day. Jeralt decided the heat was too much and he just... he took his shirt off, and I went— UH!"

She paused dramatically, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Like I actually had— Like my body had a reaction to—"

"I don't need to know about that," Max interjected hastily, his tone a mix of exasperation and amusement. "You keep that to yourself."

Sitri's laughter filled the room, bright and melodious. The tension that had been palpable earlier seemed to dissipate in the wake of her mirth. She continued to regale Max with tales of her training days, carefully skirting the line between entertaining anecdotes and oversharing.

As the sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows began to fade, signaling the approach of evening, Sitri's stories showed no sign of abating. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and fondness as she recounted tale after tale, each one eliciting a range of reactions from her brother - from reluctant chuckles to exaggerated eyerolls.

In these moments, the weight of their responsibilities, the tensions with their mother, and the mysteries surrounding their existence seemed to fade into the background. They were simply siblings, sharing laughter and stories, finding comfort in each other's presence.

As Sitri launched into yet another story, her voice animated and her hands gesturing expressively, Max settled back, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips despite his best efforts to maintain his aloof facade. The chapter of their day was drawing to a close, but the bond between them, forged through shared experiences and unspoken understanding, remained as strong as ever.

Chapter Text

In the days following the attack on Garreg Mach Monastery, life had begun to settle into a new, albeit uneasy, rhythm. Repairs were underway, classes had resumed, and the air was thick with whispered theories about the pale-skinned attackers. However, one particular detail nagged at Prince Rufus of Faerghus like an itch he couldn't scratch: the conspicuous absence of a certain Max Eisenhardt.

Rufus, never one to let a good mystery go unsolved (or a chance to be nosy pass him by), decided to embark on what he dramatically dubbed "Operation: Find the Fascinating Freak." He strode through the monastery halls, his usual sardonic smirk firmly in place, ready to unleash a barrage of remarks on his unsuspecting quarry.

After checking all the obvious spots – the training grounds, the dining hall, and even the sauna (because who doesn't love a good steam after saving the day with mysterious powers?) – Rufus found himself outside Max's quarters. He knocked on the door with the enthusiasm of a particularly bored cat pawing at a mouse hole.

"Eisenhardt! Are you in there plotting world domination, or have you finally succumbed to the overwhelming mediocrity of monastery life?" Rufus called out, his voice dripping with mock concern.

There was a moment of silence, followed by the sound of shuffling feet. The door creaked open, revealing a disheveled Max, looking as if he'd been locked in an epic battle with a library and lost.

"Ah, Prince Rufus," Max drawled, his tone as dry as the Sreng desert. "To what do I owe the dubious pleasure of your company? Come to accuse me of some nefarious deed, or perhaps you're just lost on your way to polish your ego?"

Rufus clutched his chest in feigned hurt. "Why, Max, you wound me! Can't a prince simply check on his favorite enigma without ulterior motives?"

Max raised an eyebrow, a feat that somehow managed to convey both skepticism and amusement. "I'd sooner believe Willliam had sworn off women."

Despite himself, Rufus found a genuine chuckle escaping his lips. "Fair point. Though I must say, your absence has been noted. The monastery is positively dull without your presence to liven things up."

Max sighed, running a hand through his already messy hair. "If you must know, I've been... occupied. The recent events have given me much to ponder."

Rufus seized the opening like a wyvern diving for its prey. "Ah yes, the attack. Quite the spectacle, wasn't it? I don't suppose you'd care to share any... insights about what transpired?"

Max's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of suspicion crossing his features. "I'm sure your own observations were more than adequate, Your Highness. After all, you have such a keen eye for detail."

The two men stood there, locked in a verbal standoff, each trying to read between the lines of the other's carefully chosen words. The air crackled with unspoken accusations and half-formed theories.

Finally, Rufus broke the tension with a dramatic sigh. "Well, since you're determined to be a recluse, I suppose I'll have to resort to more drastic measures to alleviate my boredom. Perhaps I'll go antagonize my dear brother or challenge Willliam to a flirting contest."

Max's lips twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "Truly, the burdens of royalty are great indeed."

Rufus paused, an idea forming in his mind. "Say, Eisenhardt, you wouldn't happen to need anything from the library, would you? Since you're so busy with your mysterious pondering and all."

Max blinked, clearly caught off guard by the offer. "I... well, yes, actually. There are a few tomes I've been meaning to peruse."

"Excellent!" Rufus clapped his hands together. "Make me a list, and I shall brave the dusty depths of the library on your behalf. Consider it my good deed for the century."

As Max scribbled down a list of books, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Not that I don't appreciate the gesture, Rufus, but why exactly are you doing this?"

Rufus flashed his most charming smile, the one that usually preceded his most outrageous lies. "Why, my dear Max, it's simply repayment for all those delightful magic lessons you've given me. After all, what kind of prince would I be if I didn't honor my debts?"

With that, Rufus snatched the list from Max's hand and sauntered away, leaving a thoroughly bemused Max in his wake. As he headed towards the library, Rufus couldn't help but feel a twinge of... something. Not quite friendship, but perhaps the seedling of a grudging respect.

Of course, that didn't mean he was going to stop trying to uncover Max's secrets. After all, where was the fun in that?

Chapter Text

In the bustling halls of Garreg Mach Monastery, Matthias strolled with the confidence of a man who believed he had a solid grasp on his social circle. As a member of the Blue Lions house, he prided himself on his camaraderie with his fellow classmates. Little did he know, this day would shatter his perceptions faster than a wyvern could devour a plate of sweet buns.

Matthias rounded a corner, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of axe techniques and the upcoming month’s mission, when he stumbled upon a scene that made his blood run cold. There, cornered against a wall, stood Sofie, the youngest of the Blue Lions at a mere 15 years old. Looming over her like a particularly sleazy shadow was William, the heir to House Bartels, whose reputation for skirt-chasing was as infamous as his family's crest.

Matthias's first instinct was to charge in, brandishing righteous fury and possibly a conveniently placed training sword. However, before he could take a step, he felt a presence behind him. Turning, he found himself face-to-face with none other than Prince Rufus, whose expression could only be described as "thunderously unimpressed."

What happened next would be forever etched in Matthias's memory, filed under "Things I Never Thought I'd See in a Million Years."

Rufus strode past Matthias with the determination of a man on a mission, his usual sarcastic demeanor replaced by something far more terrifying: genuine anger. He positioned himself between Sofie and William, his voice ringing out with the authority of a thousand disapproving mothers.

"That little girl is a child!" Rufus bellowed, causing William to stumble back in shock. "I don't want to see you sniffing around her anymore this afternoon! Do you understand me!"

William, clearly not used to being on the receiving end of such a tirade, opened and closed his mouth like a particularly confused fish. Rufus, however, was far from finished.

"Boy, have you lost your mind, because I'll help you find it!" The prince raised his hand, poised to deliver a strike that would likely send William's ancestors reeling. 

Matthias stood frozen, his jaw practically on the floor. Sofie, still pressed against the wall, looked as if she couldn't decide whether to be relieved or mortified. William, for his part, seemed to be seriously contemplating the life choices that had led him to this moment.

Rufus, on a roll now, continued his verbal onslaught. "What are you looking for! Nobody's going to help you!" He gestured wildly, his voice echoing through the hallway. "Saint Seiros can walk through that door and she's not going to help you if you don't stop sniffing after this child!"

As the echoes of Rufus's tirade faded, an almost comical silence descended upon the scene. William, looking as if he'd just been slapped with a wet fish, mumbled something incoherent before beating a hasty retreat. Sofie, her eyes wide with a mix of awe and embarrassment, mouthed a quick "thank you" to Rufus before scurrying off in the opposite direction.

Matthias, still rooted to the spot, watched as Rufus smoothed down his uniform, the prince's usual sardonic smirk sliding back into place as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

"Close your mouth, Matthias," Rufus drawled, sauntering past him. "You'll catch flies. And do try to keep a better eye on our younger classmates in the future, won't you? I can't be expected to play the hero all the time. It would ruin my carefully cultivated image of apathy."

With that, Rufus disappeared around the corner, leaving Matthias to ponder the surreal scene he had just witnessed. As he slowly regained his faculties, Matthias couldn't help but think that perhaps he didn't know his fellow Blue Lions as well as he thought. And maybe, just maybe, there was more to Prince Rufus than met the eye.

As Matthias finally shook off his stupor and made his way to class, he couldn't help but wonder what other surprises his housemates might have in store. One thing was certain: life in the Blue Lions house was never boring.

Chapter Text

In the bustling dining hall of Garreg Mach Monastery, Freya found herself once again in the company of her newly established best friend, Volkhard von Arundel. Despite the passage of time since their last heart-to-heart, the pair fell into easy conversation as if no time had passed at all. Such was the nature of their peculiar friendship, forged in the fires of academic misery and tempered by shared experiences of trauma and tedium.

As they sat at one of the long wooden tables, surrounded by the cacophony of student chatter and the clinking of cutlery, Freya's attention was inevitably drawn to the plate before her. Her eyes lit up with an almost manic gleam as she beheld the golden, flaky morsels that had become her latest obsession.

"Do you like the cheesy biscuits?" Freya asked, her voice filled with the reverence typically reserved for religious artifacts or particularly shiny weapons.

Volkhard, ever the master of understatement, replied with a noncommittal shrug. "They're okay."

Freya gasped, clutching her chest as if mortally wounded by his lukewarm response. "Okay? OKAY? Volkhard, my dear friend, these are not mere biscuits. They are ambrosia given form by the Goddess herself! I'm a gremlin for these cheesy biscuits!"

Volkhard raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching with barely suppressed amusement. "You say you're a gremlin for everything, Freya."

"Oh yeah?" Freya challenged, leaning forward with a competitive glint in her eye. "Like what?"

Volkhard cleared his throat, adopting the air of a scholar about to present a well-researched thesis. "Water, massages, the sauna, mochi, training, training with the other Blue Lions, dancing, singing, appraising weapons, tea parties, Rodrigue..."

As Volkhard rattled off his list, Freya's expression morphed from indignation to begrudging acceptance, and finally to a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. By the time he mentioned Rodrigue, her face had turned a shade of red that rivaled the tomatoes in the monastery's garden.

"We need to hang out less," Freya declared, burying her face in her hands to hide her blush.

And with that, the great cheesy biscuit debate of came to an end, leaving in its wake a trail of crumbs, wounded pride, and the unshakable certainty that some friendships are built on the strangest of foundations – including an encyclopedic knowledge of one's embarrassing obsessions.

Chapter Text

Max Eisenhardt, the enigmatic and perpetually grumpy person of Garreg Mach Monastery, had finally achieved the impossible. After weeks of relentless pestering, bargaining, and what could only be described as magical puppy eyes, he had convinced Lady Rhea to let him visit the cathedral. Of course, it took Sitri's intervention to seal the deal, proving once again that even the most stubborn of archbishops were no match for the power of siblinghood... or perhaps just the desire to stop hearing Max's incessant whining.

As Max strutted towards the cathedral, his chest puffed out with the pride of a man who had just won a staring contest with a stone gargoyle, he couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation. Finally, he would be able to examine the statues of the saints up close, perhaps even discover some arcane secret hidden in their stony gazes.

Just as Max was about to enter the cathedral, his path was blocked by a young man with a smile so bright it could have powered the entire monastery for a week. This walking ray of sunshine was none other than Royce von Martritz, heir to a declining house in the Adrestian Empire and possessor of a heart purer than freshly fallen snow.

"Oh, hello there!" Royce beamed, his voice dripping with enough sweetness to give a wyvern diabetes. "You must be Max. I've heard so much about you!"

Max, caught off guard by this sudden burst of friendliness, could only manage a grunt that sounded vaguely like "hello" if you squinted your ears just right.

Undeterred by Max's less-than-enthusiastic response, Royce continued, "I was just on my way to join the choir practice. Would you like to come along? It's ever so much fun!"

Max opened his mouth, ready to unleash a refusal so biting it could have curdled milk at fifty paces. But before he could utter a single syllable, a familiar drawl cut through the air like a knife through particularly smug butter.

"Well, well, well," came the voice of Prince Rufus, materializing from the shadows like a particularly sarcastic ghost. "If it isn't our resident mystery man, Max Eisenhardt. Fancy seeing you here, of all places. Come to confess your sins, perhaps? Or just to admire your own reflection in the stained glass?"

Max's eyes narrowed, his expression shifting from mild annoyance to full-blown exasperation faster than you could say "Goddess have mercy." "Rufus," he growled, "don't you have a kingdom to mismanage or a ego to stroke?"

Rufus clutched his chest in mock pain. "Oh, Max, your words wound me deeply. And here I thought we were becoming the best of friends. After all, I did brave the depths of the library for you, didn't I?"

Royce, bless his innocent heart, seemed oblivious to the tension crackling between the two men. "Oh, how wonderful!" he exclaimed. "You must be good friends indeed. Max, you simply must join us for choir practice now. It'll be so much more fun with friends!"

Max, caught between the relentless cheer of Royce and the insufferable smirk of Rufus, found himself in an impossible situation. He could feel Rufus's eyes on him, practically daring him to refuse Royce's invitation.

In that moment, fueled by a combination of spite, stubbornness, and what could only be described as temporary insanity, Max made a decision that would haunt him for weeks to come.

"You know what, Royce?" he said, his voice dripping with forced enthusiasm. "I'd love to join the choir practice."

Rufus's jaw dropped so fast it was a wonder it didn't hit the floor. "You... what?" he sputtered, for once at a loss for words.

Max turned to Rufus, a smile that was equal parts triumph and madness spreading across his face. "What's the matter, Your Highness? Surprised to discover I have hidden depths? Or perhaps you'd like to join us as well? I'm sure the choir could always use another... voice."

Rufus, realizing he had been outmaneuvered, quickly regained his composure. "As tempting as that sounds, I'm afraid I must decline. Unlike some people, I have important duties to attend to. Enjoy your... singing."

As Rufus sauntered away, his pride slightly bruised but his curiosity more piqued than ever, Max allowed himself to be led into the cathedral by an ecstatic Royce. As the doors closed behind them, Max couldn't help but wonder what fresh hell he had just willingly walked into.

Chapter Text

In the week following Max's surprising decision to join the choir, Rufus had been plotting. Not content to let his quarry escape into the hallowed halls of musical devotion, the prince had concocted a plan so devious, so cunning, that it just might work – or at least, that's what he told himself as he dragged his unwitting accomplices along.

"Remind me again why we're going to the cathedral?" Lambert asked, his brow furrowed in confusion as Rufus marched them through the monastery grounds with the determination of a man on a mission.

Rufus flashed his most innocent smile, which looked about as genuine as a three-headed wyvern. "Why, dear brother, can't a prince simply wish to partake in the cultural delights of our esteemed institution? Perhaps I've had a sudden awakening and wish to nurture my spiritual side."

Sofie, walking alongside them, raised an eyebrow so high it threatened to disappear into her hairline. "You? Spiritual? Rufus, the last time you showed interest in anything remotely religious, it was because you thought the goddess statue was winking at you."

"That was one time!" Rufus protested, his dignity slightly bruised. "And I maintain that she was flirting with me. But I digress. If you must know, I simply wish to... observe the choir practice. And perhaps make friends with our elusive Max Eisenhardt."

Lambert's face lit up like a child on his birthday. "Oh, Rufus! I'm so proud of you, trying to make new friends. Of course we'll help!"

Rufus had to suppress a smirk. Sometimes, his brother's earnestness made things almost too easy. As they approached the cathedral, the prince couldn't help but feel a twinge of anticipation. Today, he would finally crack the enigma that was Max Eisenhardt, or at least annoy him into revealing something interesting.

As they entered the cathedral, however, all thoughts of schemes and secrets evaporated like morning mist in the face of the sun. Or in this case, in the face of the most unexpected and haunting melody any of them had ever heard.

"Dormite liberi, Dulci pueri dormite, caloria et..."

The voice rang out, clear and strong, filling every corner of the cathedral with its melancholic beauty. It was a lullaby, but one that spoke of loss and longing, of a mother's eternal love reaching beyond the veil of death.

But what truly stunned Rufus into slack-jawed amazement was the identity of the singer. There, at the front of the choir, stood Max Eisenhardt. His eyes were closed, his face a picture of serene concentration as he led the choir in the haunting melody.

"Comodus Vester lecti boni, Osservo te, semper te..."

Rufus blinked rapidly, certain he must be hallucinating. Perhaps he had accidentally ingested one of Godfrey’s experimental elixirs? But no, Lambert and Sofie's expressions of wide-eyed wonder confirmed that this was indeed reality.

As Max continued to sing, his voice rising and falling with the emotion of the lullaby, Rufus found himself transported. The cynical part of his mind, always ready with a sarcastic quip, fell silent. For once, he allowed himself to simply listen, to be moved by the raw emotion in Max's voice.

"Latus tui costa te, autem solus, mitite, Latus tui hic sum..."

The lullaby spoke of a mother watching over her child, even in death. It was a song of comfort and sorrow, of love that transcended the boundaries between life and death. As Max's voice soared on the higher notes, Rufus felt a lump form in his throat. He swallowed hard, refusing to acknowledge the suspicious moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes.

When the final notes faded away, leaving the cathedral in a reverent silence, Rufus found himself blinking back to awareness. He glanced around, noting with some relief that he wasn't the only one affected. Lambert was openly wiping tears from his eyes, while Sofie looked as if she had just witnessed a miracle.

As the choir began to disperse, Max finally noticed their presence. His eyes widened slightly in surprise, then narrowed in suspicion as he approached them.

"Well," Max said, his voice gruff as if to compensate for the vulnerability he had just displayed, "I suppose it was too much to hope for a moment's peace. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Your Highness?"

Rufus opened his mouth, a sarcastic retort on the tip of his tongue, but for once, words failed him. How could he possibly revert to their usual verbal sparring after what he had just witnessed?

Luckily, Lambert stepped in, his face beaming with genuine admiration. "Max, that was absolutely incredible! I had no idea you could sing like that. It was... it was..."

"Beautiful," Sofie finished, her voice soft with awe. "Truly beautiful, Max. Where did you learn that song?"

Max shifted uncomfortably under their praise, looking as if he'd rather face down a demonic beast than accept a compliment. "It's... just an old lullaby," he muttered. "Nothing special."

"Nothing special?" Rufus finally found his voice, though it came out far more sincere than he had intended. "Max, that was... good. Really good."

Max's eyebrows shot up in surprise at Rufus's uncharacteristic praise. For a moment, the two men stared at each other, the usual tension between them replaced by a strange new understanding.

The moment was shattered by a gentle voice from behind them. "Indeed, it was quite beautiful."

They all turned to see Lady Rhea standing there, her serene smile firmly in place. Rufus felt a jolt of surprise – how long had she been there? And more importantly, how had she managed to sneak up on them in those ridiculous headdress and robes?

"Lady Rhea," Max said, bowing his head slightly. "I didn't realize you were here."

Rhea's smile widened. "I couldn't resist coming to listen when I heard you were leading the choir today, Max. That lullaby... it brought back many memories."

There was something in her eyes, a flicker of emotion that Rufus couldn't quite place. Before he could ponder it further, Rhea continued, "Max, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to speak with you privately for a moment."

Max nodded, shooting one last unreadable glance at Rufus before following Rhea out of the cathedral. Rufus watched them go, his mind whirling with new questions and theories.

As they exited the cathedral, Lambert turned to Rufus with a bright smile. "Well, brother, it seems your plan to make friends with Max is off to a great start! Who knew he had such a hidden talent?"

Rufus managed a weak chuckle. "Yes, who indeed..." He trailed off, his gaze still fixed on the door through which Max and Rhea had disappeared.

Sofie, ever perceptive, narrowed her eyes at Rufus. "You know, for someone who came here to 'make friends', you seem awfully preoccupied with Lady Rhea's interest in Max."

Rufus waved a dismissive hand, trying to regain his usual air of nonchalance. "Oh, you know me, always curious about the inner workings of our esteemed institution. I'm sure it's nothing of importance."

But even as he said it, Rufus knew he was lying. Something had changed today. Max Eisenhardt had just become even more intriguing, and Rufus was more determined than ever to unravel its mysteries.

As they made their way back to their quarters, Rufus's mind raced with new possibilities. The lullaby Max had sung – it clearly held some significance beyond its haunting melody. And Lady Rhea's reaction... there was definitely more to that story.

For the first time since he had begun his self-appointed mission to uncover Max's secrets, Rufus felt a twinge of something that might have been guilt. He had come to the cathedral today with the intention of manipulating Max, of making him feel safe enough to let his guard down. But instead, he had witnessed something raw and genuine, a moment of vulnerability that had touched even his cynical heart.

As he bid goodnight to Lambert and Sofie, Rufus found himself humming the lullaby under his breath. The words, though in a language he didn't fully understand, seemed to resonate with something deep within him.

"Sine pater autem, mitite, liberi, Visi te tua mater..."

Without a father, but gentle, children, your mother watches over you...

Rufus shook his head, trying to clear it of the melancholic thoughts the song evoked. He had come to Garreg Mach with a purpose, and he couldn't afford to let sentimentality cloud his judgment now.

And yet, as he lay in bed that night, the haunting melody of Max's lullaby echoing in his mind, Rufus couldn't shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted. The game he had been playing, the careful dance of suspicion and half-truths, suddenly seemed childish in the face of the raw emotion he had witnessed today.

For the first time since he had met Max, Rufus found himself wondering if perhaps he had misjudged the man. Maybe, just maybe, there was more to Max than secrets and sarcasm. Maybe, beneath that gruff exterior, there was someone worth knowing.

As sleep finally claimed him, Rufus made a decision. He would continue his investigation, but with a new approach. No more childish games or petty provocations. If he wanted to truly understand Max Eisenhardt, he would have to open himself up to the possibility of genuine friendship.

It was a terrifying thought, one that went against every cynical instinct Rufus possessed. But as the lullaby played on in his dreams, a gentle reminder of the power of vulnerability, Rufus found himself looking forward to the challenge.

Chapter Text

In the aftermath of the recent attack on Garreg Mach Monastery, life was slowly returning to a semblance of normalcy. Well, as normal as things could be in a place where mysterious pale-skinned attackers had recently laid siege, and where objects had a peculiar habit of moving on their own during battle. Amidst this chaos, one man stood as a beacon of constant confusion: Jeralt Eisner, captain of the Knights of Seiros and professor at the Officers Academy.

On this particular day, Jeralt found himself wandering the halls of the monastery, a vague sense of purpose guiding his steps. He'd heard through the grapevine (which, in this case, was actually just Alois shouting across the dining hall) that Max had been confined to his quarters by Lady Rhea. Now, Jeralt wasn't one to pry into other people's business, but he had to admit, he was curious.

As Jeralt approached Max's room, he could hear muffled voices from within. He raised his hand to knock, then paused, his brow furrowing. Was that... singing? Shaking his head, he rapped his knuckles against the heavy wooden door.

The singing abruptly stopped, replaced by the sound of shuffling feet. A moment later, the door creaked open, revealing Max's face, which bore an expression that could only be described as "mildly annoyed cat who's just been woken from a nap."

"Jeralt," Max grunted, his tone somewhere between a greeting and a question.

Jeralt, master of social graces that he was, responded with his own eloquent grunt. "Max."

For a moment, the two men stood in silence, engaged in what could only be described as the world's most awkward staring contest. Finally, Jeralt cleared his throat. "Heard you got yourself grounded by Rhea. Thought I'd come check on you. Make sure you hadn't, you know, died of boredom or something."

Max's eyebrow quirked upwards, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. "Your concern is touching," he deadpanned. "But as you can see, I'm still very much alive. Though I might prefer death to the tedium of confinement."

Despite himself, Jeralt felt a chuckle bubbling up in his chest. "Well, can't have that. Mind if I come in? I've got a flask of whiskey that might help pass the time."

Max hesitated for a moment, then stepped aside, allowing Jeralt to enter. As he did, Jeralt couldn't help but notice the stack of sheet music scattered across Max's desk. "Didn't know you were into music," he commented, gesturing towards the papers.

Max's face did something complicated, a mix of embarrassment, pride, and irritation that Jeralt found oddly fascinating. "I... may have joined the choir," Max admitted reluctantly.

Jeralt's eyebrows shot up so fast they threatened to fly off his forehead. "You? In the choir? Now that's something I've got to hear about."

And so, as Jeralt settled into a chair and Max paced the room like a caged lion, the story began to unfold. Max, in a tone that suggested he'd rather be discussing his deepest, darkest secrets than his musical endeavors, recounted the events of his latest choir practice.

"So there I was, minding my own business, when this... this Edgar character decides to pour his heart out to me," Max grumbled, his face contorting into an expression of exasperated disbelief that made Jeralt struggle to keep a straight face.

"Edgar?" Jeralt asked, already feeling like he was several steps behind in this conversation.

Max waved a hand dismissively. "Not his real name. Just a stand-in for this lovesick fool who thought it was a good idea to date someone who had cheated on their previous partner."

Jeralt blinked, trying to process this information. "Wait, what? Someone in the choir?"

"No, no," Max sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's a story about someone Edgar knows. Try to keep up, Jeralt."

Jeralt took a long swig from his flask, feeling like he might need it to follow this tale. "Right. Of course. Please, continue."

Max launched back into his story, his face a canvas of increasingly dramatic expressions. "So this Edgar tells me, with tears in his eyes, mind you, that he can't believe his girlfriend cheated on him."

At this point, Max's face contorted into a look of such utter disbelief and exasperation that Jeralt couldn't help but snort with laughter. Max shot him a glare but continued.

"And I had to pretend to be shocked," Max said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "As if it wasn't the most predictable outcome in the history of terrible relationship decisions."

Jeralt, who was now thoroughly lost but oddly invested in this drama, leaned forward. "So, let me get this straight. This Edgar fellow dated a girl who cheated on her boyfriend with him, and then he's surprised when she cheats on him too?"

Max nodded, his face a masterpiece of 'I-can't-believe-I-have-to-deal-with-this-nonsense.' "Exactly. I told him, 'What? You mean the girl that cheated in her last relationship with you cheated again? Who could have seen this coming?'"

At this point, Max's face transformed into an expression of such exaggerated shock that Jeralt couldn't contain his laughter anymore. He burst out in a hearty guffaw, nearly spilling his whiskey.

"And then," Max continued, his voice rising with indignation, "I said, 'Um, Stevie Wonder could have seen that coming.'"

Jeralt's laughter abruptly cut off, replaced by a look of confusion. "Who's Stevie Wonder?"

Max froze for a moment, his eyes widening slightly before he quickly composed himself. "A blind man with incredible talent," he explained hastily.

"Oh," Jeralt said, nodding as if this explained everything, when in fact it explained absolutely nothing.

Max continued his rant, pacing back and forth across the small room. "And the worst part is, I don't even feel bad for him! He was partially responsible for ruining the other guy's relationship, and he was delusional enough to think that the same thing wouldn't happen to him."

Jeralt took another swig of whiskey, feeling like he needed it to keep up with this roller coaster of a story. "So, let me see if I've got this straight," he said slowly. "This Edgar fellow helped a girl cheat on her boyfriend, then started dating her, and is now upset that she cheated on him too?"

Max nodded, his face a study in exasperation. "Precisely. The sheer audacity of his surprise is... well, it's something."

Jeralt shook his head, chuckling. "Well, I've got to hand it to you, Max. When you joined the choir, I didn't expect you'd be getting front-row seats to this kind of drama."

Max's face did another one of those complicated things that Jeralt found so entertaining. It was as if his features were trying to express annoyance, amusement, and resignation all at once. "Neither did I," he grumbled. "I joined to sing, not to be an unwilling confidant to lovelorn fools."

Jeralt couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. Here was Max, the sassiest, most serious man in all of Garreg Mach, embroiled in choir practice drama that sounded more suited to a tavern gossip session than a religious musical group.

"Well," Jeralt said, raising his flask in a mock toast, "here's to unexpected adventures in the world of music and matters of the heart."

Max snorted, but Jeralt could see the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "If this is what passes for adventure these days, perhaps I should reconsider my life choices."

As the afternoon wore on, Jeralt found himself oddly enjoying this peek into the bizarre world of monastery choir drama. Max's retelling, complete with his array of incredulous expressions and dry commentary, was more entertaining than any play Jeralt had ever seen (not that he'd seen many, mind you).

By the time Jeralt finally took his leave, the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the monastery grounds. As he walked back to his own quarters, he couldn't help but shake his head in amusement. He'd come to cheer up Max, but instead, he'd been treated to a performance worthy of the greatest theatrical stages in all of Fódlan.

Life at Garreg Mach, Jeralt mused, was never dull. Between mysterious attacks, objects moving on their own, and now choir practice soap operas, it was a wonder anyone got any actual studying or training done. But then again, perhaps these were the real lessons – how to navigate the choppy waters of human relationships, how to deal with the unexpected, and how to find humor in the absurdities of life.

As he reached his room, Jeralt made a mental note to check in on Max more often. Who knew what other entertaining stories he might hear? And maybe, just maybe, he'd get to witness one of Max's choir performances. Now that, Jeralt thought with a grin, would be a sight worth seeing.

With a final chuckle, Jeralt closed his door, the echoes of Max's exasperated storytelling still ringing in his ears. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new battles, and undoubtedly new dramas. But for now, he was content to bask in the unexpected hilarity of Garreg Mach's most reluctant choir member and his tales of woe.

Chapter Text

As the Verdant Rain Moon drew to a close, casting long shadows across Garreg Mach Monastery, Prince Lambert found himself grappling with a growing unease that threatened to overshadow his usually bright demeanor. The young royal, known for his enthusiasm and inquisitive nature, was about to embark on a mission that would challenge not only his combat skills but also his deeply held beliefs.

Archbishop Rhea had summoned Professor Cherith and her Blue Lions class, assigning them a task of grave importance. "A group of thieves has stolen Suttungr's Mystery from Leicester territory," Rhea explained, her serene voice belying the gravity of the situation. "This Hero's Relic, associated with the Crest of Charon, must be recovered at all costs."

Lambert listened intently, his brow furrowed in concentration. The weight of recent events - the rebellion they had quelled, the questions that still lingered - pressed heavily upon him. As Rhea continued to brief them on the mission, Lambert found his mind wandering to darker possibilities.

"These thieves are led by Aurelia, a son of the fallen House Stirling," Rhea concluded. "You are to apprehend them and retrieve the relic. May the Goddess watch over you all."

As the Blue Lions filed out of the audience chamber, Lambert turned to his friend Max, Lady Rhea's adopted son, who had been observing the briefing with his characteristic sardonic expression.

"Max," Lambert began, his voice low and troubled, "does something about this mission feel... off to you?"

Max raised an eyebrow, a flicker of concern crossing his face at Lambert's subdued tone. "Other than the fact that we're sending a group of teenagers to retrieve a weapon of mass destruction from a band of thieves? No, nothing off about that at all."

Lambert managed a weak smile at his friend's sarcasm. "I'm serious, Max. After everything that's happened recently, I can't help but wonder if there's more to this than simple thievery."

Max's expression softened slightly. "Look, Lambert, I know you've got a lot on your mind lately. But sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, and sometimes thieves are just thieves. Try not to overthink it, alright?"

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Rufus, Lambert's older brother, whose penchant for verbal sparring with Max was legendary throughout the monastery.

"Well, well," Rufus drawled, eyeing Max with a mischievous glint in his eye, "if it isn't our resident cynic. Tell me, Max, have you managed to turn my little brother into a jaded, world-weary soul like yourself yet?"

Max's lips curled into a smirk. "Rufus, my dear prince, if I had that kind of power, I'd have turned you into a decent human being months ago. Alas, some tasks are beyond even my considerable abilities."

Lambert, usually amused by their banter, found himself unable to muster even a smile. "Enough, you two. We have a mission to prepare for."

Both Max and Rufus turned to Lambert, surprise evident on their faces at his uncharacteristically serious tone.

"Lambert," Max began, his voice uncharacteristically gentle, "are you sure you're alright?"

Lambert nodded, though the gesture lacked conviction. "I'm fine. Just... thinking about what lies ahead."

As Lambert moved to join his classmates, Max and Rufus exchanged worried glances. It was clear that something was weighing heavily on the young prince's mind.

The journey to the Caledonian Plateau was marked by an unusual silence among the Blue Lions. Lambert, typically the source of endless questions and observations, found himself lost in thought, replaying the events of the past few months in his mind.

As they neared their destination, the imposing silhouette of a tower loomed against the darkening sky. Professor Cherith gathered her students for a final briefing.

"Remember your training," she said, her voice steady despite the tension in the air. "We don't know exactly what we're walking into, so stay alert and watch each other's backs."

Lambert nodded, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Professor," he began, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant, "what if... what if there's more to this situation than we've been told?"

Cherith's eyes softened for a moment, recognizing the doubt that plagued her student. "We focus on the mission at hand, Lambert. One step at a time."

As they entered the tower, the Blue Lions found themselves facing a gauntlet of challenges. Traps, puzzles, and waves of enemies tested their skills and teamwork. Lambert fought with a grim determination, his usual exuberance replaced by a laser-like focus on the task at hand.

Floor by floor, they ascended the tower, facing increasingly difficult opponents. Lambert's mind raced, analyzing each encounter, looking for clues that might shed light on the true nature of their mission. Why would these thieves go to such lengths for a single relic? And why did the name Aurelia Stirling seem to carry such weight?

Finally, they reached the top floor. There, surrounded by the stolen treasures of Leicester, stood Aurelia Stirling. His eyes blazed with a fervor that sent a chill down Lambert's spine.

"So," Aurelia sneered, "the church's lapdogs have come to retrieve their precious relic. Tell me, do you even know what power you're dealing with?"

Lambert stepped forward, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his heart. "Aurelia Stirling, in the name of the Church of Seiros, we demand that you surrender Suttungr's Mystery and come with us peacefully."

Aurelia's laughter echoed through the chamber, cold and mirthless. "Peacefully? Oh, you naive fool. There's no peace to be found in a world built on lies and stolen power."

With that, Aurelia grasped Suttungr's Mystery, and before the stunned eyes of the Blue Lions, began to transform. His body contorted and grew, flesh and bone twisting into something monstrous. Where Aurelia had stood moments before, a ferocious demonic beast now towered.

"By the Goddess," Rodrigue breathed, his face pale with shock.

Lambert's mind reeled, struggling to process what he had just witnessed. This was no ordinary thief - this was something far more terrifying, far more significant than they had been led to believe.

"Blue Lions, to arms!" Professor Cherith's voice cut through the chaos, galvanizing her students into action.

The battle that ensued was unlike anything Lambert had ever experienced. The demonic beast that had once been Aurelia fought with a savage fury that pushed the Blue Lions to their limits. Lambert found himself moving on instinct, years of training taking over as he dodged claws and fangs, searching for any weakness in the creature's defenses.

As the fight wore on, Lambert caught glimpses of his classmates' faces - the determination in Rodrigue's eyes, the fierce concentration of Halden, the grim resolve of Freya. They were all fighting not just for their lives, but for answers to questions they hadn't even known to ask.

In a moment of distraction, the beast's tail whipped towards Professor Cherith. Lambert cried out a warning, but it came too late. The professor was sent flying across the chamber, crumpling against the far wall.

"Professor!" Lambert's voice cracked with anguish.

Rage and desperation fueled the Blue Lions as they redoubled their efforts. Lambert, his heart pounding in his ears, saw an opening and took it. With a cry that seemed to come from the depths of his soul, he plunged his sword into the beast's chest.

The creature that had once been Aurelia Stirling let out a final, haunting roar before collapsing. As the dust settled, Lambert stood over the fallen beast, his hands shaking and his mind reeling with unanswered questions.

The journey back to Garreg Mach was somber. Professor Cherith, though alive, had been gravely injured in the battle. Lambert, tasked with reporting to Archbishop Rhea, felt the weight of responsibility pressing down upon him like never before.

As he stood before Rhea in the audience chamber, recounting the events at the tower, Lambert couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing some crucial piece of information.

"And so," he concluded, his voice hoarse from the telling, "Aurelia Stirling transformed into a demonic beast when he wielded Suttungr's Mystery. We... we had no choice but to..."

Rhea's face remained impassive as she listened. When Lambert fell silent, she spoke, her voice carrying the weight of divine authority. "What you witnessed, Prince Lambert, was the goddess's divine punishment for those who would dare to wield sacred relics without her blessing."

Lambert's brow furrowed. "Divine punishment? But Archbishop, Aurelia was..."

"A thief and a heretic," Rhea interrupted, her tone brooking no argument. "The goddess's will is beyond our mortal understanding, Lambert. We can only trust in her wisdom and carry out her justice."

As Lambert left the audience chamber, his mind whirling with conflicting thoughts, he failed to notice Rufus lurking in the shadows, his face set in a troubled frown.

In the days that followed, Lambert found himself spending more and more time in the library, searching for answers to questions he couldn't quite articulate. It was there, surrounded by ancient tomes and the musty scent of old parchment, that Rodrigue, Halden, and Max found him.

"Lambert," Max began cautiously, "we've been worried about you. Ever since you returned from the mission..."

Lambert looked up from the book he'd been poring over, his eyes shadowed with fatigue. "I can't stop thinking about it, Max. Why did Aurelia transform? How could a Hero's Relic cause such a thing?"

Halden, ever the voice of reason, offered, "Perhaps it was because he lacked a Crest? We know the relics are tied to specific bloodlines."

Max, his usual sarcasm tempered by genuine concern for his friend, added, "Or perhaps there's more to these relics than we've been told. The church keeps many secrets, after all."

As they debated, a new voice joined the conversation. "Discussing ancient mysteries, are we?"

The group turned to see Volkhard von Arundel approaching, his face a mask of polite interest.

Lambert, seeing an opportunity for answers, quickly explained their discussion. "Lord Volkhard, in your studies, have you ever encountered anything about Hero's Relics transforming their wielders?"

Volkhard's expression darkened almost imperceptibly. "An interesting question, Your Highness. In fact, there are old legends that speak of such transformations. It's said that Nemesis and his followers were changed by the power of the relics they wielded, becoming... something other than human."

A heavy silence fell over the group as they absorbed this information. Lambert's mind raced, connecting dots he hadn't even realized existed. The rebellion, the church's swift and brutal response, Aurelia's transformation... it all seemed to point to a truth far more complex and troubling than he had ever imagined.

As the last day of the Verdant Rain Moon dawned, Lambert found himself standing atop the star terrace, gazing out over the monastery grounds. The events of the past month weighed heavily upon him, challenging everything he thought he knew about the church, the relics, and his own place in the world.

His troubled reverie was interrupted by the sound of running footsteps. Turning, he saw Sitri, a monk at the church, her face pale with distress.

"Lambert!" she cried, her voice choked with emotion. "It's Max... he's been kidnapped!"

The news hit Lambert like a physical blow. Max, with all his sarcasm and hidden depths, had become one of his closest friends in recent months. The thought of him in danger sent a chill through Lambert's heart.

As the monastery erupted into chaos, with knights mobilizing and students whispering fearfully among themselves, Lambert stood frozen, overwhelmed by the implications of this latest development.

In that moment, as the first rays of the Verdant Rain moon peeked over the horizon, Lambert knew that nothing would ever be the same. The foundations of his world had been shaken, and in the rubble, he would have to find a new path forward - one that led to the truth, no matter how painful it might be.

The chapter of innocence in Lambert's life had come to a close. As he descended from the star terrace, ready to join the search for his friend Max, he silently vowed to uncover the truths hidden beneath the surface of Fódlan's carefully constructed facade. The road ahead would be fraught with danger and difficult choices, but Lambert was determined to face it head-on, for the sake of his friends, his kingdom, and the future of all Fódlan.

Chapter Text

The sun had barely begun to peek over the horizon when the tranquility of Garreg Mach Monastery was shattered by a single, desperate cry. Archbishop Rhea, usually the epitome of serenity and composure, felt her world tilt on its axis as the news of Max's disappearance reached her ears.

"Your Grace!" Sitri burst into the audience chamber, her face pale with urgency. "It's Max... he's gone missing!"

The words hung in the air for a moment, heavy and ominous. Rhea stood frozen, her mind refusing to process the information. Then, as if struck by a physical blow, she swayed on her feet, her usually steadfast composure crumbling like sand.

Prince Lambert, who had been discussing the recent mission with the Archbishop, quickly moved to support her. "Lady Rhea!" he exclaimed, concern etched across his youthful features as he helped her regain her balance.

The commotion drew the attention of the Blue Lions, who had been waiting outside for their house leader. Rodrigue, Sofie, Matthias, Halden, Natalie, Rufus, and Freya rushed into the chamber, their faces a mix of confusion and worry.

"What's happening?" Rodrigue asked, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword.

Rhea took a deep breath, forcing her features into a mask of calm even as her heart raced with fear. She couldn't allow herself to fall apart, not now, not when Max needed her. With Lambert's steady hand on her arm, she straightened, once again becoming the unflappable leader they all knew.

"Thank you, Prince Lambert," she said softly, before addressing the gathered students. "I apologize for the disturbance. We have just received some... troubling news." Taking another steadying breath, Rhea turned to address the group.

"As I believe you are already aware, the young scholar at the monastery, Max, has gone missing," she began, her voice steadier than she felt. "At present, all we know for certain is that he has not left Garreg Mach."

Sitri stepped forward, her hands clasped tightly to stop them from shaking. "Max is not the type of person to just wander off on his own without telling me where he's going!" she exclaimed, her voice thick with emotion. "We have searched the monastery thoroughly but have found nothing. I am now mobilizing the knights and Jeralt to begin searching the town."

Her voice dropped, fear creeping into her tone. "Troubling rumors have been running rampant lately. I do not wish to consider the worst, but..."

"Rumors?" Halden interjected, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What kind of rumors?"

Sofie, ever the well-informed one, stepped in to explain. "There are rumors of someone prowling the streets and attacking innocents, night after night," she said, her voice low and serious. "The knights have investigated the matter. They have not discovered any remains, nor have they found any concrete evidence."

A heavy silence fell over the room as the implications of Sofie's words sank in. Sitri, unable to contain her distress any longer, burst out, "The people are panicked! They all insist someone called them Thanatos; they claim that he is coming to claim their souls with his blade." Her voice broke as she continued, "There is no way Max could have escaped unscaped if he were captured by such a fiend! Where is he?!"

Rhea moved to her daughter's side, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Sitri, please, we must remain calm," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "Panic will not help us find Max."

For a moment, it seemed as though Sitri would argue, but then she slumped slightly, nodding in resignation. Rhea squeezed her shoulder, a gesture of support that went beyond their public roles of Archbishop and nun.

The tense silence was broken by Rufus, who stepped forward with a thoughtful frown. "Why do we have to look for Max?" he asked, immediately earning sharp glares from both Sitri and Lambert. Raising his hands defensively, he quickly continued, "Yes, I'm worried about Max just like everyone here, but don't you think it's too much to send the knights? The knights we have are scarce already. Do we really have the manpower to do a wide search?"

His logic, cold as it might seem, was sound. Even Rodrigue, always the voice of reason, nodded reluctantly. "Rufus has a point," he admitted. "And from what I remember, Max isn't a student at the school, which does warrant a search party."

Rhea felt a moment of panic. She couldn't let them abandon the search, couldn't risk losing Max. In that instant, she made a decision that would change everything.

"Max is the last living descendant of Saint Seiros," she declared, her voice ringing with authority.

The statement hit the room like a thunderbolt. Everyone, save for Sitri, stared at Rhea in shock. Rufus's eyes widened, his mind racing as pieces of a puzzle he hadn't even known existed began to fall into place.

"To not look for him would be a crime against the church," Rhea continued, her gaze sweeping over the stunned faces before her.

Lambert, ever the quick thinker, was the first to recover. "Rufus is right about one thing," he said, his voice thoughtful. "We don't have the manpower for a wide search party with just the knights. But who said we have to use only the knights?" A spark of inspiration lit his eyes. "We can use the students to go and look for Max. It cuts down on the manpower needed from the knights and allows for a larger search party."

"What are we waiting for?" Freya exclaimed, her usual bravado tinged with genuine concern. "We need to inform the other houses and start looking for Max."

Rhea felt a surge of gratitude for the young prince's quick thinking and the students' eagerness to help. "Prince Lambert's suggestion is excellent," she said, her voice steady once more. "Sitri, please work with the house leaders to organize search parties. I want every corner of the monastery and the surrounding areas combed."

As the students filed out of the audience chamber, their voices a mix of determination and worry, Rhea found herself alone with Sitri. The moment the doors closed behind the last student, Rhea's carefully constructed facade crumbled.

Sitri was at her side in an instant, supporting her as Rhea's knees gave way. "Mother," she whispered, her own voice thick with unshed tears.

"My son," Rhea choked out, her hand clutching at her heart as if she could physically hold it together. "My precious boy..."

For a moment, they clung to each other, mother and daughter united in their fear and love for Max. Then, with a deep breath, Rhea straightened, wiping away her tears with a trembling hand.

"We must be strong," she said, her voice still shaky but gaining resolve. "For Max's sake."

Sitri nodded, squeezing her mother's hand. "We'll find him," she said with fierce determination. "We have to."

As Sitri left to coordinate the search efforts, Rhea found herself alone in the vast audience chamber. The weight of centuries pressed down upon her, memories of loss and separation threatening to overwhelm her.

She moved to the window, her gaze sweeping over the bustling monastery grounds. Students and knights alike were mobilizing, their faces set with purpose. The sight should have been reassuring, but Rhea couldn't shake the cold fear that gripped her heart.

Max's disappearance was more than just the loss of a valued member of the monastery. It was a threat to everything Rhea had worked for, everything she had sacrificed for. Max was more than just a child she found – he was her son.

But more than that, he had awakened something in her that she had thought long dead – the fierce, protective love of a mother. For centuries, Rhea had walked the halls of Garreg Mach, guiding and protecting, but always at a distance. Max had changed that, had brought warmth and life back into her world.

And now he was gone.

Rhea's hands clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. She couldn't lose him, not now, not when they were so close to achieving everything she had worked for.

A knock at the door startled her from her thoughts. "Enter," she called, quickly composing herself.

Jeralt entered, his face grave. "Your Grace," he began, "the search parties are organized and ready to depart. Is there anything else you require?"

Rhea shook her head, grateful for Jeralt’s steady presence. "No, thank you, Jeralt. Please ensure that all areas are covered, and that the students are properly supervised. We cannot risk any more disappearances."

 Jeralt bowed and turned to leave. Once again alone, Rhea moved to the center of the audience chamber, her steps echoing in the vast space. She knelt before the altar, her hands clasped in prayer.

"Goddess," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "protect him. Protect my son. Guide him back to me."

“In time's flow. See the glow. Of flames ever burning bright…”

The words of the ancient song echoed in her mind, a bittersweet reminder of all she stood to lose. For a moment, Rhea allowed herself to be simply a mother, terrified for her child's safety, rather than the Archbishop of the Church of Seiros.

But the moment passed, and Rhea rose to her feet, her resolve hardening. She was more than just a mother – she was the guardian of Fódlan, the keeper of ancient secrets and power. She had a duty to fulfill, a destiny to see through.

Moving back to the window, Rhea watched as the search parties began to disperse, fanning out across the monastery grounds and beyond. She saw Lambert leading a group towards the town, his blonde hair catching the morning sunlight. Rufus was with another group, heading towards the forest, his usual carefree demeanor replaced by grim determination.

Rhea's gaze lingered on Rufus for a moment. She had seen the realization in his eyes when she had revealed Max's supposed lineage. The young prince was clever, perhaps too clever for his own good. She would need to keep a close eye on him in the coming days.

As for the other students, Rhea felt a mix of gratitude and concern. Their eagerness to help was admirable, but she couldn't help but worry that they might stumble upon truths they were not prepared for. The secrets buried beneath Garreg Mach were deep and dangerous, and Max's disappearance threatened to unearth them all.

A commotion in the courtyard below caught her attention. Jeralt had arrived with a group of knights, their armor glinting in the morning sun. Rhea watched as Sitri rushed to meet them, her gestures animated as she explained the situation.

As the day wore on, Rhea found herself pacing the audience chamber, unable to settle. Reports trickled in from the search parties – a scrap of cloth here, a strange marking there, but nothing concrete. With each passing hour, the knot of fear in her stomach grew tighter.

As evening approached, Sitri returned, her face drawn with exhaustion and worry. "Nothing," she reported, her voice hoarse. "We've searched every inch of the monastery and the surrounding areas. It's as if he just... vanished."

Rhea pulled her daughter into a tight embrace, feeling the tremors that ran through Sitri's body. "We'll find him," she murmured, as much to convince herself as to comfort Sitri. "We must not lose hope."

As Sitri left to continue coordinating the search efforts, Rhea found herself once again alone with her thoughts. The weight of her secrets pressed down upon her, threatening to crush her beneath their burden.

How many times had she stood in this very spot, making decisions that would shape the fate of Fódlan? How many lives had she influenced, guided, manipulated, all in service of her grand design?

And now, with Max's disappearance, it all threatened to unravel.

Rhea moved to her private chambers, adjacent to the audience chamber. Here, away from prying eyes, she allowed her carefully constructed facade to crumble completely. Sinking to her knees beside her bed, she buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

"My son," she whispered into the gathering darkness. "My child. Where are you?"

As night fell over Garreg Mach, casting long shadows across the ancient stones, Rhea stood at her window, her gaze fixed on the distant horizon. Somewhere out there, Max was waiting to be found. And she would find him, no matter the cost.

As the first stars began to twinkle in the darkening sky, Rhea closed her eyes, sending out a silent plea to the universe. "Guide him home," she whispered. "Guide my son back to me."

The night stretched on, long and filled with uncertainty. But in the heart of Rhea, Archbishop of the Church of Seiros and mother to a child of extraordinary destiny, hope burned eternal. For as long as there was breath in her body, she would never stop searching, never stop fighting for the future she had envisioned – a future with Max by her side, ready to usher in a new age for Fódlan.

Chapter Text

The sun was setting over Garreg Mach Monastery, casting long shadows across the ancient stones. Max walked briskly through the corridors, his mind preoccupied with the day's events. The Blue Lions had just departed on their mission to Leicester territory, and while a part of him longed to join them, he knew his place was here at the monastery.

As he made his way back to his dormitory, Max couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had been plaguing him for weeks. The attack on the monastery a month ago had left everyone on edge, and despite the increased security measures, there was a palpable tension in the air.

Max's thoughts drifted to Rhea and Sitri, the women and sister who had taken him in and raised him as their own. He knew they worried about him, perhaps more than was necessary. Their protectiveness sometimes chafed, but he couldn't deny the warmth it brought him. Still, there were times when he felt the weight of secrets pressing down upon him – secrets he could never share, even with those closest to him.

Lost in thought, Max didn't notice the slight shimmer in the air next to him until it was too late. In an instant, a hidden passage in the wall slid open, and strong hands grabbed him, pulling him into darkness. The suddenness of the attack caught him off guard, but years of training and experiences from another life kicked in immediately.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the secret passage, Max found himself face to face with one of the pale-skinned assailants who had attacked the monastery a month ago. The creature's blank eyes fixed on him with predatory focus, its grip unnaturally strong.

For a split second, Max considered using his mutant abilities – the power that had defined his existence in another world, another time. But caution stayed his hand. He had worked too hard to maintain his secret, to build a new life here in Fódlan. Instead, he relied on the combat training he had received at the monastery.

With a swift movement, Max broke the attacker's grip and flung the assailant over his shoulder. The creature hit the wall with a sickening thud, but Max didn't wait to see if it would get up. He ran, his heart pounding in his chest as he navigated the twisting passageway.

The sound of pursuit echoed behind him, spurring him to greater speed. Max's mind raced, trying to piece together what was happening. How had these intruders breached the monastery's defenses again? What did they want with him?

As he rounded a corner, Max found himself face to face with three more of the pale attackers. They moved with inhuman speed, their blank eyes focused solely on him. In that moment, cornered and with no other options, Max made a decision that would change everything.

He reached out with his mind, feeling for the metal around him. The familiar sensation of power surged through his body, and suddenly, the weapons of his attackers were wrenched from their hands, twisting in mid-air to form a protective barrier around him.

The creatures' eyes widened in surprise, but they pressed forward, undeterred. Max gritted his teeth, focusing his power. The metal fixtures along the walls began to tremble, tearing free and hurtling towards the attackers with deadly precision.

One by one, the pale creatures fell, their bodies crumpling under the onslaught of metal. Max didn't allow himself to feel remorse – these were not humans, and they had made their intentions clear.

As the last attacker fell, Max leaned against the wall, catching his breath. The use of his powers after so long felt both exhilarating and terrifying. He knew there would be questions, consequences for what he had done. But for now, he needed to focus on escaping and alerting the others.

Max moved quickly through the passageway, using his abilities to clear obstacles and dispatch any remaining attackers. He could sense the exit ahead, feel the fresh air calling to him. Freedom was just within reach.

But as he approached the final turn, a sharp pain exploded in the back of his neck. Max stumbled, his vision blurring. He tried to turn, to face this new threat, but his limbs felt heavy, unresponsive.

As darkness closed in around him, Max caught a glimpse of a figure standing over him, a syringe in hand. Then, everything went black.

When Max regained consciousness, the first thing he noticed was the cold. It seeped into his bones, a bone-deep chill that spoke of depths far below the surface. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he found himself in what appeared to be a dark cellar, the air heavy with the scent of damp stone and something more sinister.

He tried to move, only to find his hands and feet chained to the floor. The metal links clinked softly as he shifted, and for a moment, Max felt a surge of relief. Metal, he could work with. He had bent far stronger bonds to his will before.

Closing his eyes, Max reached out with his mind, seeking that familiar connection to the metal around him. But where there should have been a response, a resonance with his power, there was nothing. The chains remained inert, unyielding to his mental commands.

A cold dread settled in the pit of his stomach as the reality of his situation sank in. Somehow, his captors had found a way to neutralize his abilities. The chains must be made of some special alloy, designed specifically to counteract mutant powers.

Max took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm. He had been in dire situations before, had faced seemingly insurmountable odds. This was just another challenge to overcome.

As his eyes continued to adjust to the darkness, Max began to take stock of his surroundings. The cellar was larger than he had initially thought, its boundaries lost in shadow. Water dripped somewhere in the distance, the sound echoing off the stone walls. And there, in the corner furthest from him, he could just make out the outline of another figure.

"Hello?" Max called out, his voice hoarse. "Is someone there?"

For a long moment, there was no response. Then, a familiar voice cut through the darkness, sending a shock through Max's system.

"Well, old friend, it seems we find ourselves in quite the predicament."

Max's breath caught in his throat. It couldn't be. Not here, not in this world that was supposed to be his fresh start, his chance at redemption.

"Charles?" he whispered, hardly daring to believe it.

The figure in the corner shifted, chains rattling as he moved into a shaft of dim light filtering from somewhere above. And there he was – younger than Max remembered, but undeniably Charles Xavier.

"Hello, Erik," Charles said, using the name Max had left behind in another life. "Or should I say, Max? It seems we have much to discuss."

Max's mind reeled. Questions flooded his thoughts, each more urgent than the last. How was Charles here? How long had he been in this world? And most pressingly, who had captured them both, and why?

"Charles," Max began, struggling to find the right words. "I... how is this possible? How are you here?"

Charles' face was a mix of emotions – relief, concern, and something deeper that Max couldn't quite place. "I've been asking myself the same question since I arrived in this world," he replied. "It seems that whatever force brought you here didn't stop with just one mutant."

Max nodded slowly, processing this information. "How long have you been here? In Fódlan, I mean."

"A little over a year," Charles answered. "I woke up in the Adrestian Empire, with no idea how I'd gotten there. It took me some time to understand this world, to learn its history and customs. And all the while, I sensed... something. A familiar presence that I couldn't quite place."

"Me," Max said softly. "You sensed me."

Charles nodded. "At first, I thought I was imagining it. But as time went on, the feeling grew stronger. I knew you were out there somewhere, Erik. Or should I call you Max now?"

Max felt a twinge of guilt at the use of his old name. "Max is fine," he said. "It's... it's who I am now. Or who I've been trying to be."

A sad smile crossed Charles' face. "I understand. We all seek redemption in our own ways, don't we?"

For a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of their shared history hanging between them. Max's mind raced with memories – battles fought, ideologies clashed, a friendship strained but never truly broken.

"Charles," Max said finally, "what happened? How did you end up here, in this... prison?"

The older man's face darkened. "I was investigating some strange occurrences in the Empire. Rumors of experiments, of people with unusual abilities. I thought perhaps there were other mutants in this world, ones who needed help understanding and controlling their powers."

He paused, a pained expression crossing his face. "I was wrong. What I found was... something else entirely. A group that calls themselves 'Those Who Slither in the Dark.' They're conducting experiments, Erik – Max. Terrible experiments on humans, trying to imbue them with powers similar to our own."

Max felt a chill run down his spine. "The pale creatures," he murmured. "The ones who attacked the monastery. That's what they are, aren't they? The results of these experiments?"

Charles nodded grimly. "I believe so. From what I've gathered, they're trying to create super-soldiers of sorts. But the process is flawed, unstable. The subjects lose their humanity in the transformation."

"But why?" Max asked, frustration evident in his voice. "What's the purpose behind all this?"

"Power," Charles replied simply. "Isn't it always? They seek to overthrow the current order, to reshape Fódlan in their image. And they're willing to go to any lengths to achieve that goal."

Max's mind whirled with the implications of this revelation. The attack on the monastery, his own kidnapping – it all started to make a terrible kind of sense.

"They took me because they sensed my power," he realized aloud. "They want to study me, to figure out how to replicate mutant abilities in their own subjects."

Charles nodded. "That's what I believe, yes. And I suspect they brought me here for the same reason. Together, we represent a wealth of genetic material for their twisted experiments."

The thought sent a wave of revulsion through Max. He had seen the horrors of human experimentation before, had experienced it firsthand. The idea that it was happening here, in this world he had come to call home, filled him with a cold fury.

"We have to stop them," Max said, his voice hard with determination. "We can't let them continue these experiments, Charles. The damage they could do, the lives they could destroy..."

"I agree," Charles replied. "But first, we need to find a way out of here. These chains..." he rattled them for emphasis, "they seem to be suppressing our abilities somehow. I can't use my telepathy, and I assume you can't manipulate metal?"

Max shook his head. "No. It's like there's a wall between me and my powers. I've never encountered anything like it before."

Charles' brow furrowed in thought. "They must have been preparing for mutants like us for some time. The level of technology required to create such restraints... it's beyond anything I've seen in this world so far."

"So what do we do?" Max asked, feeling a rare sense of helplessness. "How do we escape when we can't use our powers?"

A small smile played at the corners of Charles' mouth. "Well, my friend, I suppose we'll have to rely on our wits rather than our mutations. Something tells me that between the two of us, we might just have enough cunning to outwit our captors."

Despite the gravity of their situation, Max felt a flicker of hope. Working together, he and Charles had accomplished the seemingly impossible before. Perhaps they could do so again.

"Alright," Max said, straightening as much as his chains would allow. "Let's start by sharing everything we know about these 'Those Who Slither in the Dark.' The more information we have, the better our chances of finding a weakness we can exploit."

As they began to exchange information, Max couldn't help but marvel at the strange turns his life had taken. From Holocaust survivor to mutant terrorist to adopted son of the Archbishop, and now prisoner alongside his oldest friend and rival. It seemed that no matter how far he ran, his past would always find a way to catch up with him.

But as he listened to Charles recount his experiences in this new world, Max felt a renewed sense of purpose. He had come to Fódlan seeking a fresh start, a chance to use his powers for good without the baggage of his past. Now, faced with a threat that endangered not just him but the entire continent, Max knew that he had found his true calling.

Whatever it took, whatever sacrifices he had to make, Max vowed to put an end to the machinations of Those Who Slither in the Dark. And perhaps, in doing so, he could finally become the hero he had always aspired to be – not Magneto, not the adopted son of the Archbishop, but simply Max, protector of Fódlan.

As Charles finished his account, a comfortable silence fell between them. For a moment, it was as if no time had passed, as if they were back in the early days of their friendship, planning for a better future for mutantkind.

"You know, Charles," Max said softly, "despite the circumstances, I'm glad you're here. I've missed... this. Our conversations, our debates. Even our arguments."

Charles chuckled softly. "As have I, old friend. As have I. Though I must say, I prefer our usual venues to this dank cellar."

Max smiled, but it quickly faded as he remembered the gravity of their situation. "We need to find a way to warn the others. Rhea, Sitri, the students at the monastery – they have no idea what they're up against."

Charles nodded, his expression turning serious once more. "Agreed. But first, we need to focus on escaping. Once we're free, we can turn our attention to alerting the others and stopping Those Who Slither in the Dark."

As they began to formulate a plan, Max couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of a much larger conflict. The peace he had found in Fódlan was about to be shattered, and he would need to draw on every ounce of his experience – both as Magneto and as Max – to face the challenges ahead.

But with Charles by his side, and the knowledge that they were fighting to protect not just themselves but an entire world, Max felt a surge of determination. Whatever came next, he would face it head-on, ready to defend his new home and the people he had come to care for.

As the sounds of approaching footsteps echoed through the cellar, Max exchanged a look with Charles. Their time for planning was up. Now, they would need to put their wits to the test against an enemy unlike any they had faced before.

"Ready, old friend?" Charles whispered.

Max nodded, a grim smile playing at his lips. "Always."

And as the cellar door creaked open, flooding the room with harsh light, Max steeled himself for whatever came next. The battle for Fódlan was about to begin, and he intended to be at the forefront, fighting not just for himself, but for the future of an entire world.

Chapter Text

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the grounds of Garreg Mach Monastery, Prince Rufus found himself pacing restlessly in the Blue Lions' common room. The news of Max's disappearance had sent shockwaves through the entire monastery, but for reasons he couldn't quite fathom, Rufus felt the impact more keenly than he'd expected.

The normally carefree and sarcastic prince ran a hand through his tousled hair, his brow furrowed in uncharacteristic concern. The room around him buzzed with activity as his fellow Blue Lions discussed search strategies and theories about Max's whereabouts, but Rufus found himself oddly detached from it all.

"Rufus," Lambert's voice cut through his swirling thoughts. "Are you alright? You've been awfully quiet."

Rufus turned to face his younger brother, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Of course, dear brother. Just contemplating the most efficient way to track down our elusive friend. You know how I love a good puzzle."

Lambert's expression softened with sympathy. "I know you and Max have had your... differences, but I can see this is affecting you. It's okay to be worried, you know."

For a moment, Rufus felt a flicker of irritation at his brother's perceptiveness. He opened his mouth to deliver a sarcastic retort, but found the words dying on his lips. Instead, he sighed, slumping into a nearby armchair.

"I just don't understand why I'm so... unsettled by all this," Rufus admitted, his voice uncharacteristically subdued. "It's not as if Max and I were particularly close. Half the time, I wanted to strangle him with that ridiculous scarf of his."

Rodrigue, who had been listening nearby, approached with a thoughtful expression. "Perhaps it's because, despite your constant bickering, you've grown to respect Max in your own way. He's one of the few people who can match you wit for wit, after all."

Rufus snorted, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Match me? Please, Rodrigue. At best, he occasionally manages to keep up."

As the conversation continued around him, Rufus found his mind wandering back to his interactions with Max. The verbal sparring matches that had become almost a daily ritual, the way Max's eyes would light up with mischief just before delivering a particularly biting retort, the rare moments when they'd found themselves on the same side of an argument, united against some common annoyance...

A strange feeling stirred in Rufus's chest, one he couldn't quite name. He pushed it aside, focusing instead on the task at hand.

"Well, sitting around here won't find our missing scholar," Rufus declared, rising to his feet with renewed energy. "I say we organize our own search party. The knights can't have all the fun, can they?"

Lambert's face lit up at his brother's sudden enthusiasm. "That's a great idea, Rufus! We could cover the areas the knights might have overlooked."

As the Blue Lions began to organize themselves, Rufus found himself taking charge, his natural leadership abilities coming to the fore. He divided them into teams, assigned areas to search, and even managed to procure a detailed map of the monastery and surrounding areas from a reluctant librarian.

As they prepared to set out, Freya approached Rufus, a knowing glint in her eye. "You know, for someone who claims to barely tolerate Max, you're certainly putting a lot of effort into finding him."

Rufus raised an eyebrow, his usual smirk firmly in place. "My dear Freya, I simply can't stand the thought of Max getting himself into trouble without me there to witness it. Think of all the prime teasing material I'd miss out on."

Freya laughed, shaking her head. "Whatever you say, Your Highness. Just don't work yourself too hard, alright?"

As they left the common room, Rufus couldn't shake the feeling that Freya had seen something in him that he hadn't recognized himself. He pushed the thought aside, focusing on the search ahead.

The next few hours were a blur of activity. Rufus led his team through the winding corridors of the monastery, checking every shadowy corner and hidden alcove. As they searched, he found his mind continually drifting back to Max, wondering where he could be, if he was safe...

"Focus, Rufus," he muttered to himself, shaking his head to clear it. "You're acting like a lovesick fool."

The moment the thought crossed his mind, Rufus froze. Lovesick? Where had that come from? Surely he didn't... No, it was ridiculous. He and Max were rivals at best, reluctant allies at worst. There was no way he could have developed feelings for that infuriating, brilliant, impossibly stubborn...

Rufus groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Oh, for the love of the goddess," he muttered. "This can't be happening."

"Your Highness?" Matthias's voice startled Rufus out of his revelation. "Is everything alright?"

Rufus straightened, quickly composing himself. "Of course, Matthias. Just... frustrated with our lack of progress. Let's continue, shall we?"

As they resumed their search, Rufus found himself grappling with this new understanding of his feelings. It explained so much – the constant need to seek out Max's company, even if it was just to argue, the way his heart would race during their verbal duels, the inexplicable jealousy he'd felt when he'd seen Max spending time with other students...

"Well, this complicates things," Rufus muttered to himself as they made their way back to the common room, their search having yielded no results.

The Blue Lions regrouped, sharing what little information they'd managed to gather. As Rufus listened to his classmates' reports, he found his anxiety growing. Where could Max have gone? What if he was in real danger?

"We'll find him," Lambert said, placing a comforting hand on Rufus's shoulder. "We won't give up until we do."

Rufus nodded, grateful for his brother's unwavering optimism. "Of course we will. Max is far too annoying to let himself be kidnapped for long. He's probably driving his captors mad with his sarcasm as we speak."

The joke fell flat, Rufus's usual wit dulled by worry. His classmates exchanged concerned glances, unused to seeing their normally unflappable prince so affected.

As night fell and the search was called off for the day, Rufus found himself unable to sleep. He tossed and turned in his bed, his mind racing with possibilities, each more dire than the last. Finally, unable to bear the confines of his room any longer, he slipped out into the cool night air.

His feet carried him to the cathedral, its imposing silhouette a comforting presence in the moonlight. Rufus wasn't particularly religious, but something about the quiet solemnity of the place called to him tonight.

As he entered, he was surprised to find he wasn't alone. Lady Rhea stood before the altar, her head bowed in prayer. Rufus hesitated, not wanting to intrude, but something in the archbishop's posture made him pause. She looked... vulnerable, in a way he'd never seen before.

"Your Grace," Rufus said softly, approaching with uncharacteristic caution. "I apologize for disturbing you."

Rhea turned, quickly composing her features into their usual serene mask. "Prince Rufus," she greeted him. "There is no need for apologies. The cathedral is open to all who seek solace."

Rufus nodded, moving to stand beside her. For a moment, they stood in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

"You're worried about Max," Rhea said at last, her voice gentle.

Rufus started, surprised by her perceptiveness. "I... yes," he admitted. "More than I expected to be, if I'm honest."

Rhea smiled, a hint of sadness in her eyes. "Max has a way of affecting people like that. He can be... challenging, at times, but there's a depth to him that draws people in."

Rufus found himself nodding in agreement. "He's infuriating," he said, a fond smile tugging at his lips despite himself. "Stubborn, sarcastic, too clever for his own good... and yet..."

"And yet you care for him deeply," Rhea finished for him.

Rufus's eyes widened, a flush creeping up his neck. "I... that's not... I mean..."

Rhea laughed softly, the sound echoing in the empty cathedral. "There's no shame in it, Prince Rufus. The heart wants what it wants, even if the head hasn't quite caught up yet."

Rufus slumped against a nearby pillar, suddenly feeling exhausted. "Is it that obvious?" he asked, running a hand through his hair.

"Only to those who know what to look for," Rhea assured him. "Your secret is safe with me."

Rufus nodded gratefully, then straightened, his expression becoming serious. "Lady Rhea, when you said Max was the last descendant of Saint Seiros... what did you mean by that? And why keep it a secret for so long?"

Rhea's expression tightened almost imperceptibly. "That is a complex matter, Prince Rufus. One that, I'm afraid, I cannot fully explain at this time. Suffice it to say that Max's heritage places him in a unique... and potentially dangerous position."

Rufus frowned, his mind racing. "You think his disappearance might be related to his lineage?"

"It's a possibility we cannot ignore," Rhea said carefully. "Which is why it's crucial that we find him as quickly as possible."

Rufus nodded, a new determination settling over him. "We will find him," he declared. "I swear it."

As he left the cathedral, Rufus felt a strange mix of emotions swirling within him. Worry for Max's safety, confusion over his newly recognized feelings, and a burning curiosity about the secrets that seemed to surround the sarcastic scholar.

The next few days passed in a blur of continued searches and mounting frustration. Rufus threw himself into the effort with a fervor that surprised even himself, coordinating with the knights, poring over maps, and following up on even the faintest of leads.

His classmates watched his increasing obsession with a mix of concern and bewilderment. Rufus had never shown such dedication to anything that didn't directly benefit himself before.

"Rufus," Sofie said gently one evening, as they pored over yet another map in the common room. "Maybe you should take a break. You've barely slept in days."

Rufus waved her off, his eyes never leaving the parchment before him. "I'm fine, Sofie. We're missing something, I know it. There has to be a clue we've overlooked."

Halden exchanged a worried glance with Rodrigue. "Rufus," he began cautiously, "I know you and Max have your... unique relationship, but this level of concern seems... unusual for you."

Rufus's head snapped up, his eyes flashing with a mix of defensiveness and something else, something his classmates couldn't quite name. "What exactly are you implying, Halden?"

Halden raised his hands in a placating gesture. "Nothing! It's just... we're worried about you, that's all. You're not acting like yourself."

Rufus deflated, the fight going out of him as quickly as it had come. "I know," he admitted quietly. "I don't quite understand it myself. It's just... the thought of Max out there, possibly in danger... I can't bear it."

A heavy silence fell over the room as his classmates absorbed this uncharacteristic display of vulnerability from their usually guarded prince.

"We understand," Lambert said at last, moving to stand beside his brother. "And we're here for you, Rufus. We'll find Max together."

Rufus nodded, grateful for his brother's unwavering support. As the Blue Lions rallied around him, offering words of encouragement and renewed determination to continue the search, Rufus felt a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the crackling fire in the hearth.

That night, as Rufus lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, he found his thoughts once again drifting to Max. He remembered their first meeting, how Max had cut through his carefully crafted persona with a single, sarcastic comment. How infuriated he'd been, and yet... intrigued. He remembered the lullaby Max had sung, how it had touched something deep within him, revealing a vulnerability he'd never suspected in the sharp-tongued scholar.

"Where are you, Max?" Rufus whispered into the darkness. "What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into this time?"

As he finally drifted off to sleep, Rufus's dreams were filled with fragments of memories and half-formed hopes. Max's laughter, the warmth of his hand, the spark in his eyes as he delivered a particularly cutting remark...

When Rufus awoke the next morning, it was with a renewed sense of purpose. He would find Max, no matter what it took. And when he did... well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

As he made his way to the dining hall for breakfast, Rufus overheard a conversation that made him pause.

"Did you hear?" a student whispered excitedly to her friend. "They say there's been a sighting of Thanatos in the forest near the monastery!"

Rufus froze, his mind racing. Thanatos... the mysterious figure that had been terrorizing the town. Could there be a connection to Max's disappearance?

Without hesitation, Rufus changed course, heading straight for the cathedral. He needed to speak with Lady Rhea immediately. As he strode through the monastery grounds, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and hope, Rufus made a silent vow.

"Hold on, Max," he muttered under his breath. "I'm coming for you. And when I find you... we have a lot to talk about."

As the sun rose over Garreg Mach, casting a golden light across the ancient stones, Prince Rufus set out on a path that would change his life forever. The search for Max had become more than just a mission – it had become a journey of self-discovery, one that would force Rufus to confront his own feelings and the secrets that lurked in the shadows of the monastery.

Whatever lay ahead, one thing was certain: Rufus would never be the same again. The prince squared his shoulders, a determined glint in his eye. It was time to unravel the mystery, find Max, and perhaps, in the process, find a part of himself he never knew existed.

Chapter Text

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the grounds of Garreg Mach Monastery, Prince Lambert of Faerghus found himself pacing restlessly in the Blue Lions' common room. The news of Max's disappearance had sent waves through the entire monastery, but for Lambert, the impact was particularly keen.

The normally cheerful and inquisitive prince ran a hand through his tousled blonde hair, his brow furrowed in uncharacteristic worry. The room around him buzzed with activity as his fellow Blue Lions discussed search strategies and theories about Max's whereabouts, but Lambert found himself oddly detached from it all.

"Lambert," Rodrigue's voice cut through his swirling thoughts. "Are you alright? You've been awfully quiet."

Lambert turned to face his childhood friend, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Of course, Rodrigue. Just... thinking about our next move. We need to find Max quickly."

Rodrigue's expression softened with sympathy. "I know you and Max have grown close. We'll find him, Lambert. We won't give up."

For a moment, Lambert felt a flicker of gratitude for his friend's unwavering support. He opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the sudden arrival of his older brother, Rufus.

"I have news," Rufus announced, his usual sarcastic demeanor replaced by grim determination. "I've just spoken with Lady Rhea about the Thanatos rumors."

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to Rufus. Lambert straightened, feeling a mix of hope and apprehension. "What did you learn, brother?"

Rufus's eyes met Lambert's, and for a moment, the younger prince saw a flicker of something he couldn't quite name in his brother's gaze. "It seems our mysterious Thanatos may be connected to the pale-skinned attackers we faced last month. Several students have reported similar descriptions."

A murmur of unease rippled through the gathered Blue Lions. Lambert felt a chill run down his spine as he remembered the ferocity of that attack, the strange, otherworldly nature of their enemies.

"Are you saying," Freya spoke up, her voice tight with tension, "that these... creatures might have taken Max?"

Rufus nodded grimly. "It's a possibility we can't ignore. If these beings are indeed behind Max's disappearance, we're dealing with a far more dangerous situation than we initially thought."

Lambert's mind raced, connecting dots he hadn't even realized existed. The attack last month, the strange transformation of Aurelia Stirling, and now Max's disappearance... it all seemed to point to a truth far more complex and troubling than he had ever imagined.

"We need to act quickly," Lambert declared, his voice ringing with newfound determination. "Rufus, what's our next move?"

For the next few weeks, the Blue Lions threw themselves into the search with a fervor that surprised even themselves. Lambert led the charge, his usual cheerful demeanor replaced by a laser-like focus on finding his friend. He coordinated with the knights, pored over maps, and followed up on even the faintest of leads.

As the days stretched into weeks, Lambert found himself grappling with a growing sense of frustration and helplessness. Each dead end, each false lead, felt like a personal failure. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something crucial, some vital piece of information that would unlock the mystery of Max's disappearance.

It was during one of their late-night strategy sessions that Halden noticed Lambert's exhaustion. "Lambert," he said gently, "perhaps you should rest. You're no good to Max if you run yourself into the ground."

Lambert shook his head, his eyes never leaving the map spread out before him. "I can't, Halden. Every moment we waste is another moment Max might be in danger. I have to keep going."

Natalie exchanged a worried glance with Sofie. "Lambert," she began cautiously, "we're all worried about Max. But you can't take the weight of this all on your shoulders."

Lambert looked up, ready to argue, but the concern in his friends' eyes gave him pause. He sighed, slumping back in his chair. "I know," he admitted quietly. "It's just... Max has always been there for me, challenging me, pushing me to think beyond what I've been taught. The thought of him in danger, possibly because of who he is or what he knows... I can't bear it."

Rodrigue placed a comforting hand on Lambert's shoulder. "We'll find him, Lambert. Together. That's what the Blue Lions are all about, isn't it?"

Lambert managed a weak smile, feeling a surge of gratitude for his friends and classmates. "You're right. Thank you, all of you. I don't know what I'd do without you."

As the month drew to a close, Rufus's tireless investigation finally yielded a promising lead. He burst into the common room one evening, his eyes alight with excitement. "I've found something," he announced. "A witness reported seeing a group of pale-skinned individuals entering an alley in the lower town. It's not much, but it's the best lead we've had in weeks."

Lambert felt a surge of hope. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's go!"

The Blue Lions moved swiftly, making their way through the winding streets of the town below Garreg Mach. As they approached the alley Rufus had mentioned, Lambert felt a prickle of unease. The narrow passage seemed to swallow the light, creating an atmosphere of foreboding.

"Stay alert," Lambert whispered to his classmates. "We don't know what we're walking into."

As they entered the alley, the darkness seemed to press in around them. Lambert's hand rested on the hilt of his sword, every sense on high alert. Suddenly, Matthias called out from the rear of the group. "Lambert! Over here!"

The Blue Lions gathered around what appeared to be a hidden entrance, cleverly disguised as part of the alley wall. With some effort, they managed to open it, revealing a dark passageway leading underground.

"An underground path system," Rufus mused, his voice tight with tension. "Clever. It would allow them to move throughout the city undetected."

Lambert took a deep breath, steeling himself for what lay ahead. "We need to explore this. Max could be down there."

As they descended into the darkness, Lambert couldn't shake the feeling that they were walking into something far bigger and more dangerous than they had anticipated. The air grew colder and damper as they ventured deeper into the underground network, the only sound their echoing footsteps and quickened breathing.

After what felt like hours of navigating the twisting tunnels, they stumbled upon a horrifying sight. There, crumpled against a damp stone wall, was the school nurse, her body battered and unconscious.

"By the goddess," Freya gasped, rushing to the woman's side. "She's alive, but barely."

Lambert felt a cold knot of fear form in his stomach. If their enemies were capable of this level of brutality against a healer, what might they have done to Max?

"We need to get her to the infirmary immediately," Lambert declared, his voice shaking slightly. "I’ll carry her. The rest of you, continue searching. We can't give up now."

As they carefully lifted the unconscious nurse, Lambert's mind raced with possibilities. What secrets had she uncovered to warrant such an attack? And how were Max and these mysterious pale-skinned attackers connected to it all?

The journey back to the monastery seemed to take an eternity. Lambert's arms ached from supporting the nurse's weight, but he hardly noticed, his mind consumed with worry for both the injured woman and his missing friend.

As they finally reached the infirmary, Lambert gently laid the nurse on one of the beds. The monastery's healers immediately swarmed around her, their faces grim as they assessed her injuries.

Lambert stood back, watching the flurry of activity with a heavy heart. He knew he should return to the underground tunnels, to continue the search for Max, but the weight of everything that had happened over the past month seemed to press down upon him, threatening to crush him beneath its burden.

"Your Highness," one of the healers approached him, her face etched with concern. "You should rest. We'll take care of her now."

Lambert shook his head, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I can't. My friend is still out there. I have to find him."

The healer's expression softened with sympathy. "Prince Lambert, I understand your concern. But you won't be any help to your friend if you collapse from exhaustion. Please, at least take a moment to catch your breath."

Lambert hesitated, torn between his duty to his missing friend and the undeniable logic of the healer's words. Finally, he nodded, slumping into a nearby chair. "Very well. But only for a moment."

As he sat there, watching the healers work, Lambert found his mind wandering back to his conversations with Max over the past months. The sarcastic scholar had always had a way of challenging Lambert's perceptions, of pushing him to question the world around him.

"You can't always take things at face value, Lambert," Max had told him once, his voice tinged with his characteristic dry humor. "Sometimes the truth is hidden beneath layers of lies and misdirection. You have to be willing to dig deeper, to question everything you think you know."

Now, as Lambert grappled with the mysteries surrounding Max's disappearance, those words seemed more relevant than ever. What truths lay hidden beneath the surface of Garreg Mach? What secrets were the church, and perhaps even his own family, keeping from him?

Lambert's thoughts were interrupted by a commotion at the infirmary door. Rufus burst in, his face flushed with exertion. "Lambert! We've found something – a clue to Max's whereabouts!"

In an instant, Lambert was on his feet, his fatigue forgotten. "Where? What did you find?"

Rufus grabbed his brother's arm, pulling him towards the door. "No time to explain. We need to move now if we want to catch them."

Lambert hesitated for a split second, glancing back at the unconscious nurse. Then, with a silent prayer for her recovery, he followed his brother out of the infirmary.

As they raced through the monastery grounds, Lambert's mind whirled with possibilities. What had they found? Were they finally close to unraveling the mystery of Max's disappearance?

The rest of the Blue Lions were waiting for them at the entrance to the underground tunnels, their faces a mix of determination and apprehension. Lambert looked at each of his classmates in turn, feeling a surge of pride and gratitude for their unwavering support.

"Whatever we face down there," Lambert said, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his heart, "we face it together. For Max, and for the truth."

With a collective nod of agreement, the Blue Lions descended once more into the darkness, ready to confront whatever challenges lay ahead. As the last echoes of their footsteps faded away, the entrance to the underground tunnels stood silent and foreboding, a gateway to secrets yet unknown.

Lambert, prince of Faerghus and leader of the Blue Lions, felt the weight of responsibility pressing down upon him like never before. But as he led his friends deeper into the maze of tunnels, he knew that no matter what they discovered, it would change everything. The foundations of his world had been shaken, and in the rubble, he would have to find a new path forward – one that led to the truth, no matter how painful it might be.

Chapter Text

In the depths of a hidden underground facility, Max awakened with a groan, his body aching from the cold, hard floor. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he took in his surroundings - damp stone walls, ominous machinery humming in the background, and beside him, a young man with striking blue eyes who looked no older than twenty.

"Charles," Max whispered, a mixture of relief and confusion in his voice. "You look... different."

Charles Xavier, now appearing decades younger than Max remembered, offered a wry smile. "Yes, well, it seems this world has a peculiar effect on one's appearance. Though I must say, you've aged quite gracefully yourself, old friend."

Max snorted, tugging at the chains that bound him. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Charles. Now, shall we discuss our daring escape, or would you prefer to continue admiring my timeless good looks?"

As they began to formulate their plan, Max couldn't help but marvel at the absurdity of their situation. Here they were, two of the most powerful mutants from their world, chained up in a dingy cell in a medieval fantasy land. If he weren't so annoyed, he might have found it amusing.

"You know, Charles," Max drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "when I imagined our reunion, I pictured something a bit more... upscale. Perhaps a nice café in Enbarr, or a cozy tavern in Fhirdiad. But no, you had to go for the 'imprisoned in a secret evil lair' aesthetic."

Charles chuckled despite their dire circumstances. "Always the optimist, aren't you? I suppose I should be grateful you haven't lost your charming personality along with your freedom."

Their banter was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. Max and Charles exchanged a knowing glance, their playful demeanor instantly replaced by sharp focus.

As the cell door creaked open, two pale, almost ghostly figures entered, their blank eyes fixed on the prisoners. Behind them strode a man in dark robes, his face hidden beneath a heavy hood.

"Well, well," Max drawled, unable to resist the urge to antagonize their captors, "if it isn't our gracious hosts. I must say, your hospitality leaves much to be desired. The accommodations are dreadful, and the room service is nonexistent."

The hooded figure ignored Max's quips, turning instead to address Charles. "You, boy. Your abilities are quite fascinating. We look forward to studying them further."

Charles, looking every bit the young man he appeared to be, met the man's gaze steadily. "I'm afraid you'll find me a rather uncooperative test subject, regardless of my apparent age."

As the exchange continued, Max focused his attention on the chains that bound them. Though his powers were suppressed, he could feel the metal singing to him, just beyond his reach. He closed his eyes, concentrating with all his might.

Suddenly, a barely perceptible tremor ran through the chains. Max's eyes snapped open, a triumphant grin spreading across his face.

"Now, Charles!" he shouted.

In that instant, chaos erupted. The chains binding both men shattered with a resounding crack, fragments of metal flying through the air like deadly projectiles. The pale figures reacted with inhuman speed, but they were no match for the combined might of Max and Charles.

Max lashed out with a wave of his hand, sending one of the creatures crashing into the wall with bone-crushing force. Charles, his telepathic abilities restored, focused his mind on the other, causing it to collapse in a heap.

The hooded figure stumbled back, clearly caught off guard by the sudden turn of events. "Impossible!" he hissed. "Those restraints were designed to—"

"Sorry to disappoint," Max interrupted, his voice laced with mock sympathy. "But I'm afraid your little toys are no match for my charming personality and dashing good looks. Though I must say, Charles here seems to have cornered the market on youthful appearances."

Charles rolled his eyes at his friend's antics. "Max, perhaps we could save the witty repartee for after we've escaped?"

"You're no fun, Charles," Max pouted, even as he used his powers to tear the cell door from its hinges. "But I suppose you have a point. Shall we?"

The two men burst into the corridor, alarms blaring around them. Max led the charge, using his abilities to clear a path through the facility. Metal pipes tore free from the walls, forming a protective barrier around them as they ran. Charles followed close behind, his mind reaching out to detect and neutralize any threats.

As they rounded a corner, they found themselves face to face with a group of armed guards. Max's lips curled into a predatory grin.

"Gentlemen," he called out, his voice dripping with false cheer, "I'm afraid we'll have to cut our stay short. Do send our regards to management, won't you?"

Before the guards could react, Max sent a wave of metal debris hurtling towards them, knocking them off their feet. Charles winced at the display of force but said nothing, recognizing the necessity of their actions.

They pressed on, fighting their way through waves of pale creatures and human guards alike. Max's powers seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment, his control over metal becoming more precise and devastating.

"You know, Charles," Max panted as they paused to catch their breath, "I'm beginning to think these 'Those Who Slither in the Dark' fellows might not have our best interests at heart."

Charles couldn't help but laugh, the absurdity of their situation momentarily overwhelming him. "What gave it away? The kidnapping, the experimentation, or the army of inhuman soldiers?"

Max grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, definitely the decor. Anyone who thinks underground lairs are still in fashion clearly can't be trusted. Though I must say, the whole 'eternally youthful' look seems to be quite popular around here."

Their moment of levity was short-lived, however, as a new figure emerged from the shadows ahead. Tall and imposing, with skin as pale as death and eyes that glowed with an otherworldly light, the man before them radiated an aura of malevolence.

"Thales," Charles breathed, his voice tight with recognition.

Max glanced at his friend, surprise evident on his face. "You know this charming individual? My, Charles, you do get around for someone who looks like he just started shaving."

Before Charles could respond, Thales spoke, his voice cold and commanding. "I must admit, I'm impressed by your escape attempt. But I'm afraid your little adventure ends here."

Max stepped forward, positioning himself protectively in front of Charles. "I beg to differ," he said, his tone light but his eyes hard as steel. "We were just leaving, and I'd hate to overstay our welcome. Though if you're offering makeovers, I might be interested in whatever fountain of youth you've been hiding down here."

Thales' lips curled into a cruel smile. "Oh, but the party's just getting started. Allow me to introduce a special guest."

With a wave of his hand, a shimmering portal appeared beside him. From its depths emerged a figure that sent a chill down Max's spine. Clad in black armor and wielding a wicked-looking scythe, the being exuded an aura of death and decay.

"Max, Charles," Thales said, his voice dripping with false politeness, "meet Thanatos. He's been eager to make your acquaintance."

Max eyed the newcomer warily. "Thanatos? Really? I suppose 'Bob the Reaper' was already taken? You know, Charles, I'm starting to think we've stumbled into some sort of medieval cosplay convention gone horribly wrong."

Charles shot him a warning look. "Max, now is not the time for—"

His words were cut short as Thanatos lunged forward, his scythe whistling through the air. Max reacted instinctively, raising a barrier of metal just in time to deflect the blow.

"Thanatos," Thales called out, his voice sharp with command, "remember, we need them alive. Do try not to kill them... yet."

The battle that ensued was unlike anything Max had experienced in this world. Thanatos moved with inhuman speed and grace, his scythe a blur of deadly motion. Max found himself pushed to his limits, using every ounce of his power and skill to keep himself and Charles alive.

Charles, for his part, focused on trying to penetrate Thanatos' mind, searching for any weakness they could exploit. But the being's thoughts were a chaotic maelstrom, nearly impossible to read or influence.

As the fight wore on, Max felt his strength beginning to wane. The constant use of his powers, combined with the lingering effects of his captivity, was taking its toll. Beside him, Charles was visibly struggling, his youthful face pale with exertion.

"Any brilliant ideas, old friend?" Max gasped, narrowly avoiding another swing of Thanatos' scythe. "Perhaps you could try appealing to his better nature? You certainly look innocent enough to garner some sympathy."

Charles managed a weak smile. "I'm afraid I'm rather out of my depth here. This being... it's unlike anything I've encountered before. And I doubt my boyish charms will have much effect on the personification of death."

Max managed a wry smile. "Well, at least we'll go out in style. Though I must say, I'd prefer a more dignified end than 'defeated by the Grim Reaper's edgy cousin while babysitting a telepathic teenager.'"

Just as it seemed their luck had finally run out, a commotion erupted from the corridor behind them. The sound of battle cries and clashing weapons filled the air, growing louder with each passing moment.

Thales' eyes widened in surprise and anger. "What is the meaning of this?" he snarled, turning towards the source of the disturbance.

Max and Charles exchanged a look of cautious hope. Could it be...?

Suddenly, the wall to their left exploded inward, showering the chamber with debris. Through the dust and chaos emerged a familiar figure, his blonde hair catching the dim light.

"Prince Lambert?" Max exclaimed, a mixture of relief and disbelief coloring his voice.

Lambert stood tall, his sword gleaming in his hand and determination etched across his features. Behind him, the rest of the Blue Lions poured into the room, weapons at the ready.

"Max!" Lambert called out, his eyes quickly assessing the situation. "Thank the Goddess we found you!" His gaze then fell on Charles, confusion evident in his expression. "And... who's this?"

Max couldn't help but chuckle at the prince's bewilderment. "Oh, just a friend I met in captivity. You know how it is - shared trauma, the usual bonding experience."

Rodrigue stepped forward, his shield raised defensively. "Your Highness, what are your orders?"

Lambert's gaze hardened as he took in Thales and Thanatos. "Protect Max and his... friend at all costs. We're getting them out of here."

As the Blue Lions moved to engage their new opponents, Max couldn't help but feel a surge of pride and affection for these young students he had come to know. Despite the danger they now faced, a small smirk played at the corners of his mouth.

"Well, Charles," he said, readying himself for another round of battle, "it seems our rescue has arrived. Shall we show these children how it's done? Though I must say, you'll fit right in with this group of plucky youngsters."

Charles nodded, a determined glint in his eye. "Indeed, old friend. Let's end this. And perhaps afterwards, we can discuss the rather pressing matter of my apparent de-aging."

With renewed energy, Max and Charles joined the fray, fighting alongside the Blue Lions against the dark forces that threatened not just their lives, but the future of Fódlan itself. As the battle raged on, Max couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of a much larger conflict – one that would test not only his powers but also the bonds he had formed in this new world.

And as he watched Charles seamlessly integrate himself with the Blue Lions, looking every bit the young student despite his centuries of wisdom, Max couldn't help but wonder what other surprises this strange new world had in store for them. One thing was certain – with his old friend by his side and a group of determined young allies at their back, the adventure was only just beginning.

Chapter Text

Prince Rufus of Faerghus stood at the entrance of the underground tunnel, his usually immaculate appearance disheveled from the long search. His eyes, typically alight with mischief, now burned with a fierce determination as he led the Blue Lions deeper into the darkness. The damp air clung to his skin, and the echoes of their footsteps reverberated off the stone walls, creating an eerie atmosphere that set everyone on edge.

As they ventured further into the labyrinth, Rufus's mind raced with thoughts of Max. The sarcastic scholar had wormed his way into Rufus's heart, much to the prince's initial chagrin. Now, the very thought of Max in danger made Rufus's chest tighten with an unfamiliar ache.

"Stay alert," Rufus whispered to his companions, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "We don't know what we're walking into."

Lambert, ever the supportive brother, placed a reassuring hand on Rufus's shoulder. "We'll find him, Rufus. Max is too stubborn to let anyone keep him captive for long."

Rufus managed a weak smile at his brother's attempt at humor. "I'm sure he's driving his captors mad with his incessant sarcasm as we speak."

As they rounded a corner, the tunnel opened into a vast underground chamber. The sight that greeted them made Rufus's blood run cold. There, in the center of the room, stood Max and a young man Rufus didn't recognize, surrounded by pale, otherworldly figures. At the head of the group stood a towering figure clad in black armor, wielding a wicked-looking scythe.

"Thanatos," Rufus breathed, his hand instinctively reaching for his spear.

The moment Thanatos's gaze fell upon the Blue Lions, chaos erupted. The pale figures surged forward, their blank eyes fixed on the intruders. Rufus's training kicked in, and he found himself moving on instinct, his blade flashing in the dim light as he cut down enemy after enemy.

Through the chaos, Rufus caught glimpses of Max and his companion. They fought with a surprising grace and coordination, as if they had battled side by side for years. However, Rufus noticed that they seemed to be holding back, relying solely on physical combat rather than any special abilities.

"Max!" Rufus called out, fighting his way towards the scholar. "Are you alright?"

Max turned at the sound of Rufus's voice, a familiar smirk playing at the corners of his mouth despite the dire situation. "Rufus! So kind of you to join our little soirée. I was beginning to think my invitation got lost in the mail."

Rufus rolled his eyes, a mix of exasperation and relief washing over him. "Only you could make jokes at a time like this, Max."

As they fought their way towards each other, Rufus couldn't help but notice the way Max moved, the calculated precision in each of his actions. It was as if he was holding back, concealing some hidden strength.

Suddenly, Thanatos appeared before them, his scythe whistling through the air. Rufus reacted on instinct, pushing Max out of the way and raising his spear to block the blow. The impact sent shockwaves through his arm, nearly causing him to drop his weapon.

"How touching," Thanatos's voice rasped from beneath his helm. "The prince risking his life for a mere scholar. How... unexpected."

Rufus gritted his teeth, pushing back against Thanatos's strength. "You clearly don't know Max very well if you think he's just a 'mere' anything."

Max, who had regained his footing, raised an eyebrow at Rufus's words. "My, my, Rufus. If I didn't know better, I'd think you actually cared."

Before Rufus could retort, Thanatos attacked again, forcing the prince to focus on the battle at hand. As they fought, Rufus found himself working in tandem with Max and his mysterious companion, their movements complementing each other in a way that felt almost... familiar.

Across the chamber, the rest of the Blue Lions were engaged in their own fierce battle against Thales and his followers. Lambert's sword flashed as he led the charge, his face set in grim determination. Rodrigue fought at his side, his shield deflecting blows meant for his prince.

As the battle raged on, Rufus found himself tiring. Thanatos seemed to possess inhuman strength and endurance, each blow threatening to shatter Rufus's defenses. Just as he felt his arms begin to shake from the effort of holding off another attack, he saw an opening.

Without hesitation, Rufus lunged forward, his spear aimed at Thanatos's exposed side. The blade connected, and for a moment, Rufus felt a surge of triumph. But Thanatos merely laughed, the sound chilling Rufus to his core.

"Is that the best you can do, little prince?" Thanatos taunted, raising his scythe for another attack.

Time seemed to slow as Rufus watched the scythe descend, knowing he wouldn't be able to block it in time. Suddenly, Max was there, pushing Rufus out of the way. The scythe caught Max's arm, drawing a hiss of pain from the scholar.

Something inside Rufus snapped at the sight of Max's blood. A rage he had never known before consumed him, and with a roar of fury, he charged at Thanatos. His spear moved faster than he thought possible, each strike fueled by a desperate need to protect Max.

Thanatos, caught off guard by the prince's sudden ferocity, stumbled back. Rufus pressed his advantage, his blade finding every weak point in Thanatos's armor. With a final, powerful thrust, Rufus's spear pierced Thanatos's chest, driving him to his knees.

As Thanatos fell, the tide of the battle seemed to turn. The pale figures began to retreat, their ranks breaking under the combined might of the Blue Lions. Thales, seeing his forces falter, called out to his remaining followers.

"Fall back!" he commanded, his voice echoing through the chamber. "We've achieved what we came for."

As Thales and his forces retreated into the shadows, Rufus turned to Max, his heart pounding with a mixture of adrenaline and concern. "Are you alright? Let me see your arm."

Max waved him off, though Rufus noticed he winced as he moved. "It's just a scratch. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about."

Rufus frowned, reaching out to examine the wound despite Max's protests. As he did, he caught sight of Max's companion, who was watching their interaction with an amused smile.

"And who might you be?" Rufus asked, his tone sharper than he intended.

The young man stepped forward, extending his hand. "Charles Xavier, at your service. I had the... pleasure of sharing Max's captivity."

Rufus shook Charles's hand, noting the strength in his grip. "Well, Charles, I suppose we owe you our thanks for keeping this troublemaker in line."

Max snorted. "Please, as if anyone could keep me in line. Charles here was merely along for the ride."

As the adrenaline of the battle began to fade, Rufus became aware of the commotion behind him. He turned to see Natalie, her face contorted with rage, bringing her sword down on a nearby stone pillar. The blade shattered on impact, sending fragments flying in all directions.

"Natalie!" Sofie cried out, ducking to avoid the shrapnel. "What in the goddess's name are you doing?"

Natalie stood there, panting, the broken hilt still clutched in her hand. "I... I just... They got away! Again!"

Halden approached her cautiously, his own frustration evident in the set of his shoulders. "I know how you feel, Nat. But destroying your weapon isn't going to bring them back."

Rufus watched the exchange with a mixture of sympathy and amusement. He understood their frustration all too well, but seeing the usually composed Natalie lose her cool was... oddly refreshing.

"Well," Max drawled, leaning against Rufus for support, "I'd say this little adventure has been quite illuminating. Though I must say, the accommodations left much to be desired. I don't suppose any of you thought to bring a change of clothes? This damp dungeon look is so last season."

Despite himself, Rufus felt a laugh bubble up in his chest. Trust Max to make light of such a harrowing experience. As he looked around at his battered but victorious classmates, Rufus felt a surge of pride and affection.

"Come on," he said, his arm instinctively wrapping around Max's waist to support him. "Let's get out of this goddess-forsaken hole and back to the surface. I think we could all use a hot meal and a good night's sleep."

As they made their way back through the tunnels, Rufus found himself hyper-aware of Max's presence at his side. The scholar's warmth, the familiar scent of old books and something uniquely Max, the way he leaned into Rufus ever so slightly... it was almost overwhelming.

"You know," Max murmured, his voice low enough that only Rufus could hear, "for a moment there, I thought you might actually be worried about me."

Rufus scoffed, though he tightened his hold on Max ever so slightly. "Don't be ridiculous. I simply couldn't bear the thought of having to find a new verbal sparring partner. You've spoiled me for all others, I'm afraid."

Max chuckled, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down Rufus's spine. "Oh, darling, you say the sweetest things."

As they neared the exit, Rufus found himself dreading the moment he'd have to let go of Max. The events of the past few weeks had forced him to confront feelings he'd been trying desperately to ignore. Now, with Max safe and sound at his side, Rufus couldn't deny the truth any longer.

He, Prince Rufus of Faerghus, notorious flirt and self-proclaimed heartbreaker, had fallen hopelessly in love with the most infuriating, brilliant, and utterly captivating man he'd ever met.

The realization should have terrified him. Instead, Rufus felt an odd sense of calm wash over him. Whatever challenges lay ahead, whatever secrets still lurked in the shadows of Garreg Mach, he would face them with Max by his side.

As they emerged from the tunnel into the warm afternoon sunlight, Rufus squinted, his eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness. The monastery grounds stretched out before them, a welcome sight after the oppressive darkness of the underground.

"Home sweet home," Max quipped, though Rufus noticed the relief in his voice.

Lambert, ever the leader, began organizing the group. "Alright, everyone. Let's get to the infirmary and have our injuries checked. Then we'll report to Lady Rhea and—"

"Oh no," Max interrupted, shaking his head vehemently. "No infirmary, no reports. Not until I've had a proper bath and changed into clothes that don't smell like they've been marinating in a swamp for the past month."

Rufus couldn't help but laugh at the look of indignation on his brother's face. "I hate to say it, Lambert, but I'm with Max on this one. I think we could all use a moment to catch our breath before diving into the bureaucracy of it all."

Lambert looked like he wanted to argue, but after a moment, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "Fine. But I expect everyone to report to the Cardinal's Room in two hours. We need to discuss what happened down there and what it means for the monastery's security."

As the group began to disperse, Rufus found himself reluctant to let go of Max. The scholar seemed to sense his hesitation, turning to face him with a raised eyebrow.

"Something on your mind, Your Highness?" Max asked, his tone light but his eyes searching.

Rufus opened his mouth, then closed it again, suddenly at a loss for words. How could he possibly express everything he was feeling? The fear, the relief, the overwhelming realization of just how much Max meant to him?

In the end, he settled for a simple truth. "I'm glad you're safe, Max. When you disappeared, I... I didn't know what to do with myself."

Max's expression softened, a genuine smile replacing his usual smirk. "Well, well. Who would have thought the great Prince Rufus had a heart after all?"

Rufus rolled his eyes, but he couldn't keep the fondness out of his voice. "Yes, well, don't let it go to your head. I have a reputation to maintain, after all."

Max laughed, the sound warming Rufus from the inside out. "Your secret's safe with me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a date with a hot bath and clean clothes."

As Max turned to leave, Rufus found himself calling out. "Max, wait!"

The scholar paused, looking back over his shoulder with a questioning gaze.