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Chapter Text

Imperial Year 1176

A hollow concrete cube. No windows, no bed, no chair. Just a barred, metal door too heavy for a small kid to open, assuming they had access to the doorknob, to begin with.

Of course, they didn't.

It was impossible to open the door from the inside. Only the armor-clad guards outside were capable of unlocking the metal bars, twice every week. But no one looked forward to those days. It only spelled doom for someone, if not themselves. The light never reached the darkest parts of the facility, and the children dared not reach their hands towards it.

She hated the cold, dark room. She had spent more than ten years of her life in this barren place if the scratches on the wall were any indication of proper time-keeping or sanity.

In the summer, the fresher air was a relief, helping to alleviate the stench of festering sewage and dried out blood, but with how cold Fodlan usually was, those days didn't last long at all. Whenever the guards opened the heavy doors to the prison cells during the cold seasons, it let in a wicked draft and reduced the temperature to near freezing. All year long, it was either suffocatingly quiet or pierced with the screams of tortured children.

The place was nothing short of hell and Satiana prayed to the Goddess above, night after night, that someday, she would finally be free of all suffering.

Today was that day.

As the heavy, metal doors swung open, hollowly hitting the cobbled wall by its side, plumes of dust swung up from the corners of her cage, bathed in slivers of red, torchlight. It reminded her of the specks of blood littered across the floor of the place — dried, left-over relics of the children who used to roam down the same hallways as she did.

"Get out," a voice barked from beyond the door.

Satiana stood up from her position huddled up in the corner furthest away from the door. The chains bounded to her ankles sent metallic clinks echoing through the room and the guard clicked this tongue once.

"Fuck, I forgot they keep these kids chained. Hey you, go get the goddamn keys!" The guard yelled to his subordinate somewhere down the hallway. Judging by the thundering steps, the poor soldier was scrambling to their guard post, probably searching for the correctly-numbered key.

It didn't take them long to return. Soon enough, her legs were chain-free and she lightly bounced on her feet, adjusting herself to the feeling of being free to move again. Unfortunately, the guard didn't seem to like that small show of giddiness because the next thing she knew, she was being hauled across the room by the neck. His large, calloused hands gripped her jaw, yanking it up into the air. Her legs dangled haphazardly as she gasped for air. She scratched at the man's death grip on her neck, breath hitching, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes.

"Stay still, you damn brat!"

A quick blow to the face and her head snapped sideways in pain. She gritted her teeth, feeling the blood trickling down her pale, bony cheeks.

Endure it. Today's the last day. It'll be over soon.

She forced her body to slacken. Hanging limply in the air, she allowed herself to be carried all the way to the experimenting room. Halfway through the long walk, she almost lost consciousness from lack of oxygen but was harshly woken up from her stupor when the man threw her on top of a metal cot. Her back collided with the freezing cold bed, sending waves of shudders down her spine as a group of familiar mages stormed inside the room.

They were all dressed the same way: clad in black cloaks, bird-like masks, and blood-covered gloves.

She mentally prepared herself, knowing what was about to happen next. Breathing heavily, she felt herself being shackled to the operating table. Their hands slithered across her body, nudging her skin apart, checking her body condition: pulse, remaining scars, open wounds.

She didn't really know why they even bothered to inspect her every time. It wasn't as if they were going to stop, even if her body was already crossing that borderline between life and death.

The sound of rusty cogs snapping into place entered her ears and she felt the metal slab she was lying on raising up. The mages swarmed over her, holding various foreign tools in their hands. She recognized the scalpel and blades.

They never give up, do they?

Ten years on the table and they still refused to learn from their past mistakes. She was a failure — crestless, yet miraculously alive. How she managed to survive through years of torture, the mages had no idea. Even she herself wasn't sure why she was still breathing while the rest of her friends died.

They weren't really friends. They just lived on the same street as fellow orphans. But even starving, hopeless children knew what camaraderie meant.

One of the masked mages handed their partner a giant barrel. The red liquid sloshed inside the container, sending blood-chilling shivers through her already weakened body. Her fingers twitched and she balled her hands tightly into fists.

Endure. Endure. ENDURE.

With a quick snap of his fingers, the devices inside the room flickered to life like magic. "Today is the day we succeed," the robed figure cackled as he fiddled with a glowing, red stone in his hands.

She wanted nothing more than to slam her feet into the infuriating, masked face and yell in his ears that only an idiot would perform the same experiment for ten years and still believe they would get better results.

But none of these bastards ever listened to reason. Hell, they never listened to anything the children had to say.

From the corner of her eyes, she spotted the familiar row of test tubes. One was empty, the other filled with the contents of the barrel. The last contained a scrap of the glowing stone. Each tube was connected to a syringe-like instrument. The pale white strings wrapped themselves around her like a cobweb, preventing her from even shifting on the table. The mages then began to plunge the needles into her body: shoulder, arms, legs.

She shut her eyes tightly.

Dear Goddess, please save me.

The mages flipped the switch and she gasped loudly as she felt her blood being drained out of her, filling the empty tube. The contents of the other red tube swiftly began to flow inside of her. The fluid burned with cold as it ran through her body, sending her into a spiraling agony as she spasmed against the restraints that kept her pinned to the table.

She nearly bit her tongue in two, but she never cried out despite the pain. No tears escaped her eyes — she had long grown accustomed to the initial pain. This was still only the tip of the iceberg. The true trial would come next and that was where she needed to focus all her energy to.

Her body continued to convulse against the piercing pain, shattering her from the inside. Another quick stab into her abdomen with the scalpel and this time, she howled. The knife traced her stomach, splitting it open before a pair of dirty hands plunged the rest of the stone into her body.

She arched against the metal table, screaming until her throat throbbed, eyes bulging wide.

Fuck them all. Fucking hell. FUCK.

She repeated the curses in her head like a mantra, barely remaining conscious throughout the entire experiment. Her screams blended in with the sound of roaring and growling in the distance, meshing in with the thundering steps of monsters lying dormant deeper inside the underground dungeon.

But again, she refused to join the ranks of the dead. Perhaps it was a blessing from the Goddess that allowed her to remain sane throughout the years of torture. But sometimes, she thought to herself the Goddess truly was wicked and cruel.

Even turning into a beast would be salvation at this point in her life. To live as a beast or as a walking corpse, which was the better of the two?

Before she could come up with an answer, another surge of pain knocked the air out of her.

The day flew by defined by the fluctuating pain, exhaustion, and training. Again, she had survived. Still alive and still crest-less as usual.

After the mages threw her out the doors for being a failure, she found herself wandering to the cattle hall where her last assignment would be given. The cattle hall was a name the children gave to the colosseum built underground in the facility. It was a giant open space with bounded walls, littered with wooden dummies and all sorts of rusty weapons. Aside from her prison cell and the experimenting room, this was where the children spent most of their time, training against each other.

As soon as she took a step through the tunnel leading to the training grounds, a sharp piercing screech made her visibly flinch. She peered into the clearing, frowning as a teenage boy repeatedly slammed the sharp end of his sword into the body of another younger boy. A dark sinister laugh spilled from his lips, eyes empty and hollow. He plunged the sword deeper into the corpse, twisting and hacking through the bones.

She turned her eyes away from the scene and strolled casually inside the training hall, lingering near the walls. As expected, a few guards came rushing towards the two males, dragging them back to the experiment room.

She paid no heed to the commotion. They were living in a madhouse. Such insanity happened on a daily basis.

Then again, perhaps she was the insane one for viewing such tragedy as normalcy.

The other remaining students in the cattle hall tried their best to avoid her gaze as she dragged her feet to the center of the training ground, a trail of blood pouring after her. The mages didn't even bother to properly stitch her wounds up. There was still a giant, gaping hole in her stomach but somehow, she was still up and walking about.

A monster, she'd hear them whisper amongst themselves. She ignored them because indeed, they were speaking nothing short of the truth. She may still be in human form, but at this rate, she was no different than those children-turned-monsters locked in cages at the lowest level of the facility. There was no human who could still live after losing so much blood and, in all honesty, brain cells from the mental and emotional abuse.

But she survived this far on nothing but sheer will and bitterness towards the mages who kidnapped her to this disgusting place. If she wasn't a monster, then what was she? Certainly not a normal child.

"Hey, Satiana!"

She turned her head to the side, watching as a small girl stumbled over towards her. She recognized the blonde hair and emerald green orbs from afar. The girl called herself Gisela and she was one of the few survivors from the same batch of children as Satiana. Satiana could count on her fingers how many of the orphans she once lived on the streets with were still alive.

It wasn't a pretty number.

"Hello, Gisela. Are the commanders here yet?" Satiana coughed once mid-speech, voice still raspy and hoarse.

Gisela eyed her with sympathy, emerald irises gleaming red at the edges from the torches strapped on the wall against them. "They're already here. You're the last one to make it."

Satiana glanced towards the center of the hall. Indeed, a large group of children of various ages was huddled together in rows, each wearing their armored uniform with weapons in hand. Satiana exhaled lightly, dragging her feet to the weapon rack before she searched for a pair of swords. She grabbed them by the hilt and carried them back to Gisela. "Then we should get going."

Gisela nodded. They walked side by side towards the center of the room. Gisela glanced at the trail of blood behind them and winced. "Satiana, are you sure you're ready to fight? The amount of blood is quite…troubling."

Satiana sent her a blank stare over her shoulder. "Do I look like I have any other choice?"

Gisela grunted, head drooping. "You're right. We don't."

It didn't take long for the commander to catch wind of their trail. The knight-clad in clean, pristine silver stormed up towards the two of them. Underneath his helmet, dark eyes glared daggers at them from between the open slits. "You two are late. Hurry up and get in line. We don't have time," he barked out, jutting his chin to the side.

"Yes sir," they chorused with a small bow.

Gisela grabbed Satiana's hand and dragged her to the front of the group. They pushed through a few other children, ignoring the looks of contempt and envy along the way. Satiana didn't like the attention on her, but even she could not escape from the fame that came with surviving ten, grueling years of torture. She couldn't understand why they were jealous of her accomplishments. What was the point of living, anyway?

"As you already know, today is your last day here," the commander yelled. He paced back and forth down the line of filthy, ragged children, dressed in half-ripped armor much larger than their size. "Make yourself useful and I assure you, I'll tell our master of your achievements. If you're lucky, you might even get adopted into one of the noble households in Fodlan."

A wave of murmurs rushed through the group, most of the kids divulging in their fantasies, dreaming about a life of riches and luxury. Satiana stared emptily at the commander, focusing on standing straight as she felt her open wound throb against the cold, rusty air. Gisela fidgeted with her swords, eyes sparkling bright.

"The plan is simple. Follow our lead and kill everyone in sight. Don't ask, don't think, just do it," the commander continued. "Today's target is this man." He motioned for his subordinate to step forward.

Another shorter knight stepped up to the front of the group and unfolded a large piece of paper with the portrait of a man. It was hard to describe the man with a few words or two, but if Satiana had to pick out something to remember him by, it would be the piercing blue eyes and majestic, regal aura surrounding him.

The commander held his sword up into the air, then proceeded to thrust it right into the middle of the portrait. He slashed the paper into two, slicing the head cleanly off the man's shoulders. "If any of you manages to kill this man, you all will receive freedom. You may leave this place scot-free."

A loud, harmonious cheer broke the tension in the atmosphere and the group descended into a raucous fray of chattering. Gisela launched herself at Satiana, hugging her tightly, small streaks of tears flowing down her rosy, pink cheeks. "S-Satiana, we made it this far. After this, we can finally escape!" she yelled, elated.

Satiana responded by absentmindedly rubbing her friend's back, though she remained stern as usual. "I guess so," she answered quietly.

She didn't have the heart to tell her friend that they were all probably under a heavy misunderstanding. There was no such thing as freedom; ten years in this place and she knew better than anyone there was no way they were all getting out of this facility alive.

It's a trap, but one we can only dive into.

"Grab your weapons and follow our lead. For freedom!" The commander yelled, pumping his fists into the air as the rest of the kids followed suit.

To where, they had no idea. But all they had to do was follow their leader. It was easy enough. Kill the target, get freedom.

Satiana clenched her sword tightly in her hands. Regardless of what plans the higher-ups had for them and their group, she would make a run for it. There was a large enough crowd today for her to do so without being caught by the commanders.

Whatever scheme the dark mages had in mind, she would make it through till the end again. Because that was all she knew how to do: kill and survive.

Satiana thought today would be a day like any other. Another small mission, another random noble to assassinate, more orders to follow. At least, that was how things should've gone.

She should've known something was wrong when the mages promised her freedom afterward. She should've been more prudent, perhaps making a run for it the moment they walked out of the facility instead of waiting for the chaos to ensue. She should've realized it as soon as she saw the sheer amount of children soldiers for today's mission, not to mention the horde of crest beasts being dragged by chains.

Those bastards finally did it. Threw the kids into hellfire. After training them to yearn for nothing but freedom like mindless puppets, this was what they got in return.

A large-scale war that no one was prepared for.

Although she had participated in countless excursions, war was never one of them. Especially one that involved a whole goddamn Kingdom, judging by the blue flag the enemies waved proudly in the air.

What…the hell is this?

The sky was casket-black and brooding. Even the clouds seemed morose as they shed tears down towards the shattered earth, hoping to distinguish the raging flames of war threatening to devour the land beneath them but to no avail.

There was no stopping the brutal slaughter of men, women, and children alike. A storm of arrows zipped and hissed through the air, clashing against upraised shields if one was lucky enough. Monsters swarmed and swayed across the burning plains amidst the haunting screams of terror, staining the ground with molten-red pools of blood.

What…am I doing here?

A violent rush of air brushed against her cheeks, toppling the head of the boy who stood beside her alive and well a mere fraction of a moment ago. There was no time to stop and mourn over the loss of a comrade as her gelid hands grabbed the hilt of the sword and swung up, clashing against skin, scraping against the bones as the enemy screamed in pain before crashing down to the ground, motionless.

There was a persistent acidic burning in her stomach. Satiana could hear the thumping in her ears as she spun around on her heels and sprinted across the battlefield. The spears and swords glimmered cruelly in the dark as she weaved her way through the fray of clattering, algid steel.

From the corner of her eye, she could see her commander raising his sword proudly in defiance as he chopped off the head of an enemy commander. But there was no glory to be earned. No cheers of happiness or tears from the remaining soldiers, unlike how they acted before in the cattle hall.

There was only more blood to be shed, for everyone on her side finally realized they were nothing more than throw-away pawns trained to kill and die.

She felt it instinctively.

Today was the day she was going to die. And of all places, it wasn't going to be inside the dark dungeons underground. It was going to be here in the middle of nowhere. She was going to crumble to dust among the river of crimson red that flowed down the crying plains of Duscur.

"Satiana!" There was a voice she barely recognized as a bloodied, armored girl lunged towards her, grabbing her arms. Satiana still remembered vividly the last time she talked to Gisela when her emerald-green eyes shone brightly like jewels as she happily chatted about her dreams beyond their prison cells. They were filled with hope and brimming with light, but those orbs had become sullied with trauma, tears, and terror. "T-They released the monsters. The failures! We need to get out of here!" The thundering footsteps silenced her panicked shout as a horde of beasts bolted across the valley, crushing the soldiers under their claws.

Satiana cursed under her breath and grabbed the girl's hand, dragging her along as she bolted away from the battlefield. "We're leaving. Now!"

Gisela stared at her in bewilderment. "L-leave? To where?!"

"I don't know! Anywhere that isn't here—"

She soared through the sky as a monstrous, jagged tail swept underneath her feet. Her legs felt as if a thousand knives were piercing them, and before she knew it, her body crashed limply against the ground. Ribs cracked, legs shattered, her head was ringing non-stop as the screams of war blended in with the flickering flames in the background. She lay on the ground, clutching her head. As she whimpered in pain, her legs jerked in awkward angles. She tried to push herself up but to no avail.

Fuck...! I need to get out of here!

Satiana sat herself up, blinking away the remnants of fog that clouded her vision. She took a sharp intake of breath. Her gaze landed on the ground in front of her.

She swallowed loudly, heart palpitating. "G-Gisela…?

The emerald-green eyes had turned dark-black like polished coal, staring emptily back at her. The lifeless body had detached itself from its lower counterpart from the torso up. Blood gushed out of the gaping wound like a waterfall as the stampede of beasts utterly mangled the corpse. 

A wave of nausea rushed over her. Satiana gasped, her back lurching forward as she tried to contain the bile within her.

N-No…not now…

The numbing pain across her body still threatened to steal her consciousness, but that was nothing short of a death sentence. With a loud groan, she tried to scramble onto her feet, feeling her bones creaking. But gravity took hold, and she landed face forward onto the ground with her hands in front of her, nails clawing against the dirt in frustration. Gritting her teeth, she lifted herself up on her knees and pounded her fists on her ankles, feeling the searing hot pain.

Goddammit…move…MOVE!

There was the sound of grass rustling from behind her, and on pure instinct, she grabbed the remaining sword on her hips and plunged it deep into the enemy's chest. Twisting the hilt with no hesitation, a fountain of blood spurted out from his open wound as he crumbled to the ground next to her. His sword clattered to the ground, and Satiana immediately lunged toward it. With two swords in hand, she stabbed them onto the bleeding soil below, stumbling on her feet as she slowly inched forward while using them as placeholders for her legs to lean on.

There was no destination — no place to return or escape to. But even a young girl who was trained since birth to be nothing but a tool of war knew that she had to go somewhere. Anywhere. Wherever she could, even though there was no reason for her to continue struggling.

The situation was helpless. It was only a matter of time before the remaining Kingdom forces rushed in to salvage the remaining lives littered across the burning valley. That was the same as sending the rest of her comrades to the guillotines. There was no reason for her to fear death, for it was instilled in her head since young that sometimes, sacrifices were necessary. So many of her so-called 'friends' had left her stranded in the living, and the war was nothing new to someone who swam through blood every day to survive. Death was always looming over her, and she was more than happy to leave this cruel and empty world behind. After all, there was nothing she had to lose. Not even herself because she had lost that many years ago inside the underground dungeons where she spent most of her life wailing in pain.

So why…am I still…fighting to live…?

She limped a few miles away from the battlefield before a barren forest came into view. The physical and mental fatigue finally caught up to her as she tumbled forward, her legs giving way. The two dull and bloodied swords landed with a thud against the grassy ground. Her face dug into the dirt, a wave of freezing coldness rushing over her lifeless body. The soothing sound of raindrops plopping against her back drowned out the images of the war she left behind, and she slowly closed her eyes, succumbing to the darkness.

Is this how it ends?

"Is she…dead?"

A clear voice echoed down the grassy fields, the sound silky and softer than the turbulent rainstorm surrounding her. Her vision blurred as she slowly opened her eyes, examining the pair of strangers standing in front of her. They were both wearing hooded cloaks, hiding their form from view, but there was no camouflaging the noticeable height difference between the two; a man who looked around the age of 30 and a young girl accompanying him. It didn't matter who they were. The only thing that caught Satiana's attention was the black, heavy cloak they were wearing.

It reminded her of the same group of ghostly, pale men that strolled down the cells, leering through the iron bars with predatory eyes. With a flick of their fingers, children were forcefully dragged out of their cells and thrown into the experiment room.

No…not again…!

Clenching her jaws, a surge of adrenaline fueled by ragged desperation and sheer stubbornness moved her hands towards the sword next to her. The man kneeling in front of her froze, shifting his stance backward as the blade cut through the air mere inches away from his face. Satiana moaned in pain, hands quivering as the sword once again dropped down to the muddy ground.

The pair of strangers watched in silence as her hands slowly inched towards the blade again. A pair of warm, gloved hands grasped her trembling ones and yanked her forward on her knees. She jolted in surprise and fear, trying to jerk her hands back, but the stranger did not relent his iron grip on her frail wrists. Satiana growled in anger, lashing her other free hand towards the stranger, slapping his hand away from hers.

"We have quite the fiery one," the cloaked man scowled. He stood up, brushing the dirt off his knees. Then, peering down at her disfigured form with a blank stare, he sighed. "Hey, you. Take her back to the village, will you?" He cocked his head towards his companion, who simply nodded in response.

"What…do you want from me…?" Satiana croaked out, her voice hoarse and broken as the young girl knelt down next to her, gathering her swords.

The man shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, that's entirely up to you, miss. What do you want from us?"

"...Just kill me," Satiana said without hesitation.

That was all that she ever wished for at this moment — for the pain and suffering to end. She could still feel it, the same burning in her chest that wouldn't die out. It clawed into her heart as the blazing fire spread throughout her entire body. The endless hatred and resentment burned relentlessly with nowhere to escape to.

She knew for a fact this world was hell. She had witnessed it, lived it, even caused it. Life was utterly unfair; she never wanted to be like this. To harbor such intense rage when her captors forced these emotions upon her. All she wanted to do was make it all stop.

"Please. Just end it," Satiana's voice trembled, her head hanging low, casting a shadow over her drained features. "Please," she repeated once more softly.

The man gave a wry bark of laughter. He jerked his head towards the girl who suddenly threw the sword at him. With swift, nimble hands, he easily grabbed the hilt. The sword dropped down to the ground in front of her for the umpteenth time that evening. He knelt down again, lifting her face up with his fingers on her chin.

"Then do it yourself. End it with your own hands." His voice was like the devil, enticing a poor soul to grab its bony hands for salvation. Her eyes flickered down towards the blade. She shuddered uncontrollably as her hand reached for the sword. The blade suddenly felt heavy in her hands, even though she was well accustomed to it.

"I…I can't," she quietly confessed, her hands quivering.

"And why is that? Didn't you want this?" His commanding voice thundered in her ears.

She slowly shook her head. "No…I just…" Her voice wavered as she spoke. She sounded strangely strangled, as if something was lurking in her voice box that she didn't dare set free. The man waited patiently, feeling that there was more to come, and met her shaky gaze calmly.

"You just what?" He tried to coax it out of her.

I just want it all to stop...right?

She never wanted to kill. Or hate. Or live in hell. But because of the numerous years of torturing behind her back, she had learned to forget one simple fact that all humans knew deep in their hearts no matter how much they tried to hide it.

Death, no matter how natural, was always an unacceptable thing.

"I don't want to die." The words came flying rapidly out of her mouth. Her eyes widened, her heart sinking in heavy realization. She grew aware of the stinging sensation crawling up in her eyes as the dam shattered into a million irreparable pieces. Her throat clenched as a sob came rushing up. She choked on thin air. "I…I want to live…!"

Because she was too scared to live but too afraid to die like all humans were.

Satiana suddenly took on a pale look, the sobs coming to a rapid end as the air was knocked out of her. Then, with one forlorn look back towards the direction she came from, she crumpled like a puppet released from their strings.

Her vision went black.

Chapter Text

[Black Fog]

A Living Nightmare

Fire. Lava, scourging in her veins. It must have been real, burning her side, ignited, branding to the bone.

She screamed awake, voice shredding, raking her throat with her nails, gasping for air. Her eyes remained shut, consciousness drifting between life and death.

There was the sound of crying. Or was that a moan? It was a female's voice. Her throat burned. More crying, drumming her ears. Hurt. Pain. Everything was dark. Numbing. Spreading. Her hands froze, then began to sweat. She didn't know whether she was hot or cold.

Detached voices stirred nearby, strange hands holding her still to the bed or whatever it was she was lying on.

A buzzing sound in her ears. A sudden surge of warmth. Blinding white light. Magic. Some sort of sterile sting. Breathing became easier. Air. She needed air.

Save me…somebody…save me please…

The village doctor was no expert. He wasn't even properly educated, being a mere commoner. But he knew how to handle most external wounds and of course, the common cold. They had plenty of herbs growing around in the mountains surrounding the town. Of course, he didn't even have a proper license. He just happened to be the smartest apothecary in town and ended up being worshipped as a healer by the other folks on the streets.

The first floor of his humble abode was his so-called clinic. He took care of his patients, most being sick children or exhausted merchants who complained about back-pains. Then, there were the more peculiar ones. Bandits, thieves, mercenaries. The rowdy bunch, he liked to call them.

Fodlan was never a safe place. As a result, he often ended up with such nasty crew visiting his clinic in the middle of the night after a raid or skirmish. He would bring them in, wrap them up in bandages, and kick them right out.

That was how he spent most of his life, earning a living by turning a blind eye to the dark side of things. He only did what he had to. Cure, get money to feed his family, and then forget everything.

But even in his long career of running random errands, he had never seen such a rare case before.

Some well-known mercenary with a reputation for being barred from taverns barged into his house the night before, carrying a bloody body on his shoulder. For a split second, the doctor thought the poor lad had mistaken his clinic for a graveyard. But then the body twitched.

And then there was a bag of gold. No, scratch that. A shit ton of gold.

Whoever this half-dead corpse was, the doctor prayed to the Goddess that helping her would not end up biting him in the ass later on because holy Seiros, there was way too much gold involved for him to refuse treatment.

So, albeit reluctantly, he ended up letting the girl stay the night in his house. He bandaged her wounds and gave her plenty of water to drink. The mercenary and his buddy ended up casting white magic to heal her external wounds, much to the doctor's surprise, but he pretended he didn't see anything.

He just wanted to get paid. Forget diving into his patient's pasts. He just needed to survive through the night.

But there was something he couldn't bring himself to tell the odd pair of mercenaries who took great care of her.

The doctor quickly recognized his patient's demons would be the worst saboteurs to her recovery. Plagued by nightmares, unseen forces chased her half-awake every hour, even if she should have already been sedated. She flitted in and out of consciousness, whimpering in pain, flailing her limbs against imaginary foes. As a doctor, it pained him to see someone so distraught but there was no cure for trauma. Only time would heal.

The mercenaries carried the girl out of his house when dawn broke. He watched silently as they disappeared down the early, morning street.

He may be a sham of a doctor, but he was still a human with a beating heart. He didn't want to have anything to do with her, but for now, he would go back inside his house and mumble a prayer for her.

Regardless of her origin, no child her age should have to suffer through such trauma and pain.

Her vision was red.

She didn't know how long it was but she continued to run through the cloying dread. There was a crimson trail after each step she took but she paid it no heed. She couldn't see anything, not with her awry vision and the overwhelming darkness surrounding her. She had no idea where she was but something pushed her to sprint faster.

The scene warped, the darkness blending in with her own shadow. Flames burst from all sides, the fiery waves threatening to devour her whole. She halted in the middle of the plains, head darting around.

There was nothing but half-charred corpses lying around. Shattered blades and broken shields littered the scorching clearing. The sound of wind blasting made her shut her eyes and ears to it all.

More screams of pain. Cries. Howling. Ugly sobbing.

She felt a hand on the ankles of her leg and her eyes snapped open. Blonde hair brushed against her feet and she took a step back in horror, sweat pouring down her face. The eyeballs popped out of the body's socket, hanging awkwardly in the air. White, bony jaws clattered, the bloody lips curling up into a grin pure shark.

She screamed, batting the corpse away from her legs with her blood-stained hands.

At her touch, the body crumbled like sand, returning to a pile of ashes.

Another scene flashed around her and the flaming valley disappeared into the far distance. This time, she found gravity taking hold of her, pushing her to the ground. Her body was strapped onto a metal pedestal, preventing her from struggling.

Hundreds of invisible hands, sticky and inescapable, twisted all over her body, scratching her skin, dragging her down into the wailing darkness underneath her. She sobbed, screamed, writhed against the chains shackling her down but there was no salvation.

She sank further into the darkness. The shadows crept under her skin, taking control of her body. She thrashed harder, streaks of tears staining her face as she finally broke down into despair.

Please stop. Somebody, make it all stop. Help me. Please…!

"Help!"

Dark blue eyes snapped open, her keening voice so loud it broke her out of her nightmares. She gasped for air, body shuddering uncontrollably under the remnants of despair. Her hands clutched the front of her shirt, hanging on for dear life. Her head was still ringing from the sudden noise, post-sleep vision darting in all directions.

She didn't recognize the room. Wherever she was, it wasn't the prison cell and most certainly, not the flaming fields of—

A sick noise escaped from her throat and she quickly slammed her hands over her mouth. She choked, shut her eyes, bent up from the bed, and felt the thick rush of fluid rise up her throat. Refusing to submit to nausea, she breathed heavily, willing her own body functions to relax. Twice the vile liquid attempted to spill out her chapped lips, but she swallowed it back down, gagging as the sharp stench filled her nostrils from within.

Fuck…where am I?

It took a while for her senses to calm down, full awareness to return, registering her new world piece by piece. She was lying on a bed — a proper one with fluffy, white pillows and a woven blanket smooth as silk that covered her lower half as she sat straight on top of the mattress. The entire room was built out of wood, not the half-rotten kind the old weapons she used were made out of. It was a normal room, accompanied by a small bed, table, and chair.

Then, there were the windows. Transparent, white panes. Slanted golden rays of sunlight, warm and fuzzy, shone on her bandage-covered skin. She absentmindedly reached her hand towards the light, previously dull blue irises sparkling as she watched her hand glow palpably yellow in the air.

It fascinated her, the notion of living under the sun. She yanked her hands back and held them tightly to her chest, dumbfounded at the lingering warmth on them. Aside from the time she spent underground, she was only allowed to roam at night, due to the nature of her missions. The sun was always there above her head, but she had only been allowed to live under its colder counterpart.

To Satiana, this small moment of relief was nothing short of a miracle and she didn't want it to stop. But time doesn't understand things like prayers and wishes. It continued to move on, regardless of everything that happened in the world of the living.

*Click*

She snapped her head to the door, eyes bulging wide as a man strode confidently into the room.

His honey-brown eyes were steely and impassive as they swept over her. "Oh? Are you finally awake, kid?"

Satiana may still be reeling from mental fatigue and a throbbing headache, but she recognized the man's voice immediately. This man was one of the cloaked figures she had met before she passed out in the middle of the forest.

It was a habit of hers to size up all her opponents before battle and she zoned in on his features.

The man towered high above her height with a large, muscular build. He wore heavy leather and fur with a lance strapped over his shoulder and a sword at his belt. He had rough blonde hair with its ends braided in a short ponytail. Two white streaks ran across his cheeks, probably scars from the battles he'd survived through. A quick glance at him was enough for Satiana to tell that he was strong — perhaps a veteran of some sort.

Her instincts flared and she backed herself further into the headrest of the bed, hunching her back. "Who are you?" She glared at him, feeling her hand aimlessly wandering on the mattress as if searching for an imaginary weapon.

"Your swords are next to you on the bedside," the man said, completely reading her mind.

Satiana blinked and turned her head to the side. Indeed, a pair of swords lay on the table next to her bed. One was hers and the other from the corpse she pillaged the weapon from.

"Why did you save me?" There was no point in beating around the bush. No one ever saved others without expecting something in return. Satiana glared at him, her eyes burning feverishly like her head. "What do you want from me?"

The man laughed. "That's the second time you asked that question, miss."

"Stop messing with me," she snarled, reaching her hands towards the sword that was hers. Then, gripping it tightly, she pointed the sharp end at him. "Let me ask again. What do you want from me?"

She knew this was a battle she had lost from the start. Although she feigned invulnerability, even lifting the sword with her arm sent sharp waves of pain through her aching body. Forget fighting, she probably couldn't even stand up on her own feet at this rate.

But she had to do something against the looming threat in front of her and all she could do was muster up a blank threat.

The man sighed loudly. He rubbed the back of his head awkwardly as if he was at a loss. "Look, little miss," he said, dropping his hand down towards his side. "I saved you because you were asking me to. Don't you remember? You said it yourself. You didn't want to die."

Satiana froze, a fragment of her memories returning. She vaguely remembered lying on the mossy, wet ground, sobbing while she begged to live. A part of her felt like it was surreal. She, of all people, wanted to live?

"That…may be true. But you didn't have to save me. You could've just let me die there. Don't you know what I am?" She pointed the blade at her neck to make her point. "Surely, you knew what you were getting into. I was literally only a few miles away from the battlefield."

The man shrugged. "I don't care about things like politics. I just save the people in front of me. That's what I do. It's my job."

A job to save people?

Satiana scoffed. "Never knew there was such an admirable job. So what do you do?"

"I'm a mercenary," he confessed. "Perhaps you've heard of me before. They call me Jeralt Eisner."

"Sorry, but we don't really get news about the rest of Fodlan back in Caldea," Satiana replied.

Jeralt's eyes widened slightly. "You're from Caldea? That small country beyond the peninsula up north of Fodlan?"

"To be more precise, I'm from a town near the shorelines of Caldea," Satiana found herself explaining, only to cut herself short when she realized her mistake. "But that's not the point. You still haven't answered my question. What do you want from me?" Satiana repeated the question.

Jeralt rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up into the air in exasperation. "And I'm telling you, I have no hidden agendas. I just saved you because you were hurt. It's up to you what you do from now on."

Satiana frowned at his calm response. Spending years with people who loved underhanded tricks and lies, she unconsciously learned to read the true intentions hidden beneath one's outer appearance. But no matter how long she stared at him, there was nothing about Jeralt that screamed insincerity. On the contrary, everything about his relaxed attitude around her suggested he was truly unperturbed by her existence.

Is he…for real?

"Even if you tell me that, there's nothing I can do," Satiana shrugged. "I don't have a place to return to, nor do I have anything to fight for any longer."

"Then just find a new place to live." The blunt and lax tone of Jeralt's voice only irked her nerves.

Her eyelids twitched in annoyance. "You make that sound so easy."

"But it is that simple," Jeralt responded. He walked over towards the opposite corner of the room and dragged a wooden chair closer to the bed. Then, landing with a plop, he leaned against the back seat and comfortably crossed his arms. "That's what people do when they lose their homes. They find a new one. Maybe build one."

Satiana listened quietly as Jeralt rambled on.

"If not, then they go on a journey. Find something else to live for. As long as you're alive, that's what you do," he continued. "That's how we survivors live on."

Satiana raised an eyebrow at his peculiar word choice. "Survivor? What are you…."

"Aren't you one yourself? You lived through hell."

"I mean, yes, but what does that have to do with anything—"

"It has to do with everything. You survived. Great. You were luckier than others. Now, you move on."

Something inside of her snapped at his words, and before she realized it, she sprang off the bed, launching herself towards him. She grabbed his collar and jerked it forward towards her face. Jeralt coughed as he was hauled forward. She glared at him, hissing in his face. "You have no idea what you're talking about, mister. Luck? Are you saying I survived that hell because some god up there, Saint Seiros or whatever her fucking name was, said I was to live, and so I did? That in the grand scheme of things, I was still nothing but a pawn even to the heavens above?!"

Jeralt coughed louder as he tried to yank her hands off, but she didn't relent her iron grip on him. "Well, you're wrong. I survived because I fought. I killed, sir Jeralt. Many by my own hands. Children, adults, it didn't matter. I killed them all. And I can do it again. No matter how many times it takes," she rumbled darkly, moving the sword towards his throat — a silent threat.

"A-And what are you going to do after killing me?" Jeralt sputtered out, voice raspy from lack of air.

Satiana paused, the blade barely nicking Jeralt's skin. A small streak of fresh blood trailed down the dull steel, mixing in with the splotches of dark red. The blood trickled down to her hands, staining them with red. Feeling the wet drops on her skin, she flinched, the blade wavering.

She had spent years thinking of an answer to his question, even before he had asked her. Gisela used to talk about her own dreams. How she wanted to travel across Fodlan, explore all the exotic meals the continent had to offer, and perhaps open a small restaurant of her own. She had quite the appetite and gobbled down the stale food they served in the training hall with sparkly eyes. Really, it was a dream very much like her. Innocent, sincere, and peaceful.

But what did Satiana have? She didn't know how Gisela managed to keep her innocence thus far because Satiana threw it away after her first kill many years ago. She had no aspirations beyond living to see another day. Hell, she didn't even know if she wanted to live or if she simply couldn't die. She was just…there. Breathing somehow. No goals, no thoughts of her own, nothing.

She tried to imagine something. A new kind of life. A brighter future. But she always ended up wandering back to oblivion, encaged in her cell, screaming through experiments, slashing through skin.

The road in front of her was always darker than night. It was simply an impossible task to conjure up dreams out of thin air. She had no knowledge of the world above ground. So how was she supposed to know what she would do after obtaining freedom?

"I don't know…." Satiana found herself whispering. An acidic emotion rose in her chest, suffocating the air out of her. "I-I don't know!" Her hands quivered, her grip on Jeralt's collar loosening, and Jeralt took that chance to grab her hands away from his neck.

"That's a good start."

Satiana froze, staring dumbfoundedly at him. "W-What?"

"Do you still not realize? Your thoughts and actions are all contradictory. You're too tired to live, but you don't want to die in the end. Even now, you're thinking of killing me to escape. You want to survive. That's a great start," Jeralt continued. He raised a hand towards his neck, smudging the drops of blood away with the back of his hands. "Now, you just need to figure out what you'll live for."

Satiana stared at him with eyes bulging wide as if he had sprouted a second head. The notion of living freely in this world had never crossed her mind before. She was afraid to die and fought to live on till the next day, but she never paused to think about what came afterward. The concept of having a tomorrow was never guaranteed, and she didn't have the time nor luxury to think about such privilege. She fought to live, only to repeat the same mundane actions every day. It was always do or die.

So what other choices do I really have?

"Why are you trying to help me?" Satiana meekly asked, her hand dropping the sword back onto the bed.

Jeralt groaned, slumping down on the chair as the conversation steered back to the same old questions again. "Kid, have you taken a look at yourself?" He lazily pointed at her face, moving his finger up and down.

Satiana glanced down to look at herself. She wasn't wearing any armor; they got shattered by an enemy's spear a long time ago. Underneath where the armor should've been was a pair of battered clothes, a grayish long-sleeved shirt ripped at the sleeves and a pair of long black pants. Her boots were wrecked with the soles coming loose. Every part of her skin visible was tied up roughly with bandages. Dry spots of blood stained parts of the bandages crimson red. Even if she couldn't see her face, she knew her long and messy black hair was horribly damaged — just like her dark blue eyes that barely had a glimpse of light in them.

"So basically, you're pitying me. I don't need pity," Satiana snarled, her blue gaze narrowed to death.

Jeralt let loose a hefty sigh. "You're still a child."

"I'm almost thirteen."

"My point exactly. No sane adult could leave a child alone in such a wretched state as yours."

"All the adults around me seem to have no trouble ignoring my presence."

Jeralt rolled his eyes. "That's why I said sane adults." He leaned forward in the chair, clasping his hands together under his chin. "Look. I have an offer for you. If you don't want my pity, then grow stronger. Become stronger and fight this time for what you believe in, instead of listening to some old figureheads yapping orders. Shut their mouths up."

At his blunt remarks, her brows arched up in surprise. "So you're telling me to take revenge?"

Jeralt shrugged. "As I said before countless times, it's all up to you what you do from now on. Anything is better than sitting still wallowing in despair. It's a waste of this precious chance you were given. You're still alive. Do something with that remaining life of yours."

Satiana went quiet, her head hanging low as she fiddled with her fingers. For the first time in her life, she was just given an order that allowed her room to breathe. She could decide for herself what she wanted to do from now on. When freedom of choice was suddenly thrust into her open hands like this, a part of her couldn't help but feel like she was still living in a dream.

But this time, it wasn't a nightmare for once.

Jeralt took a last glance at the pondering girl on the bed before he closed the door to her room quietly behind him. He groaned, sensing the beginnings of a migraine. He pinched his forehead, hoping to soothe the headache.

"Jeralt! There you are!"

Great, the loudmouth returns.

He sighed loudly, staring at the newcomer with exhaustion brimming in his honey-golden orbs. "What is it, Renard?"

The brunette standing in front of him was his right-hand man. Renard wandered around Fodlan in his earlier years as a freelance hitman. By pure coincidence, after Jeralt escaped from Garreg Mach with his child, he landed himself in an inn Renard habitually used as his work office. The two often drank together in the old days, exchanging stories of their adventures in Fodlan. Renard's carefree nature caught Jeralt's eyes, and the two ended up working together to chase off monsters that threatened the village the inn was in. After that, for some reason, Renard attached himself to Jeralt's side and never let go.

Years later, and here they were, still on the same side.

"You look like you swam in a pile of dog shit," Renard grimaced.

Jeralt glared at Renard. "Keep your voice down."

Renard held his hands in the air before him in a surrendering motion. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Me and my blabbermouth. So what are you going to do with her—" He froze mid-sentence when he spotted the trail of blood dripping down from Jeralt's neck. Mossy green eyes darkened, narrowing in on the wound. "Jeralt, you busybody bastard." Despite the insult, there was no malice behind his words; his voice was laced with concern. "What did you get yourself into now?"

Jeralt absentmindedly traced the wound with his finger. "Oh, this? It's nothing."

"It's not nothing, you idiot," Renard scowled, placing his hands on his hips. "You always get yourself into trouble when I'm not watching you. She's dangerous, Jeralt."

"She's just a child who doesn't know any better," Jeralt responded.

"Jeralt, you and I both know she's not just a normal child. Didn't you hear what happened in the valley? Regicide, for god sake!" Renard threw his arms in the air dramatically to make his point. "And you just invited someone involved in that incident into your house."

Jeralt sighed again for the umpteenth time. "Renard, it'll be fine. She's okay."

Renard only frowned, dissatisfied with his friend's response. "She might be, but you won't be. Your kindness is going to kill you one day, Jeralt."

"It won't be today," Jeralt said with a nonchalant wave of his hand as he brushed past Renard, who was fuming behind him.

"I'm not taking care of this kid for you!" Renard yelled after Jeralt.

Jeralt only rolled his eyes in exasperation, heading downstairs towards the living space. As much as he enjoyed Renard's company, the man was an annoying worrywart at times. Then again, living as mercenaries meant their lives were always in danger, so the man did have a solid reason to worry about him.

Speaking of dangerous kids, here's another one.

His daughter, Byleth, was sitting in one of the chairs next to the dining table. She stared up at him with those blank and dull cerulean eyes of hers. "Father, how is she doing?"

Byleth seemed to be completely unfazed by the chaos that had occurred the day before. Then again, she was always calm no matter what happened. Jeralt believed that even if a volcano suddenly erupted next to them, his daughter would simply sit there, sipping a cup of tea casually. He couldn't tell whether her sense of danger was that dull or if she just didn't care enough about anything. She was his child, but sometimes, she felt like a stranger to him.

"Physically, she's fine. She just needs to heal up her broken bones. It'll take a few months. Other than that, she's sitting there brooding over her life right now," Jeralt roughly summarized.

Byleth was still as expressionless as ever, but her eyes were twinkling with amusement. "You really do love taking on extra baggage. How many times has it been since we've had a new member? I've lost count already," Byleth stated blankly, but Jeralt assumed she was teasing him in her own monotonic way.

"A child that age should never have eyes that look like that," Jeralt muttered as he plopped himself onto the chair across Byleth. His eyes looked forlorn and wistful, a faint memory of Sitri staring emptily at the plains beyond the monastery walls flickering to life. "At least there's still some spunk left in her. She hasn't lost all hope yet, but it's only a matter of time."

Byleth hummed in agreement, lightly tapping her fingers against the wooden table. "So, you plan on leaving her to Renard?"

Jeralt glanced at his daughter. "Why? You think it's a bad idea?"

Byleth shrugged. "He's not known for being good around children."

Jeralt sighed. "I know that, but there are things only those who've gone through hell can tell each other. You see this?" He pointed towards the wound on his neck. "If she were in a healthy state, my head would've definitely gone flying off my neck."

Byleth blinked. "So the real reason you're sending her to Renard is that you're afraid you can't handle her?"

Jeralt scoffed, reaching over the dining table to lightly knock Byleth on the head. "Don't be silly. I won't kick the bucket that easily. It's just…it takes an assassin to know one. I can teach her how to live, but other than that, she's on her own."

"You could teach her how to use the sword properly. I doubt she's ever had a teacher before," Byleth suggested.

"I could, but Renard has the skill-set that fits her more than I do. Who knows? She might become more attached to him when she realizes he's someone who's seen the same things she has," Jeralt explained.

Byleth doesn't reply, but internally, she disagrees because she knows best what a child deprived of proper love and care truly wants. They don't need a teacher to guide them; they want a parental figure. Byleth had her father, but her father never mentioned anything about her mother. She knew nothing, and Byleth had a sinking feeling Jeralt wanted to keep it that way. There were times Jeralt would look at her blankly as if she were some foreign existence. Byleth knew something was wrong with her, but she tried not to think too deeply about it. Jeralt treated her nicely enough, and he taught her many things, but as father and daughter, there was still an invisible wall between them.

Perhaps spending time with this recruit would do her good. After all, she was the first child to catch Jeralt's eye, and most of all, she had his genuine concern. Of course, it was nothing but a hunch, but Byleth felt as if meeting this child would change her. For the better or worse, she did not know. But her hunches were never wrong.

Satiana felt all her remaining strength disappearing when Jeralt left. She fought hard to keep herself awake, energy spent from the emotional hurricane that just ripped through her. Satiana sighed and turned to look out the window.

Tiny specks of dust seemed to dance in the shaft of afternoon sunlight that slanted through the open window. The soft sound of birds chirping echoed throughout the room. Children were laughing outside, and townspeople were chatting out in the open. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but it was evident from the buzz of excitement that it was a peaceful day outside. She had no idea how far this village was from the battlefield, but it seemed that no one was talking about the war that had just occurred the day before.

It was a world vastly different from what she was used to, and she didn't know how to adjust herself to it. Shuffling on the bed, she moved her knees closer to her chest and hung her head low, laying her forehead on her knee, hiding away from all the light.

Satiana shut her eyes tightly and breathed in. She was exhausted both physically and mentally. After the tragedy she had been through, Satiana wanted nothing more than to rest. But as she thought of this, the tranquil voices entering her ears made her face crease in disgust.

It was strange, really. This untroubled background should've been all she ever yearned for, and yet when she was handed it on a golden platter for free, she became repulsed by the thought of living such a carefree life. True, after living a life spent in uncertainty and keeping everyone at a distance for her own safety, there was a certain charm surrounding the concept of boring domesticity she couldn't resist.

But can I really live like that? Turning away from all the tragedy I saw and caused with my own bloody hands?

A mental image of Jeralt sitting in front of her, his honey-golden orbs sparkling in the sunlight, flashed in her head. There was something foreign yet special in the way he looked at her. Her lips thinned. It was like a sudden outburst of warmth — a fizzy, bubbly feeling — and she couldn't exactly pinpoint this strange influx of emotions. Only moments later, she finally had a name for this odd feeling.

Hope.

Was this what she had been waiting for all along? A chance for redemption? A purpose to continue living for when she had long resigned herself to a cold, empty death?

Satiana gripped her hands tightly, clawing her nails into her skin. She felt the pain searing into her bones as she scratched herself. Then, staring down at her balled-up fists, Satiana felt an agonizing sting in her heart and a nauseating churn in her stomach. But she willed it to fade and composed herself.

I don't have the right to cry. This pain is proof that I'm alive, unlike many others. My survival was built on a pile of corpses. I can't ever forget that.

Satiana had lived a cursed life. Rage, hatred, and fear that she couldn't contain in that tiny body of hers. All these emotions simmered in the pot that was her soul, and she had done nothing but ignored everything, moving like a brainless puppet on a string.

Those strings were no more. Now, she had a choice for the first time in her life. Turning her head towards the swords lying on her bed, she gently grabbed them, hugging them tight to her chest.

She had committed many atrocious acts in her life. The thought of turning a new leaf somewhat baffled her. But she was here now, alive and breathing. Perhaps one day, she'll receive Sothis's judgment and die a miserable death somewhere down the road. Then, if she were to die anyway, she might as well make the most out of it.

She still had no idea what to live for. She couldn't really fathom the idea of living a free life, but she had the opportunity now. Time to search. To learn. To live for real.

This was the fateful crossroad of her life. Whatever she chose to do from now on, it would surely change her life forever. For good or bad, she had no idea. But whatever awaited her, for some odd reason, Satiana felt confident about herself because if there was one thing she was sure about, it was her ability to live through hell.

Chapter Text

[Black Fog]

A New Beginning

"Tell me more about what you do."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Like I said, tell me more about what this mercenary business of yours is."

When Jeralt woke up at dawn, he expected everyone to be still asleep. He was usually the first one to wake up in their battalion. The rest of his co-workers were resting in their cottages. None of them usually showed up until way past eight in the morning. He imagined today to be like any other day when he crept down the stairs towards the living space.

He didn't expect to be ambushed by the kid of all people.

Jeralt brushed past her, weaving himself around the chairs towards the cabinet. He fixed himself a quick cup of coffee and turned to face the brewing storm in front of him. "So you decided to join us? After that repetitive conversation we had?" He asked, eying her cautiously.

She coughed into her hands sheepishly. "N-No, I haven't decided to do so yet. That's why I'm asking you to explain."

Jeralt stared at her. "I knew joining us would be a viable option, but I didn't expect you to jump at it after only a day of consideration. To be honest, I expected you to walk right out of here in the morning."

She frowned. "That's what I thought too, but things have changed." She slid herself into the chair closest to her position and comfortably sat herself down. "I can't decide without knowing what's in it for me."

Jeralt took a sip from his steaming cup, but really, he was hiding a knowing smirk behind it. Although he genuinely did believe she would storm out of this place, a part of him was also expecting her to stay. Despite how hot-headed she may seem, the girl was more of the cautious type. He could tell by the way she moved yesterday. Whether she was doing it on purpose, he didn't know. But the entire time they were conversing yesterday, she was sitting in front of him as a well-trained assassin, not a traumatized child. And if he knew one thing about assassins, it was that they never made impulsive decisions. It was all about calculations and plans for them.

"Before that, tell me your name first," Jeralt started. He placed the cup on the table and sat down in one of the empty chairs across from her.

"I was never given a name, but one of the kids back in Caldea liked to call me Satiana," the girl replied.

Jeralt raised an eyebrow at her. "So, an orphan?"

Satiana nodded. "Something like that. Caldea is an impoverished place. Most of us live freely on the streets. None of us have names, so we like to give each other something to go by."

Jeralt took in the information quietly as he stared at her darkening, blue eyes. "So, what do you want to know?" He switched up the subject, knowing that her past was still a sore topic.

Her head immediately perked up, the clouds covering those bright orbs dissipating into thin air. "What exactly do you guys do?"

"We travel across Fodlan, taking on random jobs," Jeralt started. "Sometimes, we deal with nobles, but usually, we try to avoid those types of jobs. They usually come with lots of…annoying ties."

Satiana nodded rapidly, fervently taking in the information.

"In case you want to know, we don't do hitman jobs. If possible, we don't kill. Sometimes, there are dangerous commissions like those that involve eradicating bandits. Unless they refuse to back down, we try to avoid cutting them down," Jeralt continued.

"Which doesn't happen often, right?" Satiana guessed.

Jeralt grimly nodded. "I see you're well informed."

Satiana shrugged. "Thieves are naturally desperate. They don't give up because running away might mean starvation for one of their kind. They're no different than soldiers in war, except they're waging a lonely war against themselves."

"Anyways, that's basically all that we do. Our group is pretty famous because we've been around for a long time, and we tend to care for the commoners more," Jeralt finished his explanation. "It's nothing complicated. We're a bunch of misfits who have nowhere to go, so we just band together doing odd jobs, earning cash, spending it on alcohol…." He trailed off.

Satiana hummed in satisfaction. "Alright. Sounds nice."

Jeralt quickly finished his cup of coffee and settled it down on the table. He leaned in closer towards Satiana, locking his hands together as he placed his chin on top of them. "Now, it's my turn to ask some questions."

Satiana visibly stiffened, her back straightening. "What do you want to know?" She resigned herself to the interrogation, knowing that it was coming.

"How involved are you with the…battle that occurred on the outskirts of the forest?" Jeralt asked, twirling his finger in a circle in the air.

"I'm a throwaway pawn. There were hundreds of children like me fighting in that place," Satiana started. "The higher-ups never told us anything. We just do as we're told because refusing means death. However, we did know that the goal of this mission was to behead the King of Faerghus."

"How did you get to Fodlan?"

"By ship. A group of people picked us up off the streets, offering a place for us to stay. They never told us it involved prison cells and battles to the death, though."

"Do you know the names of all the people you've killed so far?"

Satiana raised an eyebrow in amusement, her lips twitching. "Are you kidding me? How many people do you think I killed in that valley? Did you think I stopped to ask for their names every time I crossed swords with someone?"

Jeralt rolled his eyes. "Not that. I meant all the assassinations you've completed."

Satiana paused, flickering through her memories. "Not that I remember, no. They just show us portraits, and we deal with the rest on our own. Most of them were low-ranked nobles or their soldiers, though."

"To be brutally honest, I don't want to end up getting in trouble with the authorities after taking you in. They're a pain in the ass," Jeralt frowned at the thought. "So, if you still have anything left to tell me, feel free to do so."

Satiana only scoffed in response. "Isn't that a bit too late? You knew what you were getting into the moment you saved me yesterday."

Jeralt narrowed his eyes at her. "I only knew you were involved in the battle. I didn't know this could escalate into cross-border conflicts or that Faerghus's future was at stake."

"You don't need to worry about that stuff. I know you hate dealing with politics. So if anything happens that requires me being turned in, I'll take responsibility for myself." Satiana placed a hand on her chest. "All I ask of you is a spot for me in your mercenary group. I promise to follow your rules and guidelines. I won't cause any trouble."

His eyes widened slightly at her request. "So, you're choosing to stay with us?"

She paused for a split second, her eyes quivering slightly, but they sharpened almost immediately in determination. "If you will take me in, then yes. I only request one thing."

"What is it?"

Her lips contorted into an exhausted, pained, strained smile. "Don't hide my origins from anyone," Satiana pleaded softly. "I do not wish for a brand new start where no one knows who I am. I cannot turn away from the sins that I have committed, so I will live the rest of my life bearing the full responsibility that I committed a heinous crime to the citizens of Faerghus regardless of my circumstances. I'll pay my dues properly when the time comes."

Jeralt went stone-faced at her declaration. Her eyes stared unflinchingly at his with such piercing clarity in them that it made Jeralt forget how to breathe for a split second. This wasn't the same kid that he spoke to yesterday — not the girl who spit fire when backed into a corner or shivered in anxiety when she was being indecisive. On the contrary, there was almost an enviable ease with which she conducted herself, a kind of confidence that normally came from an experienced, mature adult. No kid at the age of thirteen should be speaking of concepts like honor or duty with such certainty as she did. She radiated more grace than any of the nobles her age he had seen before.

Jeralt reached over the table and placed his hand on her head. He rustled the messy strands, earning a yelp from her. She glared at him with blazing eyes, and there it was again, the kid from yesterday. Jeralt laughed.

"You're way too young to be speaking of such heavy responsibility as that," he said as she tousled her hair again, much to her chagrin.

Satiana swatted his hand away from her head and scowled. "I told you, I'm not a child anymore!"

Jeralt snorted, waving her comment off. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Anyway, if I'm taking you in, I'm the one who takes responsibility for you, alright?"

Satiana frowned. "What? But I can't get you into trouble because of me."

"Well, I don't have any plans to take on jobs that will lead you to the authorities," Jeralt said with a shrug. "If they somehow find out and want to take you in for interrogation, we'll cross that bridge when the time comes."

Satiana rolled her eyes at his flippant comment. "How irresponsible of you."

There was the sound of wood creaking, and they both turned their heads towards the stairs. Byleth quietly crept down the stairs, sliding her hand down the rails. As soon as the living space came into view, Byleth paused mid-step and stared blankly at her father. Her eyes flickered towards Satiana for a brief moment before they returned to Jeralt.

"Good morning," Byleth greeted robotically.

Jeralt nodded curtly in response. He pointed his thumb at Byleth and turned his attention back to Satiana. "By the way, that's my kid. She's probably a few years older than you."

"Probably?" Satiana looked at him incredulously. "You mean you don't know how old your daughter is?"

"My father says he's more than 120 years old," Byleth casually stated as she strolled into the kitchen, grabbing a piece of bread lying on the counter. "Sometimes, I can't tell if he's joking or not." She took a large bite and munched silently while leaning against the counter.

Satiana took a moment to look at Byleth. She glanced up and down, dissecting Byleth with her vision. Then, she spun her head towards Jeralt and squinted her eyes. With a frown plastered on her face, she stood up from her seat and leaned over to pat Jeralt gently on the shoulder. "My condolences."

Jeralt blinked once, then twice. "What?"

Satiana grimaced, glancing back towards Byleth. "She looks nothing like you. You're not pulling my leg, are you? That beauty right there is seriously you're daughter? What the hell happened to all the, uh…." She trailed off, pointing her finger at Jeralt's face. "All the gruff and beefiness?"

Jeralt sputtered, choking on thin air at Satiana's blunt remarks about his outer appearance. He sweatdropped, shaking his head in exasperation. "Shut it, brat. I assure you, she's one hundred percent, my daughter."

"If you say so," Satiana mumbled under her breath, but she was still looking at Jeralt with disbelief in her eyes.

The rest of the morning went by peacefully, aside from a few arguments between Jeralt and Satiana as they heatedly discussed her following plans.

Byleth quietly stood in the corner, watching them converse. Her lips twitched slightly upwards at each argument flying around the room. Personality-wise, Byleth and Jeralt were both relatively quiet folks. They never spoke more than necessary, though alcohol sometimes made Jeralt more loose-lipped and flamboyant. Of course, that usually happened in the taverns, but today, Jeralt was chatting enthusiastically with Satiana. He may look annoyed, but years by his side gave Byleth the ability to read her father's expressions.

He was having fun in his own awkward way. Seeing her father exasperated at a child other than her was intriguing, to say the least.

Their personalities clashed almost too perfectly, but they were both amiable enough to subtly soothe conflicts on their own despite their tempers. Satiana was overly blunt and honest but also cautious at times. Jeralt, despite how organized he may seem, was rough and sloppy at times, too trusting for his own good. He was the opposite of Satiana, who seemed to distrust everyone at first glance.

Byleth found the way they interacted amusing. Sarcastic remarks were thrown across the table while bitter responses were fired back. It was a loud and busy morning, unlike normal. Usually, Byleth and Jeralt quietly ate breakfast together, discussing boring topics like their next job or random news floating around Fodlan. It was a nice change of pace to have someone else initiating the conversation. Surprisingly, Byleth found an energetic morning like this not half bad.

"Hey, Byleth." Jeralt's voice calling her name made her jerk up in surprise.

She blinked at him. "Yes?"

"You mind taking this kid to the market? There should be a few merchants coming here today. Might as well get her a new pair of swords to use," Jeralt asked.

"You know, my arm's still somewhat broken," Satiana's chirpy voice interjected. "I can't swing it as well as I used to. So how am I supposed to test the swords out?"

"Just leave it to Byleth. She'll figure it out for you somehow," Jeralt brushed her off. "So, you up for it?" He glanced at his daughter.

Byleth hummed quietly, leaning away from the wall and stepping towards the stairs. "Hold on, let me grab my wallet."

"Good. Then I'll leave her to you. I have to tell Renard and the rest of the gang about Satiana first. I'll meet up with you at noon," Jeralt said as he slid out of his chair. "Don't get yourselves into trouble, alright?"

"Please, as if we would," Satiana said as she rolled her eyes. "We're just going to the market, right? What could ever go wrong?"

Byleth nodded in agreement. "Father, don't worry about us. We'll be fine."

"I know, I know. Then, see you later." Jeralt waved his hand once before he disappeared out the front door.

Byleth quickly grabbed her wallet from her room and headed back downstairs to where Satiana was waiting for her. She was still seated in her chair, eyes staring at Byleth. Byleth stood in front of the stairs, blank eyes meeting Satiana's curious orbs. They lapsed in silence, the quietness blanketing their atmosphere, turning it into something neither hateful nor lovable.

Satiana gave in and broke the awkward silence. "So, where is the market?"

"A few steps away from here. It's not far. Can you walk?" There was no beating around the bush with Byleth. She spoke straight to the point and kept her words short.

"I can sort of limp around," Satiana replied. "You mind if I lean on your shoulders for support?"

"Sure. Let's go." She jerked her head towards the door, and Satiana obediently followed Byleth, lumbering to the exit.

The market was nothing like Satiana expected.

Although there were markets back in Caldea, no one bothered purchasing anything. The pungent odor and piles of rubbish resembling rotten animal carcasses invited thousands of flies. Just a quick whiff of the air there would shrivel one's taste buds. Wooden stands were usually broken, some having cobwebs growing on them. The products were generally half rotten, but it was still better than nothing. Thieves ran rampant, and really, no one wanted to be anywhere near them because of the dangerous folks that usually hoarded the merchandise.

It was completely different here.

Satiana and Byleth carefully weaved their way through the raucous fray of chattering, searching for the stand that sold weapons. The sound of metal clinking echoed down the crowd as the blacksmith worked on their latest masterpiece over the furnace. Buyers swarmed the different stands, haggling for lower prices while sellers bellowed over their heads, inviting more customers in with their loud cheer. Each stand was properly covered with cloths of vibrant colors, some even decorated with glowing lamps.

Satiana was completely awestruck by the buzzing excitement surrounding her as Byleth dragged her towards the weapon stand. They pushed themselves through the crowd, finally making it to the front of the line. The owner glanced at them, his eyes lighting up in recognition.

"Oh, hey! It's you, the kid with Sir Jeralt. So you guys are still staying here?" The old man cheerily greeted with a vibrant smile on his face.

Byleth nodded, expressionless as usual. "Something came up, and we decided to stay here a bit longer. Maybe for a month or two."

The old man eye's widened. "That's great! Lately, there's been news of a group of bandits lurking around the forests. They went into hiding for a few months, but because of the war that just exploded near here, they're looking for lucrative opportunities from the aftermath." The old man sighed in exasperation. "It'll be nice if sir Jeralt can stay here for a few months. It'd be safer to go out at night with his crew buzzing around the local tavern."

Satiana visibly flinched at the mention of war. She spent the entire morning trying to forget about everything that had happened the day before. Although Satiana told sir Jeralt she didn't wish to turn her eyes away from the tragedy she caused, she still wanted a moment to breathe.

Byleth's gaze flickered towards Satiana, taking note of the way her shoulders trembled. "We'll make sure everyone is safe." Byleth absentmindedly placed her hand on Satiana's back as Satiana jerked in surprise at the sudden display of affection. Ignoring her, she focused on the weapons scattered on the table. "Do you happen to have a pair of swords today?"

"A pair? Not one, but two?" The old man blinked.

Byleth lightly pushed Satiana forward. "This girl here happens to be a dual-wielder. Do you mind if we browse through your merchandise?"

The old man's gaze fluttered towards Satiana. He took in her small bandage-covered form, and his eyes crinkled with concern. "Oh dear, what in the world happened to you poor thing?"

Satiana wasn't used to such obvious displays of compassion, and she found herself hunching her back, hiding away from the warm gaze. "O-Oh, uh, I just got myself into trouble a few days ago…" She stammered out, shying away from the owner. Satiana slid herself back a step behind Byleth.

Noticing how insecure Satiana was acting, Byleth shielded her away. "She's our new recruit. She was attacked by a few ruffians yesterday. They broke her weapons, so we need to get new ones for her as soon as possible," Byleth lied right through her teeth. There was no hesitation in her words, as if she were used to lying on a daily basis.

"O-Oh, right. Let me go search in the back for more swords. Hold on a second!" The old man spun around, edging his way past the side of his stand towards the back.

Byleth spun her head towards Satiana, who was peering over her back. "What kind of swords do you usually use? I need to know if I'm going to help you pick one."

Satiana blinked and shrugged. "To be honest, I just use whatever I have access to. Do you remember the two swords lying next to my bed? I stole one of them from the enemies."

"Ah," Byleth hummed in understanding. "No wonder they were of different lengths. One seemed way too long for you to use efficiently." She paused, rubbing her chin in deep thought. "Then perhaps we'll try the mid-length ones. They have a shorter reach than most swords, but they're much lighter. It should be easier for you to use."

"That would be great, actually," Satiana contemplated. "Sometimes, I find myself lagging behind because of how heavy the swords happen to be." She looked down at her bony self. "As you probably noticed already, I'm pretty small for my age. I rely on my speed more than my strength to win battles."

"I can imagine so," Byleth mused. "You're from the assassin class, right?"

"I wasn't planning on becoming one, but things just ended up that way," Satiana replied with a shrug. "I'm better with the sword than the bow, though."

"Then we should get you a bow to use as well." Byleth glanced across the weapons currently placed on the stands. Her eyes settled on one of the steel bows, and she reached over to grab it. "How's this for the size?"

"Should be fine," Satiana quickly replied without even a glance at the bow.

To be completely honest, Satiana had no idea about weaponry. The weapons they had back in the training center were all recycled. Some even came from the dumpster. Most of their weapons were already bruised and battered, so even if Byleth asked for her opinion, she wouldn't have the slightest clue about high-quality steel. But being someone with great pride in herself, she pretended to know what she was talking about by brushing Byleth off.

The old man eventually came back with a handful of swords. It didn't take long for the two to finish their purchases; Satiana simply followed Byleth's judgment. Hopefully, Byleth would not betray her trust.

"So, this is the scrawny kid you picked up?"

"Yeah. I'm thinking of leaving her in your care."

"I thought I told you I wasn't going to look after this brat!"

"You don't have to baby-sit her. Just teach her a few things."

Satiana fiddled with the bandages on her arm, picking out loose threads as the two adults in front of her stewed in edgy silence, glaring at each other. As usual, she was seated on her chair, swinging her legs absentmindedly in the air.

The moment Byleth opened the front door, the sound of bickering echoed down the hallway. Jeralt and another brown-haired man, shorter and leaner, were having a stand-off in the middle of the living space. The first thing that caught Satiana's eyes about him was the mossy, green orbs the brunette possessed; her memories flickered to the torso-less corpse on the bloodied ground, the jagged bones, the dull emerald-like eyes, the smell of rusty metal in the air—

She gasped loudly, feeling her insides squelching in nausea, and limped right towards the chair to rest. Byleth stood by her side, crossing her arms as she tapped her foot lightly in impatience.

The black fog of anxiety only intensified when the brown-haired man finally turned her way, casting his gaze directly at Satiana. Her breath hitched, mouth growing dry. The man stomped over towards her, his burning glare making her flinch.

"Hey, you."

"Y-Yes?" Satiana stuttered, feeling her strength leaving her under his piercing stare.

"It appears that I'm going to be…stuck with you," the man started with a scowl plastered on his face. "The name's Renard. Remember it. I'm only telling it to you once."

"O-Okay…?" Satiana trailed off, eyes bouncing all over the place, looking at anything but Renard.

Renard immediately noticed her awkward demeanor. "Hey, why's this kid so jittery like this?" He cocked his head to the side in confusion.

"I don't know. She wasn't like this in the morning," Jeralt replied with a shrug. He headed over towards her, kneeling down to meet her wandering gaze. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"N-Nothing. Just…" Satiana mumbled, biting her lips as she meekly peered through her bangs up at Renard. "H-His eyes reminded me of a corpse I saw."

An awkward silence filled the room. Byleth's brows shot up in curiosity. Jeralt just stared blankly at her for a moment before turning his head towards Renard, letting the remark slowly sink in. Renard took the biggest blow; he was gaping at her with eyes bulging and mouth hanging open like a bloated fish.

"I…uh…what the fuck?" Renard finally spat out in response.

For once, Jeralt was pleased with Renard's dirty mouth because it accurately summed up his sentiments. He let loose a breathy sigh, feeling another rising headache inching up his skull. "Satiana, explain in more detail," Jeralt started and then paused, noticing that Satiana's shudders grew stronger. "Please," he added awkwardly.

"I-I don't mean you look dead, sir Renard," Satiana sputtered, shaking her head vigorously. "If you took offense to my careless remarks, then I apologize. It's just…one of my companions had green eyes that looked like yours. Like, not the mossy green but kind of emerald-like," Satiana continued, mouth spitting verbal diarrhea with her mind running on auto-pilot. "She's dead. Got snapped in half like a twig by this, uh, giant black beast. Huge. And seeing you just reminded me of her corpse." She paused to take a deep breath. "So I feel like vomiting," she ended lamely.

Her story had no sense of clarity, and the words came tumbling out of her lips in an unorganized fashion. She had no idea why she was so nervous, but the memories of yesterday's battle kept trying to return no matter how hard she pushed them away. A light tap on the shoulder made her twitch. Satiana spun her head around to see Byleth holding a small bucket. She stared blankly at the object in Byleth's hands.

"Just as a precaution." Byleth handed her the bucket.

Satiana grabbed it, muttering a quiet 'thanks' as she hugged the bucket tightly around her. Her breathing was uneven as she sighed. She silently drummed her fingernails on the container, hoping the rhythmic noise would calm down her rapidly beating heart.

Renard groaned, swiping his hand through his bangs in exasperation. "Jeralt, you sure she didn't hit her head as well?" Renard made a silly gesture with his fingers, tracing circles in the air next to his head. "Maybe we should call someone to check her head."

Jeralt rolled his eyes. "She isn't crazy, Renard. She's just…." He trailed off, his eyes landing on her fidgeting form. His lips contorted into a frown. "She's just hyper-sensitive right now. You know how it is."

"Uh, no, I don't," Renard snapped back immediately on reflex.

Jeralt shot a glare his way, and Renard backed off, holding his hands out in a surrendering motion.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. It's my fault as always, right?" Renard sighed. He placed his hands on his hips and sauntered towards Satiana, pushing Jeralt out of the way.

"Alright, kid. Take a good look at me," Renard barked out an order.

Satiana cautiously lifted her gaze up. She blinked rapidly, trying to chase the remnants of her nightmares away from her haunted vision. There was no fire, no blood, and no war. There was only a man — a living one — standing in front of her with hands placed on his hips. A loud gulp reverberated through the room. "O-Okay. I think I'm feeling better now. Sort of," she spoke in choppy sentences.

"Good," Renard snorted. "Now, do I look dead to you?" He asked before he spread his arms wide in a show of brilliance. "This here, a corpse? If you still think so, maybe you need a new pair of eyes."

"No, you're very much alive. I can see that now," Satiana started before she suddenly paused, biting her lip in thought.

Now that she was in a much calmer state of mind, she had the opportunity to look over the newcomer. His handsome face was dolled in a proud smirk as he stared down at her. Although he was at least a head shorter and much leaner than Jeralt, he carried himself with such confidence around Jeralt; they were arguing loudly, but Renard boasted the larger voicebox. Satiana wasn't paying attention to the details of their argument, but she could tell by the bitterness laced in his tone that he didn't want to keep her around.

The two were close enough to yell at each other without worrying about the setbacks, but from a stranger's point of view, Renard seemed to be genuinely pissed. Although he often talked in a joking manner, throwing a few sarcastic remarks here and there, the light never reached his eyes. He was, in fact, quite serious with all of his retorts. Which meant…

He's not like Jeralt. He truly doesn't want me here.

Why did she ever mistake him for her dead comrade? Now that she had the time to scrutinize him, it was clear that he had nothing in common with her friend. His mossy green eyes were hollow, unlike the bright, emerald orbs that girl possessed. In fact, they looked…

A shudder suddenly moved down her spine. Red alarm bells were ringing in her head as his cold gaze suddenly turned almost viper-like to her.

She should've noticed it at first glance. Although she was still tired from her battles yesterday, her nerves were still sensitive. Yet she failed to realize such an obvious fact.

How could I have missed it? The way he conducts himself is just like us when we are out on missions…!

His entire demeanor now screamed 'fake' to Satiana, and she narrowed her eyes icily, staring straight into his soul with her dark blue orbs. "Actually, I take that back. You're not dead, but you might as well be."

He can't be a mercenary. Not with eyes that dark, dull, and drained.

"Who the hell are you?" She found herself spatting with more venom than she intended, but it was too late for regrets.

The smirk was wiped off Renard's face. He looked absolutely taken aback. He wasn't used to young children snapping at him — especially interrogating him, of all people. Not to mention the way Satiana was glaring holes at him. It was like a switch had been flicked, and the young, traumatized girl went poof. The air cracked with Satiana's ire, the mesmerizing menace almost a tangible entity coiling around them. Her temper suddenly flared, snapping him out of his trance.

The smirk returned to his face, but it was pure shark this time. "Hm? What do you mean?" He was the picture-perfect image of innocence with his pretty smile. But Satiana was having none of his bullshit.

She glowered, pointing an accusing finger at his face. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. You can't be a mercenary. Not with that…that…." She trailed off, taking a brief glance towards Jeralt's direction.

His eyes trailed after her gaze, watching Jeralt standing next to him with a bewildered expression on his face. Then, it clicked.

Ah. She thinks he doesn't know.

"That? Go on," he kindly goaded her, his demeanor turning a whole 180 from the time he was scowling in front of her.

She shot him a dirty look as she fumed in silence. Satiana probably had no problem imagining her fists slogging into his infuriatingly self-satisfied face; her blazing eyes completely betrayed her thoughts. He smiled again in that smug, knowing way of his before he jerked his head towards the door. "Hey, buddy? Mind leaving me alone with this kid for a moment?"

Jeralt stared at him incredulously. "What? Why?"

Renard just shrugged. "Well, if I'm going to take care of her, I need to get to know her, right? You know, the so-called ice breaker moment."

Jeralt gave him a warning look. "Renard, I'm telling you…."

"Yeah, yeah. I won't hurt your new kid." He waved Jeralt off, who quietly slid out of the room with Byleth trailing after him.

As soon as the door creaked shut, he focused his full attention on the kid in front of him. Now that he had a good look at her, he could see that there was an eerie resemblance. A part of him felt like he was looking at his younger self, but she was much more emotional than he ever was. She easily wore her heart on her sleeves, despite how crafty she may think she was.

Well now, Jeralt. This might be worth my time, after all.

"You know what, kid? I changed my mind."

Satiana perked up, her glare dissipating, but the suspicion was still lurking there. "About what?"

He leaned down to meet her at eye level and grinned. "Three months. That's all I'm giving you."

"Uh, what?" Satiana blinked in confusion, dumbfounded at his change in demeanor.

"As I said, three months. That's all I need…" he trailed off, his grin widening with amusement. "To turn you into a first-rate assassin, my friend."

Chapter Text

[Black Fog]

Into the Fire

“I thought I joined a mercenary group.”

“You did.”

“I wanted to change my ways. That’s why I took Jeralt’s offer. So why the hell are you trying to make me an assassin again?”

Renard just started whistling a cheery tune as he casually stretched his arms behind his back. 

Satiana felt her eyes twitching uncontrollably; the lax tone of Renard’s voice only aggravated her further. Talking to Renard was like trying to catch a slippery eel with one’s bare hands. He always slithered away from the topic at hand, evading pointed questions, steering the conversation towards safer grounds for himself only. 

Satiana slumped in her chair, resigning herself to his verbal gymnastics. “Okay, whatever. So who are you, really?” 

Renard simply beamed brightly at her. “Hm? But you already know, don’t you?” He tilted his head slightly, blinking innocently. 

Oh, this son of a—

Satiana groaned as she rubbed her face into her hands, wallowing in annoyance. “So you don’t want to tell me anything,” Satiana concluded in resignation. Peeking through the room between her fingers, she glared at him. “Then I won’t tell you anything about myself either. You fine with that?” She stubbornly tried to salvage her remaining dignity in front of the man.

Renard laughed at her fruitless attempts. “Sure, I don’t really care either way. All I know is Jeralt left you to me, so I gotta at least teach you something useful.”

Reclining back into the chair, Satiana huffed. “But you don’t really want me here.” 

“You’re right. I didn’t,” Renard confessed. He headed to the opposite seat from Satiana and crossed his legs fluidly, pressing his hands together on his lap. “Jeralt doesn’t like trouble, and you seemed like the harbinger of chaos. But now…” His eyes sharpened, sending shivers down her spine. “You’ve piqued my interest.” 

Satiana crossed her arms over her chest, staring defiantly at him with her nose pointed up in the air. “I don’t believe you,” she started, narrowing her eyes at him. “If it’s you, I wouldn’t put it past you to kill me in my sleep.” 

Renard paused as he rubbed his thumb on his chin in a thoughtful manner. “Hm, that’s actually a brilliant idea. Mind if I put that on your training schedule?” 

If only he weren’t Jeralt’s friend, Satiana would’ve stood up and slammed her elbows into his goddamn face, but she had a feeling things wouldn’t work out in her favor if she did. She heaved a sigh, shaking her head in exasperation. “Whatever. Just at least tell me why you’re so inclined to teach me now.” 

Renard went silent, musing in deep thought. “Well, at first, I was afraid you were going to bring us right to the authorities. And well…” Renard paused, a cryptic look on his face. “Let’s just say I don’t mix in well with them either.” 

“Ah yes, I can totally imagine that,” Satiana deadpanned, sarcasm dripping from her voice as she rolled her eyes. 

Renard ignored her and continued with his explanation. “And now that I know what you really are, I’m even less worried something bad will happen to that big oaf.” 

At this peculiar remark, Satiana perked up. “You’re saying me being an assassin actually made you relieved?” 

“Of course it did,” Renard replied instantly, cocking his head to the side as he smiled brightly at her. “Because no assassin can ever get past me. You won’t be able to touch even a strand on his hair before I detach your arms from your body.”

He spoke with such certainty as if he were talking about how the sky was blue and how flowers grew in the spring, like it was the absolute truth. The underlying threat in his words didn’t go unnoticed by Satiana.

He’s telling me he’ll kill me if I go against Jeralt.

Satiana winced. “Right, I think we’ve established how…protective you are of Jeralt already. I promise you I won’t hurt him. He saved my life. I always pay back my debts in full,” Satiana stated with confidence. 

Renard hummed in satisfaction. “Sure. I’ll take your word for now.”

A brief moment of silence passed through them as the conversation came to an abrupt stop. 

The longer she spoke with him, the more she felt like he was a giant fog of mystery. At times, Renard indeed looked like an innocent man — a jolly, good old friend with a bland sense of humor — one you could find in any neighborhood or village. But that was only how he wanted to appear. He was mixing in truth with lies; whenever he sounded like he was joking, he was, in fact, serious and vice versa. There was always darkness lurking underneath his docile appearance, and once in a blue moon, it’d slip out from his facade like just now. 

As annoying as it was to read between the lines each time he spoke to see if he was serious or not, that was what Satiana considered normalcy in the world she lived in. People like Renard made her stay on her toes, but they were much easier for her to read than honest fools like Jeralt. Despite their bantering, Satiana slowly found herself relaxing into the conversation.

Because assassins like him don’t kill unless you give them a reason to.

Satiana coughed loudly, clearing her throat once. “So, why the assassin training?” She asked again, going back to the original topic. 

“Because that’s all I know how to teach you.”

“But I don’t want to be an assassin anymore.”

“Then you don’t have to.”

“What? But you just said—”

“I said I was going to teach you how to be a first-rate assassin. It’s up to you whether you choose to be one or not.”

Satiana’s nose crinkled in confusion. “I don’t get it.”

Renard rolled his eyes. “Listen here, kid,” he started as he leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table in a comfortable manner. “What do you think is the difference between a mercenary and an assassin?” 

Satiana went quiet, the cogs spinning in her head as she tried to come up with a satisfactory answer. She rested her head lightly in the palm of her hands, tilting her head to the side. Her face scrunched up in deep thought, brows creasing, lips shifting. Then, after a few minutes of awkward silence, she finally came up with an answer. “Their purpose…?” She eventually muttered out loud. 

Renard dramatically clapped his hands once and then twice. “Wow, great. I have a genius student,” he drawled in an overly exaggerated manner, much to Satiana’s chagrin. “That only took like, what, five whole minutes?” 

She scowled, puffing her chest outwards. “I’m not an idiot, sir Renard,” she chewed through her words in annoyance. “Also, that wasn’t even a minute!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Also, would you drop it with the sir thing?” Renard requested as he visibly shuddered, rubbing his hands along the goosebumps on his arms. “It gives me the creeps. Just call me by my name,” he grimaced. 

In response, Satiana replied in a sweet voice. “Sure, teach. What else can this lovely student of yours do for you?” She squeaked out in a high-pitched tone, battering her eyelids rapidly in a show of innocence. 

It was obvious she was purposely trying to tick Renard off. If he was in a tavern and a lady of this type strolled over towards him, he’d flip her the finger and tell her to fuck off, but this was Jeralt’s new precious child, so he reigned in the murderous intent inside of him. 

“Oh shut it, you cheeky brat,” Renard snapped. “Just give me another answer to the same question.” 

“The difference between a mercenary and an assassin?” Satiana raised her eyebrows. “What, like how they fight?”

“Tell me the difference,” Renard ordered. 

Satiana frowned. “There’s not much for me to say. Assassins go for that one-shot kill while mercenaries, I don’t know, just fight normally?” 

Renard scoffed. “I give you zero marks for that answer. You have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Well, I’m sorry I’m such a bad student.” Satiana could barely contain the venomous snap from running loose as she seethed quietly in anger. “Then why don’t you enlighten me, teach?” She challenged him. 

Renard held a finger in front of her face. “First, let me tell you what was wrong with your answer. You said assassins try to aim for a quick kill. You’re not wrong, but you’re also not correct either. It doesn’t matter whether you’re an assassin or not. There are times you go for a short battle.”

Satiana perked up, Renard’s words earning her interest. She leaned in closer towards him. “Like when your opponent is of much larger build than yours.” Her eyes twinkled in realization, catching on to Renard’s train of thought. 

He nodded. “You don’t want a prolonged battle against someone who is physically more fit than you are, so you use your speed to overpower them. Hit them fast before they realize what’s going on.” He paused, then cleared his throat. “Anyways, back to the original question. The point is, it doesn’t matter whether you’re an assassin or a mercenary. Everyone looks for weaknesses in their opponents. The real difference lies in the way they do that.”

Satiana was now listening intently, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “What do you mean?” She swung her legs around underneath the table, suddenly feeling giddy and excited.

Renard caught on to her change in demeanor and smirked. “When you’re an assassin, you don’t need to win the battle. You just need to kill the opponent.”

Satiana let his words sink in. She tapped her fingers against the wooden table as she contemplated. “I think I sort of understand what you mean,” she started while chewing on her lips in deep thought. “I’ve killed a lot of soldiers much taller than I am. Even a few low-ranked nobles.” She placed her index finger under her chin and made a slicing motion in the air. “One move. That was all it took. If it were under normal circumstances, I would have lost.” 

“Exactly. You know what you’re talking about now,” Renard complimented, a lop-sided grin hanging on his lips. “The only reason you won was because you planned it. You hid in the shadows and successfully caught them off-guard. You didn’t need to win.” 

“But if I were a mercenary, I wouldn’t do that,” Satiana continued with a small smile on her face. “Because I would just face them straight on and overpower them with my sheer strength.”

“I’m not saying all mercenaries would do that, but most of them would.” Renard suddenly stood up from his seat and headed towards the kitchen counter. He started fiddling with the cups, filling them with water. “Mercenaries at heart are thirsty bastards for victory. They fight because they love fighting. Unfortunately, we assassins don’t usually have a choice in that matter.” He returned to the table a brief moment later with two cups. He slid one across the table towards Satiana. 

Satiana caught it fluidly, staring down at the tea leaves floating in the cup. She snorted in amusement. “Of course, there would be tea leaves still in the cup. How graceful of you,” she teased. 

“Hush now,” Renard grumbled as he took a sip. “I don’t do this often, okay? Back in the old days, someone would do it for me—” He suddenly broke into a coughing fit, choking on his tea as he realized his damning mistake. 

Satiana stared at him with a knowing look in her eyes. 

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath. While scratching his head vigorously, he grumbled out. “Me and my loudmouth.” 

“You used to be a noble?” Her eyes softened as he looked at him with pity whirling in her bright, blue orbs. 

Renard groaned as he slumped back into his chair, sliding down the seat in resignation. “Yeah. A heck of a long time ago. I’m just a thrown-away bastard son, though.”

“How’d you end up as an assassin?” Satiana asked as she took a sip from her cup. 

“When I killed my father and fled the mansion,” he dropped a bombshell with such ease as if he were talking about the weather. 

For some reason, Satiana wasn’t surprised at all. A part of her expected something along those lines. His story wasn’t special; there were probably hundreds of noble children in the same position as him out there in the world. She may have spent her whole life caged in a small cell, but there was enough gossip flying around for her to know that a few of the children in the training center were abandoned nobles. Some of them were even sent there by their parents. 

“You don’t look surprised at all,” Renard noted, a cynical smile plastering itself on his face. His eyes flickered with recognition as they met her sullen ones. 

She shot him a tired look. “The world’s a shitty place, after all.”

Renard genuinely laughed, the light returning to his eyes for a sliver of a second. 

“Hah. A shitty place indeed.” 

“You think we should go back and check on them?” 

Byleth was strolling casually down the path leading to the forest with Jeralt by her side. It had been about an hour since they left Satiana alone with Renard in their lodging. Byleth glanced up at the sky, absentmindedly watching the royal purple colors blending in with the luscious pink colors emanating around some deeper-colored clouds. Half of the fiery red orb of light had sunken over the horizon, and the crowd of townsfolk back in the village slowly dispersed back into their humble abodes. 

“Nah, it should be fine,” Jeralt sighed, rubbing the back of his head. “Renard may be overly cautious sometimes, but he doesn’t pick fights for no reason.”

“Knowing how both of them are, I doubt any of them would initiate a fight,” Byleth agreed. “They’re both too cautious for their own good.”

“And you’re too reckless at times,” Jeralt laughed, lightly patting his child on the head. “Perhaps you should learn a few things from them too.” 

There it is again—that sinking feeling.

Byleth looked blankly at Jeralt’s shimmering gold orbs. “Father, what is it that you really want to tell me?” Her voice was soft and quiet. 

He stopped mid-step. Byleth halted to a stop, turning around to meet his pointed gaze. 

“Father…?”

The wistful look in Jeralt’s eyes made Byleth feel needlessly guilty for a reason she could not comprehend. While the evening was silent and calm, a slightly tensed air permeated the two of them. 

Jeralt looked visibly troubled. His hand crept up to the back of his neck, squeezing the muscle, a nervous habit he always had. His skin felt damp, remnants of sweat sticking onto his palms. He sighed heavily before turning his attention back to his waiting daughter. 

“You know, I’ve always wanted to ask you,” Jeralt started slowly, eyes flickering off into the distance. “What is it that you want to do with your life?”

Byleth blinked. That was not the question she expected from him. 

“What do you mean?” She asked for clarification.

“Well, I’ve always thought about it, but…” Jeralt trailed off. He clenched his fists, steeling his resolve. “You didn’t choose to become a mercenary. I made you live this life.”

Ah, so that’s what he was worried about. 

“Father, I don’t mind living this kind of life,” her eyes softened as she spoke. “I enjoy fighting. And it’s not a bad feeling to help people while I’m at it.”

“I know that. I can see that from the way you fight. You know some people call you the Ashen Demon?” He pointed out. 

Byleth shrugged. “I don’t really listen to gossip.”

Jeralt snorted. “That’s just like you.” 

The cool air blew around their profiles, making Jeralt shudder slightly. The sun disappeared behind the edges of the forest, turning the sky pitch black. The moonlight cast a silver glow around Byleth’s shimmering blue hair — a keepsake of her mother. Jeralt felt a wave of nostalgia hit him, and he suddenly laughed bitterly. 

“Ashen Demon, huh?” An image of Sitri’s angelic and beautiful smile entered his head, and Jeralt couldn’t help but feel his heart sinking. It was much easier to make Sitri smile, unlike his child. 

Byleth quietly studied her father’s flitting expressions, recognizing the sorrow, hurt, and warmth in them. She may not be able to understand the different emotions, but she was able to indicate them. Byleth never liked interacting with people, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t intrigued by them. She just simply stood quietly in the background, observing them all.

Byleth didn’t know why but her father was feeling guilty about something. The empty hole where her heart should’ve been ached, and Byleth felt her lips twitching, trying to frown. 

“Father, what do you want me to do?” Byleth found herself breaking the silence. 

Jeralt’s forlorn gaze fluttered towards his daughter. “Hm?” He made a noise of recognition. “I just want you to find for yourself what you want to do.”

“Right now, I just want to stay by your side. Is that not enough?” 

Jeralt’s eyes widened in pure shock. He felt his hands tremble as Byleth’s confession sank deeply inside of him. It wavered his lonely soul — one that had lived and seen enough of the world to know it was a desolate place if one had nothing to care for. 

It was the first time his daughter ever appreciated his existence in such a straightforward manner. Perhaps Satiana was rubbing off her in some way. 

“Hah, you cheeky brat,” he snorted, feigning indifference, but the way his voice slightly quavered didn’t go unnoticed by Byleth’s piercing stare. 

Byleth had a shadow of a smile on her face. She didn’t have a name for the weird, numbing feeling that was tickling her insides, but after watching the way Jeralt conversed with Satiana, perhaps this was what some called ‘endearment.’ 

Byleth still couldn’t exactly pinpoint what her father was worried about, but she hoped she was able to communicate even the slightest bit of her intentions to him — that she followed her father’s step to be a mercenary because she trusted him. 

“Father, we should head back now. It’s getting dark,” Byleth suddenly broke the conversation.

Jeralt smiled at her. “You’re right. We can’t leave those two bickering for too long.” He could vividly imagine Satiana and Renard glaring and throwing insults at each other, and he felt himself holding in a laugh. 

“We should stop by at the tavern for extra food. We have an extra mouth to feed now, after all,” Jeralt brought up. 

Byleth nodded in agreement, turning on her heels heading back towards the village.

She suddenly stiffened, her eyes narrowing at the small beacon of light flickering from the village’s direction. 

“Father? Is that…?” 

Jeralt raised an eyebrow, following Byleth’s line of sight towards the village. A few specks of visible light now scattered across the buildings like fireflies. His gaze hardened immediately, sensing that something was wrong.

“Are those lights from torches? But no one uses them in the village,” Jeralt muttered with a frown. 

“Yes, so those torches must be from outsiders then,” Byleth stated the obvious. 

The wind picked up around their profiles, permeating the air with tension and hostility. 

Jeralt cursed under his breath. “Bandits or thieves, huh? Let’s hurry back.” 

Byleth didn’t need to wait for his orders. She was already sprinting across the plains. 

Satiana sniffed, an acrid odor entering through her nostrils. Her nose screwed up, lips thinning into a grimace. “Is it just me, or do I smell something funny in the air?” She waved her hands in front of her nose, chasing away the nasty smell. 

Renard took a quick whiff, expression hardening as he suddenly bolted up from the chair. The wooden object fell to the ground with a loud crash, scattering splinters across the floor. 

Satiana winced as she nervously stood up after him. “W-What’s wrong?”

“What does this smell like to you?” He spoke rapidly in a monotone voice.

The serious gleam in his eyes put Satiana on full alert, her senses heightening. She took a quick sniff, recognizing the foul scent immediately. “Smoke. Burning wood,” she barked out. 

There was no time for more questions. On pure instinct, she sensed danger and leaped away from the dining table, scrambling towards the wall behind her. She snapped her head to the front door an instant before it crashed into the ground and a black-clad intruder dived into the living room. 

Renard slid himself behind the wall nearest to the entrance, a sword already in his hands. Unluckily for Satiana, she was facing the door, and the intruder immediately spotted her. 

“Hey, kid! Put your hands up in the air!” The thief shouted, pointing a dagger in her direction. 

She fixed her gaze momentarily onto her two swords lying on the kitchen counter to the left of Renard. “O-Okay!” She pretended to be unhinged, panic making its way onto her paling face. “J-Just don’t come close to me!” Satiana screamed as she leaned harder against the wall behind her, hunching her back in a show of anxiety. 

He thinks I’m just a normal kid. Keep it that way.

From the corner of her wavering gaze, she saw movements from Renard as he reached over to grab her two swords. 

“Good, now dish out all the valuables you have. Make it quick!” The thief snapped at her. 

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Just give me a moment.” She pretended to search the drawers behind her. Making a loud racket, she scratched and banged her hand against the wood. “Damn, where did I put those jewels?” She spoke loudly on purpose, gaining the attention of the thief. 

“J-Jewels? Someone has jewels in this scrawny village?!” The thief exclaimed in disbelief, taking an excited step towards her. 

That was his fatal mistake because the moment he walked past the wall Renard was hiding behind, the hilt of a sword came flying right into his face. The thief’s body crashed onto the wooden floor with a loud thud. 

Renard threw Satiana’s swords at her, and she grabbed them fluidly. The thief groaned in pain; his head bled as a concussion caused his vision to sway. 

“Sorry, pal, but we don’t have time to deal with the likes of you…!” Renard slashed his sword against the thief’s back, causing his body to jerk against the ground. 

The thief went silent, his body motionless.

“…Did you kill him?” Satiana quietly asked as she took a few steps towards the bandit lying in front of her. 

Renard snorted. “Why? Feeling guilty? He would’ve stabbed you if you didn’t fight back.”

Satiana shook her head. “No, I know that. Survival of the fittest. That’s how the world has always been.” 

But it doesn’t mean such violence should be regarded as normalcy…

“It’s nothing. We should head out and check on the other villagers,” Satiana stoically replied, pushing the distracting emotions down to the deepest end of her heart. 

There’s no time to waste. I can’t let another massacre happen again. 

Renard proudly smirked at her. “Good. I thought you’d still be traumatized from the war. Seems like I was worried for nothing.”

“To be honest, I’m still shaking,” Satiana confessed, a wry smile on her face. “I thought I was used to this by now, but it’s different when you’re actually…actively thinking instead of repeating the motions like a mindless puppet.”

She gripped the sword in her hand tighter. “It’s harder to kill when you choose to do it yourself.”

Renard fixed his gaze on Satiana’s frozen form. He sighed, then shifted towards her, patting her shoulder lightly. 

“Get used to it,” Renard softly spoke, his cold eyes showing warmth for a brief second. “Feel the weight of your decision. How heavy a human’s life is. That’s what we live through every day as fighters who choose to hold a blade to protect.” 

Not kill, but protect, huh?

There was no denying that murder was murder at the end of the day. No matter how one tried to glorify it, killing was killing. But this world didn’t allow them the choice of not fighting back. They either fight, shedding blood with their own hands…

Or run away, watching others being cut down. 

Either way, there would always be a pile of corpses trailing behind them. 

Then I might as well choose the path that leads to the least amount of deaths. 

“I…want to protect people with my own hands,” Satiana found herself declaring with determination. She stared directly into Renard’s eyes. “I will kill, not because I was ordered to, but to protect more lives than I’ve ever harmed with my careless actions.” 

Renard nodded. “Good. Then go out there and save some lives, kid.”

Satiana felt a rush of adrenaline fueling her energy, and she sprinted out the open doorway, ignoring the sharp pain in her legs, leaving Renard behind to take care of the remaining mess inside the house.

The moment she stepped out into the open air, she froze. Heart in her mouth, ice in her veins, she stared horror-stricken at the scene in front of her blazing eyes. 

“What…the hell is this?” 

Most of the village was on fire, the flames rapidly chasing after the tenants scrambling away from their shelter. Thieves and bandits, dressed from head to toe in black capes and cloaks, were running rampant, threatening and cutting down those that disobeyed their orders, jetting blood all over the ground. They didn’t spare the children. Everyone was being slaughtered. The screams of terror reverberated down the streets as children started wailing, screeching for help. 

“M-Miss,” a weak cry for help turned Satiana’s attention to the child crawling underneath her feet. Tears stained his bruised face, blood dripping down the open wound on his cheeks. “H-Help me!” He sobbed. 

Satiana felt her heart sinking in despair as she knelt down to the kid. She quickly patted his head once, holding back the stinging sensation in her eyes as she lifted the kid into her embrace. “Don’t worry,” she whispered, voice trembling from an emotional concoction of unrestrained anger and sorrow. She soothed his back with her hands as she ran back to Jeralt’s lodging, carrying him in her hands. “You’ll be safe…!”

She sprinted past the open doorway. “Renard? You still here?!” She yelled. 

“Here!” Renard’s voice came from behind the wall. 

She walked over towards him, stepping over the corpse along the way. Renard’s eyes landed on the shivering kid in her arms. He cursed loudly. 

“What the hell is happening out there?!”

“The village is on fire. The thieves are killing everyone,” Satiana quickly explained as she placed the child onto one of the empty chairs. “Hey, kid. I want you to stay here, okay? You’ll be safe upstairs. Can you make it up there yourself?” She gripped the kid tightly by the shoulders, staring directly into his eyes. 

The child absentmindedly nodded at her, his eyes still watery. “O-Okay. I’ll go upstairs.”

“Don’t forget to close the door, alright?” 

The child slowly crawled upstairs, hiding himself in one of the vacant rooms. Satiana turned her attention back towards Renard, her jaws clenching with fury. “I’m going to kill them all,” she snarled, taking a step towards the exit when Renard’s hands gripped her shoulders, yanking her back. 

“I get how you’re feeling but calm down first!” Renard raised his voice over the chaos. “Why are the thieves burning the houses down? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Satiana was breathing heavily, the adrenaline clouding her thoughts. “I don’t care if it doesn’t make sense. They’re killing people out there as we speak, Renard!” She glared into his eyes. 

He stared unflinchingly back at her. The darkness roiling in his mossy, green eyes made her jaw shut with an audible click. His eyes were foggy, but the sharp gleam in them deadly, ensnaring her in an air of barely leashed menace. 

“Listen to me,” his stern voice commanded, and she awkwardly nodded in response. “Here’s your first lesson as my student. You’re a failure as an assassin if you can’t make level-headed decisions.”

“R-Right,” she stammered out, wincing under his smoldering gaze. 

“Now think. They’re burning the village down. Why? If they wanted to steal, they wouldn’t need to resort to such theatrics,” Renard started musing. 

“Fire tactics are often used to make your opponents move in a specific manner,” Satiana added quickly, feeling her head slowly cool down. 

“So they’re trying to chase people out of their homes,” Renard concluded. “But what for?” He contemplated, rubbing his chin in deep thought. 

“They’re searching for something,” Satiana muttered. “Or they just want to wipe this village out of existence…” she trailed off. 

At first, she didn’t understand what had happened. It was like a lightning bolt struck her, sending shudders down her spine. The transition wasn’t seamless, jarring even, but her thoughts ran clearer when she wasn’t preoccupied with the rage boiling inside of her. The adrenaline rush came to an abrupt stop, and she felt the heat inside of her turning cold. 

She froze, expression icy and pale with horror. Something clicked inside of her, and before she knew it, she gasped out loud, clasping her hands over her mouth at the sudden realization. 

Renard, noticing her change in demeanor, stared at her with worry in his eyes. “Hey, what’s wrong?” 

When the emotional storm raging inside of her came to an end, she found herself noticing little things that had been nagging at her subconscious. Like how the old man in the market mentioned that bandits had been lurking in the forests for months. Or how the thieves were actively harming people, especially the children . The fire tactic she often used back in her days in the facility was to rat out any survivors. 

Black cloaks were covering some of the thieves.

“It’s them ,” she whispered in a near-silent voice, throat clogging up in fear. 

“What?” Renard stared at her confusedly. 

She turned towards him, eyes widened. “They’re not normal bandits. They’re being used .” 

“Used? By who?” Renard narrowed his eyes, suspicion crawling underneath the darkening orbs.

“Don’t you understand?” Satiana slowly shook her head. “This place is only a few miles away from the war. The war that involved regicide , Renard.” 

Renard’s eyes mirrored Satiana’s, bulging wide in understanding. “ Shit .”

Satiana laughed bitterly, tears welling up in her eyes. “It’s my fault. They’re here for survivors like me .”

Chapter Text

[Black Shadows]

What It Means to Survive

“What the hell is going on here?” Jeralt muttered under his breath. 

He sidestepped to the left, evading a well-directed fireball. It whizzed past his ear, landing on the wall behind him with a sizzle, painting the stones charcoal-black. Before the attacker could cast another spell, he sprinted forward, slicing the neck of the attacker, spraying blood against his armor as the body fell to the ground. The sound of twigs snapping alerted him, and he swerved around, kicking aside the bandit creeping up behind him, earning a loud groan from the enemy as they crashed into a pile of barrels on the side of the street. 

“These aren’t normal bandits.” Byleth casually stabbed her sword into the head of the floundering thief lying on the barrels, silencing him. She strolled towards Jeralt, flickering the blood of her sword with a clean swipe in the air. “They know how to use magic.” 

“No, there are some normal thieves as well,” Jeralt scowled. He peered over his shoulder, shooting a glare towards the thief who was sneaking over behind Byleth. The thief squeaked, spinning around on his heels, scrambling away as fast as his legs could carry him. “The ones wearing black cloaks are different. You can take mercy on the petty ones but kill the cloaked ones. I have a bad feeling about them,” he ordered Byleth, who nodded in response. 

Multiple pairs of boots thudded closer from the alleyway, heightening Jeralt and Byleth’s sense of danger. They took off, running in the opposite direction as a group of cloaked mages crowded out of the alley. “Kill them all!” One of the mages yelled, pointing an arm towards their direction. 

The other mages lined up, holding their palms in front of them. Power built up in their hands, sending sparks flying across the pavement. Jeralt and Byleth dodged swiftly, leaping out of the thoron’s path. The thunderbolt blasted onto the ground where they previously stood, creating a large crater. 

Jeralt shot a quick look in Byleth’s direction. She met his gaze and nodded curtly in understanding. Byleth gripped her sword tightly, shifting her weight onto the soles of her feet. She darted forward, straight into the herd of mages. The mages gaped in surprise, not expecting in a million years that someone would be reckless enough to run directly into their waiting arms. They prepared another spell, gathering the light in their palms—

A quick sliver of light passed through their line of sight, and their leader’s head soared through the sky, spraying blood over their cloaked forms. The thoron in the leader’s hand misfired, sending the group of mages scattering across the ground as they ducked in surprise. 

Another blur of light and their vision dyed red, the blade too fast for them to see with their eyes. Screams of terror blended into the night as the enemies were slain one by one with no mercy. 

Three mages backed towards the alley in a hurry. “D-Demon!” One of the mages screamed as the end of Jeralt’s spear pierced through his beating heart, skewing through the two comrades behind him in one hefty blow. They collapsed to the ground into a bloody mess before they could even comprehend the pincer attack. 

“Good job catching their attention,” Jeralt complimented. 

Byleth didn’t answer. This was routine for them, after all. 

The last remaining mage tried to sneak up behind them. Byleth and Jeralt turned to glare murderously at him. The mage flinched, backing away from them. Like a predator hunting its prey, Byleth shifted the edge of her sword up, pointing it at the mage. The mage shrieked and spun around on his heels, running off into the distance.

An arrow zipped through the air, landing on the mage’s head, busting his skull open. 

Jeralt spun his head towards the direction the arrow came flying from. His eyes widened in recognition as a young girl, and her companion came sprinting towards him. 

“Hey, Jeralt!” Renard yelled, catching Jeralt’s attention. “We’ve got bad news.”

They came to a halt in front of him. Satiana had her hands on her knees as she bent down, panting for air. The iron bow Byleth bought for her was attached to her back. Both of the swords in her hands were stained with blood. 

“You guys fought through a group of them too?” Jeralt asked. 

Satiana raised her head up and nodded. “Yes, but that’s not what’s important.” She paused, taking a moment to straighten her back. “Jeralt, I think they’re here for me.” 

“What?!” Jeralt yelled in bewilderment. “Why?” 

“They want to make sure there are no survivors,” Satiana quickly explained. “We children are the only ones who know that someone was controlling the assassination plot behind the shadows. The Duscur folks were incited to work for them, so they’ll stay loyal to their leader’s cause. But we’re different. We’re tools meant to be discarded. That means we hold no loyalty towards them.”

Jeralt cursed under his breath. “So they want to wipe out the village closest to the battlefield to prevent any leakage, huh?” 

Satiana frowned, her gaze lowering to the ground below her. She clenched her fists, biting her lips so tightly a trail of blood trickled down from her chapped lips. “This is all my fault. Because I came here, all the townsfolk are being killed,” her voice trembled. 

The guilt-ridden girl was back, and Jeralt immediately grabbed her shoulders tightly, forcing her to look at him. 

“No, you’re wrong,” Jeralt tried to appease her self-hatred. “Even if you didn’t come here, I’m sure they would still target this village. If my guess is correct, they’ll target every village close to the warzone.” 

Satiana nodded stiffly. Although he made logical sense, it wasn’t easy for her to shed away her fears. For once, she had people she didn’t want to lose. The thought of them being in danger because of her made Satiana feel sick to her stomach. 

Renard grimaced at Jeralt’s words. “They’re being overly cautious. Wiping out all the nearby villages just because they want to ensure all survivors are silenced? Geez, talk about overkill.” He shook his head in exasperation.

“That just means they’re that powerful,” Jeralt snarled, his grip on Satiana’s shoulders tightening. “I don’t know which fucking group incited regicide, but if they’re capturing young children from Caldea to use as fighting tools, they’ve got to have high-ranked nobles backing them up.” 

“Forget the politics,” Byleth suddenly interjected. Her calm voice was a godsend in the middle of the chaos, catching their attention immediately. “For now, we kill all the enemies. Then, we move out as soon as possible,” she sternly commanded. 

“Right,” Jeralt mumbled, letting go of Satiana’s shoulder; the trembling in them had stopped. He took a quick glance over her bandaged form and frowned. “You think you can still fight?”

“Definitely,” she replied immediately, eyes blazing with determination. “Even if my legs and arms are shattered, I can fight till the very end.” 

Because that was all she knew how to do.

Jeralt nodded stiffly, taking her words at face value. He turned around to face Byleth and Renard, who were already holding their weapons up into the air, waiting for his command. He took a deep breath of air before he barked out. “We’re separating out into four different directions. Byleth, you take the east. Renard, head south and evacuate any of the remaining survivors. I’ll chase after the remaining enemies in the forest.” Then, he turned towards Satiana. “You head west and get rid of the stragglers. Help clear a path down south to where Renard is.”

As soon as he finished speaking, the four darted off in different directions without a moment of hesitation. 

Luckily for Satiana, the sky was pitch-black today, with no stars to be seen. That meant she could fully utilize the shadows to her advantage. She crept against the walls, leaning against them as she headed west. The flames still roared throughout the village, but most of the residents had either evacuated or lost their lives in the process. 

There was an eerie silence in the village; only the sound of fire crackling could be heard. 

On pure instinct, Satiana sailed backward, leaping away in time as the wall next to her exploded, shooting debris and dust all over her surroundings. Narrowing her eyes, Satiana squinted through the flying dust, locking eyes with her target. Powerful legs propelled her forward over the rocks and boulder. The mage was caught off-guard, not expecting her to survive the point-blank attack. She raised her blades high up into the air, letting gravity take hold as her sword plunged into flesh. 

The mage let loose a blood-curling scream as he stumbled back. Satiana growled, shooting her hand forward to grab the mage’s neck. She squeezed tightly, earning a choke from bloodstained lips. 

“Who ordered you to come here?” she growled impatiently into his ears. 

“Y-You,” the mage stammered. “A c-child…!” His hands clawed at her, begging her to loosen her grip on his neck. 

“Answer me!” She rumbled darkly, pointing her blade at his tear-stained face.

“I… don’t know…” the mage wheezed for air as he spoke. 

“Don’t lie to me!” She found herself screeching, the uncontrollable rage inside of her threatening to break free. “If you want to live, tell me now .”  

The mage suddenly coughed out blood, his face turning a gruel shade of purple and red. He foamed at the mouth, and Satiana let go of the mage immediately. She wiped the froth off her hands, scowling in displeasure. 

“Bastard chose suicide. They gave them poison, huh?” She growled to herself. 

Footsteps thundered towards her direction, alerting Satiana to a new group of pursuers. She backtracked through the open wall, hiding behind it, holding in her breath. Then, peering behind the edge of the wall, she spotted a group of enemies crowding over the mage’s dead body. One of them knelt down, sliding their fingers against the bubbles foaming on their comrade’s mouth.

The thief clicked their tongue once in annoyance. “It’s poison. That means the idiot got interrogated.” They turned back to their followers. “The target is near here! Kill them no matter what it takes!” 

The group dispersed into several different directions, two heading her way. Satiana felt her muscles stiffen as she knelt down, hiding behind a large piece of debris. 

Don’t fail me yet, legs…! 

The moment the thieves showed themselves past the pile of debris, Satiana darted forward, stabbing one of the thieves swiftly, right in the heart. The other thief turned around, stunned in shock. 

“You—” 

Satiana slammed her knees into the corpse plunged in her sword, hurling it towards the thief. The body crashed into the thief, knocking the air out of him. Immediately, Satiana leaped towards him, blades up in the air as she prepared to stab them both. 

Her sword was parried by the thief, who quickly pushed the corpse out of the way. He snarled, pushing back against her blades. Satiana’s arms ached as she suddenly flinched in pain. The thief narrowed his eyes, noticing how she winced. He leaped back, earning a brief moment to adjust his stance as Satiana charged. The thief mustered up his last remaining strength and roared, raising his arms above his head as he prepared to slice down. 

But Satiana was well-prepared. She knew he noticed her wounds and that he was trying to end the battle by overwhelming her with sheer strength. 

Use your speed to overpower them. Hit them fast before they realize what’s going on.

Renard’s instructions echoed in her head, and Satiana smirked. As the blade came crashing down, she ducked and slammed her blade into the thief’s calves. The thief hollered out in pain, losing his balance. The thief’s sword landed a mere inch away from her face. She twisted her grip, launching the sword deeper into the thief’s legs. 

“Y-You brat!” The thief wobbled, raising his arm again to slice her. 

But Satiana was a duel wielder. Using her free arm, she parried the blow, sending the thief’s sword flying across the air.

The match was over, and his face paled in horror. “S-Spare me, please—”

*Squelch* 

His head slowly slid off his shoulder, landing onto the ground with a wet thud. Satiana stared down at the headless corpse with dull eyes. 

“Sorry, but I have no mercy for people like you…” she coldly turned away from the man.

Three of them were heading west. I should follow their trail and kill them off before they manage to tell the higher-ups a survivor made it here.

Her murderous intent flared, reaching new heights. She quietly strode across the alley, hiding away from the moonlight, leaving trails of blood and corpses behind in her wake. 

Clearing out bandits was routine enough for Jeralt at this point in his life. He skillfully weaved his way between the horde of thieves and mages in front of him, cutting them all down without a hint of emotion on his face. He made quick work of them, circling behind a few to cut off their escape routes. 

He stood in the middle of the forest clearing, a pile of bloodied corpses scattered around him. He sighed loudly in exhaustion, flickering the blood off his spear with a quick snap of his wrists. 

The forest suddenly rustled, and Jeralt immediately barrel-rolled out of the open clearing, sliding behind the trunk of a tree. He held his breath, hiding his presence, internally scowling. 

Can’t even take a break, huh?

Silvery rays flooded through the open canopies, shedding light onto the cloaked figures herding through the open field. The one in front was an exceptionally tall figure with a large build. The moonlight shifted onto his features, casting shadows on his expression, sharpening the edge in his glimmering dark orbs. The pale white skin sparkled in the light, catching Jeralt’s undivided attention. 

Such pale white skin. Is he even human?

Another rustle accompanied by a dark figure slithering across the plains made Jeralt hunch his back closer to the tree on reflex. He crouched down lower, avoiding the moonlight. 

“Sir, we have a problem,” the cloaked newcomer spoke. 

The man who appeared to be the leader crossed his arms against his chest. “What happened?” His low baritone voice rumbled in the darkness. 

“More than half of our forces have been depleted. There’s a group of mercenaries here,” the subordinate explained breathlessly. 

“Which group?” 

“It’s Jeralt Eisner’s group.” 

The leader guffawed, a reaction contrary to their damning situation. “The Blade Breaker, huh? They’re one lucky bunch, those villagers.” He lightly clapped his hands dramatically. 

“What should we do, sir? Erase them all?” 

The leader went silent for a brief moment. “No,” his stern voice commanded. “Retreat. We can’t afford to be caught this soon in the grand scheme of things.” 

“B-But what about the rest of our comrades, sir?”

The leader turned around, heading back into the shadows without sparing a glance in the village’s direction. “Leave them to their deaths,” his cruel and heartless words sent hushed whispers down his line of subordinates, but he silenced them with a quick snap of his fingers. “Didn’t you hear me? We retreat.”

The group of cloaked men disappeared deeper into the woods, heading away from the clearing. When the coast was clear, Jeralt stood up, brushing the dirt off his knees with a light pat. He straightened his back, wiping the sweat off his forehead. 

That authoritative manner of speech…just who are they?

*Awoooo*

A wolf’s howl echoed through the forest, making Jeralt curse out loud. 

“Fuck, we don’t need more animals to deal with…” 

He headed back down the path leading towards the village, choosing not to pursue the group of men. Hopefully, Byleth and the others had already finished taking care of the village. Every cell inside of his body was screaming ‘danger,’ and the anxiety intensified the longer he spent in the evil-ridden forest. 

We need to leave as soon as possible. I have a bad feeling about this place…

The rising sun cast a rosy hue across the morning sky. The first rays of sunshine lit up the village, chasing away the shadows that loomed over it, but it failed to wash away the lingering scent of death and corruption. 

Satiana sat on the edge of the streets, staring at the wreckage. What remained of the peaceful village was just a pile of burnt wood, broken rocks, and blackened ash. Not a single house remained intact; they were either destroyed by the magic spells or half-charred by the flames. Corpses were littered across the streets, permeating the air with the smell of rotting flesh and blood. 

There was no doubt that the battle was gruesome. It would probably leave long-lasting scars on all the survivors — perhaps an endless night of fighting against invisible hands, large and inescapable, that clawed and dragged everyone down into the cloying dread and wailing darkness people called nightmares . 

But Satiana knew best the battle or trauma itself wasn’t the worst of it all. The reality that everyone had to face was the biggest evil of them all. The aftermath was always so much more dreadful than the battle itself, waking up to face the countless bodies that lay behind your back.

The kind of suffocating pain that all survivors dealt with till they took their last breath.     

“Hey, kid.” 

Renard appeared from behind her, soot covering most of his handsome features. “You alright?” He asked, though a part of him probably knew the answer already. 

Satiana gave him a half-battered smile. “I’m alive if that’s what you’re asking.” 

Dead inside, though. 

Renard understood the sentiments and chuckled dryly. “That’s all that matters, my friend.” He paused, taking in a deep breath of air. His face scrunched up into a grimace. “This place smells terrible. Why are you sitting here?” 

Satiana shrugged, absentmindedly tugging at the strands of her hair. “Didn’t know where else I was supposed to go.” 

Renard frowned at her answer. He glanced around her surroundings, noticing the particularly gruesome state some of the corpses were in. Most of the bodies were either headless or limbless. Some were sawed entirely in half. Renard made a face at the scene. 

“Shit. You went hard,” he stated matter-of-factly.  

Satiana went quiet. Like a child who knew they did something wrong, she lowered her head guiltily and started drawing circles on the ground with her index finger. “I sort of lost it,” she confessed.  

“I can guess,” Renard replied in a calm voice. 

“My mind went blank.” 

“Mhm.” 

She hugged her knees, closing in on herself. “I’m a monster, Renard,” she whispered softly.  

“If you’re a monster, then so is the rest of the world,” he exhaled heavily. Renard sat down next to her, scooting closer towards her shivering form. He patted her head gently. “Don’t overthink it. You did what you had to.”

One thing Satiana slowly came to learn about Renard was that he was a complete softie inside. He was a bit cold-blooded at times — especially with the death glares and murderous threats. But deep inside, he was a kind-hearted man. Perhaps not as honest or righteous as Jeralt, but he wasn’t a bad person. Dishonest, yes, but certainly not evil. He was just someone who had grown accustomed to the dark side of Fodlan; it turned him into a pessimistic man. 

Satiana suddenly found herself chuckling. “I can’t believe I’m being consoled by someone who threatened to kill me just yesterday.” 

Renard grunted. “Oh, shut up. I wasn’t going to kill you for real. That was just an empty threat.”

She rolled her eyes, nudging Renard in the ribs with her elbow. “You and I both know there was nothing empty about it, Renard.”

“Okay, maybe I sort of meant it, but you’ve proven yourself worthy of my trust,” Renard said as he swatted her arm away. 

They were back to their usual antics, passing banters at each other. Although they were seated in the middle of the bloody aftermath, the black fog of anxiety began to ease as Satiana relaxed into the conversation. 

“Hey, Renard?” She poked him in the shoulder. 

“Hm?” He turned his head in her direction.

“I want you to teach me how to rein in the beast inside of me.”

Renard stared at her, seeing the resolution flaring in her deep, blue orbs. He smiled and patted her once more on the head. “It takes practice, my friend. And a hell lot of patience and self-control.” 

“I don’t care how long it takes. Just help me,” Satiana ordered. 

Renard’s lips contorted into a lopsided grin. “Three months, that’s what I said. And I still mean it.” 

By the time Jeralt made it back to town, the sun was already high above the sky. He weaved his way through the debris, searching for Byleth and the rest of his crew. Heading east, he spotted Byleth standing in the middle of the road. She was fiddling with the sword in her hand, wiping the blood off with a handkerchief she kept in her pockets. He walked up to her and gently patted her on the shoulder. 

“Hey, Byleth. What’s the situation?” He asked. 

She stared at him with dull, blank eyes as usual. “We killed all the assailants. Renard led the villagers down South to a different town near here. Satiana’s probably resting somewhere,” she summarized, voice calm and still, utterly unperturbed by the horrifying scene in front of her. 

Jeralt nodded curtly, appreciating her level-headedness. Although sometimes he wished his daughter would show more of her human side, it did make his job easier if she was always so confident and fluid during missions. “Good. Gather everyone up in the town square or whatever is left of it. We’re heading off as soon as possible.” 

At this command, Byleth arched her brows. “Why the hurry?” 

“You want to sleep here in the middle of this…” Jeralt pointed his finger behind her. “Massacre?” 

“That’s not what I meant.” Byleth shook her head, staring at her father with a knowing look in her eyes. “What’s wrong?” 

“I don’t have a good feeling about this place,” Jeralt frowned. “I chased after the enemies and spotted their leader. They might come back to search for survivors again.”

Byleth hummed in thought. “If that’s true, then we should get out of here before the authorities show up.” 

“You think they’ll come here to this run-down village?” Jeralt questioned. 

She shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t know, but their king was just slain two days ago. I wouldn’t put it past them to send a few knights here to gather intel.”

Jeralt exhaled loudly, a migraine creeping up his skull as he pinched his forehead in deep thought. “Right, I wouldn’t be surprised if they suddenly showed up now—” 

The sound of horses galloping in the distance echoed through the empty village. Byleth’s eyes widened imperceptibly as Jeralt paled. Their gaze met each other’s, and Jeralt swore out loud, facepalming. “I shouldn’t have jinxed it…!” 

The wind picked up, sending whirls of sand and dirt into the air. There was a cloud of dust in the near distance as a stampede of horses galloped towards them. Jeralt glanced back towards the bloody mess in front of him. Then, he spun around to face Byleth with a grimace plastered on his face.

“How the hell are we supposed to explain all of this to them?!” He groaned, rubbing his face into his hands.

Byleth stared at him, her cerulean orbs twinkling in amusement. “I’ll leave the rest to you, father,” she said with a hint of a smile on her face before she backed away, sneaking behind the pile of debris towards the center of the town. 

“Hey, wait here, you brat—”

Jeralt never got the chance to chase after his child. The horde of knights dressed all prim and proper in their well-polished armor halted a few meters behind him. A dark blue flag with the emblem of a lion printed on it fluttered in the wind. He resigned himself to the interrogation, slowly turning around to face them. He raised both of his arms up in the air in a show of innocence. 

“Put your weapons down! Name yourself!” One of the knights demanded. 

Jeralt dropped his dagger and spear onto the ground, holding his chest up high as he directly stared into the knight’s eyes with confidence. The knight visibly flinched, backing away slightly. 

“Who are you? Name yourself!” The knight repeated. 

“The name’s Jeralt Eisner. I lead a mercenary group,” Jeralt calmly explained, staring unflinchingly at the poor knight. 

That sent a wave of hushed murmurs through the crowd. His name was fairly well-known throughout Fodlan, after all. It was no surprise that the Kingdom knights recognized his name. 

“Did you say that you were sir Jeralt Eisner?” 

The knight paved the way for a man clad in a dark blue cape. He had shoulder-length deep, blue hair. His eyes were sharp and predatory-like as he slowly galloped to the front of the line. There was a harsh and rough quality to his voice, setting Jeralt on edge. He sat high on his horse, proudly making his way towards Jeralt. The fluid way in which he conducted himself with grace alerted Jeralt to the fact that he was facing their commander — most likely a high-ranking noble. 

Jeralt inwardly cursed, his thoughts immediately flickering towards Satiana, who was still resting somewhere in the village. 

This isn’t good… 

“The one and only,” Jeralt feigned invulnerability under his scrutinizing gaze. “Before you ask, we didn’t cause this. Last night, a group of bandits attacked the village. We just finished dealing with the mess.” 

The man in front of him turned his steely eyes towards the carnage behind Jeralt. He glared at him, the piercing clarity in his eyes rendering Jeralt breathless. “You’re telling me a bunch of lowly bandits caused this ?” He raised his voice over the brooding silence. 

“It wasn’t just bandits,” Jeralt explained. There was no point in lying to the knights of Faerghus. It would only get him in more trouble later. “There were mages mixed in with the thieves as well.” 

The man gripped the reins of his horse tightly. “Mages?” He spat out. “From where?”

Jeralt shook his head. “Sadly, we don’t know where their allegiance lies. They were completely cloaked from head to toe. If you want, you can check some of their corpses. Be my guest,” he jerked his head towards the pile of corpses on the ground. 

The knights stood knee-deep in silence. The sound of the wind blowing around their tensed profiles was just the calm before the storm. No one dared to make any movements, not even the slightest shift, as they all drowned in the tension and hostility permeating around the two commanders. The stand-off between the two was downright terrifying. 

They waited impatiently for someone to break the suffocating silence. 

Jeralt’s jaw clenched before he huffed a shaky sigh. He recognized the distraught look in their commander’s eyes. It was a messy concoction — one filled with unrestrained fury but also hurt and loss. The man had already reached his limits, both physically and mentally, but he continued to raise his head high into the air because the rest of Faerghus needed him. 

“Look. There are a few villagers that still need our help. We can talk later after we move out of here. I won’t run away. Alright?” Jeralt started. 

The man continued to glare at him. 

“I know this concerns the whole of Faerghus, so as a mercenary who swore to protect the lives of the people in Fodlan, I promise you. I will deliver you all the facts that I know of,” Jeralt placed a hand on his chest, eyes softening as he spoke calmly. 

The commander stared at him, his eyes wavering. It seemed like they had reached an impasse when the commander gracefully slid off his horse. He sauntered over towards Jeralt, lowering his head slightly. 

“Things have been quite hectic lately in the capital,” the commander spoke. “I’m afraid I lost my judgment for a moment there. I sincerely apologize.” He bowed deeply in front of Jeralt. 

He was not antagonistic like before. Though he was far from cordial, he was, at the least, patient, which Jeralt was grateful for. Jeralt nodded in understanding. “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m aware Faerghus is in a chaotic state right now.” 

A flicker of sorrow passed through the man’s blue orbs. His face contorted into a pained, strained smile. “Yes, it pains me to admit so.” Then, he straightened his posture, clearing his throat loudly. “Once again, I apologize for my actions. Let me officially introduce myself, sir Jeralt.” 

The man bowed again, greeting Jeralt with a small smile on his face. “My name is Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”  

“Oh, hey! Byleth, over here!” Renard shouted, waving his arms in the air as he caught a glimpse of Byleth down the open street. 

She strolled through the littered path, sidestepping the piles of corpses obstructing her way. “We have a problem,” she stated as she came to a halt in front of the two. 

Renard immediately groaned out loud. “Again? When do we ever get a break around here?!” He protested, flailing his limbs in the air in exasperation. 

Byleth scoffed. “Only the dead get eternal rest.” She ignored Renard’s burning glare and stared pointedly at Satiana. Satiana met her gaze, noticing the uneasiness coiling in her exhausted and sullen, blue orbs. 

“The authorities are here,” she bluntly remarked. 

Satiana felt her blood run cold. Her mouth went dry, her strength leaving her. The day had just begun, and yet she was thrust into another nerve-wracking moment of her life. She let loose a defeated sigh, rubbing her face into her palms. 

These past few days had been torturous; hell was an understatement for everything she had gone through. Ever since the war began, she didn’t have a single moment of rest. Now that the battle against her pursuers had ended, Satiana found herself hoping this would be the last battle in a long while. 

But once again, Satiana was forced to realize there was no god up there listening to her pleas. 

She was all alone in this world, and the only person who could save her was herself. 

“Shit,” Renard cursed. “What do we do?” His eyes flickered purposefully towards Satiana, genuine worry dancing in his drooping eyes. “I want to say we should fight and make a run for it, but to be honest, I’m about to faint any second now,” he confessed as he wiped the sweat off his forehead with the sleeves of his shirt. 

Byleth glanced down at Satiana, who was fidgeting; she was biting her thumb as she continuously tapped her foot against the ground. Byleth read the reluctance, the unresolved conflict storming inside of her. She carefully leaned down, reaching eye-level with Satiana. 

“What do you want to do?” 

Satiana jerked her head up to meet Byleth’s knowing gaze. She gulped loudly, feeling sweat pouring down her face. “What should I do?” She whispered in a hushed voice, eyes pleading for Byleth to guide her on the right path. 

Byleth’s eyes were blank as usual, but there was a luring gleam to them. They stared deep into the soul, singling out minuscule details no one but the beholder should’ve realized. “Whatever you think is the right thing to do, Satiana,” she quietly replied with an encouraging nod. 

Satiana clutched her head tightly, mustering up her courage. “But I don’t want to cause any trouble for Jeralt.” It was a pathetic excuse — the last resort of a cornered prey. She and Byleth knew well enough that if Satiana truly wished for it, Jeralt would never refuse her. He’d support her because that was just the kind of man Jeralt Eisner was; his kindness was a bottomless well of warmth. 

Byleth patted her gently on the head once before she stood up, sensing that the deliberation was over. Renard was whipping his head between the two of them like a deer in the middle of a busy crossroad, confusion whirling in those mossy, green orbs. 

“Hold on. You’re not actually suggesting…” he trailed off, pointing an accusing finger at Byleth. His voice quivered, eyes widening as he gawked at the damning implications behind Byleth’s words. 

Byleth didn’t reply, but her eyes were twinkling in amusement.

Renard dramatically turned his head towards Satiana, who was now staring at him with determination burning in her eyes. A dry laugh escaped from his wobbling lips as he backed away from them, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re crazy. This is nothing short of suicide.” 

“I know that,” Satiana retorted.

“No, you don’t!” Renard snapped back at her, uncharacteristically raising his voice. “Don’t you understand? Those guys are searching for the people who killed their king !”

“I understand. “

“You’re walking yourself to the guillotine. They’ll just execute you, Satiana!”

Renard gripped her shoulders tightly, bringing his forehead near hers as he pleaded with his eyes for her to change her mind. “You don’t have to do this, Satiana. We can run away, and I’ll teach you more neat tricks I’ve got under my sleeve—”

“I have to do this, Renard. They’ll catch me eventually,” Satiana confidently spoke. “I might as well get this over with.”

Renard knew there was no stopping her. The kid could be downright stubborn when she wanted to be. Renard felt his heart sink as he gritted his teeth in anger.

“Fine. You’re an idiot, you know that?” Renard chewed through his words, showing off his annoyance towards her decision.

But Satiana smiled at him, her eyes softening. “I’ll be okay. Thank you for worrying about me, Renard.”

Renard pouted and faced away from Satiana with his arms crossed over his chest in defiance. “Stupid kid caught the Jeralt Eisner moral disease…” he muttered under his breath, causing Byleth to stifle a snort.

Seriously, he can’t even be honest for once.

Satiana rolled her eyes at him, but inside, she was beaming in happiness. She never knew how nice and fuzzy it felt to have someone worried about her well-being. It was a new and foreign feeling; she liked how it made her feel. 

These past few days had been nothing but hell to her, but it was in the moments she spent with Jeralt and his company that she truly felt alive. 

And she would do anything to protect them as repayment for their never-ending kindness towards her.

Satiana whipped her head towards Byleth and nodded, eyes sharpened. “Lead the way, Byleth. Take me to the authorities,” she commanded.

Chapter Text

[Black Fog]

Redemption

Rodrigue paced around the room, kneading his fingers gently in a show of nervosity. The cracks of his joints lulled into a rhythm, soothing the tension in his shoulders as he continued to move back and forth, restless. He was standing inside a small room at an inn several miles away from the wreckage he saw in the morning, waiting impatiently for the interrogation to begin. 

As promised, Jeralt ordered his troops to follow after the Kingdom’s forces. They left the ruined place at noon and made it to the nearest town in less than three hours. His subordinates booked him a small room, a make-shift headquarters of some sort, and Rodrigue ordered his closest knights to bring Jeralt to him. 

The town was as peaceful as he remembered it; he once visited the place with Lambert when they had business with Lord Mateus. But the serene atmosphere in the town offered not the slightest indication of events soon to come. 

A storm was brewing inside of Rodrigue. 

It had been less than a day since he caught wind of the massacre that occurred in the Duscur Region. News of this sort was nothing new to Rodrigue; Fodlan had always been a dangerous place. But even with years of experience under his belt, nothing could’ve prepared him for the utter despair he felt when an urgent message came from the battlefield, informing him that the king and his guards had been ambushed. 

Rodrigue knew it all along. He should’ve stopped his friend from agreeing to the peace talks at all cost. He warned Lambert countless times that it was a mistake for the king himself to show up. From the beginning, Rodrigue wanted to follow Lambert, but he had the capital to take care of in the king’s absence. Lambert persuaded him otherwise, telling him that he was a mother-hen — to think of it just as a normal excursion to the countryside. 

And now, Rodrigue had nothing but regrets piling up. He was left stranded in this muddy swamp, threatening to devour him whole. He had lost his king — his dear friend . Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius had failed the entirety of Faerghus. And to make things a thousand times worse, his son had taken the full brunt of his mistake.

Glenn, the bright and proud knight he wanted to name his successor. All that returned of him was just a pile of broken armor. His mind went completely blank when he received the remains of the son he loved more dearly than anything. He couldn’t remember what he said back to the knight who stared at him with pity and grief. 

He was just a broken man feigning invulnerability, and it was this prideful side of his that destroyed his relationship with his only remaining family. 

In only one day, he had lost everything that he cared for. 

There was the sound of knocking, and Rodrigue snapped his attention towards the door. It opened with a slight creak as a knight stepped inside. 

“Sir Jeralt is waiting outside,” the knight said with a curt bow. 

“Bring him in,” Rodrigue ordered. 

Rodrigue took a deep breath, exhaling shakily. He clenched his fists, then unclenched them, mentally preparing himself. This was the moment he was waiting for — the reveal of the truth. Most likely, Jeralt held some critical information that might lead them to the larger enemy at hand. He needed to know, see, and hear with his own eyes and ears what happened at the Duscur Region. His life and sanity depended on it. 

Jeralt strode through the open door as the knight took a short bow, exiting behind his trail. Rodrigue gazed at Jeralt with a forlorn expression, eyes dull and drained from exhaustion and trauma. He took in the way Jeralt’s eyes flickered around the room, refusing to meet his pointed look. 

Something was wrong. This wasn’t the confident man who carried himself with certainty. On the contrary, he was visibly disturbed by something. 

Then, Rodrigue noticed the shadow lurking behind Jeralt’s broad figure. 

It was a child. A young girl. She peeked her head out from behind Jeralt’s back, staring at him with watery eyes, either from tears or anxiety. 

Rodrigue’s brows arched up. He glanced back towards Jeralt, who was rubbing the back of his neck, most likely a nervous tick. 

“...And who is this, sir Jeralt?” Rodrigue slowly asked. 

Jeralt took a deep breath and sighed loudly. He placed his hand behind her back, pushing her forward. “This girl here is a child I picked up in the forest near the village,” he started. 

Rodrigue stared at the shivering girl in front of Jeralt. She was completely covered from head to toe in dirt. There were blood-stains all over her clothes. Bandages were hastily wrapped around her arms and legs, judging by how loose they appeared to be. The girl was hurt all over, and Rodrigue didn’t know whether this was some nasty ploy set up by Jeralt to earn his sympathy or not.  

He gave Jeralt a pointed look, frowning. “I see. But why did you bring her here?” 

Jeralt bit his lips, looking off into the far distance. “Well, you see…” he trailed off. Then, pausing for a brief moment, Jeralt steeled himself. “I believe this child can tell you the things you wish to know most.” 

Rodrigue felt the blood drain out of his face. Jeralt was vague with his words, but Rodrigue had a hunch he knew precisely what the man was getting at. He spent only a brief three hours with the man, but it was enough to know that Jeralt was a man of integrity. He wasn’t one to joke around, especially when serious matters that involved the future of Fodlan were at stake. 

He said he picked the girl up from the forest near the village — the forest which led directly north towards the Duscur plains. 

Rodrigue had spent the entire ride towards the battlefield conjuring up a million scenarios that involved a confrontation with the enemy. He imagined spitting fire at them, mutilating them into a thousand pieces, swearing unimaginable words at them, torturing them to the point their bones and flesh started screaming as they begged for mercy.

He imagined a monstrous entity — a heartless demon that killed for pleasure, an unforgivable existence that committed a heinous crime against his people. 

But a child . A young girl barely the age of his youngest son. A beaten and battered girl half-broken and traumatized, shuddering in front of him with teary eyes. 

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. 

There was no other way of putting it. 

Satiana was scared shitless underneath Rodrigue’s scrutinizing gaze. 

She thought she had mentally prepared herself enough for this confrontation. She spoke confidently to Byleth and Renard, asking to be brought to the stands to testify. Jeralt initially snapped at her, yelling profanities at her for her decision. But she had made up her mind, and she was sure of it. She begged him to take her to the authorities, asking him to give her a chance to speak for herself. 

Now that shit was actually hitting the fan, she suddenly didn’t know anymore if she made the right decision. 

The man named Rodrigue, or at least that was what Jeralt told her, was staring at her with widened eyes. His posture stiffened as he realized he was in the presence of quite the alarming company. Satiana could see a myriad of emotions whirling in his eyes as he calculated the situation. The silence looming over them could kill, suffocating her as she began to feel lightheaded. 

Jeralt grabbed her shoulders tightly, straightening her back. “I told you, you need rest,” Jeralt spoke softly with worry laced in his voice. 

Satiana shot him a weary half-smile. “I know. But there’s no time to waste.” 

She turned back towards the man standing in front of her. Steeling her resolve, she mustered up the courage to step forward and bowed deeply towards him. “I apologize for the long wait. My injuries took quite some time to fix,” she started, steadying her voice. She coughed out loud once, clearing her throat, then lifted her head, straightening her posture. “My name is Satiana, and I am both a perpetrator and a survivor of the battle at Duscur.”   

A long moment of silence followed after her declaration. Jeralt was gaping at her in horror at her blunt confession. Rodrigue was stone-faced, his thoughts unreadable as he stared blankly at her. The air was caped in anxiety, making Satiana gulp, feeling the sweat rolling down her forehead. 

Forget nerve-wracking; this anxiety could wreck souls. 

“B-Before you ask, I don’t know everything there is to know about this incident—” she clamped her mouth shut when her sentence ended in a squeak. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m nothing but a lowly soldier, as you can see from my, uh, small stature. But I can tell you everything that I know of.” 

She paused again as she found herself trembling under the pressure exerted by Rodrigue’s deathly stare. “I-I only ask you for one thing,” she stammered out. Placing her hand on her chest, she pushed her chest out into the air and stared unflinchingly as possible into Rodrigue’s eyes. “You can punish me for my sins later, but don’t do anything to sir Jeralt and his men. They are not involved in any manner or form.”

Jeralt opened his mouth to protest when Satiana lifted her arm in front of him, shaking her head. He eyed her with anger and sorrow. “This is my responsibility to take, not yours,” she softly spoke. 

Rodrigue glanced between the two of them, taking in their interaction. He finally spoke, breaking Satiana’s monologue. “Miss Satiana. Please take a seat,” his voice was calm, unlike the cloudy mess his eyes were. He gestured towards the chair in the corner of the room. 

Satiana blinked. “O-Oh. Thank you, sir.” She said in gratitude as she limped her way over towards the chair. She climbed on top of the seat and sat comfortably. Rodrigue slid into the seat opposite of hers. Jeralt settled to leaning on the wall beside Satiana, his presence warming her back. 

Another awkward moment of silence passed through them, and Satiana felt herself getting lightheaded for the umpteenth time that evening. 

I really lost way too much blood on the way here…

Rodrigue folded his hands on the table and peered at Satiana with curiosity. “May I ask how old you are?”

Satiana jerked her head back in surprise, eyes widening. That was not the first question she was expecting. “I believe I’m thirteen, sir,” she replied. 

Rodrigue had an inexplicable expression plastered on his face. It was scrunched up half in disbelief and half in pity. “I see. What were you doing on the battlefield?” He questioned softly, the stern voice with which he commanded his troops dissipating into thin air when faced with the child in front of him. 

“I was…following orders,” Satiana meekly answered, looking at anything but the man in front of her.

“What orders?” 

“To kill everyone who showed up at the Duscur region two days ago.” 

The tension permeating in the air intensified. Rodrigue shook his head slowly in incredulity. “I was aware that children in Fodlan started their training quite early. But I didn’t know they were immediately sent to the battlefield so…so soon ,” Rodrigue pointed out. “And for such a large-scale battle with so much at stake as their first mission.” 

Satiana blinked. “Ah, I think you’re mistaken about something,” Satiana corrected him. “This isn’t my first mission. It’s been, well, years since I started participating in missions.”

Rodrigue’s eyes widened, his mouth hanging slightly open in shock and horror. “Y-You mean you’ve been doing this since…since…” he repeated, jaws dropping lower. 

Satiana fiddled with her fingers. “I’m not proud of it, but yes, I’ve been doing this for many years, sir.” 

There it was again, the deafening silence. Rodrigue suddenly groaned loudly. He covered his face with one of his palms, rubbing it slowly in confusion. This time, his voice trembled as he spoke. “Why? Just why a child like you?” He shook his head in disbelief. “What for?” He ended softly, eyes now filled with pity. 

Satiana felt tears pricking her eyes as she was faced with sincere worry from the man who should’ve considered her the bane of all enemies. She let loose a choked sob, lifting her hand to cover her mouth as she coughed, hiding the humiliating noise. 

“I-I wished I knew, sir. Why it had to be me. Why it had to be us ,” she found herself stammering out. 

The implications behind her words made Rodrigue tremble in both fury and sorrow. He suddenly slammed his fists onto the table, making Satiana jump as she choked on another sob. “They made children like you commit regicide ? What were those monsters in Duscur thinking?!” He yelled out loud, releasing all his frustrations and ire. 

Satiana found herself in an uncontrollable fit of coughing. An overwhelming panic settled inside of her, rendering her breathless as all the emotions poured out of her trembling lips. “I-It wasn’t them, sir Rodrigue,” she sobbed, sniffing out loud. “There were people behind the shadows using the Duscur people and us as pawns. They’re the true monsters!” She raised her voice as she gasped for air. 

Jeralt immediately placed his hand behind her back. He knelt beside her, rubbing soothing circles behind her back. “Hey, breathe, Satiana. It’s okay. Everything’s okay.” 

It was like there was a heavy rock weighing down her chest. She gasped rapidly for air, her mouth drying as sweat rolled down her palms. She quickly kneaded her palms together, hoping to divert attention away from her breathing. Satiana listened to Jeralt, taking slow and deep breaths as she tried to calm herself down.

Rodrigue was now staring at her with eyes filled to the brim with compassion and distress. A part of him may have held back his genuine concern because of their respective positions on different sides of the war. But when it came to trauma, there was no difference between friend or foe.  

Every human felt the same excruciating pain and heartbreak that came with loss and death.

Satiana found herself finally calming down, her breathing settling into a smooth rhythm. “I-I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me,” she coughed. 

Rodrigue suddenly broke into a small smile, staring at her with warmth. “It’s alright, miss Satiana. Please, take your time.” He leaned in towards her. “I want to know everything that you know. For the sake of everyone involved.” 

His words made Satiana’s heart clench in pain and guilt. She nodded stiffly, sniffing loudly once as she tried to ignore the stinging sensation in her eyes that lingered. “Will you please listen to my story?” She quietly asked, wholly vulnerable and broken, with pleading eyes. 

Rodrigue nodded. “Please, do tell.”

Satiana told him everything. From her days in Caldea to the miserable nights she spent in the training facility. She spoke of the nightmare she lived in and the number of times she had to kill children her age to survive. Satiana spilled every detail about the crest experiments they performed on the children, turning them into monsters. Everything spilled out of her, all down to the moment the last mission was given to her.

Jeralt listened quietly from the sidelines, taking in all the new information. He knew that Satiana had been through a lot; he could tell by her damaged form and soul the day he found her lying half-dead on the ground. But he didn’t know it wasthis bad. 

No human should ever go through such mental and physical torture, especially from such a young age. It was simply unforgivable and inhumane. 

It was impossible to read Rodrigue's expression. His forehead was placed behind his interlaced hands, elbow leaning on the table. But there was no denying the uncontrollable body tremors, the way he exhaled shakily, the tightened lips, and pulsating veins in his neck. The only thing keeping Rodrigue from smashing the nearest object with his bare hands was the young girl in front of him, sniffing loudly in discordant increments. 

Rodrigue tried his best to keep a straight face despite the unnatural silence after her confession. He couldn't afford to scare her away with another outburst. He owed the young, courageous child in front of him that much. 

He peered over the edges of his interlocked hands, eyes somber and dull. "I still don't understand why it had to be you. More specifically, children who barely know anything about the world." 

He wanted nothing more than to apologize to her, tell her that she had every right to curse the world and the Goddess who did nothing but watch as she swam through hellfire. But coming from him, it would only sound like a cheap excuse. Instead, he chose to keep the interrogation going, hopefully stirring her mind enough to prevent the conversation from rearing towards traumatic memories. 

Satiana stared blankly at him, the corner of her eyes tinged red. "I don't believe they actually expected us to be of any use. As I explained before, we are nothing but throwaway pawns. Their priority was to turn us into beasts through experimentation. I do not know the mechanics behind the experiment, but it seems like children are more valuable specimens than adults," she spoke monotonically, her voice devoid of even anger or frustration at this point. "And if they are to perform such heinous research on children, who would be better test subjects than orphans with no history? If we die, no one will come searching for us. Not to mention, none of us would ever rebel against them because either way, we were rotting away on the streets." 

Satiana stared down at the wooden table, eyes languidly tracing the patterns on it. "I'm sure they never expected us to survive this far. Their plan was probably to feed the failures to the beasts so we aren't technically even considered soldiers. We're just...livestock that outlived our expected lifespan. So they put us to good use by sending us on deadly missions, hoping most of us would die in the process." She found herself snorting wryly. "Unfortunately, quite a few of us survived and they couldn't afford to set us free in case we told anyone about their plans." 

"So, it's not that they purposely trained children soldiers to commit...crimes for them," Jeralt drawled, lips distorting into a permanent frown. "It's because you guys managed to survive the experiments all on your own and they accidentally gained a group of children, ready to heed their commands."

Satiana sniffed once, rubbing her nose with her index finger before adding in a curt nod. "Who in their right minds would train children to commit murder when they have a bunch of adults at their disposal? Like I said, we were never meant to survive the experiments. We were all supposed to be turned into beasts, but I guess some of us were simply built stronger than others." She cleared her throat, blinking away any remnants of tears in her eyes. "Left with a bunch of half-breathing children, the higher-ups probably decided to put us to good use — or, in other words, they made us meat shields." 

"Because rather than sending professional assassins or mercenaries with fame and history behind them to kill off nobles, it's better to send brainless assassins who cannot be traced back to them after death, even if said assassins are a bunch of kids," Jeralt scoffed, clenching his fists tightly beside him. "How smart of them."

Satiana didn't have the energy to laugh at his sarcastic remark, though she appreciated it nonetheless. "So useful, aren't we? By utilizing us orphaned children, they gained access to a monstrous troop, half literally beasts and half mindless puppets. Even if we die, they have nothing to lose because no one cares about our existence. Besides, we're not their only source of military power. I don't know what ties those dark mages have, but at Duscur, there were proper knights and soldiers fighting on their side as well." 

Rodrigue sighed, pinching his forehead with his fingers. "I still cannot fathom what this group of monsters had to gain from killing our king. Not to mention, they dared to experiment with dark arts, turning humans into monsters, even choosing to manipulate orphans to do their bidding for them."  

“I honestly don’t know who they are or what their goals are,” Satiana ended. “I’ve only seen them once or twice. Their skin was pale as the moonlight. They didn’t look like humans. Perhaps they had gone through the same experiments we did.” 

“Ah, about that,” Jeralt butted into the conversation. “I saw someone who fitted that description near the village yesterday.” 

Satiana whipped her head around to face Jeralt, eyes bulging wide. “You what?!” She screeched in horror. “T-They were there yesterday?” 

“Only one of them, probably,” Jeralt shrugged nonchalantly like it wasn’t a big deal that he had spotted the leader of the massacre everyone present in the room was searching for. “They went deeper into the forest. Who knows where they are now?” 

“And you didn’t think to capture them?” Rodrigue narrowed his eyes at Jeralt.

Jeralt scoffed. “I don’t know what you think of me, but I’m no superhuman.” He leaned away from the wall behind him and turned to face Rodrigue, eyes sharpened. “I only got a glimpse of him, but he was no ordinary person. It would’ve been suicidal of me to take them on alone.”

“How many of them were there?” 

“Around nine or ten, including the leader. But if we count the rest of their forces inside the village…” Jeralt trailed off, glancing at Satiana. 

Satiana shrugged. “I cut down more than twenty of them if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“Right,” Jeralt mused, rubbing his chin in deep thought. “From what I’ve heard from Renard and Byleth, most of their forces involved mages and warlocks. Also, a few thieves and bandits, but they were probably throw-away pawns.”

“Mages…” Rodrigue mumbled to himself. He tapped his fingers lightly on the table as he leaned on his elbow, hand on his mouth as he glanced off to the side in contemplation. “We need to check all the nobles who have access to a large number of mages.” 

“It’d be a good idea to observe those nobles outside of Faerghus as well,” Jeralt added. “The ones who have the most to gain from this attack are either the Adrestian Empire, the Leicester Alliance, or other foreign nations like Caldea or Sreng.”

“I already have my eye on a few nobles who were pushing for the agreement with Duscur,” Rodrigue replied, eyes twinkling with confidence. “But if Miss Satiana’s testimony is true, then we need to search for every connection Duscur had with external parties.”

“Are you going to publish the truth to the public?” Jeralt asked, skepticism lacing his tone. “It would send them into mass panic. If we’re unlucky, it could directly mean war with our neighbors.”

“Of course not,” Rodrigue sighed heavily. He crossed his hands together, settling his chin on top of them. “We need a scapegoat. One that will satisfy the public.”

There was a lull in the conversation during which everyone in the room seemed to understand that they had reached a point of no return, and an anxious miasma settled over the room. Satiana drew in a shaky breath and let it out. “You’re thinking of holding Duscur accountable,” Satiana stated bluntly, her eyes darkening with barely restrained menace. 

Rodrigue stared at her, his eyes blank, devoid of emotion. “To be quite frank, yes. That is the plan.” 

“But they were just being used—” Satiana began to protest, but Jeralt clamped his hand on her shoulder, holding her back. She spun her head at him, eyes wide with horror. Jeralt slowly shook his head at her, a forlorn expression on his face. 

“Luckily, the situation is quite…advantageous for us,” Rodrigue continued, paying no attention to her objection. “Everyone knows about the peace agreements with Duscur. It wouldn’t be strange for people to conclude on their own that the citizens of Duscur chose violence as their answer to the treaty.” 

Satiana gasped, glaring at Rodrigue with fire in her eyes. “This could cause a witch-hunt! Do you know what that means for them?!” She raised her voice, hoping to gain their attention. 

Jeralt didn’t answer. Rodrigue refused to meet her piercing gaze. The sheer madness of their proposition would’ve made Satiana laugh if she wasn’t in a sinister mood, to begin with. Coupled with the biting grip on her shoulder, Satiana found her self-control snapping. She saw the blank look on Jeralt’s face, and the fury and betrayal overwhelmed her; all her bitterness and hatred washed over her and made her act on instinct. 

She slammed her hands onto the table, shooting up into a standing posture, snaking her hands to the swords sheathed on her hips. 

Jeralt’s eyes widened as he caught on to her actions. He was faster than her; his arm shot forward, grabbing her wrists tightly, placing them behind her back with a death grip. She snarled, struggling against his vice grip on her. 

“I swear to god, let me go, Jeralt,” she spat out, all signs of civility flying out the window. “I can’t allow this to happen.”

“I understand how you’re feeling, but some things are beyond our control…!” Jeralt struggled to speak as he continued to place all of his weight down on her wiggling form. 

“Beyond control?!” Her temper flared. “Does that make it right for us to turn a blind eye to the truth? To deceive the people? To let this tragedy claim even more innocent lives?!” 

“We won’t let that happen,” Rodrigue interjected with a frown. “We’ll just inform everyone that a group of people from Duscur decided to cause an uprising on their own.”

“That’s the exact same thing as admitting their crimes, sir Rodrigue!” Satiana protested. “The people won’t forgive them. They’ll chase down every last person from Duscur, discriminate against them for eternity. You might as well be sending them to their death.” 

Rodrigue didn’t answer this time, which only solidified her suspicions. The man knew full well the consequences of his actions, and yet he had resigned himself to the end result because there was no other option. 

They had no other hands to play. The enemy was still at large, hidden in the shadows, unidentifiable. The people needed an explanation, and telling them there was an invisible monster puppeteering the entire incident would only cause pandemonium. Rumors would scatter, distrust between neighbors would spark more tragedy, and the real enemy would go into hiding, seeing that their plan had succeeded. Faerghus would fall on its own, which was precisely what the enemy wanted.

“Satiana…” Jeralt slowly released his grip on her. He patted her back gently. “You’re a smart girl. You know this is the only option.”

The gentle tone in his voice made Satiana feel small, like a child being scolded. She hated how powerless she was. Satiana reluctantly let go of her swords, clenching her fists as she trembled in anger and sorrow. 

“I already know that…” her voice went quiet in resignation when faced with the harsh reality. “In the grand scheme of things, we can’t let the enemies know we’re on to them,” she muttered, eyes hollow and empty. “It makes the most logical sense. But still…we’re playing with people’s lives.” 

She paused, rubbing her eyes as tears threatened to fall again. “Is there really no other way?” she meekly asked.

Rodrigue stared at her grimly. “I’m afraid not. If we insisted on the Duscur people’s innocence without any proof, it would only instigate more chaos. The people’s belief in Faerghus would crumble. They’d want us to eliminate Duscur either way.” 

“And what of Caldea? What about my existence?” Satiana’s lips trembled as she spoke.  

This time, Jeralt interjected into the conversation. “We keep it just between us,” he replied. 

Satiana laughed dryly. “Because telling them Caldea and Duscur joined hands to kill the king would only lead to a war against not one but two countries.”

“And more children like you will be sacrificed,” Jeralt added. “Because of this war caused by adults.” 

“We can barely afford to go to war with Duscur, provided their innocence. We can’t go to war against Caldea too. That would only make it easier for the real enemy to topple us from within,” Rodrigue continued. 

“So for the greater good, you’re choosing to throw away Duscur,” Satiana finished her line of thought. 

“Not only that, Miss Satiana, but your safety is at stake,” Rodrigue suddenly pointed out. 

“What do you mean?” Satiana replied in a low voice, mentally exhausted from all the political implications their actions had. 

“If we mention Caldea in any way, it’ll immediately alert the enemies that we’ve caught a survivor from the incident,” Rodrigue explained. “They’ll know we have you in our hands.”

“Which brings us back to the point that they’ll go into hiding, festering more… resources in a place we are unaware of,” Satiana continued. “But either way, regardless of whether we make their existence public, won’t they continue to torture the children anyway?” 

“You’re correct,” Rodrigue confessed. “Regardless of what we choose to do, until we finally have a clear picture of their goal, identity, and military force, we can’t do anything.” Rodrigue sighed. “Our hands are completely tied.”

Satiana slumped back into her seat, completely defeated. She hunched her back, trying to calm the storm festering inside of her. The dread and hopelessness that came with the notion of being so powerless threatened to devour her whole. Satiana felt the fire burning inside of her flutter helplessly against the winds of fate that were trying to snuff it out of existence. 

“In the end, I couldn’t do anything to help. I’m sorry,” Satiana found herself apologizing. She lowered her head into her hands — a futile attempt to escape reality. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated, sinking deeper into the rabbit hole of regret and guilt. 

“You have nothing to apologize for, Miss Satiana,” Rodrigue attempted to console her, his eyes softening at her retreating form. “This is entirely out of your control. If we’re talking about the facts only, you are also a victim of this dreadful incident.”

“I’m not a victim, sir Rodrigue.” Satiana shook her head. “I killed innocent people. Hundreds. Maybe thousands. Perhaps someone you know was in the pile of corpses lying behind my back.”

Rodrigue visibly flinched, jaws clenching at Satiana’s remark. It reminded him of his own loss, making his mouth drip into a distorted frown. “You may be correct. Perhaps…my son lost his life by your hands.”

Satiana immediately whipped her head up, staring at Rodrigue with horror and despair. “Y-Your son, sir? He was there…?” 

Rodrigue stiffly nodded. He kept a poker face on, trying to appear unperturbed, but the deep sorrow scattered in his dimmed orbs spoke otherwise. “Yes. He was only a few years older than you.”

Satiana felt like she was going to vomit right then and there. She flicked through her memories, a broken record, as she tried to remember the faces of all the soldiers she slaughtered. But, of course, it was a fruitless attempt at escaping her guilt. It was simply an impossible task to remember each and every person she killed. 

“This might sound very…hypocritical of me,” Satiana began. “But I’m so sorry for your loss. He didn’t deserve to die in such a horrible way.”

Surprisingly, Rodrigue shook his head in response. “No, he died fulfilling his duties to the Kingdom. He was a brilliant knight, and I am still very proud of him.” There was a genuine smile hanging on his lips, and for some odd reason, the nausea inside of her grew stronger.

Satiana stared blankly at him, confusion whirling in her eyes. “O-Oh…” was all that she managed to muster out of her dry lips. She didn’t really understand his sentiments — knighthood was a concept way too foreign for her, but if sir Rodrigue was proud of his son, it wasn’t her business to persuade him otherwise. “I see,” she ended awkwardly. 

There was another pause of silence in the conversation. Outside, the skies had already turned stygian black. Today, stars were shining brightly across the dark plains above; perhaps it was a sign of god’s blessings to the living — to the survivors that made it to see another day. Or maybe it was a constant reminder that many lives had returned to mother nature — a reminder of responsibilities and justice that needed to be upheld. 

“In any case, Miss Satiana, you have nothing to be sorry for,” Rodrigue proclaimed as he stood up from his seat. He swerved around the table and knelt beside Satiana’s chair. 

Satiana turned her head slowly to meet his waiting gaze.

“We may have lost this fight, but we can now prepare for the future with your knowledge on our side,” Rodrigue confidently spoke. “Your survival was not a coincidence. I believe it was fate and luck on our side that brought you here to us. I promise you that the information you have provided us will not go to waste. I will do everything that I can to search for those dwelling in the dark and make them pay for all of their sins with their blood ,” Rodrigue rumbled darkly, eyes narrowed to death.

Satiana felt herself being drawn to the piercing clarity in Rodrigue’s eyes. This was the man who had decided to forgive her — his son’s potential killer. He had a heart of gold, a sharp and intellectual mind, and an overwhelming sense of justice, similar to Jeralt. For the first time in her life, Satiana thought of herself as lucky. 

She was genuinely glad that it was Jeralt that had found her that fateful day. And that it was sir Rodrigue that came to judge her for her sins. Perhaps some god up there in the heavens had provided her with a last chance at redemption. 

She would be a fool not to make the most out of it. 

“I have a suggestion, sir Rodrigue,” she stood up from her seat in a rush, peering down at Rodrigue with burning determination. “You said that you were going to check on the nobles who had some sort of agreement with Duscur.”

Rodrigue blinked once, then twice, surprised at her sudden change in demeanor and tone. “Yes, that is indeed what I was planning. What about it?”

Satiana mused, planting her fingers on her lips as she rubbed them. “Do you happen to have a photographic record of…let’s say…all the nobles that live in Fodlan?” Satiana asked, eyes twinkling with realization.

“I believe we do have something of that sort. Although, I don’t know how useful it might be. It’s not easy to gain access to drawings of nobles. After all, not many want to have their faces known for security reasons,” Rodrigue replied with a frown, his eyes crinkling in interest at her train of thought. “Is there a reason you are asking about this?”   

Satiana sighed in relief.

This might work…!

“Sir Rodrigue, I may not remember the faces of all the people that I have killed in battle,” she began slowly. Then, her lips contorted into a sly grin. “However, I do remember the faces of all the people I’ve been assigned to assassinate.”

Rodrigue’s eyes widened. He shot up from his position on the ground. “I see. That is something that could work to our advantage.” There was now a shadow of a smile on his face. “If you can tell us your targets, perhaps we can trace back their trails and figure out who had the most to gain out of their deaths.” His smile was pure shark now, eyes beaming with light. 

“I also remember where the experimental facility is located,” Satiana added. She paused, humming in deep thought. “It would be too hasty to storm in and raid the facility. However, we know that they need a large supply of blood and crest stones to perform their experiments.”

“We can track any suspicious merchants handling merchandise near that area,” Rodrigue concluded, nodding with confidence. “Any families with connections to any of the Church’s factions should be investigated as well.”

“This is turning into one heck of a big deal…” Jeralt suddenly sighed loudly, earning the attention of the other occupants in the room.

Satiana scoffed. “You chose to save me. Now take responsibility for my life.”

Jeralt glared daggers at her. “Shut it, kid.” 

Rodrigue smiled warmly at their interaction. “Sir Jeralt, regarding Miss Satiana’s future, I leave it in your hands.” 

Jeralt’s eyes widened in shock. “You’re not taking her into custody?”

Satiana raised her eyebrows in surprise. “But don’t I eventually need to be judged by the law? I’m considered a criminal, aren’t I?” She pointed a finger at herself, blinking rapidly in confusion.

Rodrigue simply smiled cryptically at her. “Yes, but we can always prolong that. I may be one single man, but I am a Duke. There are always…strings I can pull,” he replied, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I won’t divulge information about your existence to anyone after I return to the capital. Only a small group of trustworthy people will know of your existence. Of course, that will involve only those in the Fraldarius domain.” 

He casually paced around the room, hands together behind his back. “If someone questions where I received information about the enemy from, I’ll simply tell them we found it by pure coincidence after checking the truth regarding the mysterious deaths of nobles in the Faerghus territory.” 

He paused, turning his attention back to Satiana. “If it ever comes to a situation where your identity is being questioned, we just need to keep our story straight.”

“We can just tell them you’re a survivor from that burnt-down village,” Jeralt suggested nonchalantly. “No one keeps tabs on the commoners anyway. It’ll be a perfect disguise.”

“Alright, that’s what I’ll go with,” Satiana nodded. Then, she glanced at Rodrigue with a knowing look in her eyes. “And what will you request of me, sir Rodrigue?”

Rodrigue blinked innocently back at her. “What do you mean?” He feigned ignorance, but the slight, upwards shift of his lips gave his true intentions away. 

Satiana narrowed her eyes at him. “This interrogation has been quite…amiable. We’ve reached a consensus about our next actions. However, it doesn’t change the fact that I am basically a prisoner of war,” she spoke bluntly. “I’m a criminal on the run, but you’ve chosen to protect me because of the potential benefits I hold to Faerghus. That is, if all the information I’ve divulged is true.” 

Rodrigue stayed silent, watchful eyes gazing into Satiana’s bright, sapphire-blue orbs.

“In all honestly, you could kill me now since I’ve given you all the information I know. You don’t need to trouble yourself with giving me a new identity. You could just take me to court now and throw me into jail. That way, you can keep watch on me. But you’ve decided to give me freedom . Why?” Satiana glared at him with suspicion pooling in her eyes. 

Satiana had lived in a world devoid of light and warmth for many years. It was imprinted in every cell of her body that there was no such thing as free charity in this world. People like Jeralt were truly rare — perhaps one in a million. Rodrigue may be one of the more forgiving and righteous nobles in Faerghus, but he was still a Duke. Someone in a position of authority with heavy responsibilities and duty wouldn’t save an enemy just because of an emotional whim. 

“How would you like to work under me for a few errands?” 

Rodrigue’s words were so shocking that they nearly gave her a cardiac arrest. She choked on thin air, mouth gaping wide in comically stunned surprise. “I-I’m sorry, but what did you just say?” She sputtered in disbelief. 

“You said it yourself,” Rodrigue calmly replied with a shrug. “We need someone to trail after the enemy, break through their defenses, and catch them by surprise. As much as I want to send my soldiers to the places you’ve identified for us, it’d only be suspicious if a bunch of Fraldarius knights suddenly showed up near their secret hideouts and previous targets’ homes.” 

Jeralt leaned away from the wall, frowning with distaste. “You want to hire us to do the dirty work for you.” 

Rodrigue tilted his head to the side in a show of innocence. “Exactly. And Miss Satiana will stay with you. That way, I can monitor her movements and make sure that she isn’t a spy sent by their side.”

Satiana went quiet as she pondered the option. 

“I promise you, Miss Satiana. If you prove to be a worthy asset to Faerghus, I will speak for your innocence on the day you get tried for your crimes,” Rodrigue suddenly added.

Satiana peered up into his eyes, seeing the genuine sparkle inside of them. She heaved a heavy sigh, hunching her back in defeat. “I understand. Then, I guess we’ll be in touch often?” She stared blankly at him, a scowl on her face.

Rodrigue beamed at her response. “Why, yes. Oh, before I forget, it is my pleasure to work with you.”

“Ex- fucking -cuse me? What did you just say?!” 

The meeting was just over, and now, the quartet was standing outside the inn. Renard was screaming in Jeralt’s ears, completely worked up as he stomped his feet angrily. Byleth stood quietly beside him, shaking her head in exasperation. Satiana flinched, staring down at her toes in guilt. Jeralt just sighed loudly in exhaustion. 

“I said we’re going to have to take on a few extra missions from…sir Rodrigue,” Jeralt spat out his name like it was a nuisance. “Damn noble…a sly fox, that one…” he cursed under his breath, though Satiana heard it clearly.

She sweatdropped, chuckling dryly. “Jeralt, calm down. To be fair, he gave us a lot of slack.”

“Considering how serious the crime of regicide is, I’m surprised he had the heart to let you go, Satiana,” Byleth said as she walked up towards her. She lightly patted Satiana on the shoulder. “You did a great job in there.”

“I didn’t do anything. I just spoke the truth,” Satiana replied with a frown.

Byleth shook her head. “I disagree. That man must have seen something in you from your interaction with him. Otherwise, he never would’ve let you go scot-free.” 

“Well, I don’t know what he saw in me, but technically, I’m still under his leash,” Satiana pouted, crossing her arms against her chest in annoyance. 

“It’s still better than execution or spending your whole life in a prison cell,” Byleth said with a shrug. 

Satiana visibly winced at the thought. She already spent more than half of her life living in a cell. As much as she was willing to pay for her crimes, she didn’t want to experience that sort of life again. In a way, Rodrigue had given her an escape route, and it was a relatively safe one that aligned perfectly with her own goals. 

“I guess when you put it that way, it does sound like we got the good end of the stick,” Satiana made a noise of satisfaction. 

“Hold on, aren’t you all accepting this too easily?” Renard complained, placing his hands on his hips in protest. “Why the hell do we have to do a noble’s errand for them?!” 

“Because that’s what we do as mercenaries,” Jeralt deadpanned. 

Renard grunted. “I mean, yeah, but still…! This is basically a threat.” 

“Satiana’s safety is at stake,” Byleth pointed out, crossing her arms against her chest as she stared holes at Renard. “Or do you have a problem with that?” She shot him a warning glare. 

Renard flinched, turning his worried gaze towards Satiana, who was wallowing in self-hate, a gloomy aura surrounding her. “N-No, that’s not what I meant!” He shook his head vigorously, utterly flustered at the accusation. “I just think it’s unfair of them to use her weakness against her like that.”

Jeralt suddenly snorted, stifling a laugh behind his palms. “I can’t believe you’re the same guy who tried to convince me to leave her a few days ago.”

“He’s completely fallen for her charms.” Byleth’s lips twitched in amusement, much to Renard’s chagrin. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” Renard screeched, pulling the ends of his hair in frustration. 

Satiana found herself chuckling at the sight. “I didn’t know you were that desperate for a student, Renard. Don’t worry. I’ll let you teach me a few things along the way.” She battered her eyelids, peering at him with mischief swirling in her eyes.

“You bet,” Renard snapped his head towards her. “I’ve already placed my stakes on you. I’m going to turn you into the best assassin in the whole of Fodlan, and you’re going to go slice off that arrogant man’s head one day.” He made a cutting motion with his hands, eyes gleaming with bloodlust.

Satiana rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, teach.” 

Renard wouldn’t stop complaining, and eventually, Byleth grew tired of listening to him bark. She yanked him by the collar, pulling him off to the side. “Father, we’ll go get the horses ready.”

Jeralt waved a hand in understanding. “Go get the rest of the folks ready. We’re leaving in five.”

Byleth nodded as she disappeared across the town, dragging a whining man along with her. 

Satiana watched their receding figures, her heart swelling in fondness at their antics. It had only been three days since she had met Jeralt and his crew of misfits, but she felt like she had known them for years. They welcomed her with open arms and didn’t regard her as a nuisance despite the huge baggage she strung along with her. They treated her like she was human — an ordinary young girl with perhaps a little too much of a burden on her back. Sometimes, they pitied her, but she didn’t mind. 

She never had anyone who worried about her well-being before, after all. 

“Hey, Satiana?” 

Jeralt’s worried voice entered her ears, breaking her out of her euphoria. She absentmindedly tilted her head towards Jeralt, eyes still staring at the disappearing backs of Byleth and Renard. “Hm?” She made a noise, telling Jeralt that she was listening to him. 

“There’s something that I have to confirm with you,” Jeralt asked, his tone suddenly taking on a serious note. 

Satiana turned her full attention towards the man staring at her with compassion. “What’s the matter?” she asked, brows scrunching up in confusion. 

There was a moment of silence that lingered between the two of them. Jeralt paused, chewing his lips. It was like he was struggling to voice out something that had been clawing in the back of his mind since Satiana told him her story. Jeralt finally exhaled lightly. “You said a while ago that there were potentially long-lasting negative effects to the experiments they performed on you.” 

Satiana blinked. “Yes, you are correct. That’s how most of the children lost their lives.”

Jeralt stared at her unwavering gaze and frowned. “You’re not hiding something about your condition from us, are you?”

Ah, so that’s what he was worried about.

Satiana rubbed the back of her neck nervously. “Yeah, about that…” she trailed off, averting his accusing gaze. “I told you that some of the children had their hair turn white, right?”

Jeralt nodded, listening intently. 

“From what I observed, that only happens when someone is successfully infused with two crests,” Satiana explained. “It allows them to gain immense power at the cost of their life spans.” 

Jeralt flickered his gaze up towards the black strands of hair on her head. He unconsciously let loose a sigh of relief. 

Satiana reached her hand up and pinched a few strands of her hair, fiddling with them with curiosity in her eyes. “They never succeeded in embedding a crest inside of me. For some reason, whenever they tried to place a crest stone inside of me, my body would retaliate, sending an intense pain throughout my veins as I vomited out the stone.” 

Satiana scratched her head fervently. “I don’t understand the mechanics of it all, but that usually happens when one’s body simply rejects the crest stones. They forced it inside of me a couple of times, but the experiment failed repeatedly. Eventually, they gave up and left me to die in the cattle hall. I made it to the very end just by relying on my battle skills, not because they succeeded in reforming my body.” 

“That’s a relief. You don’t need some stupid crest,” Jeralt snarled. “Especially in such a crude way.”

Satiana scoffed. “I agree. I don’t need a power that relies on blessings from a goddess. The only thing god dealt me was a shitty hand at birth,” Satiana snorted dryly. “All I need from now on is strength that I’ve accumulated on my own to help others in need.” 

Satiana clenched her fists in determination. She whipped her head up at Jeralt. “We’ve come a long way, but I’m in your good hands now, Jeralt. I want to grow stronger so that I can prevent a tragedy like this from happening again. Please, teach me well.” She bowed her head lightly, shutting her eyes tightly. 

Jeralt stared at her shivering form, then sighed. He reached his hand out and patted her gently on the head, affectionately rubbing the messy strands. “I know. Just follow my lead. I’ll make you into a decent warrior.”

Satiana lifted her head up and smiled widely at him, elated. “Lead the way, sir!”

Rodrigue stood in front of the window, staring at the twinkling white stars painted across the sky. The muddled thoughts and messy collage of emotions that plagued him for the past few days had disappeared entirely. His head felt lighter than ever as he smiled wryly at the stars above. 

The goddess hasn’t forsaken us yet, after all.

There was a knock behind him, and he turned around. A knight walked in through the open doors, standing behind him. He saluted at Rodrigue, holding his chest up high in the air. 

“Sir Jeralt and his companions have left town safely,” the knight recited. “Your next orders, sir Rodrigue.”

Rodrigue nodded in understanding. “We’re heading back to the capital. There’s no reason to spend time here any longer.” 

“Yes, sir,” the knight bowed. He lifted his armored head up. “Forgive me for my insolence, sir, but are you sure about letting that child go?” 

Rodrigue chuckled. “There’s nothing to worry about. We will hear about each other often, anyway.” 

Rodrigue suddenly remembered Satiana’s battered form, too fired up to struggle properly against Jeralt’s grip. He was pleasantly surprised at the sudden spark of anger inside of her. It showed him that there was still a pure, fighting spirit left inside of her, something that had miraculously been left untouched by all the tragedy that tried to destroy her. 

Even when faced with the crushing guilt and devastating trauma inside of her, she recovered quickly and began to make decisive decisions. She spoke steadfastly, right to the point. Her suggestions were elaborate; she possessed a keen and sharp eye for detail, digging her claws into all the minuscule details of his behavior and successfully reading his political tactics. 

Rodrigue suddenly laughed out loud, causing the knight to tilt his head in confusion. 

“It’s nothing,” Rodrigue lightly patted the shoulder of the knight, striding past him. “Pay me no heed.”

The knight bowed awkwardly before he shuffled after Rodrigue.

“Give her a few years and she will grow up to be a fine soldier, that one,” Rodrigue muttered to himself with a small smile plastered on his face.

Chapter Text

[Black Fog]

The Raid

Imperial Year 1177

“So, where are the account books?”

“T-The butler has them. He keeps it somewhere in the storage!” 

“The storage? Who the hell keeps such important documents in the basement? 

“Unless they’ve got something to hide…”

“Oh! Good point. Hey, you old geezer! Spit out the truth already. You’ve been doing some shady things here, haven’t you?”

“I-I really don’t know anything!”

Satiana facepalmed, shaking her head in disbelief at the events unfolding in front of her eyes. Jeralt stood stone-faced in the center of the study, his looming presence sending the poor noble into a skittering fit as he scrambled across the floor, crawling towards the door. The poor unfortunate soul bumped his head into the heels of Renard’s boots and let loose an undignified squeak. Renard peered down at the shivering noble with contempt dancing in his glare, though his lips were contorted into a smile that screamed amusement. Byleth yawned, casually watching the drama from her seat on the red velvet couch in the corner of the room.   

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I joined a group of thugs,” Satiana muttered under her breath, holding in a snicker as Renard held his sword underneath the noble’s chin, sending another reverberating shriek into the tensed air permeating the room. 

“Hey now, Viscount Hrym,” Renard took a step forward as the Viscount gulped, scrambling backward on the floor. “You can make it easy for us by spilling everything that you know about, well, the side business you’ve been investing in.” He emphasized his words, hoping that he would understand the underlying threat. 

Viscount Hrym blanched slightly, his expression tight as he realized the damning implications behind Renard’s words. 

“Y-You…” He pointed an accusing finger at Renard’s face. “H-How do you know—”

“Nu-uh,” Renard shook his index finger in front of the paling noble, clicking his tongue. “That’s not for you to know. All you have to do is answer our questions. I’m the one in charge here, alright, buddy?” 

The Viscount nodded vigorously, sweat pouring down his face. The sword inched closer to his neck, a small streak of blood trailing after the blade. “B-But I really don’t know anything! I just take orders…from above!” He suddenly started laughing, eyes whirling with madness at the sudden realization. “Y-Yes!” He jolted up from the floor, clasping his hands together, rubbing them in a sleazy manner. “I-It’s that damn Duke of Aegir! He’s been telling me to increase taxes around here. I always told him otherwise, you know, that greedy bald bastard!” 

The Viscount prostrated himself against the floor, bowing deeply underneath Renard’s feet. “I-I promise to tell you everything I know about that bastard’s crimes. Just please, spare my life!” His tears poured down to the floor, wetting the wood with snot. 

Satiana rolled her eyes at the Viscount’s disgusting actions. 

They really do sell each other out easily, huh? 

“Good boy. Now, will you tell me everything that you’ve been up to in the shadows, hm?” Renard’s voice turned sickeningly sweet as he tilted the sobbing Viscount’s head upwards with the sharp edge of his sword. 

“Y-Yes!” The Viscount screamed in blind euphoria, unbeknownst to the horrifying end awaiting him after the interrogation. 

Jeralt suddenly swiveled his head towards Satiana. He jerked his head towards the door. Satiana nodded curtly in response and followed Jeralt out the room, closing the door behind them with a soft creak. 

Outside in the mansion's hallways lay a couple of guards snoozing comfortably on the floor. A bottle of sleeping gas that Renard concocted up was more than enough to silence everyone on the whole floor. Aside from a minor incident where they accidentally walked into a few maids loitering outside the main bedroom, Jeralt and the rest of his crew easily snuck into the mansion using the witching hour to their advantage. 

“The guy’s too much of an idiot to be involved,” Jeralt commented, a frown on his face. 

“Obviously, he’s just a throwaway pawn,” Satiana confirmed his thoughts. “Even that so-called Duke of Aegir is probably just being used by the Empire. Give these guys a couple of blocks of gold, and they’ll immediately heed to your commands,” she scoffed. “Disgusting pigs, everyone last one of them.”

“We might as well silence him,” Jeralt said with a frown. “Although I don’t want to alert the authorities, it seems like we have no other choice.” 

Satiana snorted. “Uh, Jeralt? Ever since we agreed to Renard’s plan to break into this mansion at midnight, it was too late to worry about the authorities.” 

Jeralt coughed, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “I guess you’re right. Perhaps I was too hasty with my decision.” 

Satiana shook her head. “No worries. It’s been a while since we’ve gotten a lead on them , after all.”  

A couple of months earlier, Rodrigue had sent them a letter, requesting that they head for the region ruled by Viscount Hyrm. There were reports of suspicious movements of human resources between the Hyrm region and the neighboring Ordelia region. Rodrigue suspected it had something to do with the human experiments that Satiana had gone through. So now here they were, a month later, searching the Hyrm mansion for traces of corruption. 

“So, it seems like our suspicions were true,” Jeralt sighed. “House Hyrm is involved in the human trafficking of the commoners around this area.” 

“On the papers, it says the people that fled the Hyrm region to Ordelia were sent back to where they came from, but we know better than that,” Satiana frowned. “To begin with, the Ordelia territory has been ruled by the Empire since they participated in that failed rebellion a couple of years ago.”

“It’s the perfect place for those monsters to bolster their forces secretly. Normally, no one would question movements between the two territories since they’re both ruled by the Empire anyway,” Jeralt concluded. 

A haunting screech echoed down the silent hallway, sending shudders down Satiana’s spine. The door behind them slowly creaked open as Renard popped his head out of the doorway. He poked his hand out and flashed them a thumbs-up sign, nodding. “The deed has been done,” Renard deadpanned. 

Satiana winced, noticing the bloodstains covering his hand. “What the hell did you do, torture the poor guy?” 

“Nah, he spilled everything easily,” Renard slid himself out the doorway. He cracked his knuckles once, stretching the stiffened muscles in his hands. “I sent him off to the other world with one clean swipe. It’s not like we haven’t alerted the authorities anyway,” he nonchalantly shrugged as if he had just come back from butchering a piece of livestock — although the Viscount did act just like one. 

“We are totally a band of bandits,” Satiana grimly announced, her head pulsing in pain at the rising headache. “I’ve become a full-fledged criminal.” 

“Yeah, as if you weren’t one, to begin with,” Renard snorted, the dry humor in his words sending Satiana into a small fit of laughter. 

“I guess you’re right,” Satiana wryly answered. 

“Hey,” Byleth’s calm voice appeared from behind Renard as she peered over his shoulder through the gaps of the open door. “You guys might want to come in and check this out.” 

Renard opened the door wider, letting Jeralt and Satiana back into the room that now smelled of blood and gore. The headless corpse was placed on the sofa, its head rolling across the carpet. Satiana ignored the bloody image and turned her attention to the hardcover book in Byleth’s hands. Her brows arched up. “What’s that?” She gave Byleth a pointed look.

“The account book,” Byleth blankly stated. 

Renard gasped, clutching his hands to his chest in a dramatic fashion. “What? So the guy was lying to me all along? I should’ve twisted his shoulders and severed his limbs from his torso too.” 

Jeralt rolled his eyes, ignoring Renard’s bloodthirsty comment, and beckoned for Byleth to step closer. Byleth handed him the book, and Jeralt quickly flickered through the pages. His eyes trimmed over the letters, frown deepening as he flipped towards the end of the book. 

“We’ve got the evidence, haven’t we?” Satiana crept up behind Jeralt, peering over his shoulders.

Satiana had no idea how to read an account book. Although Renard had been teaching her to read and write over the past year, she still wasn’t comfortable with the concept of mathematics. But even with her undeveloped knowledge, she could still make out the large missing holes between the ink-smudged papers. 

“What’s with those big gaps in the ledger? Did they even bother to hide their corruption?” Satiana rounded on Renard with a bewildered look on her face. “You should see this. Seriously, you’ll get a kick out of it.” She pointed at the book, earning Renard’s interest.

“Let me see that thing.” Renard snatched the book out of Jeralt’s hand. He didn’t even have to spend a minute with it before his eyes bulged, mouth gaping wide. “ Fuck , whoever was in charge of this thing needs to be fired! Look at this line,” he pointed at a particularly messy line scribbled onto the page. “It says donations to House Ordelia. What kind of dumbass actually believes they sent charity over to their neighbors?”

“It’s not surprising,” Byleth wrestled her way into the conversation. “Viscount Hyrm isn’t even qualified as a noble. He’s just someone they randomly elevated into position as an overseer.” 

“The entirety of the high nobles in the Empire are all in this together. They don’t need to care about the details because no one does quality checks around here. Especially with Duke Aegir as prime minister,” Jeralt added. 

“So, I guess this means our next stop is House Ordelia?” Satiana huffed. “Things will get busier from now on. I want a nap.” She glanced starry-eyed at the cozy-looking velvet couch Byleth was previously sitting on. 

Being mercenaries, none of them ever slept in proper beds; most of the time, they camped in the forests or stopped by old, cheap inns near villages. Satiana generally had no trouble falling asleep because she was used to sleeping in poor conditions. But still, one could dream about soft, fluffy pillows once in a while.

“If you want to sleep next to a corpse, be my guest,” Renard sarcastically pointed to the drooping body on the sofa.

As if on cue, the body slumped down to the floor, falling with a thud off the couch, spraying spurts of blood against the carpets. 

An awkward silence filled the room, and Satiana groaned, back slumping in exhaustion. “But I just wanted to sleep…” she pouted. 

Byleth patted her on the shoulder once before she headed out the door. 

Renard stifled a chuckle, trailing after Byleth.

Jeralt shot Satiana a blank look, and Satiana scowled. 

“Okay, fine! Sleep is for the weak…” she complained, stomping her feet across the room, slamming the door shut behind her. 

The body jerked, floundering on the ground, and Jeralt sighed as he began kneading his forehead with his thumbs. 

“What a mess we are…” he mumbled.

Imperial Year 1177

Verdant Rain Moon - Day 12

Dear Sir R,

I hope this letter finds you well. As promised, we have recently finished our investigation against House Hyrm. I’ve attached our findings to this message. You should see a copy of their account book inside, along with a few other legal documents they had hiding in their mansion’s safe. Please do not worry — we made sure to clear any traces that might lead them to us. Yes, that includes the Viscount’s head. I hope the news of his death does not disturb you much. He deserved it. 

Anyway, I have summarized briefly what we have found below:

1. House Hyrm are directly involved in the disappearances of commoners in their territory. Although they keep up the facade that these commoners chose to escape to the County of Ordelia due to their inability to pay taxes, clear evidence suggests they forced these commoners across the Airmid River. 
2. Although the Viscount has been overseeing the land, it appears that Duke Aegir has been assisting him. Perhaps an investigation into Duke Aegir is necessary. 
3. A large number of funds unaccounted for have been moved to the County of Ordelia. If my guess is correct, they’re funding the crest experimentations there. 
4. According to village gossip, several mages cloaked in black have been spotted in Hyrm territory. 
5. Taxes collected from the Hyrm territory have been shared with the rest of the noble houses in the Adrestian Empire. 
6. Viscount Hyrm was a complete wimp. He has no connections whatsoever to the dealings between Hyrm and Ordelia. Perhaps the Empire’s higher-ranked nobles threatened him into following their orders. He’s just a figurehead. 

Forgive me for my crude language. I’m still trying to get the hang of this reading and writing business. Anyway, we will head to Ordelia’s territory next. I will contact you again soon after we’ve reached House Ordelia. In the meantime, please don’t hesitate to contact us if you’ve received new information. 

P.S. I’m joking. Give us a break. Please. I was just trying to be courteous, but sir, we’ve been working nonstop for the past six months. 

Yours truly, 

Prisoner S 

The sky was pitch-black tonight with no stars to be seen — lending a near-perfect camouflage for those who acted only in the dark away from the Goddess’ watching gaze. Thales sauntered down the stairs, a daunting silhouette backlit by the perimeter floodlights aligned across the wall. 

The basement underneath Lord Arundel’s lavish lair was the entrance to a world completely detached from Fodlan’s reality. Underneath his castle, Thales had built a facility similar to the ones they had back in Shambhala, lining the hallways with bright fluorescent rods, the cell walls covered in magnetic panels that surged electricity — a foreign concept to the rest of Fodlan. Deep inside this secret underground tunnel, Thales built several rooms for experiments, similar to the ones they used in Caldea, but of much higher quality. Each was complete with a set of surgery tools, completely mechanical. 

The experiments in Caldea were a success; the Agarthans had succeeded in transforming man into beast-like monsters. Some even succeeded in implanting crests inside of children, much to Thales’s delight. As soon as the results reached his waiting hands, he commenced the first step of his centuries-long plan: the Tragedy of Duscur. Cornelia had performed wonderfully, enticing Queen Patricia into their plans, even indoctrinating Viscount Kleiman under their wing. 

The Kingdom of Faerghus would soon fall as long as Cornelia and Viscount Kleiman successfully brought attention to the Duscurians, framing them for the crime of regicide. It was only a matter of time before they managed to get the rest of the Faerghus nobles to their side.

Or at least, that was what Thales had thought. 

Myson had handed him a report earlier, informing him that while they had the upper hand in Faerghus’ ring of nobility, some mysterious entity had been eliminating their allies in the Empire. 

“Hyrm, that damn fool…” Thales swore loudly, his authoritative voice echoing down the cells, sending its inhabitants into a flurry. 

He had spent a long time deciding on a puppet ruler for Duke Aegir to control. He made sure that the old Viscount of Hyrm had no power of his own; he had forced him to relinquish all his monetary and military assets after Thales took over Lord Arundel’s identity. The Seven of the Adrestian Empire equally benefited from Duke Aegir’s rule over the Hyrm territory. None of them had a reason to defy him after all this time and preparation. 

It can’t have been a rat within their ranks. The information must’ve been leaking from elsewhere.

“Myson,” Thales’s commanding voice roared down the hallway. 

Myson immediately warped in, standing in front of Thales. He bowed lightly. “What is the matter, my Lord?” 

“Send the Death Knight to House Hyrm. Get him properly adopted into their family registry,” Thales’s stern voice commanded. 

“As you wish, my Lord,” Myson bowed again as he spoke gracefully. He lifted his head, masked eyes peering into Thales’s snake-like orbs. “Sir, I have a report to make regarding the experiments we’ve performed on the royal children.” 

“Oh? I hope you have come with good news,” Thales smirked. “Speak.” 

“Only one of them survived. She’s successfully implanted with the Crest of Flames.”

The deafening silence reverberated like thunder. The air surrounding them picked up, malice festering in the horrifying aura seeping out of Thales’s flesh. Thales’s sickening laughter boomed across the now-empty cells that were littered with the dead bodies of the royal heirs. The sheer darkness roiling in his gaze made Myson take a step back. It took him another second or two to force his legs to unlock, and he managed to walk over stiffly towards Thales. 

“Sir, I have a suggestion to make,” Myson quietly spoke up.

Thales paused, glaring at Myson with murderous intent. “Silence,” Thales said. That single word from him, not even shouted or snapped, was loaded with a finality and a warning that could only be described as dire. 

Myson’s jaws snapped shut with an audible click. 

“There’s no need to panic. Now that we have a true successor to the Adrestian throne, our plans can finally move to the next phase,” Thales calmly spoke. “Turn your attention to the experiments in the County of Ordelia.” 

“Yes, my Lord,” Myson bowed. He swiveled on his heels, hoping to escape the hostile-driven air permeating behind him. 

“Ah, and one more thing,” Thales suddenly added, making Myson freeze. 

Thales rubbed his chin in deep thought, a menacing smirk plastered on his face. “If you happen to find a few…disturbing rats lurking around near the House of Ordelia, eliminate them. Bring me their heads .”  

It took Jeralt and his crew three days to reach House Ordelia’s territory. Under normal circumstances, it would’ve taken less than a day by foot to cross the Airmid River. But to pass into the Leicester Alliance from the Empire, one needed access to the Great Bridge of Myrddin. Although they were a large-name mercenary group, it still took them a whole day to gather the necessary permits to pass the checkpoint between Hyrm’s territory and the domain of House Ordelia. Renard suggested they sneak past the knights guarding the bridge, but Jeralt immediately shot down his suggestion with a sharp glare, much to Renard’s disappointment.  

Compared to the impoverished state of House Hyrm, the domain of House Ordelia flourished under the Empire’s influence. Perhaps it was because they were pooling monetary resources into their research, but the streets of House Ordelia were garnished with proper lanterns and cobbled road work. Although few inhabitants were walking around in broad daylight, the land looked peaceful enough compared to the Hyrm territory that had thieves and beggars scrambling like a herd of sewer rats through the abandoned alleyways.  

At least on the outside, it looked serene and quiet — a picture-perfect place for one to take a small vacation in, surrounded by nature and the beautiful river of Airmid, a popular spot for fishermen in the area. 

“Doesn’t look like a place where corruption runs rampant, does it?” Renard commented. He stood underneath a grandiose fountain in the center of the town square, feeling the light brush of cool air against his heated skin as the wind sprayed drops of moisture around him. He stretched his arms lightly, swaying his hips in a cheery mood. “Plus, the air’s really fresh around here.” 

The sun was blazing hot above their heads, casting dark shadows behind them as they explored the city. Jeralt marched in front, eyes traversing the beautiful scenery around them. Byleth lingered slightly behind, shoulders stiff and tense as she searched the buildings for signs of cloaked men hiding in the shadows. 

Satiana stomped over towards Renard and yanked him by the collar, sending Renard into a floundering fit. “We’re not here for sightseeing, Renard. We have business to attend to. Serious business that involves life and death too,” she huffed, dragging Renard behind her back. 

“Hey, stop yanking me— urgh,” he choked, feeling the cloth tightening around his neck. He slapped Satiana’s grip off his neck. “Fuck, are you trying to strangle me in broad daylight?!” 

“I highly doubt anyone here would stop me from doing so,” Satiana’s brows quirked, lips twitching up in barely concealed amusement. 

Renard shot her a nasty glare. “Okay, fine. I get it. Maybe sneaking into the Viscount’s mansion at midnight was a bad idea. But it’s not like we have to care whether the authorities find out about his death or not.” 

“You’re right, but at this rate, instead of staying low-profile, we’ll get published on the first page of the newspaper,” Byleth commented. 

Satiana perked up, snapping her fingers in the air in revelation. “Ah, actually, when we were resting in the inn yesterday, I heard some people gossiping about a group of bandits who break into the homes of corrupted nobles, stealing their stuff. Doesn’t that sound kind of familiar?”

Jeralt blanched, lips contorted into a grimace. “There goes our reputation as a first-class mercenary troop.” 

“Hey, it’s not as if they know it’s us,” Satiana folded her arms casually behind her back, pausing to stare at a peculiar statue of a mage adorned in the middle of the road. “We cover our faces with masks when we attack them anyway,” she muttered quietly, squinting at the crow-like mask attached to the face of the mage. “Is this the kind of aesthetic nobles are into lately?” She poked at the statue, finding it interesting for some odd reason.

“Who knows? Nobles have always found weird hobbies to try out,” Renard commented with a shrug.

Jeralt suddenly halted mid-step in front of the line. Byleth raised her eyebrows as she came to a stop beside him. “What’s wrong?” Byleth peered over his shoulder, eyes landing on the house in the corner of the street. “Oh,” her mouth widened into an ‘o’ shape in realization. “That must be House Orderlia’s humble abode.” 

“Where?” Satiana and Renard chorused, running to the front of the line. 

In front of their eyes was an average-sized mansion built from cobblestone, double-decked and decorated with a small lawn fenced in by the metal gates. Compared to House Hyrm’s red-bricked estate with an impressive inner atrium all the way up to the gold vaulted ceiling and a botanical garden that ran for miles, from the outside, House Ordelia looked fairly normal. 

Renard frowned. “That does not look like the hidden lair of an evil organization.” 

Satiana rolled her eyes, lightly elbowing in the ribcage. “Of course not. The experiment halls are usually underground.” 

“So, what do we do?” Byleth asked. “Wait for nighttime?” 

“I suggest we—” Renard started, only for Jeralt to slap a hand over his mouth.

“You, be quiet,” Jeralt snapped, unleashing his menace as he stared daggers at the poor man who was only trying to lighten the mood with his jokes. 

“Y-Yes sir,” Renard replied, voice muffled, his expression drooping in disappointment. 

Jeralt turned to Satiana instead. “You got any ideas brewing in that little head of yours?” 

Satiana shot her brows up in surprise. “You’re asking me? You know, I make fun of Renard often, but my ideas aren’t that different from his.” 

Renard protested a loud ‘hey’ from underneath Jeralt’s hand, but it was muffled by the death grip Jeralt had on the man. 

“True, but I’m sure you have a better idea of the structure underneath this mansion,” Jeralt pointed out. “You’ve been to places similar to these before. So you should lead the way.”

Satiana grinned toothily, her heart swelling with pride and newfound confidence. It had been six months since she’d joined Jeralt’s band of mercenaries. Jeralt positioned her in the back most of the time, letting her clean up any leftover enemies. All she did was follow orders obediently like a puppy; she didn’t want to cause Jeralt any trouble, after all. This was the first time Jeralt had allowed her to participate in the frontlines — even allowing her to lead them. 

Satiana was never one to waste a good opportunity.

“Well then, here’s what I think…”

Imperial Year 1177

Verdant Rain Moon - Day 16

Dear S, 

It is a pleasure to hear from you again. Do not worry. I have grown accustomed to your manner of speech. Pay no heed to it. 

Thank you for your hard work, as usual. I will make sure to delve deeper into the affairs involving Duke Aegir and the other nobles in the Empire. News of Viscount Hyrm’s mysterious death has been published in the Fodlan papers. The Faerghus nobility is in an uproar. There’s been rumors of a mysterious group of righteous thieves that go around robbing corrupted nobles’ houses. Perhaps we should consider keeping a low profile for a while. 

Your vacation is promised after you conclude your mission in the County of Ordelia. Please, be careful. Now that we have eliminated a member of their faction, they will become more alert. 

P.S. Unfortunately, crime doesn’t wait for anybody. 

With worry and care, 

R.

“S-Sir!” 

The large doors leading to the dining room slammed open, startling the occupants inside. Myson clicked his tongue in annoyance, settling the metal knife down on the plate of delicious-looking steak in front of him. The Lord of Ordelia and his wife stared at the newcomer, eyes filled with bewilderment and fear. They glanced at each other, sweat rolling down their exhausted features. 

“What is the matter?” Myson grumbled, glaring at his subordinate, who barged into the dining room, interrupting his last meal of the day. He had spent the entire day running errands for Thales, speeding up the process of their experiments while calculating the damages from the loss of House Hyrm’s support. Needless to say, Myson was exhausted to the bone; dealing with Thales as his superior was never an easy task, considering his life was always on the line. “If it’s not urgent, I hope you can take your cue and leave. I want to finish my dinner in peace—” 

“The experiment has succeeded, sir Myson!” The apprentice age interjected in a bright and cheerful voice. 

Myson jerked his head up, slamming his hands onto the dinner table, sending the plates clattering against each other. Lord Ordelia winced at the raucous as his wife reduced to a shivering mess beside him. 

“What did you say?!” Myson screamed in exhilaration. “How many? How many of them survived?!” He sprinted towards the apprentice mage, yanking his collar. “Tell me, now!” He shook the mage vigorously. 

“Ow, sir!” The mage screeched, his eyes whirling. “C-Calm down! We have one success! It’s that brat with the pink eyes.” 

Lord Ordelia looked absolutely crestfallen, his head drooping down to stare at the ground in sheer horror. His wife started sobbing, her arms reaching towards her husband for comfort. Unfortunately, their silent pleas were left unheard by the excited mages surrounding them. 

“Yes! Finally, we have something to give Lord Thales!” Myson’s fists shook in excitement as he held them in the air in front of him. 

“We have just one problem, though,” the apprentice mage suddenly spoke, baritone voice dropping a notch lower. “It seems her hair has lost its color.”

Myson brushed the mage off with a wave of his hand. “Pay no attention to it. Their lifespan doesn’t matter as long as we can use them before they run out of steam. Bring me to her. I need to see our success with my own eyes.” 

The mages cackled in glee and delight as they exited out the dining hall, the mood inside taking a deep plunge as the air grew heavy with tension and grief. Lord Ordelia buried his tear-stained face into his hands, gritting his teeth till his lips started bleeding. His wife hugged him tightly, the shudders in their body blending into one as they shared a brief intimate moment to grieve for their lost children.  

“I-I’m a failure as a man…as a husband…and a father,” the pain in his heart spilled out from his lips, a concoction of dark, heavy disappointment, a bitter truth, and an inexplicable feeling of hatred towards the monsters who destroyed the lives of his dear family. He sobbed louder, the tears flowing freely down his sullen cheekbones. 

“I’ve never felt so powerless…those damn Imperial nobles…if only we didn’t help House Hyrm, our siblings wouldn’t have perished!” He slammed his fists onto the table repeatedly, the bone-chilling sound of his knuckles cracking echoing through the room, a haunting nightmare to his wife’s ears. 

“My dear…please stop hurting yourself…” His wife attempted to console him, though her words had no emotion in them. They were empty, just like her tired soul. “There’s nothing we can do. They’re using our children as hostages.” 

“I-I know…but our children…” he wailed louder, sinking into his wife’s embrace. “Our poor Lysithea. They turned her into…into…” he trailed off, cutting his words off. If he finished the sentence, he would be admitting the dark reality in front of him — that they had successfully morphed their child’s body by using inhumane means. Just imagining the blood-curdling screams bouncing off the walls of the mansion made him feel sick to his stomach.

His wife sobbed next to him, burying her head into the comforting nook of her husband’s neck. “I know…I know…” she lightly rubbed soothing circles on her husband’s back, hoping to relieve him of his guilt and sorrow. “I wish we could do something to help the children.” 

It was at that moment that everything went pear-shaped. Lord Ordelia opened his mouth to reply to his wife’s concerns when the wall behind them blasted open, inwardly exploding, shooting debris in their direction. His wife let loose a high-pitched scream, and he ducked, covering her head with his arms. His ears were ringing, the explosion blinding his senses as dust swelled up in the room. 

It was said that the first moment you looked at a clock was when the second hand moved the slowest. In that eternal moment, he caught a glimpse of two shadowy figures barrel-rolling into the dining room through the open crevice. Time seemed to pause as the intruders sailed forward; their arms trailed like a comet in their wake towards his direction. 

The Lord wholeheartedly believed that Saint Seiros had finally come to punish him for his sins — for his failure to save his family from the depths of despair. He was going to die at the hands of some thieves. A pathetic and worthless death, not the kind of death he envisioned for himself. At the very least, he sought for a beautiful heroic death, losing his life to protect his family against the mages that threatened their peace, not some stupid end by the hands of petty thieves that dared to blow his mansion up into smithereens. 

He shut his eyes tightly, hugging his loved one in his arms, steeling himself to death’s beckoning call. 

A light pat on the shoulder made his body jerk. 

“Are you the head of House Ordelia?” The intruder suddenly spoke, voice calm and soothing to the Lord’s ears. 

His eyes snapped open, widening in shock as he stared up into the face of the masked thief. “Y-Yes, I am. W-Who are you?” He sputtered, completely flabbergasted at the situation. 

The thief lowered his mask, and the Lord could finally see the beautifully sculpted face behind the mask. It was a woman with silky blue hair. The thief behind her coughed once, choking on the dust around the room. She ignored her coughing companion and held a hand in front of the Lord’s trembling figure. 

He peered down at the waiting hand. Then, he glanced back up, confusion whirling in his eyes. 

The blue-haired woman simply smiled at him. “Hello. My name is Byleth. That’s my companion, Jeralt Eisner. We are here to save you.” 

The explosion did not go the way Satiana planned it to be. According to the plans she devised with Jeralt’s help, they would first land a magic spell in the middle of the garden, moving most of the mages outside the mansion. They would then break into two groups: Jeralt and Byleth posing as thieves, taking care of the bulk of the enemies in front, while Satiana and Renard snuck in behind the mansion to the basement and searched for the victims. 

To their dismay, Renard had been too giddy when he cast Bolganone — his distracted focus opening up a fissure in the ground to the right of the mansion, blasting a gigantic hole into the wall. The wall caved in, completely in ruins, and Satiana gaped, gobsmacked at the complete failure of her plans. 

“What the fuck was that, Renard?! I said the garden, not the goddamn wall!” Satiana fiercely whispered in a harsh voice. 

Jeralt slapped Renard in the back of the head, sending him hurtling to the ground in disarray. Byleth facepalmed, shaking her head in exasperation. 

“Forget it. We’ll just improvise from here. Byleth, we’re heading in,” Jeralt barked an order out with a scowl on his face, and Byleth nodded, the two rushing out of the bushes, barging into the mansion from the front. 

“Get your ass up! We need to head to the back, now!” Satiana spat in disgust at Renard’s flailing body on the ground. 

“Hey, wait up!” Renard yelled from behind her as she darted through the lawn, circling to the back of the mansion. 

Now that they had blasted a hole open in the right-side of the mansion, most of the enemies would crowd out towards the right, leaving the left side vulnerable. She stealthily slid past the back of the estate, avoiding the windows, ducking down to the ground. Renard crawled behind her, following her trail with a pout plastered on his face.

“What do we do now…?” He whispered. 

“Pray that the doorway leading to the basement is on the left of their mansion. That’s what we do,” she harshly replied, shooting a smoldering glare behind her back. 

Renard whimpered in disappointment but obediently followed Satiana's route. 

She leaned against the wall, placing her ears on the cobblestone, eavesdropping on the sounds echoing throughout the mansion. A stampede of footsteps came from below them. Then, the thundering sounds slowly dissipated into the far distance. 

Bingo.

“You’re a lucky bastard, Renard,” she scowled, leaning off the wall. “It appears the basement is on the left of the mansion.” 

“Hell yeah,” Renard quietly cheered to himself, though the sentiments were lost on Satiana as she shot him a warning look. He flinched, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “O-Okay, fine. I’m sorry.”

“Get on your feet. We’ll sneak in through the windows,” Satiana ordered. 

She paused for a brief moment, ensuring no footsteps inside the mansion before she stretched her back, peering above the windowsill. Through the dusty panes of glass, she could see the empty hallway that led to the front of the mansion. A wooden staircase was decorated with a soft white carpet on the left corner. Two giant vases of flowers stood tall on both sides of the stairs. 

A quick survey confirmed the existence of a basement hiding behind the staircase; there were small glimmers of light coming from below through the cracks between the wooden planks, suggesting the presence of candlelights.

Satiana took a deep breath before she grabbed the top of the window sill and pulled herself up. She raised her right foot, placed them on the edge of the window, and twisted her body up. She landed on her knees on the window sill, supporting her weight with her hands, grabbing the head and jamb of the window. 

“Renard, you got that iron crowbar I told you to keep?” Satiana asked as she peered down at Renard’s bobbing head.

His hands wandered to his back and detached the crowbar from his belt. He handed it to Satiana swiftly. Satiana immediately grabbed the crowbar with one hand and jammed its end underneath the window’s frame. She gritted her teeth as she mustered up her strength, pulling the crowbar upwards. 

Luckily, the wood was eroded by rain and wind, snapping apart easily. The lower stash of the window broke apart, and Satiana pushed the glass panes upwards. She slid her small frame through the gaps. Landing gracefully against the wooden floor, she lightly patted the dust off her knees before she spun back towards the window to open it fully. 

“Can you get in, Renard?” 

In less than a second, Renard’s brown hair poked up from the edge of the window. “Yeah, just give me a second,” he grunted, pulling himself through the open slit with much struggle due to his larger build. 

Eventually, he popped through the open window, landing face forward onto the carpet below. 

“Ouch!” He yelped.

Satiana rolled her eyes. “So much for being a professional assassin,” she sarcastically threw a remark in his direction. 

Renard groaned, rubbing his reddening nose. “S-Shush. I usually kill out in the opening, not in a goddamn mansion like some lowly thief.”

Satiana ignored Renard and his storm of excuses, focusing her attention on the floor. She swerved behind the staircase and knelt down, knocking the wooden planks. The sound reverberated cleanly through the hallway. 

It’s hollow. As expected.

She traced her fingers along the floor, feeling the edges of a hidden compartment, and yanked it up. The trapdoor flipped open, a secret entrance to the underground basement unveiling itself. 

Renard whistled behind her. “Damn. You sure you weren’t a thief before you met us?” He joked.

Satiana rolled her eyes. “No, I was just using my eyes and ears.” 

Satiana practically dragged Renard down the stairs, yanking him by the arm. The staircase spiraled down into the darkness below, the candles providing the barest of light, allowing them only a glimpse of their footing. 

Satiana frowned. “Can you cast a light spell?” 

“Sorry, but I only deal with fire and explosions,” Renard whispered back. 

They slowly inched down the stairs, leaning against the wall for support. At one point, Satiana slipped, losing her footing, and almost fell headfirst to her death if not for Renard’s quick reflex, grabbing her hands just in time before gravity took hold. By the time they reached the bottom, their eyes had adjusted to the darkness, allowing them to see silhouettes. 

Renard sniffed, taking in the foul air. He gagged, tongue sticking out of his mouth in distaste. “Shit, it smells like a slaughterhouse here. Does no one do the cleaning?” 

An acidic emotion rose in Satiana’s chest. She recognized the odor immediately. The putrid stench in the air — she could almost imagine the metallic taste on the tips of her tongue. It was the smell of blood. 

Her vision went red. 

“Hey, Satiana? What do we do now—” Renard’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click, eyes widening as he stared at Satiana. 

Renard was rendered mute by the alarming change in her demeanor. Merciless and lethal, her powerful aura swarmed over him. Between the four in Jeralt’s crew of elites, Renard was the one who spent the most time with Satiana, both as a teacher and as her partner on missions. They both had a similar affinity to the darkness, preferring to act in the shadows with sneak attacks or assassinations. As such, he was used to this side of Satiana — the unquenchable bloodlust that sometimes surfaced when her bottled-up emotions spilled over. In fact, he had been training her to rein it in. 

But still, he had only seen her in action from a safe distance. The menacing aura, he had only been sensing glimpses of it so far, he realized, as he was now faced with the potent darkness fully unsheathed. 

Satiana’s steps were heavy as she stalked down the hallway, blue eyes raging in the darkness, scorching the air around her. Renard watched silently from behind, legs frozen stiff. She came to a stop in front of what appeared to be an empty cell. Her hands slithered to the sword on her hips, and with one lightning flash, she sliced open the metallic cage. Stepping inside, the nauseating sound of liquid flesh against her boots made Renard’s stomach quench. 

He closed his eyes tightly, exhaling shakily. He didn’t need to follow her to know what it was she was staring so intently at with such piercing sharpness. 

It was then that Renard, with his keen vision, spotted movements in the corner of his eyes. He spun around, immediately lowering himself into a crouched stance, hands gripping the hilt of his blades tightly. His eyes narrowed into the darkness, squinting at the silhouette hiding in the shadows behind them. 

“Who’s there?!” He snarled, his bloodlust mixing with Satiana’s, permeating around the room like a thick, poisonous fog. 

Satiana slowly turned her head towards the direction Renard was looking in. With both blades in hand, she prowled over towards the newcomer. The dimmed candle lights flickered in the darkness, casting eerie-shaped shadows against the walls as the stranger finally came into sight. 

Renard’s eyes widened as he gazed over the girl standing in front of him. She was at least half his height, incredibly small for a child. Her pure white hair glistened in the dark, vibrant pink eyes staring right into his soul. The sound of droplets splashing against the red puddles on the ground alerted Renard to her current state. 

There was a gaping hole in her stomach, blood flowing out of the open wound. Broken chains hung around her neck, arms, and legs. How she broke out of them, he would never know. All he knew was that the murderous intent behind him flared, and he spun towards Satiana with bewilderment. 

“Satiana, snap out of it,” he commanded in a stern voice. “This kid is a survivor like you. She should be your priority, not those… animals up there,” he spat out with more menace than he would’ve liked, but who could blame him?

They really were in a slaughterhouse — one that killed innocent children like they were nothing but livestock. 

“I know,” her voice was hollow, devoid of emotion. But Renard knew she was just masking her true intentions. The dense fog of hostility still threatened to devour him whole, her ire wrapping around him. “It might not look like it, but I’m seriously trying my best to rein my anger in.” She gritted her teeth, her grip on the sword tightening so hard her palms started to bleed.

The young girl in front of them suddenly coughed, earning both of their full attention. “Who are you?” she spoke in a quiet, raspy voice. 

“We’re here to save you.” Renard was immediately by the girl’s side. He was a complete failure at white magic, but he tried his best to heal her open wounds. “You don’t have to worry. Your parents are safe upstairs with our friends.” 

Her poignant gaze landed on Satiana, who was trembling behind Renard, eyes still flickering with bloodlust. Their eyes met, fire clashing with cold ice. 

Satiana’s heart clenched; she felt the freezing gaze seep into the deepest and darkest corners of her soul, putting out the fire burning inside of her. Tears pricked her eyes, the emotions returning to her darkened eyes, and she found herself plodding towards the young girl. She hugged the girl tightly into her embrace, closing her eyes as she sighed in relief. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she whispered softly into the girl’s ears. 

The girl blankly stared at Satiana, her weak arms traversing on Satiana’s back as she awkwardly returned the embrace. “Are you also…?” the girl murmured, voice barely audible as her throat clenched in pain from the dryness. 

Satiana released her grip on the young girl, settling her hands on the girl’s shoulder instead. They peered into each other's eyes, their reflections casting back towards them. It was like staring into a mirror — a perfect copy of each other. There were some things that only those who had lived through the same hell knew.

On a subconscious level, the young girl recognized Satiana as her kin. 

“L-Lysithea. That’s my name,” the girl named Lysithea softly spoke. “And what is yours?” 

Satiana’s gaze softened, the bloodlust dissipating into thin air. “You can call me Satiana. And I’m going to get you and your parents out of this disgusting place, okay?”

“B-But where will we go?” Lysithea stammered out. 

“I’m a part of a mercenary group, and the Kingdom has hired us to investigate the corruption behind the Empire. Our client will guarantee your family’s safety, I promise you,” Satiana explained. 

Renard’s healing spell fizzled out of existence, his hands still glowing from the after-effects. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeves. “There you go. I’ve stopped the bleeding for now. You should be okay as long as you take a good rest.” 

“Thank you,” Lysithea quietly muttered, fiddling with the chains on her wrists. “Uh, can you also take these off me?” 

Satiana blinked. “Oh, sure.” With two flicks of her wrists, she sliced the chains neatly off Lysithea’s hands and legs. 

“I know you’re still tired and all, but I think we should get out of here as soon as possible,” Renard suddenly suggested. “The battle should be nearly over by now. We don’t want to get caught in the blast.” 

Satiana nodded in understanding. She held out her hand for Lysithea to grasp. “Do you think you can make it?” Satiana asked. 

Lysithea nodded, confidence burning in those bright orbs of hers. “Of course, I can. I planned to break out of the cage tonight, anyway. I want to use the powers they forced upon me to make them pay for what they did,” she growled. 

Satiana blinked, pleasantly surprised at her change in demeanor. “Well, would you look at that? You’re taking it so much better than I did.” 

Renard frowned. “Your circumstances are different. Of course, she’s taking it all in stride compared to you. Anyway, we should get out of here now.” 

As if on cue, the sound of footsteps thundered down the staircase. Renard and Satiana perked up, eyes narrowing. Renard motioned behind his thigh, and Satiana immediately responded, pushing Lysithea into an empty cell. Lysithea opened her mouth to protest, but Satiana silenced her with a hush. 

“Your turn will come much later. Don’t worry. Recuperate yourself for now. You want to end this with your own hands, don’t you?” Satiana goaded her with a knowing look in her eyes. “I feel the same way. We’ll make these bastards pay.” 

Lysithea’s eyes widened briefly before her lips twitched up into a small smile. “Satiana, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Hey, who are you— URGH!” An ear-splitting scream reverberated down the hallway as Renard charged up the stairs with his blades. 

“Yes, what is it, Lysithea?” Satiana glanced behind her for a split second, her hands on her blades as she spoke. 

Lysithea cleared her throat once before she smirked. “I happen to be a dark mage. So if you need my help, just ask.”

Another body flew across the cells, landing with a thud on the ground. The sound of swords clashing echoed down the hallways.

Satiana stared at Lysithea, a toothy grin making its way up onto her face. “Just our luck,” she chuckled.

“Get them!” A mage screamed, shooting fireballs down the hallway. 

Renard swiftly dodged, backing into the cell Lysithea and Satiana were hiding in. “Hey! Less talk and more help, please! I’m not taking all of them down by myself,” he snapped, glaring at Satiana.

Satiana just smiled sweetly at Renard, gripping his shoulder tightly. 

Renard blanched at her expression, sweat pouring down his face. “Oh, I don’t like that expression at all. What are you scheming now?” 

Satiana simply cocked her head to the side, a picture-perfect image of innocence. “Hey, Renard. What do you think about another… explosion ?”

Chapter Text

[Black Fog]

Interlude

Byleth glanced around idly, scanning her surroundings. Three mages to the left. Brigands to the right. An archer on top of the roof, aiming directly at her head. She raised her hand to her cloak thoughtlessly, shifting it up her neck, the cloak spreading out around her arms, flapping against the violent storm heading her way. 

She jumped back swiftly, the thoron crash-landed underneath her feet, a few spots from where she previously stood. Landing on her knees, she grabbed the hilt of her sword. She cut through the fog of dust and dashed forward, bolting out of the gray smokescreen separating her and the brigands on the right.

With a light flick of her wrists, she made quick work of them, swerving through their ranks with the grace of a war-trained soldier. 

“D-Damn you…” the brigand cursed his last words before death stole his breath away.  

“How many of them left?” Jeralt spoke calmly behind her, idly dodging a fireball.  

Byleth tilted her head to the left, an arrow whizzing right past her ears. “As long as they don’t bring reinforcements, we’ll be done in three minutes,” she replied stoically as she lifted her hand up to parry the stray blade of an assassin.

She kneed him in the guts, sending him hurtling towards the open gap in the wall. The assassin collided into the dining table, snapping the wood neatly in half. Lord Ordelia winced from his position underneath the table, barely avoiding the jets of splinters, plaster, and wood. 

“Careful,” Jeralt scolded. “We can’t let them harm the nobles.” 

“Sorry. That was my mistake,” Byleth casually apologized, her sword slamming into the chest of a mage nearby. 

“W-What in the heavens is going on here?!” There was a screeching sound ringing in her ears, and Byleth winced, her ears tuning in its direction. 

A warlock dressed entirely in black was in front of the mansion, strolling out the front door. He wore the same creepy, crow-like mask they found decorating the statues around town. Byleth’s gaze flickered in recognition, and she cast a look in Jeralt’s direction. The meaning of the gaze wasn’t lost on either of them, and they nodded in understanding. 

Target founded. 

Jeralt sent a signal behind his back, and Byleth immediately dashed through the crowd of mages blocking their path. Fireballs and thoron spells erupted from more mages, following the first. Byleth barrel-rolled smoothly against the ground, shoving herself flush behind an innocent tree, using it as a barrier as she crept closer to their leader. 

“Don’t let them get close to the building! Protect the facility at all cost!” Their leader screamed, pointing his shaking finger at Byleth’s face. 

But it was futile; compared to Byleth and Jeralt, the mages and brigands didn’t stand a chance. Their ranks quickly collapsed to the ground in black heaps. Byleth and Jeralt sauntered forward, eyes gleaming in the dark with unrestrained bloodlust and menace. The leader clicked his tongue in annoyance, his feet sliding back unconsciously from their overwhelming aura. 

“Where are the reinforcements?!” The leader yelled, bewildered. He shrank back as Jeralt and Byleth stalked closer, lifting their swords.

In that brief moment before the final confrontation, the air suddenly sizzled. Byleth’s head jerked to the side, eyes widening as a beam of light suddenly shot out of the left of the mansion. Her warrior-like reflexes kicked in, and she tackled Jeralt down to the ground, sending him hurtling to the ground with a loud ‘oomph.’ 

“What the—” The leader’s words were cut off by the ringing explosion, his back colliding head first with the firestorm blasting through the front door behind him.  

The world caught fire, a violent shockwave hurtling shattered concrete stone, concussive air, and flames across the front yard. 

Byleth groaned loudly, her head thudding in pain. Jeralt shifted underneath her. He lightly pushed her off him, rubbing the back of his head with his spare hand. His eyes widened, taking in the scenery behind Byleth’s back. 

Dark-colored flames roared across the garden, trees perishing into thin air along with the metal gates, melting into oblivion.

Jeralt gaped. “What…What the fuck just happened?!”  

 “Uh, Lysithea?” 

“Yes, Satiana?” 

“You are one hell of a force to be reckoned with.”

Half the mansion blew apart into smithereens. The staircase had completely crumbled into ashes. The basement barely survived the full brunt of the Hades spell. Combined with a meteor from Renard, the two practically obliterated the enemies in one clean blow, dragging the entire mansion down with them.  

A bed crashed down from above their heads, snapping apart into several pieces, spraying wood against the ground. An awkward silence ensued as Renard whistled. 

“Damn. That was amazing,” Renard guffawed, hands on his hips as he proudly boasted. “We make a great team, kid.”

Lysithea snapped her head towards Renard, sending a death glare his way. “Do NOT call me a kid, or I’ll blast your head open with my next spell.” 

Renard whimpered, stepping back unconsciously as he held his hands in front of him in resignation. “O-Okay, I was just kidding, ki— I mean, Miss Lysithea,” he emphasized this time.

Lysithea huffed in satisfaction, nodding. “Good.” 

Satiana chuckled dryly at the carnage in front of her eyes. “So much for my plans. Perhaps we should just consider blasting through the front door next time.”  

Eventually, the fog of dust covering their line of sight dissipated. The garden was a complete wreck. Dark flames slithered across the greenery, setting fire to bushes and trees. Statues were completely shattered, the head of the mage lying innocently on the ground below. A few bodies from underground had flown through the sky, caught in the blast, now hanging limply on top of a few tree branches. Combined with the casualty count from Jeralt and Byleth’s attack, the garden looked more like a violated graveyard than anything. 

“So, did we kill them all?” Renard questioned, surveying his surroundings. 

“I think so?” Satiana shrugged. “It’s not like anyone could have survived that blast unless they expected it.” 

“Yes, you are correct,” Jeralt’s thundering voice echoed through the empty lawns. 

Satiana and Renard flinched at the alarming noise. Their hearts started thumping rapidly as they slowly turned around to face the demon storming towards them with a sinister look of anger on his face. The veins on his forehead popped out clearly against the shimmering moonlight. They gulped in unison, backing away slightly with a sheepish look on their faces. 

Jeralt came to a halt in front of them, shooting them a murderous glare. “It would’ve been an impossible feat for anyone to escape that unscathed, whether they were friend or foe,” Jeralt’s brows twitched uncontrollably as he spoke through gritted teeth. “You were incredibly lucky, or else our heads would’ve been included in the death count.” 

“Uh, yeah, about that,” Renard laughed awkwardly, eyes looking at anything but Jeralt’s smoldering face. “Sorry, buddy! We kind of forgot about you guys up here…” he ended lamely.

“Really, you two should learn to be more careful with your…tactics,” Byleth commented, appearing from behind Jeralt, her cloak half-burnt at the edges. Albeit the blank expression on her face, there was the way her eyes glimmered eerily in the moonlight that made Satiana shudder in response. 

“Y-Yes ma’am,” Satiana stammered out a response, nodding stiffly. 

“Who…Who are you?” A grim voice sounded from behind Byleth. 

Satiana blinked, peering over Byleth’s shoulders. She spotted a lone warlock sitting on the ground. His mask was cracked on the beak. His cloak was burnt to a crisp; only the collar remained of the clothing, revealing the pale-white skin glowing underneath the moonlight. The tall witch-like hat on his head had completely ripped into pieces. 

Her eyes darkened with realization. 

Ah, so this guy is one of their leaders.

“That’s not something for you to know, you beast,” Satiana growled gravely. She pushed aside Byleth, who allowed her to move past without much struggle. Satiana strode across the lawn, the dark flames flickering around her shifting sideways to create a path leading towards the warlock. 

The warlock shuddered, lifting his head to meet Satiana’s eyes narrowed to death. Byleth and Jeralt fought like monsters — the warlock knew that from experience. But even without seeing the girl in front of him in battle, he knew that whatever monsters lay in wait, she was the most terrifying of all. Satiana’s gaze lacerated him to the soul and demanded nothing less than raw honesty.

She pointed her sword at the beak of his mask. “Tell me,” she demanded, the blade shifting closer to his skin, lowering to his neck. “Who are you? Where are the rest of your comrades? What are your goals?” She didn’t leave room for him to breathe as she overpowered him with her menacing aura, pure bloodlust, and disgust towards the monster in front of her. “It’s fine if you don’t want to answer me. I’ll squeeze every last drop out of you. I want to hear everything that you know.”

The warlock shrank back in fear, but he held his composure. A resounding cackle slipped out from underneath the cracks of his mask. “We will return this world to mortal hands. For the sake of a new dawn, we must eliminate all remnants of that filthy race of beasts!” 

None of his words made sense, and Satiana found her patience snapping. She stabbed her sword into the shoulders of the warlock and twisted the hilt, a blood-curdling scream shattering the quiet tension in the air. She scowled, plunging the blade deeper into the wound. There was no denying it anymore. Satiana wanted to kill him immediately. 

Part of her wanted to give in to her deepest desires — to dole out a taste of all the pain and hatred that had been bubbling beneath her skin for the past ten years of her life. To slash that neck of that disgusting body. To torture him until he bled for years, longer than the amount of trauma he forced upon the children. But she remembered her promise with Jeralt, Renard, and Rodrigue — she swore to rein in the darkness inside of her. 

For the sake of the greater good, they needed more information. It wasn’t the time yet to kill this man. 

“We’re going to capture you and tear you apart from limb to limb until you confess every last one of your crimes,” Satiana barked in his face before she yanked the sword out of his shoulder, fists clenched tightly around the hilt till her hands started bleeding from barely contained fury. 

The warlock continued to laugh, the high-pitched tone of his voice sending chills down her spine. “Hah! Be my guest. I swear upon the name of Myson. I will never divulge any information to those who support those beasts like you! Torture me if you wish. That is…” he trailed off as the air suddenly grew heavy, sparks flying in the air. “If you can catch me!” 

His hands started glowing red, and Satiana’s eyes widened. 

Shit…!

“Satiana!”

The sound of Renard screaming her name barely registered in her ears as the light blinded her.

Rodrigue sat in his study, tapping the tip of his pen lightly against the sheet of paper in front of him. It was only the first of many documents that required his signature in the endless piles of paperwork looming over his desk. It seemed like an easy decision — to sign his name or not. But things were never easy when it involved politics. 

Especially politics that involved invasion and war. 

The decision weighed heavily on his mind even though he had already resolved himself to sign the papers, approving Faerghus’s decision to retaliate against Duscur. 

There was no turning back after this moment. He was sending innocent people to their deaths. His mind understood it, but his heart could never. If only Lambert were still around, perhaps he could’ve chosen a different path. Maybe if he thought hard enough with that elite brain of his, he could come up with a better decision that would benefit Faerghus in the long run without harming the innocent. 

But Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius was just one man fighting a lonely battle against himself and the ghost of his friend that followed around him like the plague. Lambert would never agree with his decision. But perhaps that kind-hearted soul of his was why he was dead — Rodrigue alive instead. 

Forgive me, Lambert. 

His hands trembled as he signed his name onto the paper. After finishing, he grabbed the piece of paper and shoved it underneath the pile, hoping never to see it again. 

He reclined back into the chair, back slouching on the seat. He gazed absentmindedly up to the ceiling and heaved a heavy sigh in exhaustion. 

The door to his study suddenly opened, the Fraldarius butler strolling in with a tray in his hands. Rodrigue immediately straightened his posture, folding his hands neatly on top of the table. He spotted the white envelope on top of the metal tray and frowned, feeling his stomach plummet. 

“Is that a letter from our…helpers?” he vaguely spoke as if worried someone would be eavesdropping on them. 

“Yes, it is from them,” his butler stoically replied, bowing lightly before he placed the letter on the pile of documents on Rodrigue’s desk. “Please, excuse me.” The butler quietly excused himself, leaving out the open door with grace and another stiff bow. 

The door shut tight, and Rodrigue immediately grabbed the letter, peeling the seal off with his knife. 

It had been about three months since he last heard from Jeralt and his crew. They should’ve been searching for clues in the County of Ordelia. A part of him was hopeful — he had a hunch that they would return with positive results this time. The evidence he had received from House Hyrm was more than enough to threaten their position as nobles in the Empire. Of course, Faerghus had no right to delve into the Empire's affairs. But nevertheless, he could apply pressure on them as someone who knew their backhanded dealings with the Duke of Aegir and the other members of The Seven. 

He just had to pray that whoever the next puppet head was, they would be an easy foe to subdue.

Rodrigue opened the contents of the letter and quickly skimmed through it. His frown deepened as he read past the first few lines. By the end of the letter, his heart felt heavy. A part of him was glad that they had succeeded in destroying one of the experiment facilities. However, it had come at the cost of many lives. 

Rodrigue opened his drawers, searching for an empty sheet of paper. He pulled one out, grabbed his pen, and prepared to write a response. 

But he froze mid-air. 

He didn’t know where to begin. He was delighted that they were all safe and sound. Their accomplishments were huge, and they deserved praise and reward. However, there was also that damning paper he just signed his name on. 

Rodrigue sighed for the umpteenth time that day, burying his head into his hands. 

How am I supposed to break the news to them?

Imperial Year 1177

Red Wolf Moon - Day 18

Dear Sir R, 

Apologies for the late reply. As you know, we have been busy dealing with the extermination of human trafficking between the Hyrm territory and the Ordelia domain. As of now, we have destroyed one of their facilities underneath Lord Ordelia’s mansion. Until the Empire sends a new puppet head to House Hyrm, we should not see any more movements between the two territories. 

In case you are wondering, this reply came quite late because I was careless against the enemy. I was sent hurling into the air by a well-timed Swarm-Z spell and almost lost my sight because of it. Fortunately, I only suffered minor burns and a few broken limbs, but then again, I’m used to it by now. Hopefully, you are too. 

Unfortunately, we let one of their higher-ranked members escape. He calls himself Myson, and he is a Warlock who uses dark magic. 

In addition, House Ordelia has decided to swear fealty to Faerghus, or really, to you, sir. Of course, they are still a part of the Alliance on the papers. The heir to House Ordelia has decided to relinquish her claim to the noble house, which means House Ordelia will end with her generation. However, she plans to do this after improving the state of affairs within their County. Would you be so inclined to help them do so? If you are afraid of the Empire catching wind of your movements, we will gladly send them rations and gold in your stead, although we may have to find a different way into the Ordelia County that does not involve passing the Myrddin Bridge.    

I hope this message finds you well. We have successfully stopped one of the Empire’s schemes. You should be proud of us. By the way, thank you for the vacation. We will use it wisely and discretely to escape from the enemy’s radar. 

Sincerely, 

Prisoner S

“You are a complete utter fool, you know that?”

“Yeah…I…know…that…!” 

“Why didn’t you dodge the damn spell?”

“Because…I was…blinded by…fury!” 

“Then learn to rein in that goddamn darkness within you. Don’t let it cloud your judgments. Also, pick up the pace!” 

Satiana panted loudly, huffing for air. The muscles in her arms and legs felt like they were on fire as she scrambled up the hills. The tar-black clouds showed no signs of abating as they continued to spit down beads of water. The splashing puddles punctuated her march with discordant echoes as she ran up the slippery hills and steep slopes, Renard a few feet in front of her. 

“Your stamina sucks, you know that?” Renard scolded as he picked up the pace, splashing water against their clothes.

Satiana scowled, biting her lips in annoyance. “I blame it on the fact that I haven’t been fed well for the past ten years.” 

She felt her legs wobble, her balance slipping, and she yelped. She barely managed to keep herself on her feet. Renard paused in his steps, shooting a glare her way.

“Every time you slip, I’m increasing the amount of time you practice your sword swings by an hour,” Renard declared, much to Satiana’s chagrin.

“Are you trying to kill me? The rain makes it so easy for you to slip!” Satiana complained though she picked up her pace, following after Renard’s tracks obediently. 

After they finished their mission in the County of Ordelia, Jeralt and his crew departed for the Charon territory in Faerghus. Although Lysithea begged them to stay longer to protect the people of Ordelia from the Empire, Jeralt refused, saying they had urgent business in Faerghus to take care of. Half of it was a lie; they indeed had business in Faerghus, but it wasn’t urgent. They just didn’t have the heart to tell Lysithea they were technically considered fugitives in the Empire territory and that they couldn’t risk the ‘real enemy’ figuring out who they were. There was too much to explain and too much at stake.

However, Lysithea was the one who cured Satiana’s wounds with her healing magic, so it was only fitting for her to leave a few encouraging words for the poor girl. Satiana left a message for Lysithea, telling her to fight for her territory — to prepare for revenge against the bastards who ruined her life. She knew that Lysithea would be able to do it. Those vibrant pink eyes burned with such depth and brilliance within them. Despite facing such tragedy, Lysithea was more than ready to fight back. 

And she did. It had been three months since they’d left Count Ordelia’s territory, and they had already heard the news of how much Lysithea reformed their domain, even chasing away the remnants of the Empire within her territory. 

That young girl, barely the age of ten, did it all by herself. 

Satiana felt like she had lost somehow. She wanted to grow stronger. So strong that she would never have to face such a helpless situation ever again. So here she was, in the mountains next to Charon territory, training with Renard. 

“Your pace is slowing again!” 

“I know, I know! I’m trying, damn it!” 

She ran fast. Faster and faster. So fast her weakness couldn’t catch up with her. But she was unaware that what awaited at the end of her training session with Renard was devastating news from Rodrigue. 

That night, she cried herself to sleep, her tears blending in with the sound of the rainstorm that enveloped Faerghus with dark, neverending clouds.

Imperial Year 1177

Ethereal Moon - Day 2

Dear S,

Forgive me for the extremely late reply. As you may have heard, Faerghus has now gone to war with Duscur. The nobles have been pressing us to exterminate the threat to Faerghus’s stability. Although Margrave G. and I have been arguing against the decision in the round table conferences, it appears that we are unable to stop this senseless massacre. 

I sincerely apologize. I have failed our promise to prevent another bloodshed. Regarding House Ordelia, I have been secretly sending them supplies through a different route, passing by the Leicester Alliance. Do not worry, I have my ways. 

Once again, I am terribly stricken with grief. No words are enough to express the pain I feel as I write you this letter. You may resent me. It’s only right for you to do so. I spoke as if I had the power to persuade the nobles, but here I am, a useless fool. 

Again, I’m sorry. I don’t know what else I can say. 

I’m so sorry.

Sincerely, 

R.

It was near the last month of the year. The Duscur Tragedy continued to claim innocent lives across the barren plains. House Kleiman had been awarded the title of Viscount in recognition of their success in subjugating the rest of Duscur’s forces, allowing them to rule over Duscur as a feudal estate.  

The winds had changed, no longer in Faerghus’s favor. Though Jeralt and his crew had successfully sabotaged one of the enemy’s experiment facilities, it was not enough to stop their process of destabilizing Fodlan through war. There was still far too much they didn’t know. And with just Rodrigue and Jeralt working together, it would be impossible to search every nook and cranny of Fodlan. 

They needed more authority to move freely. Not just the words of a duke — they needed the entirety of Faerghus to come together to defeat the real enemy under a King’s command.   

But the only heir to the throne was far too young to succeed. And as time passed by, the enemy would only grow stronger. 

Perhaps it was due to the impatience, but every single member of Jeralt’s crew was on edge lately. Byleth was as quiet as ever, while Renard took off during the night more often, sometimes disappearing for days to who knows where. Satiana locked herself shut in her room, leaving Jeralt to spend his days alone in their lodging.

Jeralt stared blankly at the ceiling from his seat in the living room. Alone in the cold room, he was only accompanied by the wind whispers that seemed to blow stronger than ever. The winter storm continued to devour the land of Faerghus, spreading anxiety as crops ran low. 

The sound of wood creaking alerted Jeralt to his daughter, strolling absentmindedly down the stairs.  

“How is she doing?” Jeralt asked, eyes filled to the brim with worry. 

Byleth shook her head gravely. “Not good. She still refuses to speak to us except during missions.” 

Jeralt exhaled heavily, rubbing his face in his hands in exhaustion. 

It wasn’t as if he didn’t understand Satiana’s sentiments. He may act like he didn’t care about politics, but Jeralt was a man of responsibility. Jeralt was never loyal to any particular nation in Fodlan and could care less about whatever happened between them. But this feud between the Empire, Faerghus, and the enemy that lurked in the dark threatened the peace in Fodlan. 

He had grown attached to the people of Fodlan. He owed a lot of villagers and kind-hearted nobles who allowed him to roam through their land, protecting the weak from the strong. If possible, Jeralt didn’t want to see them harmed. 

But now, he had taken part in the decision to annihilate an entire race just because he was too powerless to make a difference in the grand scheme of things. 

The guilt was gnawing at his soul. And if he, a man with many years of experience behind his back, was feeling a tremendous amount of guilt, what about a young child of barely fifteen? 

Especially one with a pure, honest heart made out of glass. 

“She’ll be fine,” Byleth suddenly spoke softly. 

Jeralt glanced at Byleth, noticing the frown on her face. 

“Satiana is a strong girl. She may feel hurt, betrayed, and helpless. But that guilt inside of her will make her take action again. She’s not one to give up easily,” Byleth continued. 

A myriad of emotions whirled in Jeralt’s eyes as he stared at Byleth with newfound awe. His lips twitched upwards, a smile making its way onto his face. “You’ve changed quite a bit, Byleth,” Jeralt pointed out, his gaze soft and filled with pride. 

Byleth blinked, cocking her head to the side in inquiry. “What do you mean?”

Jeralt laughed wholeheartedly, feeling a weight being lifted from his shoulders. “You feel more. Before, you simply completed missions like they were boring tasks. Nowadays, I sometimes see anger and sorrow in your eyes.” 

Byleth blankly stared back into Jeralt’s honey, golden gaze. “Do I?” 

“Even now, you’re showing a flit of emotions I’ve never seen across your face before,” Jeralt continued. “You may have a poker face that would make a brick wall jealous, but I’m starting to see some cracks in it.” 

“If I have changed, then it must be because of Satiana. Seeing her fight so hard for her life…for other people’s lives…it makes me feel like…there’s so much meaning to life,” Byleth stammered uncharacteristically as she spoke. “That life is precious. That I want to fight for something so strongly like her too.”

Jeralt chuckled. He walked over towards Byleth and lightly patted her head, caressing the hair strands with love and care. “You’ll find it one day. Your reason to fight. I’m certain of it, Byleth.” 

Byleth gently closed her eyes, letting her father spoil her for once.

Imperial Year 1178

Garland Moon - Day 5

Dear Sir Rodrigue, 

This is Jeralt. I don’t know why you’ve been using codenames with Satiana. I made sure no one could intercept our messages anyway. 

We are currently back in the Empire. I’m sure you already know this, but ever since the Insurrection of the Seven, the nobles in the Empire have all banded together. We have been probing into Duke Aegir’s territory, but they are heavily guarded. It would be impossible for us to sneak in as we did with Viscount Hyrm. Unfortunately, their trail ends here. Unless you have spies within the Empire, it would be a prudent decision to retreat for now. I’m sure the enemies have already realized our existence. Ever since we destroyed one of their facilities, the people of the Empire have been extremely tense. There are guards and knights on the streets the entire day and night. 

Unfortunately, our cooperation with you ends here for now. Until next time. 

P.S. - Satiana isn’t taking the news in Duscur well. However, she understands that it is not your fault. All three of us bear equal responsibility, after all. 

Best Regards,

Jeralt Eisner

The day dawned crisp and clear. The clear blue sky was dotted with fluffy white clouds that drifted lazily in the gentle breeze. Satiana woke up to the sound of birds chirping, signaling the end of Faerghus’s long winter. She stretched her arms and legs on the bed, cracking her neck. The previously stiffened muscles relaxed under the warm glow of sunlight. 

There was no more time for brooding. She had spent the entirety of winter wallowing in despair. But that was all the time she had given herself. One season to mourn for their loss. For her shortcomings. For her regrets.

Time doesn’t understand remorse. It continues to tick on no matter how much one may wish for it to stop. That is why one must continue to move on. To never waste even a second . 

She let the comfortable silence in her bedroom linger for a few more seconds before she suddenly chuckled to herself. 

I probably look like shit, but they’re waiting for me. I know they are. 

She glanced towards the door, imagining the sound of Renard’s boisterous laughter, Jeralt’s scoldings, and Byleth’s humming voice. 

That’s what they did to her. Blur her focus. Make her believe that somehow, someway, things will turn out all right. That she’s not too far gone for forgiveness, and she can somehow make amends for her wrongs. 

Survival was never pretty. It was a starved, limping creature dragging itself forward on broken limbs, leaving a trail of its own blood and tears behind. It was ugly, painful, pitiful, and disfigured. But it didn’t have to stay that way. It had the ability to learn from the past, growing stronger and stronger. Shedding the ugliness along with tears of regret as it picked up fragments of warmth and care along the way, rebuilding its broken self. 

Renard was the first to greet her when she finally emerged from the room of her own will. He took a glance at her and smiled warmly, knowing eyes filled to the brim with pride. “Welcome back, Satiana.”

His words made her heart swell with warmth. She was no longer trapped in those cold, lonely cells. She wasn’t the mindless puppet killing because she was ordered to. She now had a place she could call home: a place where she truly belonged.

And she had the ability to fight back. To not repeat the same mistakes. To change the future .

Let bygones be bygones. Focus on the present. And the coming future. 

“I’m back!” Satiana proclaimed with a toothy grin, slamming her fists together in a show of spirit. 

Imperial Year 1179

Wyvern Moon - Day 17

Dear Sir Jeralt, 

This is Rodrigue. It has been a long while. Has it already been a year since we last passed messages? I have come to you with news from Faerghus. As Miss Satiana requested, we have been searching for connections between the Church and the Empire over the years. It has come to my attention that the Western Church has been secretly in contact with the Western coast of the Adrestian Empire. 

Are you aware of the different offshoots of the Church of Seiros? The Western Church diverged from the beliefs and teachings of the Church of Seiros, establishing its own religion. Though it still worships the Goddess, it opposes the Central Branch and advocates for more extreme separation of class, race, and culture. 

Does that not sound like the perfect scapegoat for the Tragedy of Duscur? Perhaps the Empire incited the Western Church to provide them with crest stones to use in their experiments, promising to destabilize Faerghus, who supports the Central Church. 

I believe a trip to the Empire is once again necessary. Beware of the Arundel territory.

Sincerely,

Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius  

“What do you have to say for yourself, Myson?” Thales snarled from his seat on the throne of Shambhala. 

The high-ranked members of Those Who Slither in the Dark gathered in their conference room. Solon sat quietly in his seat, smirking at the shuddering mess prostrating himself on the floor. Myson had made a tremendous blunder with Ordelia County. He had failed to protect the facility, let its only survivor escape unscathed, and ultimately broke ties between House Hyrm and House Ordelia. Myson was his comrade, but at the same time, Solon didn’t have much sympathy for the pathetic, old fool.

Failure was never an option. 

“I-I have no excuses, my Lord,” Myson stammered, bowing his head deeper, forehead against the cold, steel floor. “I have failed you. I…am prepared to accept any punishment.” 

The air sizzled with Thales’s ire and menace, the suffocating air choking the air out of the occupants in the room. Thales slowly stood up from his seat. He sauntered over towards the trembling figure in the corner of the room. 

“I’m dismissing you from your position as head of the experiments. Solon, you take charge instead,” Thales commanded. 

Solon smirked, bowing his head lightly with confidence. “As you wish, my Lord.”

“W-Wait, but—” Myson started to protest, but Thales shot a warning glare in his direction. Myson’s mouth went dry, his strength leaving him under the pressuring gaze. All demands withered and died. Just that single look of disgust was all it took for him to know that he had lost all of Thales’s trust. 

“Myson. Stand up,” Thales ordered. 

“Y-Yes, sir,” Myson’s legs quivered like a newborn puppy as he forced his legs to unlock themselves from the terrifying fear. 

Thales pressed himself closer to Myson, harder, their chests touching as he glared directly into the poor man’s eyes. Myson’s stomach strained as he leaned away from the looming threat, but there was no escape from his leader’s unreleased wrath. Thales grabbed Myson by the neck, squeezing tightly. Myson choked, sputtering and gasping desperately for air. 

“I will give you one final chance, Myson. Go to the Western Church and take all their crest stones. Give them to Solon. Then, go to that Lonato’s estate and finish the deal with him. You understand what I’m talking about, right?” Thales harshly whispered in an eerie manner. Then, his baritone voice lowered a notch. “Again, this is your last chance. Failure is not an option. If you fail to provoke Lonato into rebellion this time…you’re finished .”

“Y-Yes, sir,” Myson let loose a pathetic squeak at the dark promise in Thales words. 

“Hmph,” Thales grunted in annoyance before he let go of his grip, sending Myson into a floundering fit on the ground. 

Then, he turned to face the rest of the members sitting in the round table. “Take this as a warning. Do your jobs properly and no one will end up like this fool here.”

All the members stood up and bowed their heads deeply towards their lord. “Yes sir,” they chorused in harmony. 

Thales dismissed the members of his faction with a wave of his hand, sending them off on their missions. As soon as the door to the conference room slammed shut, his fists crashed onto the table, splitting it right into two. His fists trembled as he cursed out loudly at the skies above.

“Those damn Faerghus dogs… ” he growled. “Let’s see who’ll have the last laugh in the end.” 

His haunting words echoed through the empty halls of Shambhala. The winds of Fodlan had changed direction again. A blessing to whom no one would know, except the almighty Goddess who quietly looked over her children from far above.

The night sky was ablaze with color — white, hot flames mingling in with the dark, purple fog, remnants of dark magic. Combined with the rampage of fireballs, bolganone spells, and meteors, the remaining land of Caldea quickly bled crimson red in the span of minutes after the army raided their territory. Pittacus and Chilon stood in the front, swiftly dealing with any soldiers or villagers guarding their flimsy home, sending them to the otherworld with a flick of their axe or spells.

"How boring," Pittacus chuckled, gloved hands glowing red as she hurled another fireball spell right into the gates of the royal castle. As expected of a poor country, their gates were not even built from sturdy metal or iron; the acrid smell of charred wood filled the air as the gate collapsed on itself.

"At this rate, we don't even need to release the beasts," Chilon scoffed, armor clinking as he rode confidently into castle grounds on his horse, slaughtering every knight and soldier along the way.

Pittacus sniffed, grimacing as she hid her nose behind her hands. "These soldiers are no better than animals. If only those Faerghus dogs were as incompetent as these fools, we wouldn't have to waste time experimenting on all those bastard children." She dug her heels into the stomach of a wailing man on the ground, grin pure shark as she watched him flail helplessly, ugly tears staining his face. "Hah! Dirty bastards!"

"Pittacus, stop wasting time on these mongrels. We have to get to the royal family before they escape," Chilon commanded as he sliced the head off an enemy commander, helmet and all. He scoffed, nose crinkling in disgust. "Perhaps we should let the beasts roam free. Ever since we lost a bunch of those children after the Duscur incident, we haven't been feeding them properly."

"Who cares about the beasts? We can always create more," Pittacus scoffed as the two strode side by side into the central chamber of the castle. "Did you not see all those little dolls lying on the streets? I know we're not one to talk, but Caldea's royal family is even more corrupted than the Empire. Cornelia would have a blast if she was here. They may be worthless children, but high-quality specimens for that twisted lady."

"I'll round them up later and send a notice to Cornelia. We can let our Lord deal with them. For now, we take over their spots," Chilon jerked his head towards the front and Pittacus peered over his shoulder.

The throne room did not look anything like what it claimed to be. Of course, half of it was because of the explosions from earlier. But even without the broken ceiling and crumbled pillars, the room was barely decorated, to begin with. Aside from the throne itself which was carved entirely from gold, everything else from the weather-worn carpets, the cobwebbed corridors, sculpted archways stained by mold or mildew, and dead clumps of grass peeking through the cobbled stonework screamed poverty.

Pittacus couldn't help but double down in laughter, cackling uncontrollably as she clutched her stomach. "Look at these dirty bastards! None of them know how to govern a country, nor are they even utilizing their remaining gold properly! They didn't even bother to renovate anything except the goddamn throne itself."

"Caldea has always been a poor and isolated country. They don't care about Fodlan or any of their neighbors. The royal family only cares about hoarding all that wealth they discovered from an abandoned mine somewhere, pretending to be rich as the rest of their people starve to death under their incompetent rule," Chilon commented, marching into the room.

He shifted his gaze sideways, noticing a small, clump of animal fur hiding behind a broken pillar. Without hesitation, he slammed his axe into the broken pillar, smashing the rest of it into ashes. A fat, old man, clad entirely in glistening red, fox fur screamed as he rolled along the ground. He landed headfirst into the wall, nose shattering with a resounding crack.

Pittacus snorted, hiding a snicker behind her thinly-veiled face. "Is that even a human being? He's just a pig playing dress-up, that one."

The golden tiara on his head fell to the ground in a clattering fit, sending loose jewels scattering onto the floor. The old man was a sobbing mess, blood staining his already marred features, oily skin glistening against the red flames surrounding his castle. The man squealed in horror as he dug his face into the floor, bowing on his knees, prostrating himself to the two enemies in front of him.

"I-I'm sorry!" he screeched, bawling. "I'll give you anything! J-Just spare my life, please!"

Pittacus stepped up to the man and slammed her heel into his back, laughing darkly. "Hah! Even a pig has more dignity than you do, you pathetic bastard of a ruler. I'm starting to pity those Caldea children out there."

Chilon snorted, rolling his eyes. "Don't say things you don't mean, Pittacus."

"Hey, I'm just showing a bit of condolence to you. After all, you're the one taking his place," Pittacus chuckled, digging her heels harder into the man's skin, earning a particularly high-pitched squeal as the man sobbed harder. "Hey, livestock. Listen carefully."

The old man lifted his face up to meet her eyes filled with disdain. She spat right on his face in disgust. "If you want to rule like a proper king, then all you have to do is follow our demands. You got that?"

"Y-Yes, master!" he screamed, curling his head beside her other foot, lapping at her heels with his snot-stained face in a show of absolute obedience. "I-I'll do anything you wish! Just please, don't kill meeeee!"

"You dirty vermin!" Pittacus snarled as she scratched her heels against his face with a sweeping kick, smashing through his skull in one fatal blow.

The man's body bounced across the carpets, the fur soaking in all of his dirty blood, staining the throne room red. Chilon walked up to Pittacus with a frown. "I thought we were going to ask him about his stash of gold first."

Pittacus shrugged nonchalantly, blowing a speck of dust off her gloved fingers. "I don't have enough patience to deal with this disgusting pig any longer. Besides, when you take over his persona, you'll gain access to his memories anyway."

Chilon sighed. He knelt down next to the maimed face, grimacing as he placed his palm against the bloodied mess. Closing his eyes, he muttered a spell from an ancient language. Pittacus watched with a bright grin on her face, eyes swirling with madness as the room shone vibrantly in blinding white.

As the beacon of light swirled around them, Pittacus began to hum cheerily, watching as Chilon's flesh began to turn pale yellow in color, his arms gaining muscles and fat as his face began to warp, gaining extra curves and droopy wrinkles. His armor eventually self-imploded, breaking into a million irreparable pieces as his body increased in volume and density, height shortening.

The light dissipated abruptly. Chilon no longer stood there clad in armor with an axe in hand.

"You should thank us later from the afterlife, old man," Pittacus whistled, bending down to rub the skeleton on the floor with her hands. It was all that remained of the foolish king, a pile of bones and ashes. "We'll take care of your land and riches for you. Caldea will go down in history as the land of the beasts, filled with roaming monsters and an elite group of warriors possessing two crests. Rejoice, fallen king, for even a foolish man like you has been given the opportunity to join us down the path to salvation."

Chapter Text

[White Clouds]

Skirmish at Dawn

Imperial Year 1180

The moonlight was a diffuse ocean above, lessening the inky blackness of the night but not so bright as to dull the stars that speckled and glittered in the stygian sky. The wind blew gently around her profile, brushing lightly against her cheeks as Satiana slowly opened her eyes. She was seated on top of a tree branch, lying comfortably against its sturdy trunk. She blinked rapidly, chasing away the remnants of sleep that lingered. Then, leaning her back off the tree trunk, she glanced down towards the ground below.

Renard stood underneath the tree, arms crossed, as he stared deeper into the darkness within the rustling forest. He heard the sound of clothes rustling from above and raised his head. “You awake, Satiana?” 

“The wind woke me up,” Satiana said. She shifted her position, legs now dangling mid-air off the end of the branch. “I sense trouble in the air,” she declared, eyes staring off into the distance. 

Renard scoffed. “The usual stuff,” he casually replied. He lifted his hand towards his neck, massaging the strained muscles as his shoulder made a loud cracking noise. “And here I thought we’d get some rest after that skirmish in the Empire,” he snorted dryly. 

“Perhaps you can rest when you’re dead,” Satiana rolled her eyes, throwing a sarcastic remark at Renard. 

“Wow, way to be thankful towards your mentor,” Renard deadpanned. “I miss the adorable kid who used to run after me, begging me to teach her new tricks and moves,” he sighed, placing his hand on his cheek, tilting his head to the side while reminiscing. 

“It’s been, what, four years already?” Satiana counted with her fingers. “Four years is a long amount of time. Enough for someone to change.”

“At least you’ve changed for the better. You’ve matured a lot,” Renard pointed out. “And I don’t mean your height. I mean mentally too.”

Satiana glanced down at her form. Indeed, she had grown taller in the past four years. Perhaps around five feet six. Her black hair had grown longer to the point where it reached the middle of her back; during battles, she tied it up into a neat ponytail with a white ribbon. It was no surprise that she had grown out of her miniature form physically. 

Mentally, she wasn’t sure, though.

“You think I’ve matured mentally? I don’t really know about that,” Satiana frowned, swinging her legs absentmindedly in the air. 

Renard shrugged. “Well, you’re still the same old cynical and sarcastic brat. But you’ve definitely grown emotionally stronger. You don’t flinch anymore when you cut down your enemies.”

“That’s because I’ve realized it’s pointless,” Satiana replied. “Dealing with guilt was never my forte, but in the end, I just have to live with it. That is, for as long as I’m determined to take this path.” Her hands slid down to the double swords attached to the belt hanging on her hips.  

Renard smirked. “And you’ve learned to rein in your bloodlust pretty well. Although it still appears from time to time.” 

“Only against enemies that deserve it.” Satiana’s mind flickered back to all the battles against the corrupted nobles she faced for the past four years. “If there’s one thing I have to thank sir Rodrigue for, it’s for providing me with a…place to release my stress.” 

Renard grunted. “He really put us through hell with all his orders. He gave us like what, an assignment every two weeks?”

“That just shows how many dirty beasts were involved in that incident four years ago,” Satiana scowled, balling her fists tightly. “At least we now know the Empire is the one stringing everyone along into their plans.”

As promised with Rodrigue, Satiana and Jeralt’s band of mercenaries spent the past four years taking part in missions against the corrupted nobles in Fodlan. After a close examination of the list of nobles Satiana purged during her days as an assassin, it finally led them to the Empire where they recently finished a skirmish against a couple of noble houses there. There were illegal trails of money being sent across borders to their allies in Faerghus and Rodrigue spent most of his time dealing with the mess back at home while Jeralt dealt with the evils in the Empire.

Now, the band of mercenaries was on their way back to report to Rodrigue, spending the night at Remire Village. 

“So, our next mission leads us to Faerghus, huh?” Renard said as he stretched his arms behind his back.

“More specifically, the Western Church,” Satiana noted, fiddling with a strand of her hair. “They’re the ones who have secret dealings with some of the Empire nobles.” 

The wind picked up in their surroundings, sending piles of leaves into the air. Satiana closed her eyes, ears sharpening as she tracked down the sound of footsteps storming towards them. Renard shifted his position below her, his hand on the hilt of his sword as he bent his knees, preparing to strike.

The bushes suddenly rustled, and three young teenagers appeared from behind the shrubs, sprinting towards them. Satiana felt the tension inside of her falter as she peered curiously at the newcomers from above. They were dressed neatly in matching uniforms of different colors. From their outer appearance, it was apparent they were of noble upbringing. 

What is a bunch of nobles doing all the way here in the forest at night? 

“Please forgive us for the intrusion,” the boy with blonde hair stepped forward, bowing in front of Renard. “We wouldn’t bother you were the situation not dire,” he politely spoke gracefully. 

Renard frowned in distaste at the boy’s manners. “Right, what’s a bunch of kids like you doing here in the forest?” He interrogated, eyes narrowed. 

“We’re being pursued by a bunch of bandits. I can only hope that you will be so kind as to lend your support,” the boy continued, completely unphased by the glare on Renard’s face. 

“Bandits? All the way out here?” Renard raised his voice in surprise. 

“It’s true,” the girl with silver hair interjected. “They attacked us while we were at rest in our camp.” 

“We’ve been separated from our companions, and we’re outnumbered. They’re after our lives, not to mention our gold,” the boy dressed in yellow chuckled dryly in a nonchalant manner as if his life wasn’t on the line. 

Renard frowned. “That doesn’t explain what you guys are doing out here, but I guess we can figure that out later. Satiana!” Renard barked out, glancing above him. 

“On it,” Satiana replied immediately, leaping down from her position on the tree. She landed gracefully in front of the three teenagers, much to their surprise. 

“Woah! Where the hell did you come from?” The brown-haired boy gawked in astonishment. 

“I didn’t even sense her presence,” the girl’s eyes widened as she stared at Satiana in interest.

Satiana ignored the three teenagers, turning her full attention towards Renard. “I’ll go and scout our surroundings. Be back in a sec. Take these guys to Jeralt. He’ll know what to do with them.”

“Sure,” Renard nodded. “Hey kids, follow me,” he motioned his hand towards the kids, ushering them deeper into the village. 

Satiana spun around on her heels, ready to delve into the bushes, when a calm and silky voice made her pause. 

“Please, be careful,” the blonde-haired boy suddenly spoke to her, eyes filled with curiosity. “There are quite a few of them following after us.” 

Satiana blinked. “Don’t worry about me. Worry more about yourselves,” Satiana blankly stated before she started sprinting into the forest. 

She swerved around the trees with speed and expertise, dashing across the clearing, heading towards the outskirts of the forest. Ducking below a tree branch, she slid across the ground and hid inside a bush. Sitting up on her knees, she listened intently at the sounds of clothes and footsteps rustling, blending in with the gusts of wind and chirping birds. 

Ten…twenty…no, more than that…

Satiana counted internally, clicking her tongue in annoyance at the sheer number of them. She crawled out of the bush, choosing to climb the nearest tree. Stepping on its bark, she hauled herself up onto a branch and peered through the open gaps between the leaves. Although the night was dark, the stars scattered across the sky shone enough light through the forest. She spotted shadows sneaking past the trees, heading towards the village from the north. 

Hm…axes and swords…so a group of brigands…

Satiana imprinted their weapons into memory and leaped off the branch, heading back towards the center of the village. 

I could ambush them from behind, but I guess I should tell Jeralt first about their numbers. 

Soon enough, she reached the center of the village. Jeralt, Renard, and the three teenagers were huddled up in front of a house. She slowed down her pace and jogged up towards them. 

“Satiana,” Jeralt greeted quietly with a nod. “What’s the situation?” 

“About forty of them are heading here from the north. Most of them are wielding swords and axes. Probably a group of brigands. A few of them use arrows,” Satiana quickly summarized.  

“Sounds like the usual lot near here,” Renard scoffed, shaking his head in exasperation.

“Whatever the case, we should hurry before they reach the village. We can’t endanger the villagers here,” Jeralt sighed. He turned his hardened gaze towards the rest of his crew. “Byleth, you guard the kids. Renard and Satiana, take a few guys with you and use the forest to your advantage. Ambush them from behind. I’ll head straight in with the rest of the gang.”

“Understood,” the three of them chorused, nodding in understanding.

Renard gathered a couple of mercenaries along and headed west, with Satiana lagging behind him. She followed him from a distance, eyes traversing the darkness. Whenever Renard paired up with Satiana, she was always in charge of their rear. Although Jeralt had taught her plenty about head-to-head combat, she was a trained assassin after all; if she had the choice, she’d always go for the ambush. As a result, she usually played a supporting role in the group, cleaning up enemies from the back or creating an opening for the group. 

After a few minutes, Renard slid to a halt behind a particularly large tree. The rest of the crew slowed their pace in response. He turned to face his comrades. “We wait here for five minutes. Then, we cut through the forest and head northeast. We’ll cut off their escape route and take it from there, got it?”

Satiana nodded in understanding. She clutched the two swords in her hands tightly, inwardly ticking away the time in her head. 

Five…four…three…two…one…!

“Let’s go!” Renard harshly whispered, and Satiana darted after them, swords in the air as she whizzed through the forest.

Soon enough, they reached an open-air space in the forest where Jeralt and the others were battling the thieves. Renard shot his hand forward, motioning for them to charge. Satiana bolted out of the bushes, hiding in the shadows as she crept up against her enemy. With a quick flick of her wrist, the bandits fell to the ground in rapid succession.

“What the he—” 

The bandit screamed in pain before he could finish his sentence as a sword plunged into his shoulder. She slammed her knees into the bandit’s stomach, sending him flying across the clearing. 

“You damn brat!” A yell from behind her made her spin around, her feet landing on the enemy’s chest. 

Another flick, and the bandit in front of her collapsed. 

From the corner of her eyes, she saw Renard and the rest of the mercenaries rounding up the bandits, knocking their weapons off their hands. She trailed after the group, knocking down a few bandits along the way with her swords. 

Renard suddenly shoved one of the bandits her way, and she stabbed her waiting sword into his stomach on reflex. Raising her eyebrows at him, Renard smiled sheepishly. “You had an extra pair of swords so…” 

She rolled her eyes, yanking the sword out of the thief’s stomach. Renard glanced down at the writhing body and then grimaced. “In case you didn’t notice, I didn’t stab his vitals. He’ll live,” Satiana shrugged. 

“I know. I taught you how to do that yourself,” Renard frowned. “But seeing you do it so easily is kind of disturbing still.”

“Well, I only learn from the best,” Satiana stated, massaging his ego as Renard’s face started beaming in pride.

“Oh? You’ve finally recognized my talents, my dear student!” He grinned widely.

Satiana groaned, shaking her head in exasperation. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” 

“What the hell are two talking about in the middle of a battle?” Jeralt’s booming voice made them both flinch. They whirled their heads in Jeralt’s direction, taking note of the way he was fuming as he stormed towards them. 

Renard sheepishly smiled at Jeralt. “Hey buddy, the battle’s already over.”

“I know but losing your focus on the battlefield is akin to certain death,” Jeralt scolded, glaring at Renard. “You and your loud mouth always cause trouble wherever you go. And now you’ve dragged Satiana into it too.”

“Hey, she spoke on her accord!” Renard protested.

Satiana simply crossed her arms over her head, whistling an innocent tune as Renard shot a death glare at her. 

Jeralt sweatdropped at their interaction. “Like teacher, like student…” he sighed loudly. 

The entire battle lasted only a few minutes. The bandits were amateurs, most of them fleeing halfway through. To Jeralt and his crew, this was what they experienced daily, and things were soon back to normal. Jeralt returned to the village center, double-checking on any potential losses. Satiana stood still, staring at the retreating figures of the thieves and their leader with a frown plastered on her face. 

“In the end, what business did they have in Remire village?” Satiana contemplated out loud, tilting her head to the side in deep thought.

Renard walked up next to her. “Who knows? Maybe they just chased after the kids and accidentally wandered here.” 

“But they’re just normal thieves, right? How would they know there’d be random noble kids camping in the forest?” Satiana crinkled her nose in confusion. “Remire village isn’t a very lucrative place to steal from. It’s a pretty run-down place. There’d be no reason for them to hang around near here, to begin with.” 

Renard raised his eyebrows. “You think they had a different goal in mind?”

Satiana shook her head. “No…maybe I’m just overthinking it. All those battles against the corrupted nobles in the Empire must’ve worn me out,” she chuckled dryly, dismissing her suspicions. “Let’s head back to Jeralt. Those teenagers probably need help.”

“You’re right…” Renard trailed off as he followed after Satiana. He stole a quick glance back towards the thieves’ direction and narrowed his eyes. “Your instinct has never been wrong though…” he muttered quietly under his breath.

The wind snatched at his soft words, and Satiana didn’t hear him. 

“Sir, I insist on taking you back to the monastery. Follow me, sir!”

“No, Alois…”

Satiana leaned quietly against the bark of a tree, staring absentmindedly at the skies above. The sound of chattering echoed through the silent village. Jeralt was now arguing with a knight-clad in white armor — perhaps an old friend of his. Byleth was completely surrounded by the three teenagers she was assigned to look after. That left Renard, who was humming a cheery tune as he sat on the ground next to Satiana’s feet. 

“Quite the lovely evening, isn’t it?” Renard suddenly spoke up, a lazy smile on his face.

Satiana suppressed a yawn, clasping her hand around her widening mouth. “Sure, if you think chasing away bandits is considered a relaxing night-time hobby,” she deadpanned. 

Renard snorted. “Like I said, the usual for us mercenaries.” 

Renard and Satiana had been assigned to night watch before the attack. The both of them were considerably exhausted compared to the rest of the boisterous company around them. Although Jeralt and Byleth were both in a heated conversation with the strangers, Renard and Satiana refused to participate, hoping to catch a moment to breathe. 

Satiana’s eyes languidly trailed across the village. It eventually landed on Byleth; albeit the poker-face she had on her face, the lines on her forehead, and tenseness in her shoulders showed a fraction of how on-edge she actually was. Satiana frowned as she stared curiously at Byleth.

Why is she so stiff all of a sudden?

Although Byleth was not a woman of small talk, she did engage once in a while in conversation with Satiana. Throughout the years they’ve spent together, Satiana had grown accustomed to the different expressions Byleth was capable of producing; Satiana was able to read most of the time how Byleth was feeling, even if she had a blank look on her face. Byleth appeared amiable on the outside, chatting casually with the kids. But on a much closer look, something seemed to be bugging her.

Satiana’s suspicions were confirmed when Byleth swiftly glanced at her for a brief second, their eyes meeting. Satiana suddenly felt a wave of anxiety rush over her. 

That look doesn’t bode well for me…I wonder what’s wrong? 

“Hey, Satiana? Renard? ” Jeralt suddenly walked up to her, the knight clad in white following after him like a lost puppy with a bright smile on his face. “Change of plans. We’re heading to Garreg Mach.” 

Renard’s eyes widened as he stood up from his position on the ground. “The monastery? What for?” 

Satiana eyed Jeralt curiously, confused about the topic of conversation. 

Jeralt noticed the puzzled look in her eyes, and he turned to her. “Garreg Mach is a neutral zone in the center of Fodlan. It’s not governed by any of the three nations,” he paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “I actually used to work there before I started this band of mercenaries. These knights are from the monastery, and those kids are students at the academy there. Apparently, they want to take me back to the monastery.”

Satiana stared at Jeralt blankly. “And you’re going to let them do that? What about…” she trailed off, her eyes wandering towards the knight standing behind Jeralt. 

Our promise with Rodrigue? What are we going to do about that?

Jeralt seemed to read her train of thought. “I know what you’re thinking. It’ll be fine…probably. This is something I have to face, eventually. Sorry for putting you on the spot,” Jeralt genuinely appeared apologetic. 

“I mean, it’s your band of mercenaries. If there’s something the leader has to do at the monastery, then that’s where we go,” Satiana replied with a shrug. “Other matters can be attended to later.” 

Renard frowned. “Fine, we’ll head to the monastery with you. Just in case, Satiana can send a letter to you-know-who in the morning explaining what happened.” 

Jeralt nodded. “Yeah, thanks for that. I appreciate it.”

“So, who are these people?” The knight behind Jeralt suddenly spoke up. “You should introduce me to them. After all, I’m their senior!” The knight guffawed, laughing boisterously. 

Renard and Satiana shared a befuddled look.

Senior? What?

Jeralt groaned in exasperation as he rubbed his face into his palms. “Yeah, uh, about this jolly old guy here. His name’s Alois. He currently has a position in the Knights of Seiros at the monastery,” he started, pointing his thumb at the beaming man behind him. “He also used to be a part of my mercenary group. He proclaims himself as my, well, right-hand man.”

Renard’s brows arched up. “So basically, I took his spot after he left?”

“WHAT?!” Alois gasped in comically stunned surprise. “You mean to tell me, captain, that you replaced me with someone else? How could you?!” Alois cried crocodile tears, throwing himself over Jeralt as Jeralt tried to shove him off. 

“Shut up, you big doofus!” Jeralt yelled, glaring daggers at Alois.

Renard and Satiana shared another puzzled look, sweatdropping at the scene in front of them.  

“Uh, anyway, I’ll go tell Byleth to get ready to depart,” Satiana spoke up.

Jeralt had Alois in an arm choke, Alois’s face paling from lack of air. “Yeah, go round up the other guys. We’re leaving in five,” he ordered while dragging a struggling Alois along with him. 

Satiana shook her in exasperation at their receding figures. Jeralt wasn’t an easy person to string along, but that man called Alois was playing him like a fiddle. Whatever business Jeralt had at the monastery, she did not know, but it had to be important if it rendered Jeralt mute against Alois. 

Satiana headed over towards Byleth, who was still chatting with the students. “Hey, Byleth? Jeralt says we’re leaving in five to the monastery,” she spoke loudly, catching Byleth’s attention. 

Cerulean eyes flickered towards her, and Satiana found herself stifling a chuckle at the weariness settled in Byleth’s drooping back. Satiana would’ve offered to take care of the students in Byleth’s stead if only she weren’t running on empty herself. Eying her companion with pity, Satiana patted Byleth gently on the back. “You head over to Jeralt. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Byleth silently nodded, shooting an appreciative smile in Satiana’s direction before she dragged her feet along towards Jeralt. 

“Hey, so, are you also sir Jeralt’s child?” The young man clad in yellow asked.

“No, I’m not his kid,” Satiana replied. “I joined his band of mercenaries a few years ago.” 

“But you look about the same age as us,” the silver-haired girl’s eyes widened as she gave Satiana a look over. 

“Edelgard, don’t be rude. Age doesn’t matter when it comes to one’s skills and abilities,” the blonde-haired boy scolded. He then turned towards Satiana and bowed. “I apologize for my companion’s impolite remarks. She didn’t mean any harm.”

“Dimitri, I don’t need you to apologize in my stead,” the girl named Edelgard responded, her eyes twitching in annoyance. 

“Geez, turn down the heat a bit, yeah?” The dark-haired boy nonchalantly commented. “Your highnesses really do love picking a fight with each other. You should both relax a little, like me.” He added a mischievous wink. 

Dimitri glared at him. “And you’re the exact opposite, Claude. It would serve you well to take things more seriously next time.” 

“It was your fault, to begin with, that we got into this mess,” Edelgard sighed. “If only you didn’t suddenly run off, we wouldn’t have been chased all the way out here.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Claude waved them off, lips twitching. “I’m repenting, I tell ya.”

Claude was obviously being insincere; the cheery tone of his voice spoke miles. Dimitri and Edelgard shared an irritated look. Satiana quietly listened to their interactions, curiosity filling her bright blue orbs. 

“So you guys are classmates?” Satiana questioned. 

“Not quite. We all go to the same academy, but we’re in separate classes. In fact, we all come from different nations,” Claude explained. “The name’s Claude Von Riegan, and I’m from the Leicester Alliance.”

“Now that you mention it, we haven’t introduced ourselves to you yet,” Dimitri muttered. “Forgive me for the late introduction. My name is Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, and I am from the Kingdom of Faerghus.” 

“I’m Edelgard von Hresvelg from the Adrestian empire,” Edelgard added. 

Satiana remembered reading their last names somewhere in the file of nobles Rodrigue showed her. She figured they were probably children of high-ranked nobles in the continent, though something was irking her about them. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet the three of you,” Satiana replied courteously to their introductions. “You can call me Satiana.” 

“So, Satiana,” Claude had a sly grin plastered on his face. “What exactly is your relationship with Sir Jeralt? There aren’t many teenagers our age in his group, and I highly doubt the admission fee is, well, cheap.” He wiggled his eyebrows, eyes twinkling with curiosity. “Care to tell me how you joined such a well-known mercenary group?” 

Dimitri sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Claude, you never change, do you?” His eyes narrowed. “You always try to probe into other people’s secrets without divulging anything about yourself.” 

Claude just smirked, nonchalantly swaying left and right on the soles of his feet while humming a tune. “Hey, your highness. That’s one of my charms. To borrow Sylvain’s words, girls love those with a mysterious aura around them.” He creepily wiggled his fingers, making Edelgard grimace.

“You don’t have to answer him if you do not wish to,” Edelgard faced Satiana with a frown. “Everyone has a few secrets they wish to keep to themselves.”

Satiana found her eyes being drawn to the pure, white strands of hair on Edelgard’s head. Although Fodlan was a continent with people of various races living within it, the general population consisted of brunettes. Some nobles had blonde hair and, with more rarity, perhaps reddish-brown hair. In the years she had spent traveling around Fodlan with Jeralt, she had only met one person with such glistening white strands of hair: Lysithea.

And that could only mean one thing.

No, it can’t be…

Her stomach plummeted. The realization burned. It burned like salt in every one of the wounds in her heart. There was almost no doubt about it. Edelgard was also a survivor of the crest experiments. Once again, she found herself standing in front of a victim. Each time she recognized one, she was reminded of her failure, her inability to stop those monsters from causing more tragedy. 

Satiana caught her bottom lip between her teeth as she stared at Edelgard with a wistful, forlorn look in her eyes. 

Edelgard noticed the change in Satiana’s expression, and her frown deepened. “Is something the matter? You don’t look very well.” 

Satiana felt her expression tightening, her shoulders stiff. She chuckled dryly, emotionless and heart throbbing in dull pain. “No, it’s nothing. It’s just…” she trailed off, eyes softening with sympathy. “Your hair. It’s unfortunate,” she ended cryptically.  

Satiana didn’t know how else to confront Edelgard without blowing her own identity. Between victims, there were no words of consolation she could provide to heal the wounds in both of their hearts. The damage had already been done — Edelgard was living on borrowed time, and there was nothing Satiana could do to revert the damage. 

Edelgard scrunched her nose, tilting her head in confusion. “My hair…?” She trailed off quietly before she suddenly perked up, eyes widening in horror. 

An array of emotions flit across her face. Satiana watched silently as Edelgard began to shake her head, backing away from her. She looked like she was staring into the eyes of a ghost — a nightmare that haunted and shook her to the depths of her soul. 

“You…How did you…” Edelgard sputtered, rustling the strands of her hair with her hands in panic. “I-It’s not possible…” She raised her voice slightly, voice trembling. 

Claude and Dimitri shared a confused look at their interactions. Dimitri glanced worriedly between Satiana and Edelgard, a frown plastered on his handsome features. “Is everything alright? What’s wrong?” 

It was as if Dimitri’s voice snapped Edelgard out of her trance. She immediately whipped her head up, facing Dimitri with a look of nonchalance. The trembling girl was nowhere to be seen, completely dissipating into thin air like an illusion. Her eyes were blank, though she spoke with confidence. “It’s nothing. Perhaps I’m just a little tired,” Edelgard’s voice was devoid of emotion as she spoke, glassy eyes staring past Dimitri’s head into the distance. 

Satiana knew that she had to speak again with Edelgard later in private. Perhaps Edelgard had some information she was not aware of about those who slithered in the dark. However, now was not the time to talk about such serious matters. Satiana turned to face Claude, a casual smile on her face. “You asked me how I came to join sir Jeralt’s mercenary group. It isn’t really a secret, so I don’t mind telling you.”

Claude immediately brightened up, a grin on his face. “Really? Thanks in advance for the juicy story!” He sent her a wink, to which she rolled her eyes in response.

Edelgard was standing offhandedly to the side, eyes still deep in thought, her finger on her lips. 

“I’m from one of the villages up north of Faerghus in Viscount Kleiman’s territory. My home burned down four years ago, and sir Jeralt saved me from the fire,” Satiana lied through her teeth. “I didn’t have anywhere to go, but because I had prowess with the sword, sir Jeralt offered to take me along with him on missions. There was no good reason for me to refuse, so I agreed. Now, here I am, four years later, still stuck with him.” She ended with a nonchalant shrug. 

Dimitri’s face went ashen at her words. Heart in his mouth, ice in his veins, he stared horror-stricken at her. Satiana glanced at him, her nose crinkled in confusion. 

What’s the matter with him?

“Oh, so you’re a survivor from that tragedy? Damn, it must’ve been hard for you,” Claude replied casually, completely oblivious to the storms brewing inside everyone’s heads. “But you seem to be enjoying the mercenary life. At least that’s good for you.”

Satiana nodded, an uncannily plastic smile on her face. “Yes, it has been fun. To be honest, I consider it a great blessing that I met sir Jeralt.” This remark was the genuine truth. “I indeed lost my home to the war, but right now, I’m satisfied with my life,” she chewed over a proper lie again. 

“I’m sorry,” Dimitri suddenly blurted out, eyes still widened with horror. 

Satiana blinked. “Pardon me? What are you sorry for?” Her forehead creased up in thought. 

“It’s my fault that you lost your home. Because I was unable to stop them,” Dimitri continued. He cast a meaningful glance downwards, clenching his fists tightly. “I…I owe you an apology, Miss Satiana.” 

Satiana blinked once, then twice. His words completely flew past her head, flowing in one ear and out the other. “I don’t quite understand,” Satiana frowned, anxiety quenching her insides.  

There it was again, that nagging sensation inside of her. An inexplicable sense of dread suddenly overwhelmed her as her instincts flared. Something was terribly wrong with this conversation, and Satiana knew it in her subconscious. She watched Dimitri as he carefully peered up, barely meeting her gaze with his wandering blue eyes. He chewed over his lips, mustering up his courage to speak. 

“I’m…because I’m the prince of Faerghus. I failed to stop those monsters from ravaging our land. As a prince, it is my responsibility to take care of my citizens. Yet, because of my inexperience, many innocent lives were lost,” Dimitri confessed, shutting his eyes tightly as if to run away from the reality in front of him.

Satiana might have been amused if her mood wasn’t so sullen because she was the one who really wanted to run away from it all — the damning truth in front of her. It was like somebody splashed a bucket of ice water all over her. She blanched, blood running cold. She sputtered like a fool, feeling the dread creeping up against her, the shadows of her past threatening to steal away her breath.

The heart-wrenching guilt that came with facing a victim of her horrendous actions. 

Her heart was up in her throat, blocking all words from articulation as Dimitri’s words echoed in her head. Just that single reminder was all it took, and in an instant, she was as small again as she'd felt the past months, reduced to a shadow of herself that quaked under the tyranny of nightmares and regrets. It was debilitating.

He’s the prince. The fucking prince. The child of the man I tried to murder in cold blood. Dear Saint Seiros, just kill me now. 

Satiana fought for composure. Although she wanted nothing more than to scream, hurl, and run away from the boy in front of her, she had a job to do. Lies to keep. People to save. She couldn’t let him know who she was. Not yet. Now was not the time. 

Against the spreading, numbing poison inside her, she tried to feign invulnerability. She mustered up the courage to smile at him, though it was more like a lopsided smirk of some sort. “With all due respect, your highness, you have nothing to apologize for. Especially to me.”

Dimitri continued to look at her with guilt-ridden eyes, and Satiana wanted to bawl her eyes out right then and there. 

Please, don’t look at me that way. I don’t deserve your sympathy. 

A gentle pat landed on her shoulder, and Satiana jerked, whirling her head around to face the newcomer. It was Byleth with a knowing look on her face. The grip on her shoulders tightened, and Satiana battered her eyelids at Byleth, sending a signal for help with her eyes. 

“We’re going to head to the monastery now. Jeralt wants you in the rear with Renard,” Byleth smoothly entered into the conversation. 

“Ah, yes,” she quickly blurted out, slurring her words. “Sorry guys. It’s been nice talking to you, but I’ve got work to do. See you later,” Satiana quickly waved at the teenagers, not meeting any of them in the eye as she brushed past Byleth, refusing to look back. 

Satiana wanted to hug Byleth tightly, but that would have to wait. It took her one or two seconds before she managed to unlock her legs, walking over stiffly towards Renard, who was waiting for her behind one of the shacks in the village. The moment she made it behind the shack out of view, she sagged against the wall at the sudden lack of support and vacuum of tension. 

Renard stared at her with worry in his eyes. “Hey, buddy. You alright?” 

Satiana practically threw herself at Renard, enveloping herself in his warm embrace. “He’s the prince. He’s the goddamn prince, Renard,” she muttered like she was reciting a mantra, thoughts in disarray. “Oh my god, he’s the prince.” Her eyes were unfocused, staring into the empty air behind Renard’s back, imagining the face of a man she did not know. 

“I know, I know,” Renard attempted to console her, lightly rubbing circles in her back. “I get it, Satiana. It’ll be okay.”

“No, it won’t. I fucking killed his dad, Renard.”

“You didn’t kill him, Satiana. You have to understand that. It wasn’t you.”

“But it might as well have been—”

“Been nothing, Satiana. That’s what.” 

Renard’s words didn’t enter her ears. Her mind couldn’t comprehend anything; it had overheated entirely, thoughts burning, scattering all over the place inside that tiny box inside her head. All she knew was that she felt terrible, and Renard’s embrace was somewhat soothing. 

She sank deeper into it. 

The march to the monastery was a quick blur to Satiana. She was lost in the clouds the entire journey, absentmindedly listening to the sound of chattering in the crowd of knights and mercenaries. Jeralt led the pack, Byleth and the other students in the middle, with Satiana and Renard lingering in the back. 

The march up the mountains took strenuous effort. The sun was high up in the sky by the time they reached the monastery. Although they called it a monastery, to Satiana, Garreg Mach seemed more like a castle surrounded by an impregnable fortress. The monastery was built far up on the hills, barricaded by large battlements and towers. A misty fog permeated the air due to the high altitude of the place, creating an ephemeral, fantasy-like atmosphere. Although Satiana knew almost nothing about architecture, she knew the monastery was a grandiose structure worthy of its name. 

“Renard, Satiana, you guys wait out here for a moment. I need to talk to the archbishop, Lady Rhea, in the audience chamber. Byleth, you follow me,” Jeralt barked out an order as soon as they walked through the front gates. 

Satiana and Renard stood still in the middle of the courtyard, sharing a look of disbelief as Jeralt and Byleth followed the students deeper into the monastery. 

“Did he just leave us here to fend for ourselves?” Renard asked incredulously. “Goddamn it. I don’t know anyone around here.” He rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, eyes darting around the place.

Satiana exhaled loudly, her back hunching. “Whatever. As long as the students aren’t here, I can finally breathe for once.” 

Renard scoffed. “If Jeralt chooses to stay here, you’ll be seeing them quite often, you know.” 

“I know that already,” Satiana snapped, glaring at him. “And judging by the way he’s acting, I’m pretty sure my future is bleak from now on.” 

“Come on,” Renard laughed, patting her gently on the back. “It’s not like they know who you are. Just act normally.” 

“Right, because that is so damn easy to do,” Satiana sarcastically spat back, rolling her eyes at him.

Satiana almost fainted after the confrontation with Dimitri, and that was only after exchanging words with him for a minute. If she had to spend an even longer amount of time near him, heck, she didn’t want to imagine what it would do to her mentality. Although the thought was ridiculous, she would rather fight a thousand beasts back in the Duscur Tragedy than face the young man whose father she almost killed. 

“Well, if you think about it in a positive light,” Renard started. “This is your chance to redeem yourself. Take care of the boy. Protect him in his father’s stead.”

“Yes, because that will totally make him forgive me,” Satiana deadpanned. “It’ll only sound hypocritical, Renard. Also, why are you making it seem like I’m going to be assigned as his bodyguard or something? We’re just here as guests. It’s not like we’re joining the Knights of Seiros,” she frowned in distaste. 

Renard shrugged nonchalantly as if it had nothing to do with his business. He stretched his arms above his head, yawning loudly. “Well, I don’t know what Jeralt’s planning, but if my guess is right, we’re probably here for the long haul. Might as well get used to it.”

Satiana sighed for the umpteenth time that morning. “Right, get used to this sinking feeling of guilt,” she mumbled under her breath, feeling the sweat rolling down her forehead. “Because I’ll be feeling this way often from now on.”

“Yep,” Renard cheerfully said as he snapped his fingers in the air, an idea making its way up to his head. “You know what? Why don’t we take this chance to explore the place? It’s not like we have anything better to do while we wait.” 

Satiana blinked at him. “You want to explore? All I want to do is sleep.”

“Okay, true,” Renard sheepishly grinned. “But it’s not like we can just sleep on the grass. The students will step all over us.” Renard then placed a hand on Satiana’s head, rustling the strands. “Come on, wipe that frown off your face. Everything will be fine as long as we keep our mouths shut.” 

Satiana hummed, leaning into the touch, seeking comfort from her partner. “I know, Renard. I’m just scared that the past will suddenly catch up to me. You know, catch me off-guard, and I won’t be able to make my case when shit hits the fan.” 

“When that time comes, we deal with it then,” Renard said as he grabbed Satiana by the hand, dragging her along the courtyard. “Come on, let’s go explore for now! I heard they have great food here in the monastery.”

Satiana scoffed, rolling her eyes at his childish antics. “What are you, a child?” She shook her head lightly in exasperation, though a small smile slowly made its way up onto her face, the burden on her shoulders lifting. 

Guess I’ll just have to wing it. 

Dimitri scribbled aimlessly in his notebook, resting his head lightly in the palm of his hand. It was unlike him to let his mind wander during class; although he wasn’t a straight-A student, he was always diligent and responsible enough to pay attention. But today, his mind was completely restless. He reclined in his seat, tapping his toes impatiently as an array of thoughts crossed his mind. 

He blamed his lack of attention on sleep. Dimitri and the rest of the students had just returned from their camp in the morning, immediately dispersing to their respective classes. Of course, after the battle at dawn, not a single one of them was well-rested. Most stayed awake the entire night, scrambling away from the bandits that threatened their safety. 

There it was again, that prickling sensation in the back of his mind. Whenever his thoughts found themselves floating towards last night’s events, his head started to throb. He had an inkling it was because of the mercenary he met. If he remembered correctly, she said her name was Satiana. 

Although she looked fairly young, she fought like a true warrior on the battlefield, slicing through the enemy’s ranks with such grace and beauty it was hard to believe she was still a teenager like him. Of course, her prowess with the double swords impressed him deeply. There weren’t many soldiers that were trained in the art of double-wielding, after all. 

But it wasn’t just her fighting abilities that caught his attention. It was the way she looked at him. Sometimes, it felt like he was looking at himself in the mirror, the hollow and dull quality of her deep, blue eyes stealing away his breath. The image haunted him, even till this moment. There was burning anguish and remorse hiding underneath her facade. Though she pretended to be unaffected, the distress in her eyes intensified after he apologized to her. 

He had no idea what made her feel that way. They had only exchanged several words with each other. It was hardly enough to understand each other’s sentiments. But underneath her piercing gaze, he felt like his soul was completely barren for her to see. 

Like she truly understood how he felt. The gnawing guilt, the haunting voices, the hopelessness. Everything . 

The sound of footsteps approaching his desk coaxed him to blink back the heaviness of sleep that lingered. His tired gaze landed on a flit of red hair, heading his way. 

“Hey, your highness,” Sylvain greeted him, the same old bubbly smile on his face. “You don’t look so well today. Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” 

Dimitri nodded blearily. “Yes, I’m feeling alright. Perhaps a little tired.” 

“Your highness, I insist that you return to your quarters early tonight.” Dedue walked up behind his desk with a frown plastered on his face. 

Dimitri shot Dedue a knowing look. “I understand, Dedue. I promise. I’ll go to bed early tonight. Just please stop treating me like a child,” he sighed. 

Dedue’s frown deepened. He crossed his arms across his chest, peering down at Dimitri with nothing but genuine concern. “Your highness, that is not my intention. I am merely worried about your health.” 

“For once, you should try listening to Dedue,” Sylvain added, moving to sit on top of Dimitri’s desk. He folded his legs neatly in the air, narrowing his eyes at Dimitri. “I was being serious when I said you didn’t look well. You weren’t focused during the lesson at all.” 

Dimitri flinched, shoulders tensing up. “Of course, you would notice, Sylvain. You are as perceptive as ever.” A wry smile made its way up onto his face. He leaned his face deeper into his palm, exhaling heavily. 

“Only about the things that matter,” Sylvain commented with a flirtatious wink. 

“So, what’s bothering you, your highness?” Ingrid moved from her seat in the front of the room to Dimitri’s desk in the middle row. “Please don’t hesitate to tell us anything that’s bothering you,” she kindly offered, smiling from ear to ear. “We are always here for you.” 

Dimitri folded his hands across the desk, straightening his back. “I appreciate that offer,” Dimitri nodded. “Something has been bothering me since last night,” he began speaking. “It’s about one of the mercenaries I met.” 

“Ah, right,” Sylvain’s head bobbed up in realization. He placed his fist on top of his palm, blinking rapidly. “You did tell us that you were attacked by bandits last night because of Claude’s mistake. I heard a famous mercenary group ended up helping you out.” 

“Now that you mention it, the classroom has been buzzing since morning.” Ingrid placed her finger on her lips, contemplating. “I see. So it had to do with your highness.”

Dimitri nodded in confirmation. Then, he placed his chin on top of his folded hands, staring absentmindedly at the blackboard in the front of the classroom. “Yes. It’s just…I have a feeling that I met her somewhere before.” His eyes narrowed in deep thought. 

At his words, Sylvain immediately perked up. “Oh?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, a sly smirk creeping upon his face. “So it’s about a girl? Has someone finally broken through our uptight prince’s barrier?” He leaned down from his seat on the desk, grinning at Dimitri. “So? What kind of girl is she?” 

Dimitri scowled, pushing Sylvain’s face away from him. “Sylvain, please, keep your ridiculous jokes to yourself.” 

Sylvain pouted, his hand lightly caressing his cheeks as it began to turn red. “Ouch! Your highness, control your strength a bit. I was just teasing you!” 

Ingrid swatted Sylvain in the back of the head with her notebook, adding fuel to the fire. She glared pointedly at him. “When will you learn to control your manners around his highness?!” She snapped in annoyance. 

“Alright, fine, I get it. So, it’s not love advice you’re seeking,” Sylvain frowned as he rubbed the back of his head, soothing the pain. “Then what is it that’s got you all wound up?” 

“Like I said, I have an inkling that we may have known each other before,” Dimitri mused. 

“Maybe she was hired as a mercenary before, and you saw her at the castle,” Ingrid suggested. “It’s not like we haven’t seen mercenaries before. Our parents hire a lot of them to do work. It wouldn’t be surprising if such a well-known band of mercenaries were hired by them before.”

“No, I don’t think it’s that…” Dimitri trailed off, his eyes darkening in deep thought. “Perhaps, I may have met her on the battlefield.” 

Sylvain blinked once, then twice. His jaws dropped, eyes bulging wide as if Dimitri had sprouted two heads. “On the battlefield?! If that’s true, isn’t that kind of bad?” He eyed Dimitri nervously, biting his lips. “That means she might be targeting you. Maybe yesterday was just a ploy to earn brownie points with you. Get you on her side before wham—” he made a chopping gesture with his hand on his neck. “Your head goes off.” 

“Your highness, if that is true, she is a dangerous entity. We cannot allow her to stay here in the monastery,” Dedue glowered, eyes burning with determination. “We should report this matter to Lady Rhea.” 

“Wait, please, hold on,” Dimitri whirled his head around to meet Dedue’s scowling face. “Don’t be hasty. Like I said, it’s just a feeling I had. It’s not as if it’s confirmed that I know her for real. Maybe it’s just my imagination.” 

“But why would it be your imagination?” Ingrid asked, eyes narrowing dangerously. “If your instincts are telling you something, then you should trust it.”

Dimitri glanced off to the side, refusing to meet their determined gazes. He rubbed his hands together, fidgeting in discomfort. He placed his forehead on top of his folded palms and sighed. “Because maybe my guilt is what’s making me imagine things,” he suddenly declared in a stern voice. 

There was a brief lull in the conversation as Ingrid, Dedue, and Sylvain shared a brief look. There was only one thing Dimitri was ever guilty about. In the end, everything always returned to the Tragedy of the Duscur — the incident that changed all of their lives forever. But what did that mercenary have to do with Dimitri’s guilt? 

“Uh, your highness? I don’t quite understand.” Sylvain was the first to break the awkward silence that followed. “What do you mean guilt?” 

Dimitri rubbed his face into his palms, feeling the sweat sticking to his skin. “It’s just…perhaps I’ve never met her, but I wanted to trick myself into thinking that I had met her.” He paused, his voice hitched and breathy. He wasn’t crying, hadn’t cried in four years, but his body very badly wanted to. His eyes stung, and the lump in his throat was an oversized brick painfully digging in at every point of contact. “Because all I ever wanted to do was atone for my sins. Bring appease to the victims. And, well, this was my chance,” he quietly confessed. 

Dimitri looked weary, but it was more than physical. There was a storm in his eyes, a raging maelstrom of frustrated, quiet anger, gut-twisting sadness, and complete fatigue. The heart-wrenching tone of his voice struck a chord in Dedue, and the man softly patted Dimitri on the back. Ingrid and Sylvain shot a worried look at each other. 

“Your highness, do you mean to say that the mercenary you met is…?” Dedue trailed off, eyes twinkling with realization. 

Dimitri glanced up at him with dull, broken eyes. He nodded stiffly, confirming Dedue’s train of thought. “She said she was from one of the villages in Viscount Kleiman’s territory. That her village burned down four years ago. She got caught up in that mess because of those…monsters.” 

“Your highness…” Ingrid trailed off, eying him with sympathy. She glanced briefly towards Sylvain, a pleading look in her eyes, asking him to offer condolences to Dimitri.

But Sylvain chose to shut his mouth for once. He may act like a fool most of the time, but he knew better than to carelessly joke around when Dimitri was in that state. It reminded him of the time Dimitri retreated into himself, keeping everyone at a distance for their own safety, ignoring his own self-destructive actions for the sake of others. Sylvain knew best how that felt, and if possible, he never wanted Dimitri to feel that way again. 

Like he was worthless . Only Sylvain needed to feel that way. Only him because he was the truly useless one. 

“Then why don’t you just go talk to that mercenary?” 

A harsh voice echoed from the back of the classroom. The four turned their heads towards the newcomer, emotions akin to surprise scattered on their faces. Of all people, it was Felix who strode confidently down the aisle, heading straight towards Dimitri’s desk and the crowd around it. He had his hands in his pockets, the usual glare and scowl on his face. 

He halted behind Dimitri’s desk, staring daggers into Dimitri’s bewildered face. “Why waste time brooding in despair like a weakling instead of confronting that mercenary you’ve been yapping about all morning?” Felix sneered, staring at Dimitri with contempt. “Or what, has the tragedy not only stolen away your focus but your brain as well?” 

Dedue cast a smoldering glare in Felix’s direction. He gritted his teeth, seething in anger. “Felix. I will not allow you to mock his highness like that.” 

“Hah!” Felix grunted. “What was wrong with what I said? It’s true. Just admit it, boar. You’re too much of a coward to face your fears, so you’ve been running away the whole time, sinking into despair, consoling your poor ego.” Felix glared at Dimitri with disgust. “If you’re so worried about that mercenary, go confront her with your blade. Do what you do best. Be the boar-prince you are.”

“Felix, stop it!” Ingrid yelled, nudging her way between Felix and Dimitri, spreading her arms wide in a protective stance. “You need to learn to speak properly, Felix. I’ve had enough of your mood swings.” Ingrid snapped, spitting fire with her burning glare. 

“Hmph,” Felix grunted. He spun around on his heels, heading towards the exit, ignoring the burning glares behind his back. “I’ve had enough of your silly antics,” he spat his final words of contempt before disappearing behind the pillar. 

It was good that they were having this conversation during lunch break because the sheer amount of tension and spite in the air would’ve suffocated the air out of everyone else. Dimitri stared pointedly at the spot where Felix previously stood, his mind a messy concoction of anger, sorrow, and guilt. Dimitri was broken out of his reverie when he felt a touch on his arm. He blinked himself back into the present, pushed that sense of being stuck in a limbo that only existed in his mind away, and turned his head to meet Sylvain. 

“Your highness, please forgive him. He means well. He just has a very…sharp tongue,” Sylvain spoke dryly, awkwardly rubbing his nose with his finger. 

Dimitri smiled sympathetically at him. “I know, Sylvain. Don’t worry. He’s been like that since four years ago. I understand.” 

“Your highness, you don’t need to baby him any longer,” Ingrid interjected, glare still fiery. “He should know better than to speak to you like that.” 

Dedue nodded in agreement. “You may be long-time friends, but it doesn’t mean you have to listen to his mocking words like that.” 

“I know, I know,” Dimitri sighed. “However, he did make one good point. I should talk to that mercenary again.” His eyes narrowed with resolution. 

“Your highness, please allow us to follow you. Just in case, for your own safety,” Ingrid pleaded.

But Dimitri shook his head, a small smile on his face. “It’s alright. Lady Rhea will also be there. She won’t be able to do anything to me. Besides, I’m not going to pick a fight. I just want to talk things over with her.” 

Ingrid and Dedue shared a worried glance before they sighed, resigning themselves. 

“Alright. I understand. But you have to tell us immediately if something happens to you, okay?” Ingrid frowned. 

Dimitri nodded. “I promise you. But I really don’t think you have to worry. Besides, it’s not like we’re enemies. In fact, we’re both victims of the same war. I think we will get along fine. What could possibly go wrong?” He chuckled. 

At that moment, Dimitri never knew that he would come to regret his words a few months later down the road when the ugly truth unveiled itself in front of his eyes.

Chapter Text

[White Clouds]

Garreg Mach

“So, let me get this straight. You’re rejoining the Knights of Seiros?” 

“That’s how things turned out, yes.”

“And that means we’re disbanding?” 

“Well, not quite. Lady Rhea has allowed me to work independently using my own troop, so no, we aren’t technically disbanding.” 

“Okay, fine. We’re not disbanding. But then why are you enlisting me into this Academy as a student?!” 

Satiana and Jeralt stood in front of the audience chamber on the second floor, waiting for Rhea to call them in. After exploring the monastery with Renard, Byleth retrieved Satiana, saying that Jeralt requested her attendance in his meeting with Rhea. Although Satiana was not fond of staying in the monastery, she trusted Jeralt’s decisions. He wasn’t one to make rash decisions, always planning things through. Staying by his side for four long years, she trusted Jeralt with her life. 

But now, he stomped all over her trust, spat on it, sending it to fuck off to outer space. Jeralt had basically thrown her into the lion’s den, completely disregarding her safety, and she couldn’t help but question whether that Lady Rhea or whatever her name was brainwashed him with dark magic in the past few hours. 

“Lady Rhea hired Byleth as a professor here,” Jeralt ignored her complaints, moving on with his explanation. “She starts working here tomorrow as the professor in charge of the Blue Lions.” 

“Okay, but what does that have to do with me?” Satiana scowled, crossing her arms on her chest in defiance. “Byleth can be a teacher, sure. But why do I have to be a student too?” She glared at Jeralt, tapping her foot impatiently against the cobbled floor. 

Jeralt scratched the back of his head fervently. He groaned, back slumping as he buried his face into his free hand. “Look, I know this is very awkward for you. To be a student in this Academy despite being a…runaway prisoner.” He winced visibly at his own words. 

“Yes, no shit, Jeralt,” Satiana’s impatience snapped, and she swore loudly. “So maybe you haven’t gone mad after all.” Her eyes narrowed, filled with suspicion. 

There was a glimpse of betrayal flashing in her eyes, and Jeralt felt himself feeling needlessly guilty. “Look, I…I’m sorry. I didn’t have any other choice. This is a once-in-a-lifetime request. From me to you,” Jeralt chewed over his words as he spoke. 

Satiana quietly watched over his demeanor with her sharp eyes. 

Something was blatantly off with Jeralt. His shoulders were stiff, gaze hardened with determination. But despite the facade of indifference he put up, his usual confident aura had completely wilted, telling an entirely different story. His words were stuck in his throat as if there was something dangerous lurking within his voice box that he didn’t dare set free. Combined with the way his eyes darted around the floor, searching for invisible enemies, Satiana knew that something had put Jeralt on guard. 

“Jeralt, be honest with me.” Satiana pulled her arms away from her chest, letting them hang loosely in the air. “What is really going on? What do you mean this is something you’re requesting of me?” 

Jeralt glanced off to the side, avoiding Satiana’s questioning gaze. Satiana waited, feeling that there was more to come, and calmly met Jeralt’s panicked gaze. Jeralt kneaded his fingers for a moment, but then he shook his head and straightened his back. 

“How much do you trust the Church of Seiros?” Jeralt suddenly asked, steering the conversation to different grounds. 

Satiana blinked, scrunching her brows. “What? What does that have to do with anything?”

“Just answer my question, please,” he repeated again in a strained voice.

Satiana frowned. “I don’t know where you’re going with this, but you know as well as I do that the Church can’t be trusted. Have you forgotten why we’re here, to begin with? It was to search for clues regarding the Western Church’s suspicious movements.”

Jeralt nodded stiffly. “Exactly. I don’t trust the Church either.”

His reply left Satiana with even more questions. “Then why are you choosing to stay here if you don’t trust them?” 

“I…don’t really have a choice. I owe Lady Rhea my life. And they do say…keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” Jeralt proclaimed. 

It was then that something clicked, the puzzle pieces falling into place. Realization dawned, and Satiana felt her stomach plummet, the tensed air between the two of them growing stronger. Connecting the dots inside her head, Satiana finally understood what Jeralt was trying to tell her in his own roundabout way. 

“You don’t trust this Lady Rhea. There’s a reason why you can’t resist her. And you want me to be with Byleth, exactly because of your suspicions. Am I right?” Satiana accused. 

Jeralt nodded stiffly, expression tightening. “I have a feeling she’s trying to separate me from my daughter. I don’t know what she’s planning, but I can’t keep an eye on her if I’m being sent away on missions.” 

Satiana hummed in thought, rubbing her chin with her fingers. “Ah, but if I’m there with Byleth all the time, she can’t take action easily. So you want me to watch out for Byleth in your stead?” 

“Can you do it for me?” Jeralt said, half-pleading with eyes filled with genuine worry. 

Satiana’s eyes softened, her heart clenching at the look on his face. “Jeralt, you gave me a second chance at life. I would do anything to help you.” She confessed, placing a hand on her heart. “I promise you, I’ll protect Byleth from whatever comes after her,” Satiana declared, nodding with confidence. 

Jeralt exhaled lightly, a small smile on his face. “Thanks, Satiana. I’m counting on you. Again, sorry to put you in an awkward situation.”  

“You have nothing to apologize for. Besides, now that I think about it,” Satiana trailed off, lips twitching up into a smirk. “We’re basically in one of our enemy’s headquarters, and they don’t know that we suspect them of foul play. This is the perfect chance to gather intel from the inside.”

“You’re right. I’ll send a letter to sir Rodrigue, explaining our circumstances. Meanwhile, you can pretend to be an obedient student here while searching for clues regarding the Western Church and their ties with the Empire,” Jeralt ordered. 

Satiana nodded in understanding. “Alright, then I guess it’s settled. I’ll infiltrate as a student, Byleth as a professor, and you as a knight. Damn, don’t we have a good team—” she clamped her mouth shut when a stray thought entered her head. “You know, Renard is going to come after your head.” Satiana flinched, grimacing. “I don’t think he likes this place much. Not that I know why, though.” 

Jeralt coughed into his hands. “W-Well, I’ll deal with him somehow. But, for now, you wait here, get registered as a student, and find Byleth somewhere on the monastery grounds. You copy that?”

“Yes, sir,” Satiana replied on instinct. 

Although she didn’t want to mingle with the students in the monastery, she figured if it was for the sake of her mission, she could deal with a few noble brats, one or two. Besides, she had business to settle with Edelgard anyway. Even more so, Dimitri was here. He was the prince of Faerghus, and if there was someone else other than Jeralt she had a debt to repay, it was him. 

“Miss Satiana?” The large doors to the audience chamber suddenly opened, a man with dark-green hair slipping through the open cracks. “My name is Seteth, and I am the advisor to the archbishop. You may enter for your audience with Lady Rhea.” 

Jeralt sent a short nod of encouragement her way before he excused himself down the stairs. Satiana sighed loudly, steeling herself for the first confrontation with the so-called enemy. Then, she turned towards the man and followed him into the audience chambers. The door closed behind her, not like a death knell or a thunderclap, but more like a period: something declarative and definitive that marked the end of a sentence, and Satiana tried not to flinch as the latch clicked into place behind them.

Her fate was sealed now, and all she could do was trust herself and her abilities. Hopefully, she could deceive the enemy. 

“Welcome to Garreg Mach, Miss Satiana. Please, do make yourself comfortable,” a green-haired woman with pure white skin gently spoke. 

Satiana blinked, head turning awkwardly to examine the chamber. From what she could see, there were no seats, only a line of statues that decorated the chamber's walls. She fidgeted with her hands, face scrunching up with confusion. “Um…yes. Thank you, Lady Rhea,” she spoke quietly, completely out of her depth. 

Right, way to make a good first impression. 

Rhea ignored her nervous antics and continued to smile beautifully at her. “I heard Jeralt himself recruited you into his mercenary group. You must be a trustworthy person,” she spoke with such certainty and confidence that if Satiana didn’t know better, she would’ve fallen straight into the lady’s honey trap. 

No, I can’t trust anything that she says. Don’t forget your true purpose here, Satiana.

“Oh, no. I am nothing compared to sir Jeralt. He simply took pity on my situation and thankfully took me under his wing,” Satiana humbled herself on purpose, plastering a look of modesty on her face. “I am very grateful to him. I wouldn’t have made it out of that hell alive without his assistance.” She mixed in truths with the lies, hoping to mask her true intentions. 

Rhea’s eyes softened, her gaze piercing into Satiana’s soul. “Yes, I have heard about your situation from Jeralt. It is unfortunate what happened to your family. May the Goddess bless them on their journey.”

“Thank you for your blessing,” she spoke rapidly, adding in a small bow for flair. 

Of course, Rhea’s sentiments fell deaf on her ears. The Goddess never responded to anyone’s wishes — she knew that fact well. The Goddess always watched silently from a distance, far from human reach, as tragedy befell her and the children she knew. Satiana could never place her trust in such a fickle Goddess that did nothing to help her children when they sought out her hands.

“Now, about your placement in the Academy, I have decided to place you in the Blue Lions. I figured it would be nice to have you near someone you know. As you may have already heard, another member of your mercenary group will be joining us as a professor,” Rhea explained, turning to more serious matters at hand. 

“May I ask, what are the Blue Lions?” Satiana inquired innocently, though she had heard of the details from Jeralt earlier. 

“Our Academy is separated into three different classes of students. Each class includes students that come from a specific nation in Fodlan. The Blue Lions that you will be joining mainly consist of students from the Kingdom of Faerghus,” Seteth interjected. Then, he crossed his arms on his chest, narrowing his eyes at Satiana. “Sir Jeralt spoke incredibly highly of your prowess and intelligence. I hope you do not disappoint us. Although you are a mercenary, you are now a student of this Academy and will act accordingly to the rules here.” 

“Of course, sir Seteth,” Satiana bowed courteously. “I promise you that I will act in a manner befitting of a student of the Officer’s Academy.” Even to Satiana, her words sounded extremely cringeworthy, but she forced herself to speak nobly. She needed to solidify her image as a pitiful, poor student who entered the Academy due to her benefactor’s kind heart. 

“Miss Satiana, it is a pleasure to have you here in the monastery. Seteth will complete the documents required to enlist you into our Academy officially. For now, we’ve decided to use Jeralt’s last name as yours so you may introduce yourself as Satiana Eisner to the other students,” Rhea concluded with a final nod. “You may now excuse yourself. Your uniform will be delivered to your dorm room this evening.” 

“Thank you for everything, Lady Rhea. I hope you have a pleasant day,” Satiana smiled pleasantly, bowing for the umpteenth time that morning. 

Then, she spun on her heels and headed straight to the exit, not daring to look back.

“Rhea, just what are you up to?” 

As soon as Satiana left the chambers, Seteth and Rhea retreated into the corner of the room, discussing internal affairs in a hushed voice. As Rhea expected, Seteth immediately confronted her about her decision. It was no surprise; Seteth had many things to worry about to the point where it often brought him to a near-paranoia state. 

“Appointing a stranger — a child, no less — as a professor in our esteemed Academy. And allowing that peculiar child from who-knows-where to enter as a student,” Seteth protested, shaking his head in disbelief. “Just what are you thinking, Rhea?” 

Rhea turned to face Seteth with a calm smile. “I know worrying comes naturally to you, but there is truly no need. That stranger is Jeralt’s flesh and blood, after all. Besides, I trust his judgment. If he says that young girl named Satiana is trustworthy, then I will believe him.” Rhea remained unnerved by Seteth’s pressuring glare. 

“I can’t say that’s all too comforting. How trustworthy is this Jeralt character? Is he not the same man who went missing 21 years ago after the great fire?” Seteth scowled, his frown deepening. “I would like to remind you that Flayn is now here with us. I beg of you. Please consider whether this is an unnecessary risk!” He pleaded, genuine worry in his gaze. 

Rhea sighed. “Seteth, they have my utmost trust. Let that be enough for you as well, Seteth. More importantly,” she paused, narrowing her eyes slightly. “I am more concerned about the reports I received from Shamir. A suspicious individual frequents Garreg Mach, and we cannot allow those who harbor ill will towards the Church to roam freely.” 

“Of course, I am concerned as well about that matter. I will keep up with the investigations,” Seteth responded as he straightened his back. “Rhea, for now, I will have faith that you are placing your trust with the utmost care. I pray that nothing occurs to shake that confidence.”

“You have my word, Seteth,” Rhea nodded. “I will not allow any harm to befall you or Flayn as long as you are here.” 

“Alright, Rhea,” Seteth sighed deeply, shoulders slumping slightly in resignation. “I trust your judgment, Rhea. Then, I will excuse myself to finish the documents regarding our two new members.” 

Seteth spun around on his heels, proceeding to the exit when Rhea suddenly walked up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. Seteth blinked, turning back to face Rhea. “What’s the matter?” 

“There is something else that I want you to investigate,” Rhea began speaking, her eyes mischievously twinkling. “I want you to ask Professor Hanneman to decipher the crests lying dormant within those two.” 

Seteth arched an eyebrow in curiosity. “Crests? You believe those two hold the power of crests within them?”

“Of one of them, I am sure of. The other, though…” Rhea trailed off, glancing briefly to the side. “I am not certain, but something has been nagging me about that girl ever since I met her. Perhaps it is just my imagination, but I feel as if there is a very familiar and nostalgic power lying inside of her. Her crest may shed light on her true identity.”

Seteth’s expression hardened. “Are you talking about that girl named Satiana?” 

Rhea nodded. “I believe that it was fate that brought her here to the monastery. At least, that is what the Goddess appears to be telling me.”

Seteth pondered, lips tightening. “If you say so, Rhea. I will ask Professor Hanneman to schedule a meeting with those two.” 

“You have my sincere thanks, Seteth,” Rhea replied, a genuine smile on her face. 

Seteth closed the doors lightly behind him, leaving Rhea alone inside the audience chamber. Rhea quietly exhaled, stepping lightly across the floor towards the center of the room. She lifted her head, eyes trailing along the pane of mosaic tiles on the wall, depicting a picture of the Goddess. A satisfied smile hung on her lips, her eyes brimming with tears as a wave of nostalgia and euphoria rushed over her. 

“So…fate has brought you back to me…my dear mother.”

“So, what did you want to talk to me about, your highness?” 

It had been less than an hour since she left the audience chambers. She had wandered aimlessly throughout the monastery, trying to find clues to Byleth’s whereabouts when Dimitri suddenly stopped her; he practically begged her to follow him to the rose garden near the central courtyard. Again, she was facing another nerve-wracking moment of her life. She wouldn’t have called it horror, but the closest thing to how she currently felt was probably so.

She had already steeled her resolve, mentally preparing herself to meet Dimitri again, but still, it was way too sudden. She didn’t expect to talk to him again on the same day. Not to mention, of all places, he chose a rose garden, a place so unbefitting of her status. If only she wasn’t so intimidated by his presence, she would’ve taken the chance to appreciate the beautiful flowers around her.  

“Well, it’s just, I wanted to talk more with you,” Dimitri awkwardly explained, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

Satiana couldn’t help but let loose an undignified snort at his actions. “Your highness, if I didn’t know any better, I would think you’re trying to hit on me,” Satiana joked, trying to lighten the atmosphere, though deep inside, she was still filled to the brim with anxiety. 

Dimitri immediately blanched at her words, his cheeks reddening, eyes bulging in sheer horror at the thought. “E-Excuse me? That is absolutely not what I am trying to do!” 

“I know, your highness. I’m just teasing you,” Satiana chuckled dryly. 

They lapsed in silence, the quietness blanketing their atmosphere, turning it into something neither hateful nor lovable. Satiana fidgeted with the ends of her sleeves, poking at a few loose threads in an attempt to divert attention away from the struggling boy in front of her. 

Stay calm, Satiana. You’re not talking to him as a perpetrator of a crime. You’re just another normal student, trying to befriend him.  

She took a deep breath, placing a lid over the whirlwind of complicated emotions inside of her. Satiana stared unflinchingly straight into Dimitri’s eyes. “I’m sorry. Perhaps teasing you was a little unbecoming of me.” 

“Oh, no. I don’t mind at all. It’s just…not many people find it easy to talk to me,” Dimitri frowned, eyes filled with loneliness and sorrow as he glanced off to the side. “I am a prince, after all. The future king.” 

Satiana gulped loudly before she chuckled awkwardly again. “W-Well, to be honest, your status is definitely a threatening existence to me,” she confessed while scratching her cheeks. “I’m not sure how I should speak to you. Forgive me. I’m only a commoner.” 

“No, please. Our statuses do not matter. Here, I am only another student in the Academy. Speaking of which…” his eyes trailed down her stature. “You are wearing our school uniform now, are you not?” 

“Ah, so you noticed?” Satiana forced herself to smile, committing herself to small-talk with Dimitri. “I don’t know if you’ve heard about this yet, but your new professor is actually Byleth.”

Dimitri’s eyes widened. “Byleth? That other mercenary we met earlier at dawn?” 

Satiana nodded. “Yes, she is like an older sister to me. Lady Rhea appointed her as the head professor of the Blue Lions earlier. And, well…” she trailed off, sighing. “Due to special circumstances, I am also to join your class as another student. We will be officially introduced to the rest of the Blue Lions tomorrow morning, I believe.”

Dimitri stared at her with bewilderment, the minute crinkle in his eyes betraying his curiosity. “That is quite surprising news. I had no idea she was to be our professor. And you are joining our class as well?”

“Yes, so we will be seeing each other fairly often from now on,” Satiana said with a smile, though deep inside, she wanted to scream in despair. 

“I-I see,” Dimitri hummed in thought. “Then I guess it is my pleasure to have you with us, Miss Satiana.” 

“Please, just call me by my name,” Satiana pleaded. “There’s no need for you to speak so formally to me.”  

Dimitri blinked. “Oh, forgive me. I guess you’re right. Now that we are to be classmates, I should address you properly as one.” He coughed once before he held his hand out in front of him, a pleasant smile on his face. “Then, once again, welcome to the Blue Lions. It’s a pleasure to have you with us, Satiana.” 

Satiana smiled back at him, reaching her hand out to meet his. “The pleasure is all mine, your highness.”

“Please, just call me Dimitri as well. I insist,” Dimitri suddenly said with a frown. 

“What?! I wouldn’t dare to,” Satiana paled, panicking. “Y-You’re the prince of Faerghus! How could I, a mere commoner, call you by your name?” 

Dimitri narrowed his eyes on her. “Satiana, if I am to call you informally, then you will do so too. Even my close friends refuse to call me by my name. All I wish is for at least one person to treat me like a normal student.” He crossed his arms across his chest, insisting with the pressure in his burning gaze. 

Satiana winced. “W-Well, if you insist, I will call you by your name…uh…D-Dimitri,” she stammered out awkwardly. 

Dimitri huffed, nodding his head in satisfaction. “Thank you for your cooperation. Now, about why I called you out here…” he trailed off, eyes glancing off to the side. “I wish to talk to you more about what happened with, well, your family.” 

Satiana internally screamed, mentally scratching her head furiously. 

Of course, it had to be about the Tragedy of Duscur. Dear Saint Seiros, for once, help this poor soul. 

“Your highness— I mean, Dimitri. If possible, I do not wish to recall memories of my tragic past,” Satiana plastered a sorrowful look on her face, pretending to blink tears away from her eyes as she forced herself to appear tearful. 

Although Satiana never was a skillful actor, she prayed that her experience as an assassin would finally come to good use now. She would do anything at this point to steer the conversation to safer grounds. 

Dimitri floundered, immediately reduced to a flustered mess. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you remember such terrible memories.” He waved his hand in the air, sweat glistening on his forehead. “It’s just…there was something I wanted to ask you.”

“What is it, Dimitri?” Satiana asked, wiping false tears away from her eyelids. 

He stared at her with sympathy, a frown plastered on his face. He gritted his teeth, swallowing loudly. “What do you think about the…the people who burned down your home?” 

Satiana blinked once, then twice. Her nose crinkled in confusion. “T-That’s what you wanted to ask me?” 

Dimitri nodded stiffly. “I, to me, the ones who caused the Duscur Tragedy are nothing more than monsters. Savage beasts that deserve the harshest of punishments.” He clenched his fists, eyes suddenly icy and dark. The temperature of their surroundings slightly dropped as he released a small part of his hidden anger. “I seek revenge. Is that not the same for you? That is what I wanted to ask.” He stared at her directly with a hardened gaze, filled with determination and resolution. 

Satiana wanted to hide away from his knowing gaze, but she was utterly trapped — entranced by the fire threatening to burn her whole. She gulped loudly, dropping her head to stare at the ground in shame. The rage simmering beneath the surface reminded her of herself, staring down with contempt at those mages begging for mercy under her feet. Although she felt like she was being suffocated under his pressure, a part of her also felt secretly relieved. 

That the monstrous anger inside of him was pointed in the right direction: at her. Because she wholeheartedly believed she deserved to die the same painful deaths that she delivered to her enemies. 

Although Jeralt and the others treated her with such love and care, a part of Satiana felt like she never deserved it. This second chance of hers. Just like Edelgard, she felt like she was also living on borrowed time. Time to redeem herself before she joined the pile of corpses haunting her. 

She was a walking contradiction, wanting to be forgiven by her victims but at the same time seeking a death worthy of her sins. 

Really, she was still just a coward, hiding inside the skin of a wolf, trying to run away from her own ignorance that caused the death of others by her unknowing hands. 

“You are right, Dimitri. I also agree with you,” Satiana stared directly into Dimitri’s eyes, her dark blue orbs shimmering with gleams of roiling darkness. “The ones who caused this entire incident, stealing the lives of many innocents…”

Those cloaked mages. The white-skinned monsters. The beasts. And…myself. 

“Every last one of them deserves to die a painful death,” she ended, eyes glazed with unleashed fury and sorrow.

The dining hall was crowded in the evening. Dimitri found himself strolling aimlessly through the empty seats, searching for his friends in the raucous fray of chattering with a tray of warm cheesy Verona stew in his hand. He spotted Sylvain from a distance, the red messy mop of hair hard to miss when it towered high above the average students. Swerving through the crowd, he settled down next to Sylvain. 

Sylvain munched on his plate of pheasant roast with berry sauce, glancing languidly to the side as Dimitri slid into the seat beside him. He gulped, a charming grin on his face as usual. “Good evening, your highness. So how was your date with that so-called mercenary that caught your eyes?” He threw in a wink, much to Dimitri’s chagrin. 

“You never learn, do you?” Dimitri ignored Sylvain’s comment, poking his spoon into the stew. “It went fine if that’s what your asking.” 

“You better not be hiding something from us, your highness,” Ingrid slid into the empty seat across Dimitri, frowning. 

Dimitri smiled warmly at her, shaking his head. “I assure you, I am not hiding anything important from you. We had a pleasant talk with each other, and I found out that, perhaps, we may have more similarities between us than I thought,” he pondered, savoring the intense flavor of the stew. “I think we will get along well.”

“If that’s what you say so, your highness,” Sylvain replied, jabbing Dimitri lightly in the ribs with his elbow. “Knowing your inexperience with the ladies, I wouldn’t want you to fall into the trap of some conniving woman who wants to use you for your status.” 

A serious gleam was hidden underneath his remarks said in jest, and Dimitri straightened his posture, staring into Sylvain’s honey-brown eyes. “Sylvain, I am not a fool. I’ve been near enough nobles in my life for me to know when someone approaches me because of their…hidden agendas.” He glanced off to the side, a brief look of sorrow flashing in his eyes. “She may be hiding a few things from me, but the emotions that I saw within her were real. Her words and gestures may attempt to deceive me, but her heart did not lie,” Dimitri chuckled to himself as he remembered back to his conversation with Satiana. 

Her declaration for vengeance — there was no lie in those words. The way she spat out those words like venom, glaring into the open air with such genuine fury and madness. He knew better than anyone how it felt to lose control of the darkness within himself, and he caught a small glimpse of that same, grueling beast inside of her. 

Perhaps it may not have been the entire truth; Dimitri was accustomed to the art of lying, putting on a facade to protect himself. She may have put a tremendous effort into hiding the subtle ticks in her jaw or the flashing guilt in her eyes, but in his eyes, she hid nothing from the world. It was evident that she was trying to steer the conversation away from the Tragedy of Duscur. 

Perhaps she truly didn’t want to relive memories of her past; Dimitri would allow her that much. However, it felt as if she was also pleading him to listen to her. The piercing clarity in her eyes when she was faced with his unleashed menace moved his broken soul. He saw in them a cry for help — a lost child who didn’t know what to do with the myriad of emotions that overwhelmed her in that moment of confrontation. She tried to hide her honest gaze away from him by lowering her head, but it was far too late. 

Dimitri may not know what she hid from him, but he realized one damning fact about her. Satiana was a terrible liar. And for now, that was all that he needed to know. That something genuine was hidden underneath whatever barriers she may place in front of them. 

“If that’s what you believe, your highness, I will trust in your judgment,” Ingrid complied. 

“Well, it’s not like you have to see her again. Maybe she does have a hidden agenda, but you can just avoid her from now on,” Sylvain suggested with a shrug. “There’s no reason to throw yourself at a suspicious individual just to find out what they’re hiding.” 

Dimitri blinked. Then, he placed his spoon and fork down gently on the plate. He coughed once into his palms, then looked up at Sylvain and Ingrid, folding his hands neatly across his lap. “About that, it appears that she will be joining our class starting tomorrow morning.”

At the sudden announcement, Sylvain choked on the piece of pheasant meat in his mouth. His back hunched as he lapsed into a coughing fit. Ingrid had her mouth hanging wide open, frozen in shock as the piece of beast meat teppanyaki awkwardly drooped from her fork, landing on the plate below. 

“W-What?!” Sylvain gasped for air as he spoke, tears blurring his vision. “She’s joining our class? But why?” His fork clinked against the plate as he dropped it in shock at the news.

Dimitri shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t know. Also, another mercenary is going to become our professor. If I recall correctly, her name was Byleth. Perhaps you guys have met her already. Remember, the blue-haired woman?” Dimitri pointed out.

Ingrid’s eyes widened in recognition. “Oh! It’s that woman who came by our classroom and greeted us in the afternoon. So she’s our new professor.”

“So we have two mercenaries joining our ranks tomorrow. What a surprise,” Sylvain exaggerated, throwing his arms into the air before he suddenly narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, right. This all sounds fishy to me. Why would Lady Rhea send two mercenaries our way?” 

“I have to admit, it’s quite strange,” Ingrid trailed off, musing in thought. “Of all people, she chose that mercenary to be our professor. Sure, she probably is very skilled in the art of combat. But otherwise, who knows?” She trailed off, skeptical about Byleth’s abilities. 

“Regardless of what we think, the decision has already been made and finalized,” Dimitri commented. “We’ll just have to accept it.” Then, he paused, blinking in realization. “Ah, I almost forgot. Try not to act so hostile towards Satiana. My concerns were unfounded, after all.” 

“If you say so, your highness,” Sylvain complied, stretching his arms behind his back. “If you ever want me to delve into her secrets, just ask me. I’m the best man for the job,” Sylvain smirked. “Wooing a woman is an easy game for me.” 

An image of Satiana and Byleth using the sword to defeat the bandits flashed in Dimitri’s mind, and he stifled a snicker. “Yeah, about that, Sylvain,” Dimitri snorted. “I highly doubt your flirting skills will work on those two. They might just cut that flowery tongue of yours before you even get to speak.” 

Sylvain gasped in feigned horror, hugging himself tightly with his arms. “Oh no, not my tongue! That’s one of my best assets, if you know what I mean,” he shot a loving wink in Ingrid’s direction, hearts fluttering in the air.

Ingrid visibly gagged at him. She pointed the knife in her hands at him. “Lay off with the sugar, Sylvain. It won’t work on me.” 

“Oh, Ingrid, my dear friend,” Sylvain laughed wholeheartedly. “You never change do you?”

“So do you, Sylvain,” Dimitri pointed out with a roll of his eyes. 

The rest of the conversation was filled with the usual stories of Sylvain’s failed attempts to woo different ladies around town. Dimitri and Ingrid practically excused themselves from the conversation, choosing to close their eyes and ears as they quickly finished their meal.

Satiana stared absentmindedly through the windows of Byleth’s dorm room. The moonlight splashed down its watery white-silver glow on the monastery grounds — the lustrous, argent disk high up in the sky. The clouds parted, and Satiana occupied herself with the serene beauty of it all, hoping to distract her from the dark thoughts creeping up the back of her mind. 

She sighed loudly, rolling herself on the bed like a restless child, pulling the covers over her head.  

The sound of pen slashing on paper halted, and Byleth spun on her chair, facing Satiana with a frown. “What are you doing?” 

Satiana blankly poked her head out from under the blanket. “Playing dead?” she deadpanned. 

Byleth rolled her eyes. “Like that would do you any good. Just face it. We’re stuck here for a while.” Byleth returned to the menial task of paperwork, scratching fervently on the pages.

Satiana unraveled herself from the blanket, leaning comfortably on her sides. She pushed herself up with her elbows and peered at Byleth with curiosity. “What are you writing so furiously about?” 

“Notes for tomorrow’s lecture,” Byleth replied without looking at her way, scribbling random notes on the pages. “I can’t walk in empty-handed as their new professor. At the least, I can make up a few pointers to teach them about combat.” 

Satiana made a noise in amusement. She imagined Byleth, standing in front of the classroom with a notebook in her hands, pointing at the blackboard with a stick. Satiana sat up on the bed, crossing her legs neatly. “You know, I really can’t imagine you being a professor. You’re more fit for, I don’t know, a sword instructor.” 

Byleth shrugged, casually flipping through the pages in her hand. The sound of papers rustling echoed in the small room, and Satiana relaxed into the bed at the rhythmic quality of the sound. Finally, Byleth placed her pen down and stretched the limbs. She gathered the notes and stapled them into a neat stack. 

“I don’t know if I’ll be a good professor for the kids, but I should at least try my best,” Byleth replied. 

Satiana smirked at her. “I never imagined you’d be so serious about your new job. I mean, from a mercenary to a professor that looks after teenagers? That’s one hell of a career change.” 

Byleth turned towards Satiana. “And you, I never imagined you’d be so opposed to being a student in the academy.” 

Satiana grimaced, scowling at Byleth’s remarks that hit straight to the point. “It’s not like I don’t want to be a student here. To be honest, I don’t really care. It’s just that I’ve spent my whole life every day fighting to survive.” She glanced down at her hands, squeezing them lightly. “Fighting isn’t a game to me. It’s always been life or death. That’s why a part of me feels uneasy, you know.” She closed her eyes, sighing. “A peaceful life enjoying learning alongside kids my own age. That’s not a life I ever imagined for myself nor do I see myself enjoying such serenity when the world outside is, as you know, hell.”

Byleth nodded in understanding. “Of course, I understand your sentiments to an extent. I’ve spent my whole life as a mercenary too, drifting aimlessly from place to place, taking on random jobs for money.” She reclined in her chair, back slumping against the wood as she glanced up at the ceiling. “But maybe, it’s good that we found ourselves here.” 

Satiana perked up at Byleth’s words, shooting her a confused look. “What do you mean?” She tilted her head to the side.

Byleth’s gaze flickered towards her. “What I mean is, because we have faced hell before, we now have the ability to prevent others from following our bloody paths.” 

Satiana’s eyes slowly widened. A strange emotion seized her as Byleth’s words resonated deeply within her. Satiana had spent most of her time worrying about herself, pitying her complicated situation, struggling to make the most out of her remaining life. She never had the time nor leisure to think about how she could change someone else’s life with her actions. Her guilt was always directed inwards towards her own helplessness, and she fought to grow stronger so that she could protect her newfound family and take revenge on the enemy.  

As bloody as her hands were, Satiana never thought she would be able to help someone from straying on the wrong path. There was only one path left for her to take: the bloody path of redemption and revenge. She could never be a good role model for others.

But to think Byleth believed that she could…the thought was very unnerving. 

“All I know is how to survive in this cruel world,” Satiana spoke quietly, tuning her attention to the small patch of dirt on Byleth’s blanket. “And how to swing the sword. There’s nothing I could possibly offer to these kids.” She wiggled her toes absentmindedly. 

Byleth had the same blank look on her face, but her eyes shone with confidence. “But you do, Satiana.” 

“I do?” Satiana frowned.

Byleth nodded, a small shadow of a smile on her face. “Believe me. I know first-handed. You gave me something worthwhile. A valuable lesson.” 

Byleth’s words sounded like a poor joke to Satiana, and she laughed out loud. “Really? I taught you something? That’s got to be a joke, Byleth.” She snickered to herself. “You were the one who always taught me new tricks on the battlefield. What could I have ever given you in exchange?”

Byleth closed her eyes, a genuine smile now plastered on her features. “Let’s just say your strong will to fight and drive to survive is very addictive. And you possess a pure, honest heart. You may have chosen the worst path available for you, but it is an honorable one.”

Satiana froze, gaping widely at Byleth in stunned surprise. She choked on thin air, coughing in embarrassment, ears flushing red. “W-What the hell is wrong with you? Did you eat something weird at the dining hall?” She sputtered, her heart swelling with an emotion she could not identify.  

Byleth stifled a snort at Satiana’s genuine reaction. “It’s nothing. You should have more confidence in yourself, Satiana. It’ll do you good, I promise.” 

Satiana pouted, slamming her face into the pillow on her lap. “Well, if you say so…I’ll try to get along with the other kids,” she muttered. “But don’t forget the real reason we’re here. We still have a deal to uphold with Rodrigue.” 

“I know,” Byleth contemplated, tapping her fingers lightly against the desk. “The library seems like the best place to search for more information.” 

“I’ll go through the books there tomorrow,” Satiana decided. “Meanwhile, you just relax and get used to your new job. It seems like things will be busier from now on.” Satiana swung her legs over the edge of the bed, sliding off it. “I’ll be heading to bed, then. You should sleep soon, Byleth. Can’t have you sleeping on the job on your first day, right?” Satiana teased, heading to the exit.

Byleth scoffed, waving Satiana’s flippant comment off with her hand. “Same to you,” she uttered as Satiana closed the door to Byleth’s room behind her.

Imperial Year 1180 

Great Tree Moon - 23

Dear Sir Rodrigue,

This is Jeralt. Something urgent has come up and Lady Rhea, the archbishop, has asked me to return to Garreg Mach. As you know, I used to be a part of the Knights of Seiros. It seems she wants me to officially return back to the monastery. I’ve already agreed to her request. Due to special circumstances, I am unable to refuse her. I apologize for the inconvenience this brings to our cooperation. 

However, we plan to keep up our end of the deal. Byleth is now a professor at the Officer’s Academy in charge of your son, I believe. Satiana has also joined their class. I know this may prove to be a nuisance, especially considering Satiana’s true status in Fodlan. However, I believe having her infiltrate the Church of Seiros might also be a good idea, especially if we want more information regarding the Western Church and its affiliation with the Empire. After all, if there’s someone who knows about the movements of crest stones across borders, it's Lady Rhea and her followers. 

I hope this doesn’t dampen your plans too much. Forgive me for the inconvenience. 

P.S. — I plan on sending Renard to the Western Church to infiltrate their ranks. Lady Rhea does not need to know about his existence. 

Sincerely,

Jeralt Eisner

“So, you want me to infiltrate the Western Church?” Renard questioned, eying Jeralt with suspicion. 

The two were seated in a tavern located a few hills down from the monastery in a small town. The tavern buzzed with gossip and travelers, sharing heroic tales of their adventure. It was the best place to have a secret meeting, mainly because the crowd drowned out everyone else’s voices, creating a perfect camouflage. 

Jeralt jugged a glass of beer down his throat, wiping his lips with the end of his sleeves. “That’s right. Satiana will investigate the Central Church while you go ahead and infiltrate the Western Church. You can just pretend to be a traveler, offering donations to the Church in exchange for the Goddess’ protection. Meanwhile, explore the Church and search for any suspicious individuals.”

“Sounds like a good plan to me,” Renard copied Jeralt’s action, slugging the jar’s contents down his throat. “That means I’ll be operating far from you guys for a while. When should I come back?” 

“Whenever you find promising results,” Jeralt replied with a shrug, munching down a skewer of roasted meat. “Just don’t go get yourself killed.”

Renard scoffed, rolling his eyes. He took a deep breath, the smell of stale ale and body odor filling his lungs. He coughed loudly, glaring at the nasty drunks on the table next to them. “I won’t die that easily, Jeralt. Also, can we not talk at a tavern next time? This place is too crowded, and it’s burning hot in here!” He yanked his collar, letting cool air breeze inside his shirt. 

Jeralt laughed. “Sure, if you can find a better place to do these kinds of secret talks.”

“I know a good place underground, if that’s what you’re looking for,” Renard suddenly spoke, eyes twinkling with mischief. 

Jeralt raised an eyebrow. “Hm? And where would that be?” 

Renard placed the jug down on the table and smirked. He leaned in closer to Jeralt, glancing off to the side to make sure no one was eavesdropping on them. “Well, you see, I know a place underneath the monastery called the Abyss,” he whispered harshly. 

Jeralt’s jaw dropped, eyes widening in surprise. “What?! You’ve been to the Abyss before?” He shouted, slamming his fist on the table, sending the plates into a clattering fit. 

“Shh! Keep your voice down!” Renard placed a finger on his lips as he glared at Jeralt. “This is top secret stuff, okay? We can’t have just anyone strolling into the Abyss.” 

Jerald muttered an apology under his breath, ignoring the strange looks the other customers were giving him. He leaned in closer to Renard, narrowing his eyes. “I thought you’d never been to the monastery before. How do you know about the Abyss?” 

“True, I never went to the monastery before, but I didn’t say anything about being underneath it.” Renard wiggled his eyebrows in amusement. “I spent a few years living in the sewers of the Abyss when I was running away after killing my father. It’s the perfect place to have secret dealings. That’s what the place is used for anyway.” 

“Take me there tomorrow. We might as well talk to the dark merchants down there. Get some information out of them,” Jeralt ordered. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll take you there tomorrow. So, when should I leave for the Empire?” Renard changed the topic. A waitress walked by, and he raised his hand, asking for a refill. 

“As soon as you can get your troops ready. Don’t forget to say goodbye to Satiana before you go. She’ll miss you,” Jeralt added.

Renard chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, that girl will be fine. She’ll make some new friends at the Academy. I’m sure of it. Besides, she’s already strong enough to work alone without me having to babysit her. Don’t forget, Jeralt. I trained her myself. She’ll be fine,” Renard insisted, a genuine smile on his face as he fiddled with the empty skewer sticks. 

Jeralt went quiet for a brief moment, staring at Renard’s peaceful expression. Then, he smiled. “You’ve grown attached to her, haven’t you?” 

Renard perked up, laughing out loud. “Who, me? Jeralt, you know I don’t get attached easily. She’s just my one and only student, so I have to pay extra attention to her. That’s all there is to it.”

But the way Renard’s mossy green eyes brightened up at the conversation gave his true feelings away. The man wasn’t being honest — not at all. Jeralt had spent years by the man’s side, and he knew Renard was never one to attach himself to anyone, aside from Jeralt himself, that is. Even with Jeralt, Renard simply chose to stay by his side because he took a strange liking to him. Who knows when the infatuation will run out? 

Renard was distrustful of everyone by nature, and that side of him showed up the first day he met Satiana. But now, he was genuinely enjoying the kid’s company. Jeralt knew that to Renard, Satiana had wormed her way into his heart, settling deep inside of him. 

Now, Jeralt was certain. If, by any chance, something happened to him, his crew of mercenaries would be okay. He was their leader, their stronghold, and pillar. Without him, there would be no mercenary group. But even without him, he was confident this band of misfits would continue to exist, perhaps changing leaders along the way. 

He handpicked all of its members, trusting his own judgment of character. They were all good-hearted folks who grew stronger together, and Satiana was the final missing piece, the cogs falling into place. 

Everyone had changed ever since she joined. Renard, Byleth, and himself. His family had grown larger, and Jeralt finally found himself truly at peace. 

“Hey, Renard?” Jeralt found himself indulging in nostalgia. 

“What’s up?” Renard replied in a muffled voice, mouth filled with meat. 

Jeralt clasped his hands together on the table and smiled. “If something ever happens to me, I leave them to you.” 

His piercing gaze filled with such heavy and genuine emotions stole Renard’s breath away. Renard paused, frozen stiff. He gulped loudly before his eyes softened. “Those are my words. If I don’t come back, you know what to do.” 

Jeralt’s eyes widened for a brief moment before he guffawed out loud, leaning his head back. “Hah! I won’t be dying on you that easily, so don’t you dare go and lose yourself to a bunch of old priests.”

Renard smirked. “Of course, my dear friend. It’s a promise.” 

They clinked glasses, chugging the contents down in one go, sealing the oath.

Chapter Text

[White Clouds]

The Blue Lions

“Can I be honest with you?”

“Of course.”

“I— urgh, feel like I’m going to hurl.” 

Satiana stood quietly outside the classroom doors, leaning against the wall for support as she tapped her foot impatiently. Her hands were shivering, and she attempted to wipe the sweat off by wiping it against her skirt. Byleth stood next to her, hand on the door's handle, frowning in response to her squirming. 

“If you throw up now, I’ll never forgive you,” Byleth said sternly. “We’re going to make a good first impression, alright?”

Satiana sighed, rustling the strands of her hair. “I know, I know.” She straightened her posture, fixing her ponytail in a rush. She breathed in deeply, then exhaled, rolling her shoulders to release the tension within her muscles. There was the loud crack of her bones shifting into place, and she slapped her hands on her cheeks, mustering up her courage. 

“Okay, I can do this. It’s just a couple of teenagers my age. What’s there to be scared about? Oh right, the goddamn guilt inside of me because I sort of almost killed some of their family members—” she rambled on, words flying out on auto-pilot.

Byleth groaned, rubbing her face into her palms in exasperation. “Satiana.” That one word from Byleth calling her name, not even snapped or yelled, was loaded with finality and a warning that immediately made Satiana clamp her mouth shut. 

“S-Sorry,” Satiana meekly squeaked. “I’m just being stupid, aren’t I? It’s not like they know who I am anyway, so I don’t need to feel so scared of them.” She reasoned with herself, eyes darting all over the place like a cat that got its tail stepped on.  

“As much as I appreciate your kindness, at times like these, I wish you wouldn’t feel so pressured for no reason,” Byleth sighed, shaking her head. “Just be your normal self. I assure you. Even if something happens and your identity gets busted, they’ll forgive you.” 

“No, they won’t,” Satiana snapped back immediately with such unfounded certainty it made Byleth want to slap her upside down, though she resisted the urge with all her might. 

“Just think of this as a mission,” Byleth suggested. “Always be calm and collected. Be prudent and confident.” 

“Easy for you to say,” Satiana mumbled under her breath. “Not everyone is as stoned-face as you are.”

“That, I concede on,” Byleth held back a snort. “But anyway, it’s almost time for class to begin. I’m going to open the door in one minute. Get your act together already.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Satiana saluted. “Just give me a second to breathe.” 

As promised, Satiana spent the last minute stretching her limbs, taking deep breaths as she tried to calm her thundering heart down. She did everything she could, from pinching herself, rubbing her cheeks, and even arguing with herself in a quiet monologue. Byleth felt her impatience growing thin as she watched Satiana finally overcome her anxiety. 

Satiana straightened her back, a confident and nonchalant smile now plastered on her face. “Right, last check. Hair? Should be fine. Swords? Clean and pristine. Confidence? Zero, but whatever. Names? Yes, I checked over the roster twenty times last night,” she reiterated to herself, counting off her fingers. Then, she nodded. “Alright, I think I’m ready now, Byleth.”

“Finally,” Byleth muttered. Then, without another second of hesitation, she opened the doors. 

Immediately, all eyes inside the room turned towards them. Satiana felt her stomach squeeze as she strolled down the aisle, eyes focused in front of her. Although she was internally freaking out, she kept on her poise, confidently following Byleth’s lead. 

A group of students gathered in the center of the room. Dimitri stood in the middle of the circle, his face lighting up in recognition. He gave a small wave, a pleasant smile on his face. “Ah, there you are, professor, Satiana,” he greeted with a curt nod. 

“Hold on,” Annette’s eyes widened. “You’re our new professor? Oh no, I spoke so informally to you!” She yelled in horror as her eyes met Byleth. “I-I’m so sorry, professor. You looked so young as if you were the same age as us!”

“I take no offense to that, Annette,” Byleth replied, blank expression as usual. “You can treat me like a friend.” 

“That doesn’t sit well with me,” Dimitri frowned. “After all, we wish to show you due respect.”

“Sure, but if the professor says it’s fine, shouldn’t we oblige? That is, if you can consent to such a thing, your highness,” Sylvain commented, glancing at Dimitri. “I mean, we’re already speaking this way to our future king. We might as well relax around the professor too.”

“Well, if the professor says it’s fine, we ought to accept that kindness gratefully,” Dimitri replied with a nod.

“I’m not sure if I can manage to do that…” Ingrid mumbled behind the group, dejected. 

“You don’t have to force yourself if it’s too difficult. You’re fine with that too right, professor?” Mercedes commented. 

Byleth simply nodded in response. 

It was then that something peculiar happened. Sylvain suddenly walked up to Byleth, eyes shining with excitement. He placed his hand on his chest, eying her with awe. “Such benevolence is a sight to behold!” He exclaimed, moving closer towards Byleth. “I don’t suppose you would care to join me for tea? We could discuss education and, well…” he trailed off, baritone voice dropping a notch lower. “And marriage,” he ended suggestively, winking at her.

Satiana felt the bile running up her throat, and she almost vomited right then and there. Her mouth dropped at the cheese in his words, feeling shivers running down her spine. Unconsciously, she found her hand creeping to the hilt of her sword, eyebrows perfectly arched up in surprise. 

Being the analytical person he was, Dimitri immediately noticed her actions and sweatdropped. “Uh, Satiana? There’s no need for violence first thing in the morning,” he dryly chuckled.  

Satiana blinked, turning to address him. “I moved on instinct. Sorry,” she deadpanned. 

“I can imagine so,” Dimitri shot her an understanding look. “Sylvain does that to everyone. He can be a bit of a bother, but he’s not a bad person. I swear on my name.” 

Satiana glanced towards Sylvain, who was still beaming at the professor, all starry-eyed. “Uh, sure, I’ll believe you,” Satiana skeptically answered, voice filled with uncertainty. 

“Ah, before I forget,” Byleth suddenly spoke up, completely turning away from Sylvain, who immediately drooped, dejected at the apparent rejection. She jerked her head towards Satiana. “This is Satiana Eisner, my adopted sister. She’s also joining your class starting today.” 

All eyes tuned in on her, and Satiana internally screamed, though she feigned indifference on the outside. She gave a small bow, plastering on the best smile she could muster up on a whim. “Hello, it’s a pleasure to meet you all,” she recited her introduction. 

“Oh! So you’re the other famed mercenary who saved his highness’s life!” Annette beamed. She walked up to Satiana and grabbed her hands. “I’ve heard so much about you from his highness.”

Satiana blinked, her gaze wandering towards Dimitri. “Really?” she questioned. 

Dimitri scratched his head awkwardly. “Well, everyone was excited to meet the new professor and student this morning, so I just told them about how we first met.” 

“I see,” Satiana replied curtly. 

“Annie, it’s rude to grab someone’s hands so abruptly without warning,” Mercedes chided. 

Annette blinked, glancing at Satiana’s hand that she was grabbing. She immediately let go, a sheepish smile on her face. “I’m sorry! I was just so excited to meet you.”

Satiana shook her head, keeping the slight smile on her face. “No, it’s quite alright.” 

“Forget the introductions. I have more important matters to discuss with the new professor here,” Felix suddenly interjected with a smoldering glare. “Come to the training ground. You will show me what you’re capable of there,” he addressed Byleth. Then, he turned towards Satiana, eyes narrowing at the two swords hanging on her hips. “And you too. I hope you don’t disappoint me with your combat style.”

Satiana felt her eyes twitch slightly at his challenging words.

Felix Hugo Fraldarius. He doesn’t resemble his father one single bit. 

“That is a brilliant idea. Count me in for any such battle. Perhaps we can head over now to the training hall. The first class is always free time to study whatever we wish anyway,” Dimitri suggested. 

“Pardon me, but I would also like to observe you in battle for future reference. If that’s okay with you, of course,” Ashe spoke as he raised his hand shyly from the back of the group. 

Dimitri turned to face Ashe, frowning. “Ashe, I won’t have you just watch. You should join us too.” 

“Please be careful, your highness,” Dedue quietly interjected from behind Dimitri.

“I know, Dedue. I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me,” Dimitri replied with a smile.

“Hey, isn’t there something weird going on?” Sylvain recovered from his stupified state and complained. “Why are we supposed to cross blades to bond with each other?” 

“Well, if that’s how you feel, I suppose you’ll stay behind while the rest of us are at the training ground,” Ingrid calmly replied, rolling her eyes at Sylvain. 

“Hey, that’s not nice!” Sylvain pouted. 

Byleth and Satiana shared a look of bewilderment. Although Byleth was annoyed by Satiana’s panicked state earlier, she felt herself finally understanding the sentiment. The Blue Lions were quite a raucous bunch — their energy levels shooting through the roof. Byleth found herself frozen, unable to speak. Satiana noticed Byleth’s eyes drooping, and she turned her face to the side, stifling a snicker.

“Then, why don’t we all just move to the training grounds now?” Satiana suggested, bailing Byleth out of her crisis. 

“That’s a great idea,” Dimitri smiled at her. “Is that alright with you, professor?” 

Byleth blinked, blankly turning to Satiana for help. Satiana sighed, shaking her head in exasperation. “You don’t have to worry about Byleth. If there’s one thing she knows how to teach, it’s the sword art,” Satiana answered in her stead. 

“Then, let’s hurry to the training grounds!” Annette cheerfully exclaimed. 

The rest of the Blue Lions followed her lead, heading towards the training grounds. Byleth and Satiana lingered slightly behind the pack, sighing in harmony.

All eyes remained on Byleth as they walked into the training grounds. Surely, a dozen questions were filling their thoughts, but being the well-mannered students they were, they decided to give her some space. The Blue lions split off to retrieve their specific weapons. Satiana stood awkwardly on the side beside Byleth. She nudged Byleth with her elbow, earning Byleth’s immediate attention. 

She leaned in towards Byleth’s ears and whispered. “So, what now?”

Byleth blinked in confusion. “What do you mean, what now?”

Satiana scowled in a hushed voice. “You know what I mean. You’re not suggesting I seriously spar with them, are you?” 

Byleth raised an eyebrow. “That’s the plan. Why?” 

Satiana narrowed her eyes in disdain. “I’m a goddamn assassin, Byleth. What if I accidentally, I don’t know, cut their heads off by accident?” Her gaze wavered with anxiety, the mere thought of harming the other kids sending shudders down her spine. 

Byleth snorted. “We’re not using real blades, Satiana.” She rolled her eyes. “Besides, you spar on a daily basis with Renard and me anyway. You won’t make such a silly mistake.” Byleth lightly bopped her on the head with her wooden sword. “Go get ready already.” She shooed her towards the other students with her hands. 

Satiana begrudgingly dragged her foot towards the weapon stands, randomly picking up two average-sized wooden swords. Unlike the other students, she didn’t bother checking the quality of the swords. It was all just play-time to her — things like training under non-life-threatening conditions. 

No point in getting all worked up. I’ll just hold back a little, try not to gain attention on myself. 

The students lined up in front of Byleth, waiting impatiently with bright smiles on their faces, with the exception of Dedue and Felix. Byleth hummed in thought as she did a quick look-over down the line. 

Satiana knew that Byleth was judging her students, determining their skill level. Byleth was a well-trained warrior. She had keen senses and a good eye for people. That beast-like instinct gave her the ability to see through the combat abilities of her opponents without even having to fight them. The way their muscles ticked. Their standing posture. The grip they held on their weapons. That was more than enough for Byleth to determine the abilities of the students standing in front of her with accurate precision. 

“Alright, should we do this one by one?” Byleth spoke as she casually balanced her sword on her shoulder, a small smile making its way up her features. 

The Blue lions gave each other a confused glance. Dimitri frowned, stepping up to speak for the rest of his classmates. “Um, professor? Wouldn’t that tire you out? It’ll be a long while before you manage to fight us all, one by one.” 

Byleth shook her head. “You do not need to worry about my stamina. I assure you, it won’t take as long as you think.” Then, she held up three fingers in the air, eyes gleaming with interest and barely unleashed bloodlust. “Three minutes. That’s all I need to get a grasp of your fighting abilities. Of course, you should aim to win against me in that short amount of time.”

Her provocative words got the Blue Lions all tensed up. Sylvain whistled, probably delighted at Byleth’s show of confidence while Felix had a wry smirk on his face. Dimitri simply laughed out loud, shaking his head lightly in disbelief. 

“I see you are a confident one, professor. Then we shall do it your way. Who wants to go first?” Dimitri turned to his friends, glancing over them.

Without hesitation, Felix immediately stepped up. He strolled up to Byleth, glaring at her. He lifted his arm, pointing the blade of his training sword right up to her neck. Byleth stared back directly into his eyes, unperturbed by his silent declaration of violence. She even leaned her neck closer, letting the wooden blade slide against her skin. 

That nonchalant action of hers irked Felix, making him seethe in quiet anger. “This will prove to be a fun challenge. I hope you don’t regret your words, professor.” 

Byleth’s lips contorted into a smirk. “Like I said, three minutes. I won’t take it back.”

Annette’s eyes bounced between Felix and Byleth, sweat pouring down her face. “W-Will they be okay, Mercie?” She stammered, turning to Mercedes for help. 

Mercedes merely chuckled, hiding her mouth politely behind her hand. “Don’t worry, Annie. If any of them get hurt, I’ll immediately patch them up with my healing magic.”

“That Felix, does he have to be so violent all the time?” Ingrid sighed in dismay. 

Sylvain just grinned from ear to ear, swaying lightly side to side on the balls of his feet. “It seems like this will be a battle to look forward to. Right, your highness?” 

Dimitri nodded. “Felix is our best swordsman, after all. He’s a perfect match-up against the professor who also wields a sword.”

The Blue Lions shifted to the sidelines, watching with enthusiasm as Byleth and Felix stood in the center of the empty hall. Satiana leaned her back against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. Although she didn’t have the motivation to fight herself, the minute crinkle in her eyes betrayed her genuine curiosity. For years, she had watched Byleth in action up close from a first-class seat. Byleth’s prowess with the sword never failed to surprise her. She glanced at Felix, watching as he readied himself into a stance. 

If he’s their best swordsman, it’ll be interesting to see how long he lasts against Byleth…

Byleth and Felix circled each other, sizing each other up with their sharp gazes, looking for weak spots in each other’s defenses. The tension caped the room in silence, the Blue Lions watching intently, completely focused on the coming battle. Time continued to tick on, a light breeze enveloping their profiles. The wind picked up slightly, and Byleth shifted her feet slightly to the left.

Felix was right in front of her in a flash, blade tilting upwards. Byleth’s eyes widened imperceptibly as she slid her foot back, his speed catching her off guard. The edge of his sword was a near inch away from her face when she managed to block it, gritting her teeth as she pushed back against his blow. Felix gripped the handle harder, pushing his weight against her. He refused to back off, opting to overwhelm her with sheer strength. Byleth counteracted his stubborn decision by smoothly using his weight against him, sliding her blade down the edge of his sword. She swerved to the left, letting Felix’s sword tilt down to the ground at the sudden loss of impact. Felix’s eyes widened as he quickly spun around, barely managing to parry Byleth’s blow from his right. 

Felix, realizing that he was at a disadvantage, chose to leap away from Byleth, backing off from the fight. However, Byleth immediately came on to him, slashing down at Felix’s head. He stumbled on his foot but managed to lift his sword up high, blocking the attack. He slid backward from the impact and Byleth continued to overpower him with a flurry of attacks, slicing vertically, horizontally, and in all directions he never imagined.

Scowling in disdain, Felix roared as he pushed back against her with a particularly sharp strike, knocking Byleth’s blade back. He gathered his strength, pushing against the sole of his feet, jumping at Byleth with his blade lifted high in the air. His arm trailed downwards, blade crashing against Byleth, who predicted his attack. Byleth ducked down on her knees, sword protecting her head. Then, she swept her foot across the ground with quick movements, knocking Felix off his feet. Felix’s eyes widened as he tumbled backward, gravity taking action. 

The battle was over with Felix sitting on the ground with the point of Byleth’s blade at the base of his throat. 

Byleth tilted her head innocently to the side. “I never said we were fighting with only our swords,” she drawled out, amusement whirling in her dull eyes. 

There was a deafening silence in the room. The Blue Lions were completely gobsmacked by the overwhelming result. By watching Byleth’s battle, they knew that she had won by a complete landslide. It was obvious that she was still holding back and yet, their strongest contender lost completely without landing even a single blow. 

Satiana was the only one who wasn’t surprised at all. She expected the result, after all. Byleth would never lose to mere students who had no real experience on the battlefield. They were different species. But, to her surprise, Satiana found her eyes lingering on Felix’s glaring figure on the ground. 

She had a finger on her chin, rubbing the skin underneath in deep thought. Her lips tightened as she replayed the battle in her head. This was Felix’s first battle against Byleth. He had no idea how strong she was or what she was truly capable of. And yet… 

He lasted a whole minute against her. Against Byleth who actually isn’t holding back unlike what these students may be thinking.

Satiana had exchanged blows with Byleth on multiple occasions before. Sometimes, Renard wasn’t around when she sought a practice partner, and Byleth would help her instead. That’s why she knew best that Byleth was not holding back — at least towards the end of the battle. If it was Byleth, she could easily win by using her blades, yet Felix forced her to use more dirty-handed tactics. 

The speed of his attack. The tilt of his blade. The clean strokes of his arm. And not to mention that insane reflex that allowed him to counter Byleth’s finishing blows. 

Felix Hugo Fraldarius was, without a doubt, a talented swordsman. 

Felix scoffed as he stood up on his feet, brushing the dirt off his trousers. The smoldering glare was still plastered on his face, but the corner of his lips twitched up into a satisfied smile. “I see. You are quite the worthy adversary.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Byleth casually replied, twirling the sword around in her hand. Then, she glanced over to the rest of the Blue Lions. “So? Who’s next?”

True to her words, Byleth kept her promise. She finished battling against the rest of the Blue Lions, each bout taking less than a minute to finish. Of the remaining students, Dimitri fared the best against Byleth. Although Byleth had her own fair amount of experience against lance users, Jeralt being one of them, she still found herself struggling against Dimitri’s extremely powerful blows. Unlike Felix, who relied more on his speed and precision, Dimitri struck with his boar-like strength, completely overpowering Byleth. But in the end, Byleth was much faster and more adept with the sword, easily dodging his final blows and countering them from behind. 

Ashe panted, hands on his knees. “W-Wow, that was the most intense battle I’ve ever been in.” 

“Y-You’ve got that right, Ashe,” Sylvain coughed for air, stabbing his lance into the ground in front of him, leaning against it for support. “Our new professor really pulled out all the stops.”

“I thought I was going to be killed,” Annette gaped, staring at her own shivering hands. “Before I knew it, the sword just came flying towards my face.” 

Mercedes chuckled, healing the wound on her hand with white magic. “Oh, Annie. You tried your best. That’s all that matters.” 

Felix grunted, staring over his classmates with disdain. “Hmph. Pathetic,” he scolded. 

Ingrid glared at him from her position next to the wall. “Oh, please. You didn’t last that much longer than we did.” 

Dedue leaned against the wall opposite of hers, staring in deep thought at Byleth. “The professor really is a formidable opponent. I couldn’t find any weaknesses in her defense.” 

Dimitri nodded, smiling at Dedue from beside him. “I only managed to catch her off guard once in that entire battle. It seems we still have much to learn.” He glanced over the rest of his classmates, who all looked completely beaten and battered. 

Byleth hummed in acknowledgment, flipping the sword in her hand. Then, her languid gaze landed on Satiana, who was comfortably standing next to the exit. She lifted her arm and pointed the end of her sword at Satiana. “Satiana, it’s your turn. Get over here.”

Satiana blinked, frowning. “Who, me?” She pointed to herself, forehead creasing in confusion. 

Byleth stared pointedly at her, tapping her foot impatiently. “Who else is named Satiana but you? You’re the last one left.” 

“But you already know my skill levels,” Satiana protested. “You don’t have to fight against me to know that, do you?”

Byleth shrugged. “You’re right, I don’t. But I’m here as a professor.” She folded her arms across her chest, smiling at Satiana. “I need to teach a lesson to these kids, so be my assistant for now. Just think of it as our usual spar.”

All eyes in the room turned towards Satiana, and she flinched. It wasn’t as if she disliked the idea of sparring with Byleth. She just didn’t like the gallery. Not to mention, she wanted to hide her true skills in case her identity as an assassin was found out via her fighting style. Satiana pleaded to Byleth with her eyes, hoping that Byleth would understand the message. 

Byleth betrayed her trust ultimately by jerking her chin towards the center of the training grounds. “Don’t keep us waiting, Satiana,” Byleth lowered her voice slightly. 

Dark blue eyes met cerulean ones in a quiet confrontation. In the end, Satiana sighed in resignation, leaning away from the exit. She walked over towards Byleth, standing in front of her while holding two wooden swords in her hands. She raised an eyebrow at Byleth. “And? What now?” 

“Hold on a moment,” Byleth said once before she coughed once into her hands. Then, she turned around to address the rest of the Blue Lions, who were staring with interest at the two in the center. “I want you guys to observe this fight carefully. See the difference between how we fight compared to what you guys are used to in the academy.” 

“The difference, professor?” Dimitri contemplated, humming in thought. 

Byleth nodded in response. “Yes, the difference. Now, I’m not only talking about fighting style, just so you know. You guys lack something, and it shows in your battles.”

Byleth tightened her grip on the sword before facing Satiana, entering a stance immediately. Her eyes sharpened a dangerous, razor-like gleam to them. Satiana’s instincts flared underneath the warning glare, and she stiffened, bending her knees slightly to gather strength in her legs. 

Byleth darted forward, making the first move. With lightning speed, she sprinted directly towards Satiana. Satiana’s instincts screamed at her to dodge the oncoming attack, but she forced herself to stay calm and collected. Satiana stood still, refusing to dodge as Byleth reached the two-meter mark, blade soaring through the air towards her head. Time seemed to still as she analyzed the trajectory of Byleth’s path, the grip of her sword, and the shift in weight from the right to the left foot. She recognized Byleth’s movements immediately, reading the true intentions behind them. 

It’s a bluff. She’s not aiming for the head.

Satiana whipped her right arm up, blocking the sword that cut horizontally towards her ribs, completely taking the onlookers by surprise. 

“What?! But the sword was definitely moving vertically towards her head just now!” Satiana heard someone’s voice screaming, though she paid no attention to it. 

Without a moment of hesitation, she pushed back against the sword with her right arm while steering her left arm towards Byleth’s head. The sword landed on empty air as Byleth ducked underneath, landing down on a crouched position. 

Satiana’s attention snapped to the floor, and she jumped on pure instinct, dodging the sweeping kick that came after her feet. However, being suspended mid-air gave Byleth the opportunity for a free hit. Byleth parried the sword clashing against hers, pushing it away before she dived in for another slash. Satiana scowled, using her free left blade to block the blow. She felt herself being pushed back, unbalanced mid-air as gravity took hold.

I’ll fall backward at this rate…!

Satiana made a split-moment decision mid-air, leaning her back even further. Instead of choosing to balance herself again once she landed, she allowed gravity to push her back. She landed on her right hand, and using the strength in her arm, she back-flipped in the air, sliding against the ground safely while dodging the end of Byleth’s blade that flew an inch across her face. 

Satiana leaped back further, adding distance between her and Byleth. Byleth prowled after her like a rapid beast, a flurry of attacks following after her path. Satiana calmly parried all of them, adjusting her stance as time ticked on. 

By this point in the battle, the two were breathing heavily as sweat poured down their faces. Byleth narrowed her eyes, glaring holes at Satiana before she thrust her sword forward, aiming at Satiana’s weak spot. Satiana received the blow with the flat of her sword, then turned the edge towards Byleth, leveraging around Byleth’s blade as she thrust back into the gaps of Byleth’s defense. 

Satiana knew that Byleth was trying to end the battle now, judging by the increasing strength in each blow. 

I have to end it before she continues pushing me back any further!

Resolving herself, Satiana dived in for the finishing blow. She dodged an attack from the right then used her speed to swerve around behind Byleth. In an instant, she slashed down vertically at Byleth’s back…

Only to have Byleth flick her wrist, holding the sword firmly over her shoulder, parrying the attack from her blind spot. Satiana gaped at the back of Byleth’s head, despairing over how her final blow was blocked without Byleth even having to glance behind her shoulder. 

That moment of hesitation cost Satiana the battle as Byleth spun around and, with a roundhouse kick, sent the sword in her right hand flying towards the ground. Satiana flinched, immediately tossing her left sword into her right hand, hoping to parry the next blow, but it was too late. As she lifted her hand up to block the attack, Byleth caught her by surprise and kneed her in the stomach. 

Satiana coughed, feeling her body fly backward. She crashed onto the floor behind her. Her back ached with pain, but she forced her body to move as she barrel-rolled on the floor, barely dodging Byleth’s attack. She got up on her knees and turned around, lifting the blade up to slash at Byleth’s neck, but the height difference was too much. Her sword hung limply in the air, an arm’s length away from Byleth’s neck while Byleth’s landed directly underneath her chin. 

A tensed miasma settled over the room, the long silence continuing as Byleth and Satiana panted for air, still frozen in their positions, glaring daggers at each other. After taking a minute to catch her breath, Satiana lowered her sword and sighed. She lifted her head to meet Byleth’s hardened gaze and gave her a wry smile. “It’s my loss, Byleth,” she conceded. 

Byleth followed suit and lowered her sword, nodding in appreciation. “You’ve gotten better at reading my moves. That first move of yours surprised me.” 

Satiana sheepishly rubbed the back of her head. “Yeah, about that, half of it was probably a fluke. You’re not an easy person to read, Byleth. I only had an edge because I’ve fought against you numerous times before.” 

The tensed air dissipated, and Satiana got up on her feet. She glanced to the side, noticing her other sword lying broken on the floor. She winced, turning to face Byleth with a blank look. “Uh, is that being cut out of my paycheck?” She pointed towards the sword, sweat rolling down her face. 

Byleth shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll pay for it, seeing I’m the one who broke it.” 

“Ah, about that, you don’t have to worry, Professor.” Dimitri walked up towards them, an exhilarated look on his face. “The academy reimburses the swords we break. It happens often, after all. But that’s not the point,” Dimitri shook his head lightly. Then, he stared at Satiana with awe and admiration. “That was an amazing battle! I learned a lot just from watching.” 

Satiana blinked. “O-Oh, really? I guess that’s a good thing…” Satiana stammered out, not used to the honest attention he was giving her. 

“Seriously, what was that flip you did in the middle of the battle?” Sylvain entered the conversation, a dashing grin on his handsome features. “You soared through the sky like a beautiful swan. You need to show me that move again, alright?” He added in an extra wink. 

“What?!” Satiana gawked at his compliment. “A s-swan?” 

“Hm, a swan, huh?” Mercedes hummed in thought. “I think she looked more like a flying squirrel,” she chuckled to herself. 

“I don’t think that’s a nice thing to say, Mercie,” Annette commented with an exasperated smile.

Satiana sweatdropped, laughing awkwardly. “Uh, I hope that’s a compliment…” 

“Indeed, that is not a move one can simply learn. If you don’t have the physical strength and speed to match it, you’ll end up hurting yourself,” Dedue analyzed. 

“To be honest, I was more impressed by the attacks that followed. How did you read the professor’s movements so easily?” Ingrid interjected. “You fought as if you knew each other’s next moves. It was a brilliant battle.” 

“The way you never gave up until the very end was very inspiring to me,” Ashe added. “It reminded me of the dashing knights from the books I’ve read, relentlessly attacking their enemies with precision.” 

“I…see…” Satiana trailed off awkwardly. 

The Blue Lions continued to crowd around her, showering her with compliments, and Satiana felt like she would suffocate to death. Although it was nice to be praised with such sincerity, Satiana wasn’t used to having this much attention on herself. She quietly attacked behind the scenes, supporting the rest of Jeralt’s crew from the shadows, assassinating the backline of the enemies. No one noticed her existence much aside from Renard, who partnered up with her on various occasions. 

A part of her didn’t believe that she was as strong as the Blue Lions appeared to think she was. It was like Byleth said: Satiana had no self-esteem. She always humbled herself, opting to hide her true skills because she had grown too accustomed to wearing a mask over herself due to her political position in the Kingdom. 

But perhaps for today, she could allow herself to indulge in the spotlight for once.

“Hey, you.” Felix’s booming voice echoed from behind the crowd. Annette and Mercedes moved to the side, allowing Felix to part through the crowd. He halted to a stop in front of Satiana, eyes twinkling with curiosity and deep interest. “How did you know it was a bluff?” He asked bluntly, demanding an answer with a scorching glare. 

“Uh, which one?” Satiana flickered through her memories, recognizing all the bluffs Byleth attempted to mix in with her attacks. 

“The very first one,” Felix repeated. 

“Ah, that,” Satiana started. “Byleth is right-handed, but she shifted her weight towards her left foot. That’s how I knew it wasn’t a direct hit aimed at my head. Not to mention, the edge of her sword was tilted slightly to the right, so I knew she was aiming for a horizontal attack towards my right side,” Satiana explained nonchalantly. 

The Blue Lions gaped at her, eyes bulging wide in an array of emotions from surprise to horror to awe. 

Felix grunted. “Alright, then. How about when you swerved behind the professor to attack her from behind? Why did you decide to use that move at that moment?”

“I don’t fare well in a long-drawn battle,” Satiana confessed. “Byleth knows that, and so she tried to steal my stamina away by overpowering me with strength. If I want to end the battle early, then I have to be the one to make the first move.” 

Felix made a noise of acknowledgment. “I see,” he finished his thought, then turned around, walking away from the crowd.

Satiana stared blankly at his receding figure with a frown on her face. “What was that about?” she muttered under her breath. 

The excitement buzzing around the room intensified. The Blue Lions erupted into a cacophony of voices, sharing their honest opinions about the battle that had just occurred. Satiana stood stiffly in the center of it all, trying her best to answer all of their questions. Byleth watched from a distance, glancing up at the sky. The sun was now blazing high up in the sky, signaling the beginning of noon. 

Byleth placed the wooden sword back into the wooden racks. Then, she clapped her hands, gathering the attention of the crowd. She ushered them back to the classroom. It wouldn’t do her any good if Seteth caught her fooling around with the students on the first day of her job. After all, knowing his busy-body personality, she wouldn’t hear the end of his scoldings until the end of the week, and that , Byleth wanted to avoid at all cost.

“Hey, Dimitri. I heard that mercenary ended up choosing your class,” Claude spoke, sliding into the seat next to Dimitri. 

The dining hall was filled to the brim in the afternoon. Dimitri sat at the same table as his classmates, listening absentmindedly to their chattering. Although the Blue Lions were a rowdy bunch, to begin with, they were more worked up than usual today. Not much happened at the monastery in terms of excitement, which only made the rumors about the new mercenary duo joining the Blue Lions spread like wildfire. Even the students of other classes were in an uproar after listening to tales of Byleth’s and Satiana’s battle earlier. 

“Indeed. To be honest, I wasn’t sure at first about having a mercenary as our professor, but her lessons were very eye-opening,” Dimitri commented. 

After the sparring session, Byleth gave a quick overview of her battle with Satiana in the classroom. She mentioned her experience living the tumultuous life of a mercenary and compared it to the training the students received. More specifically, she stressed the importance of having the drive to grow stronger, to best one’s opponents. 

It was something that most of the students lacked. They had become spoiled to the lighthearted nature of their sparring sessions, and apparently, Byleth saw it as a huge weakness. She stressed that in a real battle, losing meant death. She drilled the fear of losing one’s life into the student's heads, asking them to take their training more seriously. 

Some of the students found the nature of her speech too foreboding and gloomy for their liking, but Dimitri appreciated the blunt and honest way in which Byleth spoke. Not many teachers dared to directly drill into their student’s heads the concept of dying in action. It was a morbid lesson, but useful nonetheless. 

“You’re lucky. To be honest, I wanted to steal her away to the Golden Deer,” Claude laughed. “Guess this means we should keep an eye on you guys before the mock battle comes up.” 

Dimitri smiled confidently at Claude. “The same goes for you. I always end up being caught off guard by your tactics. I can never let down my guard against you, Claude.”

“Yeah? Don’t worry, your highness. I wouldn’t dare disappoint you. Got to live up to your expectations, hm?” Claude taunted with a wink. 

Dimitri only chuckled, shaking his head in exasperation at Claude’s usual antics. 

From a distance down the table, Felix and Sylvain were engrossed in their own conversation. Sylvain found it a pleasant surprise when Felix actively sought him out, inviting him for lunch. Felix was never someone who enjoyed being in the crowd. He spent his time quietly by himself, whether training or dining. Although Sylvain enjoyed Felix’s company, regardless of his sharp mouth and snide comments, the oddity of Felix’s action today did unnerve him quite a bit, leaving him slightly on edge. 

“So, did you eat something weird for breakfast? I didn’t expect you to call out to me for lunch,” Sylvain teased with a lopsided grin on his face in a lighthearted manner.

Felix glared at him. “Shut it with the jokes, Sylvain.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Sylvain waved Felix’s sharp comment away with his hand. “It’s you we’re talking about. Something must really be bothering you if you came to me of all people for advice.”

“Trust me. If I were going to seek advice, it wouldn’t be from you,” Felix flatly replied. 

Sylvain rolled his eyes. “Please, you used to come crying to me every day. Do you remember when you fought with his highness? You came running to me in tears because you lost and—”

Felix stormed up from his seat. “I’m leaving,” he sternly announced. 

“Woah, hold up, man!” Sylvain stood up after him in a panic. “I was just joking. I’m sorry, okay? I’ll stop talking now, and we can listen to your concerns or whatever it is you want to talk to me about.”

Felix begrudgingly resigned himself, plopping back down to his seat. “Fine. I only asked you out because I figured if anyone knew best about acting, it would be you.” 

Sylvain sat down in his seat and raised an eyebrow in Felix’s direction. “I’m sorry, what? Acting?”

Felix stared daggers at Sylvain. “You know exactly what I mean. You always pretend to be such a fool when you’re really not. It annoys me to watch you floundering in those flock of women.”

Sylvain visibly winced. “Uh, yeah, Felix? Let’s keep that between the two of us, okay?” Sylvain awkwardly glanced off to the side as he scratched his cheeks in anxiety. 

If there were someone who could see through Sylvain, it would be Felix, and if there were someone Felix could trust with his worries, it would be Sylvain. The common folks described their interesting dynamic as Sylvain constantly hounding for attention from Felix, who refused him every minute of the day. But between the two of them, they knew that no matter what facade they put up, how hard they tried to keep others at a safe distance to protect their own bruised hearts, it was impossible for the two of them to stray apart from each other. 

Since they were young, there were no secrets between them. Although the tragedy made them grow estranged, they were still together at heart, both alive and breathing, and that was the only thing that mattered to them. Even if they both indulged in self-destructive actions, they would not say anything to each other because there was no need to. 

They understood each other’s pain more than anyone. Though, that didn’t mean that Felix would allow himself to deal with Sylvain’s flippant antics. He was never one to sugar-coat his words, anyway. 

“So, what was it that you wanted to talk to me about?” Sylvain steered the conversation to safer grounds, smiling awkwardly. 

“The boar may have gone mad, but if there’s one thing that stayed constant, it’s that beast-like instinct of his,” Felix started off on a peculiar note. 

Sylvain stared blankly at Felix. “You know, you don’t mince your words at all, do you?” 

“He said he thought something was off about that girl named Satiana, and I believe he’s right,” Felix dropped a bombshell, ignoring Sylvain’s comment about his sarcastic remarks.

Sylvain’s smile faltered. He straightened his posture, placing his elbow on the table as he leaned his head into his palm. “You think so?” He mused, tapping his fork against his plate with the other hand. 

“I’m not suggesting she’s out to kill the boar or anything,” Felix continued, gaze hardening. “But I don’t buy the story about her past.”

“The fact that she’s a mercenary, you mean?” Sylvain questioned. 

“The boar said she’s from a village near the place where… that happened four years ago,” Felix carefully chose his words, avoiding the name of the incident itself. 

The Tragedy had stolen many lives, destroying theirs in the process. No one in the Blue Lions wanted to openly talk about such a morbid topic, especially at the dining table. It’d only ruin their appetites. But today, Felix went straight to the point, refusing to mince his words. 

“That’s what he said,” Sylvain shrugged. “What about it, though?” 

“It doesn’t explain that fighting style of hers,” Felix pointed out. He interlocked his hands, placing them on the table, glaring holes into them. “She’s been a mercenary for four years, but she doesn’t fight like our professor.”

“Uh, Felix?” Sylvain suddenly interjected, a sheepish grin on his face. “If you’re going to start talking about combat style and all that jazz, I think you chose the wrong person to invite for a chat. I know nothing about things of that sort. You know that, don’t you?” 

“I know, but there’s no one else I can talk to,” Felix snorted. “Just listen to me, damn it.”

“Okay, sure, you’re the boss,” Sylvain rolled his eyes, holding his hand in the air in a show of resignation. 

“Those moves of hers. They aren’t the movements of someone who just learned how to use the sword for four years,” Felix spoke with narrowed eyes, clenching his hands tightly together. “Her swings were completely clean, rid of hesitation, and she aimed precisely at the professor’s vital points each time. Even if she spent four years under Jeralt Eisner’s wing, I highly doubt it’s enough to reach her skill level.”

“Well, maybe she’s one of those geniuses that come around once in a million years?” Sylvain suggested, lazily tracing the bubbles in his glass of water with his fingers. 

“Perhaps, but the professor asked us to determine the difference between how they fought,” Felix reminded. “And from what I see, there’s a clear distinction between how the two of them fought.” 

“Which is?” Sylvain drawled, now leaning his chin on the table, arms stretched forward in a comfortable stance. 

“The desperation,” Felix answered confidently. “I fought against the professor myself, so I know. That look of satisfaction on her face after beating her opponent. That glimmer of confidence in her eyes. She fights like a mercenary, thirsty for victory.” 

“Mhm,” Sylvain made a noncommittal sound of agreement, yawning into the table. 

“But that girl named Satiana. She didn’t care about things like victory. Her focus wasn’t on beating her opponent — it was on attacking Byleth’s weak spots. As if she was simulating in her head a real battle, aiming for the kill . And she did it without even batting an eye,” Felix commented, brows scrunching in deep thought. 

“So, maybe she just fights differently?” Sylvain sighed, leaning back up from the table. “I still don’t understand what you’re trying to get at.” 

Felix stared knowingly at Sylvain. “You weren’t really paying attention at all, right?” 

Sylvain smirked. “Well, I got to say, I was more focused on the way their hair swirled around in the breeze and the sway of their hips and—”

“Okay, enough,” Felix groaned, pinching his forehead in annoyance. “I get your point.”

“Well, I don’t really know what’s got you all worried, but I’ll keep an eye on her if you want,” Sylvain offered with a wry smile. “Maybe I should try getting to know her better. You know, sliding in?” He wiggled his fingers in a suggestive manner. 

Felix stared at him with disgust. “You never change, do you?” 

“The same old good for nothing,” Sylvain replied, snorting in amusement. “Anyway, I meant every word. If both Dimitri and you think something’s off about her, I’ll watch her carefully. See if she means any harm towards us.” Then, Sylvain leaned in closer towards Felix with a frown. “But you have to realize that everyone has things they don’t want to speak about. Satiana included. Don’t interrogate her, alright?” 

Felix scoffed. “That’s up to me to decide. Besides, I have my ways.”

“Ah, yes. Let me guess. Your way of asking nicely involves the use of your sword,” Sylvain deadpanned. 

Felix stared at him with a look that screamed ‘of course you dolt,’ and Sylvain sighed, shaking his head in exasperation.

Satiana stewed in edgy silence, swinging her legs nervously in the air from her seat on the chair in Hanneman’s room. She sat in the corner, waiting impatiently for Hanneman to finish the set-up of his crest machine or whatever it was called. As soon as class ended for the day, Seteth immediately dragged her to the second floor, practically shoving her inside Hanneman’s room. She was greeted with the sight of a peculiar mechanism in the middle of the room, glowing faintly purple and the beaming face of an old man. 

“Satiana,” Hanneman suddenly called out, snapping her out of her daydream. 

“Yes?” Satiana responded meekly. 

“The set-up is complete. Please make your way here in front of the machine,” Hanneman ordered.

Satiana internally groaned, lumbering towards the machine with heavy steps. She stood awkwardly in front of it, staring holes into the machine's center. “Uh, what do I do with this?” she asked, pointing at the device with her index finger. 

“You just have to hold your arm over the device. Then, wait for a few minutes and let the machine do its work for you. If you have a crest, its symbol will appear on the screen. If not, then nothing will occur, and you may leave,” Hanneman explained.

Satiana nodded stiffly, holding her arm in front of the machine. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t believe I possess a crest. It’s not as if my family members were nobles, to begin with. I’m just a commoner,” Satiana spoke with confidence. 

Or more like the cloaked mages failed to implant one in me…

“Now, now. There’s no need to be so hasty. Crests are a mysterious phenomenon. Though they are only inherited through the bloodline, there may still be hidden crests around the world, waiting to be found,” Hanneman assured her, though Satiana didn’t understand his sentiments one bit. 

“I don’t particularly want to have one,” Satiana mumbled to herself, feeling an eerie sense of dread creeping up inside of her.

I can’t have a crest…right? Because wouldn’t that mean the experiment succeeded without them realizing it? Unless I seriously have an ancestor with a crest…

To her dismay, the machine suddenly made a buzzing noise, the display sparkling to life. The screen turned purple with black lines decorated across it. An odd image appeared on the screen. Three half-circles of different sizes were connected with a straight line, the mysterious creature-like symbol sending shudders down her spine as her blood went cold.

No, it can’t be! 

Face ashen, Satiana frantically searched her brain for traces of her fading memories. She forced herself to relive the memories of her experiment, the blade cutting inside her body, the bottles of blood being poured inside of her, the nausea, the sharp pain, everything. Yet, there was nothing in her memories that indicated the success of their experiments. None of the crest stones were successfully implanted inside her — that she was sure of.

Is there something wrong with my body, after all? Am I going to die an early death because of their experiments? How did it succeed without anyone knowing? 

Heart in her mouth, ice in her veins, she stared horror-stricken long after the screen had gone black. Questions barged inside her head, sending a sharp, intense blinding pain up her spine, and she visibly winced, wobbling on her feet. 

“Satiana! Are you alright?” Hanneman was immediately by her side, hands gripping her shoulders tightly. 

She nodded absentmindedly, eyes still whirling with confusion and panic. “I-I’m okay, sir. I’m just surprised. I never expected that I possessed a crest.”

Hanneman frowned, eying her carefully. He dissected her with his vision, eyes gleaming with genuine interest. “Satiana, you said that you were from a village up north in the Kingdom of Faerghus?” He suddenly asked, spinning her around to face him.

Satiana blinked blearily up at him. “Uh, yes. Why?” 

He stared deeper into her eyes, searching for something hiding within them. His eyes narrowed. “Then, do you happen to know if your parents migrated from elsewhere into Fodlan?”

Satiana’s body jerked up at this pointed question, shoulders stiffening in high alert. “What…are you getting at?” She quietly asked, realizing that the conversation was steering towards dangerous grounds. “I don’t know who my parents are, so I unfortunately can’t answer you. I’m an orphan, Professor Hanneman,” Satiana replied, voice stern and stable. 

“I see…” He released his grip on Satiana’s shoulder. Then, he crossed his arms over his chest, a hand rubbing his chin in thought as he contemplated quietly to himself. “It’s just…I’ve only seen one other person who possesses this crest. But they received it under, well, strange circumstances. I can only imagine the reason why you also possess it is because you inherited it through your blood.” 

“Okay, but why do you think my parents are from outside of Fodlan?” Satiana narrowed her eyes with suspicion. 

After all this, is this stupid crest going to blow my identity? That I’m not actually from Fodlan?

“You see, the person who first founded this crest was known to have no descendants. Unless our information is false, there should be no human alive who possesses this crest in the present. According to our accounts, the apostle migrated from Garreg Mach to an unknown town. We believe he settled outside of Fodlan,” Hanneman explained. 

Satiana stared blankly at him, the words flying over her head. “Uh, so what is this apostle thing, and what does it have to do with me?”

“Ah, forgive me. I should explain from the start,” Hanneman cleared his throat. “You see, you possess a very rare crest from one of the Four Apostles.” He then lowered his voice, whispering in a hushed voice as if it were a damning secret that could not be released to the world. 

“Satiana, you possess the Minor Crest of Aubin,” he declared.

Chapter Text

[White Clouds]

Brewing Storm

Satiana twirled the pen with her fingers, flipping the book's pages with her other hand. The sound of paper rustling echoed in the library, the candlelights flickering to the light breeze from the motion. She paused her movements, eyes narrowing in on the fourth bullet point in the text she was reading.

'Caldea, an independent nation located above the peninsula to the North of Fodlan and the West of Sreng. Neighbors with what used to be called the Duscur territory. The land boasts nothing noteworthy to make it a desirable travel location. However, there are rumors of hidden cities underground, housing famed warriors who lost their lords and other infamous criminals. A lawless land. Poor and underdeveloped, yet over-populated.'

She closed the book with a thud and placed it on the pile of documents next to her. Sighing in disappointment, she reclined in the chair, stretching her arms high behind her back. Satiana had spent the past few days in the library, soaking up all the knowledge in the materials they offered the students. Most of the books in the library contained folklore regarding the birth of Fodlan, the Goddess's descent, and stories of the Elite Ten. None of them interested her, and she quickly skimmed through the contents.

The Garreg Mach library was indeed massive and extensive. However, it was apparent that the collections were pre-approved by the Church. Religious texts, lores regarding the Goddess, war strategy, battalion improvement. Satiana kept her expectations low when she first entered the library, glancing at the familiar-sounding titles down the aisle.

Her eyes flickered to the second floor of the library. The entrance was barred with red ropes that blocked the staircase. Two knights stood quietly by each staircase, left and right, guarding the entrance.

If there's something worth checking out, it'll be the documents hidden up there. Perhaps I should sneak in at night…

The bell rang, reverberating down the empty aisles, signaling the end of the day. Satiana stood up with a hefty sigh, carrying the pile of books in her arms as she placed them back into their positions on the shelves. After neatly organizing the books, she left the library, slowly walking down the stairs to the ground floor. She exited out the North Courtyard, heading past the classroom towards the monastery's main entrance.

Jeralt visited her after class, telling her that Renard had something urgent he wished to talk to her about. The sun was already setting over the horizon, mingling in with the rolling clouds until all that was left of it was a chalky mauve. She needed to quicken her pace if she wished to reach the town before the sky went dark.

She strolled past the gates, heading down the mountainous path leading down the hill. A flash of red suddenly appeared in the corner of her vision, and she spun her head around in surprise.

Sylvain paced himself right next to her, a flirtatious smile on his features. "Good evening, Satiana. What's a beautiful girl like you doing all alone out here?" He greeted her suavely. "Oh, perhaps you have already gotten yourself a date tonight? That's too bad. I was looking forward to getting to know you better."

Satiana continued to quicken her pace, hoping to leave him behind. "I don't know what you're up to, but I don't appreciate flattery much. Especially when it stinks of lies," Satiana commented, shooting a harsh glare as she brushed past his shoulder.

Sylvain's smirk only grew wider. "I see, so you're that type of woman. There's nothing that fires me up more than a cold-hearted woman. It'll be a challenge to break through your wall. If you know what I mean," he added suggestively with a wink.

Satiana blanched, grimacing in disgust. "Sylvain, if I may be brutally honest. I don't appreciate your lackluster…flirting skills. You should try it on someone more shallow who'd be interested in your silver tongue."

Sylvain just shrugged. "Well, there's no one but you to try my flowery language on right now." He fastened his pace, trailing slightly behind Satiana. Then, nonchalantly crossing his arms above his head, he smiled up at the sky. "Oh, the sunset is quite beautiful today. The fiery and passionate red — it reminds me of you," his baritone voice purred in her ears and she shuddered as goosebumps flickered all over her skin.

Satiana felt her eyebrows twitch uncontrollably.

Okay, that's it.

She halted in her steps, turning around to face Sylvain. She placed her hands on her hips, hoping to look intimidating. "Sylvain, I don't know what you're up to, but my patience is running thin. If you have business in town as well, then perhaps we can walk there together. But please, keep that blabbering mouth of yours shut," she snapped.

Her automatic mode of self-preservation had always been bluster and bravado, and she wasn't about to start mincing her words now, even straight to that sinfully gorgeous face of his. All civility flew out to space as she released her full annoyance on him.

Sylvain pretended to back away, hands hanging awkwardly in front of him. "Wow, I was just trying to make small talk. You know, I was serious about getting to know you better," Sylvain pouted, puckering his lips. "We're now classmates, after all. So what's wrong with wanting to know your friend better?"

Satiana exhaled heavily, glare hardening. "Perhaps I can take you more seriously if you stop it with the jokes. If you want to be friends with me, I assure you, this is not the way to go about it. I hate empty flattery of all things. Please, take that as a warning."

"Alright, if you say so," Sylvain shrugged, a lopsided grin returning to his face. "Then, let's start with an ice breaker. How are you feeling today?"

"Like I got slapped in the face by the Goddess," Satiana flatly replied, moving her feet forward.

Sylvain visibly winced at her, following after her trail with light steps. "If something is bothering you, I'm happy to lend an ear."

"Thanks for the offer, but I don't think we know each other well enough yet."

"That's too bad. I thought we could bond over a cup of tea. You know, share our worries and get to know each other more…intimately."

And there it was again, the honey-dripping words. The obvious seduction. Lame honey traps. Although she had already read the student files of the Blue Lions many times the day before, nothing could have mentally prepared her for the sort of frontal attack Sylvain was attempting.

Satiana wasn't used to such flattery and debauchery. A philanderer like Sylvain was her worst nightmare. She had lived her whole life, innocent and free from such distracting emotions like romance or sexual tension; they had no place in her blood-stained reality. She didn't know how to handle him, other than standing her ground stubbornly against his relentless verbal abuse, putting on a facade of indifference despite the queasy feeling it gave in her stomach. Although some girls swooned over him, Satiana didn't understand what they saw in him.

"Then, I suggest you first get intimate with my sword," Satiana drawled as she placed her hand on the hilt of her sword, shifting up the edge slightly so that the silvery gleam sparkled underneath the thread of lights that lingered in the darkening sky. "Care to try?" Her eyes sparkled with an underlying threat.

Sylvain went ashen, face paling as he chuckled dryly. "Uh, thanks for the offer, but I will politely refuse," he fumbled over his words.

Satiana hummed in satisfaction. She pushed her sword back into its sheath. "Good. I suggest you drop it with the innuendos."

"Duly noted, ma'am," Sylvain responded with a salute that screamed insincerity, much to Satiana's chagrin.

"Everything about you just seems so…exaggerated and forced. Is this really how you act on a daily basis?" Satiana frowned. "No wonder you have such a notorious reputation."

Sylvain shrugged nonchalantly. "Perhaps my flower language doesn't work on you, but there are plenty of women out there who fall for it easily."

Satiana glanced at him, narrowing her eyes with suspicion. "Somehow, I doubt that's true."

It was only for a brief moment when Satiana felt the hot air around her crackle, an icy breeze enveloping her. Sylvain's expression froze for a split second before he chuckled dryly, smile uncannily plastic. "Hey, I may be a good-for-nothing, but at least I'm a noble with a proper crest. And the heir of the household too. The girls love my jokes," Sylvain spoke calmly, but there was an underlying acerbic and cynical tone to his words.

His smile didn't reach his eyes, and Satiana was immediately reminded of the day she first met Renard. The boisterous laughter, the sneaky grin, the bantering, the teasing remarks. The way he maneuvered himself with grace near other nobles, in contrast to the blunt and honest way he interacted with Jeralt, Byleth, and Satiana. Sylvain's personality had an uncanny resemblance to Renard, minus all the flower and infatuating charm.

Satiana paused mid-step, her interest peaked. Sylvain halted behind her, frowning. "What's wrong, Satiana?"

Satiana turned around on her heels and stared directly into Sylvain's warm, honey-brown gaze. Again, another resemblance to someone she held dearly in her heart, Jeralt Eisner. The suspicion and distaste immediately dissipated into thin air as she felt her shoulders relaxing, expression softening. All of a sudden, Sylvain didn't appear so strange and foreign to her. The scent of comfortable normalcy permeated in the air, and Satiana's lips twitched upwards.

A man with Renard's personality and Jeralt's eyes, huh?

"It's nothing. I just didn't think you were one to indulge yourself with self-deprecating jokes. You have quite the twisted sense of humor," Satiana found herself relaxing unconsciously as she let loose a quiet chuckle under her breath.

Sylvain's eyes widened, lips parting in comically stunned surprise. His lips quivered slightly, his shoulders tensing up. "E-Excuse me?" His mask slipped for a split second as he stuttered over his words. His eyes lit up in realization at the damning mistake, and the wall was back, an invisible barrier between them. "I was being serious, you know? You should see how all the ladies drop themselves to their knees, swooning over me. If I weren't popular, I wouldn't have such a reputation, would I?" Sylvain laughed aloud, waving his hand dramatically in the air, though it only sounded forced to Satiana's keen eyes and ears.

"If you say so," Satiana smiled knowingly. "But you didn't look like you were proud of that fact just now. For a brief moment, that is."

Sylvain's expression completely faltered this time. His brows scrunched up in awkward angles, lips turning slightly purple as he chewed over them. He stopped walking after her, lingering further behind, frozen stiff in place.

Satiana heard the sound of footsteps slowing behind her. She turned back to face him, jerking her chin towards the nearing town. "I thought you had business in town as well?"

Sylvain blinked once, then twice, releasing himself out of a stupified state. "O-Oh! Yeah, I did. I wanted to pick up some girls tonight—the usual stuff. The night's long, after all," he replied in short sentences, eyes darting in every other direction but hers.

"Sorry, but I have company tonight. Not the kind that you imagine, though," Satiana replied. "I'll take my leave now. I hope you have a pleasant evening, Sylvain."

And then Satiana was gone, running down the hills towards the town.

Sylvain was left stranded behind in the middle of the mountains that loomed over his small figure. The darkness crept upon him, the stars in the sky twinkling as if mocking him for his pathetic display. An acidic emotion rose in his chest, and he found his eyes trailing after her receding figure, disappearing into the bright lights of the town. A storm was brewing in his weary eyes, a raging maelstrom of gut-twisting sadness, soul-breaking fatigue. It was a brief moment of vulnerability underneath the well-toned mask he had on. A cynical chuckle burst out of his clogging throat. He shook his head vigorously as if chasing away the yearning his heart suddenly cried out for.

"So, that's how she sees me, huh?" Sylvain whispered to himself, his words so soft and quiet it felt like the wind would snatch away his entire fragile being, empty soul and all.

Satiana had no idea why Renard asked to meet him in a tavern of all places. She was underaged and completely inexperienced with the nightlife.

A stranger holding a giant jug of beer crashed into her sides, and she yelped, stumbling away from him. The woman on his arms was svelte and sinuous, so beautiful that she practically glowed. Gliding with effortless grace in a figure-hugging, floor-trailing midnight blue lace dress, she swayed her hips down the crowd that parted ways for her. Satiana, dressed in her school uniform, hunched into herself, hiding between the drunkards dancing across the floor. The smell of rancid ale and sweat made her gag, clutching her mouth shut with her hands as she swerved through the raucous crowd, searching for the familiar sight of brown hair.

Soon enough, she spotted the brunette, staring back at her with brightened mossy-green eyes from the far corner behind the bar counter. The sly smirk and amusement whirling in his eyes — Satiana knew then without a doubt that Renard had orchestrated the whole thing. Ever since they reached the monastery, life had been flowing smoothly, perhaps too fluidly for the assassin who enjoyed living on the edge that he now sought entertainment elsewhere—for example, teasing his dear student by putting her into an awkward situation.

Satiana scowled, stomping her way towards him. Renard didn't wait for Satiana to find her tongue. He tousled his messy strands of hair back, smirking in her direction, swaying the clear glass of beer in front of her. "Hey, there. Having fun, Satiana?" he drawled.

"Things could be better. Much better, Renard," she emphasized, hardening her glare. She slid into the seat next to him on the bar counter, ignoring the curious gazes from the gallery looking her way. "Did you really have to do this to me? Seriously? A tavern, of all places?"

He shrugged nonchalantly as if nothing was his fault. "Meh. It's a decent place to chat. Everyone minds their own businesses around here. Maybe a few drunkards eavesdrop, but they'll forget it all by the time the sun is up again."

Satiana stared pointedly at him. "Of course. That makes a lot of sense," she deadpanned, not giving him even an inch of her trust.

He waved her off, chugging the glass of cold beer down his throat. He wiped his mouth with the end of his sleeves, grinning at her. "Just relax, will you? I just want to hear about your day."

Satiana eyed him with suspicion but relented in the end. "Nothing much. I just sparred with Byleth in front of the other students. Got kind of famous. One of them keeps hitting on me. And then I found out I had a stupid crest after all," she spat fire, summarizing in a list the events of the day.

Renard, half-drunk, slowly raised his eyebrows. "You got hit on? Damn. Time flies. You're already a grown-up, huh?"

Satiana facepalmed, groaning into her sweaty hands. "Really? Of all things you got from that, it's the one that matters the least?"

"No, seriously. Which idiot chose to flirt with you, of all people? There are so many…softer candidates out there. He must have poor taste," Renard suddenly guffawed, utterly high on alcohol.

Satiana felt her eyebrows twitch again for the umpteenth time that evening. "Renard, I don't want to hear that from someone who's never been hit on in his whole life."

Renard stared at Satiana as if she had sinned in front of the Goddess. He gasped, hugging the glass of beer to his chest. "You insolent child! I never raised you to speak that way to your mentor."

Satiana felt her patience growing thin as she clenched her fists. "Renard, I swear to god, if you don't sober yourself up in the next minute or two, that jug is going to have a nice long talk with your forehead." She cracked her knuckles to make her point, scorching glare directed right at Renard's head.

He winced, chuckling awkwardly as he placed the glass down on the table. "O-Okay, fine. I just wanted to have some fun."

Satiana scoffed. "I can see that. But back to business, please."

In less than a second, Renard's previously reddened cheeks paled. His eyes became focused, lips tightening into a deadpan. It was as if the man in his drunken stupor had disappeared right in front of her eyes. Satiana was reminded again that the man in front of her was a skilled fighter, no matter how silly he acted at times.

"I heard you the first time, don't worry. Just didn't want to believe it," Renard lowered his voice. His eyes narrowed in on Satiana's figure. "So, you found out you have a crest? From where?"

Satiana sighed, crossing her legs. "I don't know how I got it, but I have something called the Minor Crest of Aubin. I don't remember their experiments succeeding, and nothing seems particularly wrong with my health as of now, so I'm assuming I inherited it through my blood. Professor Hanneman suggested that maybe my biological parents were related to the original owner of this crest."

At that moment, Renard's expression froze. His jaw clenched before he huffed a shaky sigh, a single breath packed with confusion, conflict, anger, and something akin to guilt. His eyes seemed to glaze over, blank and dull.

Satiana watched the flitting emotions across his face, concern growing as her nose crinkled. "What's wrong?" she asked quietly.

"What was the name of the professor who found out you bore a crest again?" Renard asked monotonically, voice devoid of emotion.

Satiana tilted her head to the side in inquiry. "His name is Hanneman. I think his full name was Hanneman von Essar. Why? Is there something wrong with him?"

"No, it's nothing," Renard replied flatly. "Just thought I heard that name somewhere before. Probably a mistake. By the way, about that crest of yours," he switched the topic so fast Satiana didn't have the time to interrogate him for his peculiar reaction. "I think I heard about the name Aubin before. Someone mentioned it down in the Abyss."

The onslaught of information spilling from Renard's lips deterred Satiana's attention from the brief slip-up in his mask. Satiana's lips puckered, eyes lighting up in surprise. "Really? You've heard it before? Also, what the hell is the Abyss?"

"The Abyss is like a haven for various vagabonds who seek solace underground. Underneath the monastery lies a series of secret tunnels that lead to an underground town. You remember when I told you I killed my father and escaped from my household? I ended up staying in the Abyss for a few years after that," Renard explained.

"Huh, that sounds kind of neat," Satiana contemplated. "Doesn't sound that different from Caldea. Do you think you can take me there one day? It seems like the best place to search for clues and gossip," she mused, rubbing her chin in thought.

Renard laughed, taking another gulp from his jug of beer. "I'll take you there after I come back from the Western Church. Don't go there alone, or you'll find yourself trapped in the maze."

At his words, Satiana choked on thin air. "Wait, what?!" She raised her voice over the counter, slamming her fists onto the tabletop. The glass rattled, sending peculiar gazes their way, and she flinched, quietly muttering an apology. "I mean, what?" she repeated in a muffled voice. "Why are you going to the Western Church?"

"Next mission," Renard curtly spoke with a shrug. "I'll infiltrate the Western Church and search for clues up close. See what they're up to."

"But isn't that kind of dangerous? You'll be walking right into the enemy's lair!" Satiana protested, eyes glazing up with worry.

Renard reached his hand over her head, gently rustling her hair with affection. "No need to worry about me. I may act like a clown sometimes, but I'm still your teacher, a masterful assassin. You just focus on befriending those kids and the Church, okay?"

Satiana frowned, lips puckering into a pout. "I'd rather join you instead. There's nothing interesting to be found inside the Central Church unless I trespass without Rhea and Seteth knowing."

"Then just do it," Renard snorted. "What's stopping us from, well, stealing a few things?" He wiggled his fingers knowingly with a mischievous smirk. "That's how we get things done fast, right? Screw the law."

Satiana found herself snickering. "I guess you're right. But really, be careful, okay? Don't go getting yourself killed. We still have the real enemy to catch out there," she ended on a low note, brows furrowing.

Renard grinned. "I'm telling you. Leave it all to me. Besides, I already promised Jeralt. I'm not kicking the bucket before he does. Can't leave you kids all alone now, can I?" He chuckled as he stood up from his seat. He reached into his pockets and grabbed a few gold coins, throwing them across the bar counter at the owner. Then, he turned towards Satiana. "Guess I'll be off now. If something comes up, just send me a letter to the address I gave Jeralt." He waved a hand at her before he disappeared into the crowd, refusing to look back.

Satiana blinked once, then twice. She stared awkwardly at the owner, who was shooting daggers at her with his eyes. Flinching, she immediately scrambled away from the counter, heading towards the exit after Renard.

"W-Wait, don't leave me here!" She yelled after him.

Renard slipped past the crowd with ease, losing Satiana's watchful eye. He swerved into an alley behind the tavern, flicking a piece of gold coin in the air. His mossy-green eyes glowed in the night like a predator lurking after its prey. The moonlight cast a dark, long shadow behind his trail as he laughed grimly to himself.

"Hanneman…that filthy Essar…so this is where you escaped to, huh?" Renard cursed under his breath, the looming threat in his voice blending in with the sound of boisterous laughter and music echoing down the alley.

Byleth handed out so many flowers on random occasions that sometimes, Felix believed the Ashen Demon was actually just a gardener in disguise. The professor had taught them for only three days, yet she had already given Felix three violets, a forget-me-not, and a bouquet of pitcher plants to take back to his dorm room. Felix had no idea what kind of magic she possessed, but she grew flowers at a miraculous pace.

Aside from her lectures and the sparring sessions with the students, Byleth spent most of her time fishing in the pond outside the dining hall or taking care of the plants in the garden with Dedue. Although Byleth was indeed a talented professor, it came along with a few special quirks that Felix couldn't quite understand. She was always teaching with a stone-face, expressionless as she slammed the end of her sword into her student's throat. But then there was this unexpectedly awkward side of her that attempted to gain her student's affection with gifts and flowers every day.

Felix had a feeling Jeralt Eisner forgot to teach his child basic etiquette and the art of human interaction. Then again, he wasn't one to criticize others for things he himself could not handle.

The campus had grown used the image of bulky men like Dimitri or Dedue, carrying pots of flowers around with a small smile on their faces. Felix didn't want to include himself in their ranks, but it was hard to do so when Byleth kept making up random excuses to shove them into his hands.

Felix sighed in disdain as he sat on his bed, staring at the vase of flowers on his desk. He wanted to go to the training grounds and work himself until he was exhausted, but it was already dawn. Even a man of monstrous stamina like Felix needed at least three hours of sleep.

*Knock Knock*

The sound of someone banging on his door broke him out of his drowsiness. He scowled, dragging his feet to the door, murderous intent leaking out as he prepared to murder the idiot who dared to knock on his door at who-knows-what-time-it-is in the morning.

He turned the doorknob and greeted the intruder with a glare. "What do you want?"

To his surprise, it was Ingrid. She looked completely weary, eyes blurring with sleep. Her hair was frazzled, loose strands poking out of her usual ponytail. Felix's eyes trailed down to the man leaning against her, the bold red hair that screamed trouble, and he immediately slammed the door shut.

"Felix, get out of your room now and take care of this mess!" Ingrid's voice was muffled from the other side of the door.

Felix only groaned to himself, knocking his forehead against the door in exasperation.

Of course, it's the damn fool.

Reluctantly, he slowly opened the door to face the oncoming train of chaos. Ingrid practically shoved Sylvain's limp body into his arms. If only Sylvain weren't his self-proclaimed best friend, he would've thrown him out the window, but unfortunately, he cared too much for his own sanity.

"Some girls from town came to get me earlier. They said he was causing a ruckus at their bar. It's your turn to take care of him," Ingrid spat in annoyance, sighing loudly. "Sometimes, I wonder why I'm even friends with him."

"That makes the two of us," Felix scoffed, grimacing as he took in a quick whiff of air that smelled of alcohol and raunchy perfume.

"Anyway, just let him sleep on your floor or something." Ingrid brushed the strands of hair away from her face.

Felix sighed. "Fine. But the next time this happens, don't bother bringing him back."

Ingrid shook her head. "Felix, you know I can't do that, even if I really want to," she confessed quietly in the end. "Anyway, just take care of him for today. See you in class later." Ingrid tiredly smiled at him before she walked down the hallway back to her room.

As soon as Ingrid left, Felix slammed the door shut with his leg before dropping Sylvain unceremoniously onto the floor. Sylvain let loose a grunt of air as his back collided against the carpet. He blinked blearily, rubbing his post-sleep eyes as he groaned in pain. It took him a few seconds before he managed to see clearly.

He glanced up at Felix, staring right into the stormy face with a droopy grin. "Uh, morning Felix. Why are you here in my room?"

Felix's eyes twitched. "This is my room, Sylvain."

"Oh. That's…unfortunate," Sylvain drawled, picking himself up from the floor. He stood up on wobbly legs, swaying left and right, bumping his elbow into the table. He cursed under his breath and rubbed smooth circles around the new bruise, blowing air onto it like a child. "And here I thought a slap on the face was enough for the day. What did I do to deserve this?" he grumbled to himself, handsome features looking incredibly worn-out for once.

Felix stared at Sylvain's drooping face and noticed the pulsating red on his cheeks. He snorted. "Whatever it was, I'm sure it was entirely your fault."

"I just wanted to get to know her better, you know?" Sylvain frowned.

"I'm sure your idea of getting to know someone better involves flattering them with lies or begging them for attention," Felix deadpanned. He crossed his arms over his chest. "How pathetic of you."

"You and your snide remarks," Sylvain groaned, rubbing his face into his palms. "I don't want your sarcastic comments this early in the morning."

"I don't want to see your face either, Sylvain. Get out if you're awake." Felix pointed his thumb towards the door, eyes burning with annoyance. "I need to sleep."

"Oh, come on. Can't we chat for a bit?"

"If you want company, go back to those girls downtown."

It was nearly six in the morning, judging from the way the sun peeked over the horizon, and Felix wanted nothing more than to slam his foot into that annoyingly sinful face. But he had to be patient. It was Sylvain, not a stranger. Then again, at times, Sylvain did seem like a stranger to him.

Sylvain finally sobered himself up as he coughed into his hands. He rubbed the strands of his messy hair, exhaling heavily. "You're mad at me, aren't you?" Sylvain pointed out, meekly glancing at Felix.

"I'm always mad at you, Sylvain."

Sylvain laughed dryly. "That's true. Okay, today was my bad. I'll leave you to your…beauty sleep or whatever it is you're up to." He stumbled over to the door, hand on the knob. Then, he turned his head around. "You know, Satiana might be a more formidable woman than I thought."

This particular remark immediately caught Felix's waning attention. His eyes hardened as he took a step forward towards Sylvain. "What do you mean by that?"

Sylvain leaned his back against the door. "I just tried to seduce her for the heck of it."

Felix's gaze wandered towards Sylvain's flaring cheeks. "I can imagine how that went."

"Oh, this?" Sylvain pointed to his cheeks. "That's from a different girl. Satiana tried to cut me in half instead."

For some reason, Felix could vividly imagine that happening. The way she handled herself with the sword? A half-assed bloke like Sylvain didn't stand a chance.

"Anyway, that's not the point." Sylvain ruffled his hair vigorously, frown deepening. "She's quite perceptive. I don't know how I feel about that. But she's kind of nice."

At his vague words, Felix raised his eyebrows at Sylvain with a knowing look in his eyes. "Sylvain, I'm not asking how you feel…romantically towards her," he grimaced at the word dripping off his tongue.

"Oh, no, don't get me wrong. I'm not at that stage of infatuation yet." Sylvain winked in Felix's direction, much to his chagrin. "I'm just saying there's more to her than how she presents herself to us. So, in essence, you're right. She is someone to look out for, but I don't think she's as dangerous as you believe she is."

Felix glanced off to the side, mind whirling with questions.

"She may be strong and sharp-mouthed at times, but if she didn't have a kind heart, I highly doubt she could…well…" Sylvain trailed off, chewing over his lips. "Sort of see through me."

Felix stared blankly at Sylvain. Although Sylvain acted like a fool — was a fool — he wasn't stupid. Sylvain hardly handed out his full trust to someone. In fact, perhaps he had a shell even harder to break through than Felix and Dimitri combined. So if this man, the embodiment of lies and distrust, said that he saw something good within her, it was probably true.

But even kind people can stab you in the back without warning. This was the kind of world they lived in. There was no place for such soft and weak emotions of that sort in Felix's world. He knew best how it felt to have your genuine admiration and love trampled on — the feeling of cold-blooded betrayal. For a split second, an image of his father appeared in his head, and he shut his eyes tightly.

"Actually, you know what?" Sylvain's eyes suddenly brightened up, a peculiar train of thought entering his mind. "She kind of reminds me of you, Felix!" He grinned toothily.

Felix snapped his eyes open. His temper flared, snapping him out of his trance. Gritting his teeth, he clawed back what little air of civility he could salvage. "Sylvain," he spoke sternly, voice laced with potent warning. "You don't know what you're talking about," he rumbled darkly, eyes icy with freezing sharpness.

Sylvain's expression froze, realizing that he had stepped forward into a landmine bound to erupt any moment. He had crossed the line, and he internally cursed at himself for being loose-lipped. He knew more than anyone how much it irked Felix to be compared to someone else. After spending a whole life under someone else's shadow, it wasn't like Sylvain couldn't understand his sentiments.

Sylvain laughed awkwardly, and he hurriedly opened the door, backing away from the looming threat in front of him. "Uh, yeah, never mind! I was just, you know, being an idiot as usual. S-See you in the morning, Felix!" He practically scrambled down the hallway, tripping over his foot halfway down the corridor.

The door slammed shut with a loud thud. Felix scowled to himself, feeling the irritation pushing him to the brink of insanity. Of all things Sylvain could have said, it was the worst option possible. Felix stomped over towards his bed, threw himself into the covers, and shut his eyes tightly, trying to ignore the haunting words echoing in his head.

"I am Felix Hugo Fraldarius…and no one else," he muttered to himself like a mantra, forcing himself to fall asleep to the chirping birds outside his window, his head thumping with pain.

A mottle of baby blue and white blended into morning grey, adorning the newborn sky. Birds flew high across the rolling clouds, chirping cheery tunes. It was a beautiful morning, a pleasant day to take a stroll outside, but to Hanneman, it signaled another day of shoving his head into a pile of thick-covered books detailing crests — a day of potential discovery.

The building was already buzzing with energy by the time he reached his room. Students, eager to learn, roamed freely around the campus, the sound of excitement like melodies to a renowned professor's ears. He unlocked the door to his room with a quick twist of his wrists, stepping inside the dusty yet cozy room.

As usual, he was greeted by a pile of documents, leaning over his desk — some scattered on the floor if he was too lazy to clean up after a late night's work. He strolled towards his desk, pushing away the pile of papers when a small envelope fluttered off his desk, swirling in the light breeze that entered through the open window.

He paused, blinking curiously. He had not been expecting any messages today. Not to mention, his door had been locked since last evening. It wasn't possible for someone to leave a message for him unless they somehow broke into his office. Imagining the scandalous act riled him up as he frowned, leaning down to grab the sinful letter.

He flipped to the back of the envelope. Then, to the front again. There was no name, address, or emblem on the envelope itself. It was simply blank, pure white. Perhaps it was a prank from one of his students, but being a researcher, his curiosity always won against his logical brain, and he sliced open the letter with a knife.

The sound of paper rustling in the air echoed through the room. His expression tightened, face paling with each word. His hands started to tremble uncontrollably, and he accidentally dropped the letter. Hanneman stumbled back, his back hitting against the window as he slumped against it for support. He exhaled heavily, eyes quivering.

"Good goddess…why is he here?" Hanneman shook his head in disbelief.

Whatever business the author of the letter had at the monastery, he did not know. All he knew was that the letter contained a threat. Or really, it was a guilt-tripping effort at bending Hanneman to the author's will. But Hanneman had no choice but to agree to the sudden request. His hands were tied, the guilt suffocating the air out of his clogging throat.

Forcing himself to unlock his legs, he knelt and picked up the letter from the floor. With quick hands, he cast a fire spell, burning the contents of the letter into oblivion.

Hanneman stared absentmindedly out the window, feeling his stomach plummet. It was a beautiful day outside, but his chest was heavy, burdened with sins and guilt. Regardless, all he had to do was obey the author's will. This was his chance at redemption, after all.

He owed his beloved younger sister that much.

To Hanneman,

This is Renard von Dietrich. I'll get straight to the point. If you still feel even the slightest ounce of guilt towards me and Helena, then I hope you will heed my words carefully. The new student named Satiana Eisner. I heard that you found out she has a crest. The crest of the Four Apostles at that. Do not divulge information regarding her crest to anyone in the Church. Yes, that includes the so-called Lady Rhea and her followers.

I don't care what your circumstances are. You will do whatever it takes to hide this fact from those scoundrels. If by any chance word gets out, and harm befalls my beloved student, I will come for your head.

Mark my words, brother-in-law. This time, I will not miss the mark.

From,

Renard von Dietrich

"How much is this bundle of arrows?"

"About 1500 gold."

"Hm. You're telling me that the arrows are more expensive than the bow itself?"

"W-Well, they are steel arrows."

"The steel bow from the vendor next to yours cost only 950 gold, though."

"I-I'm sorry. My mistake! The steel arrows are 800 gold."

Satiana glared at the bearded man in front of the armory stall. The market inside the monastery walls was really just a tiny area with a couple of merchants and their stands. It was nothing as grandiose as the markets she once saw in town or villages around Fodlan. Regardless, this market was the closest place to the academy, where students could easily purchase weapons for their assignments. Satiana didn't have a problem with the idea at all; it was nice of the Church to bring in merchants from the city for their students.

However, this sleazy old bastard in front of her was a different story.

"Sir, cut that down to 600 gold," she brazenly announced, sticking her nose up in the air with confidence.

The man gawked at her. "E-Excuse me? I can't do that!"

Satiana practically snarled, stepping closer to the man. She resisted the urge to slug him in the neck, instead clenching her fists tightly, reining in her anger. "Sir, let me warn you," Satiana scowled. "You either give me the correct price, or I report you to the Church for scamming the students. You think these noble brats are easy prey, huh? Well, too bad, we have some smart-ass commoners who know their way around the real world here."

The man rubbed his hands together in a sticky manner, smile completely awkward and broken. "Y-Yes, ma'am! You may have these arrows for 600 gold. Please, just keep quiet this once!" He threw himself into the ground, bowing deeply underneath her feet.

Satiana huffed a sigh. "Alright, here's your gold." She dropped the gold coins onto the ground beneath her feet, watching with disgust as the man scrambled to gather them into a pile, drool dripping from his greedy mouth. "And don't forget my warning. I'll be coming back to visit you soon."

"O-Of course, dear customer! Please, come back again!" He seethed in anger, eyes twitching as he yelled after her in an exaggerated manner.

Satiana scoffed, rolling her eyes as she carried the bundle of arrows in her arms.

No matter where you are, there will always be scoundrels like these, huh?

She walked up the staircase, heading up to the entrance hall when a round of applause suddenly thundered behind her. Satiana blinked, turning on her heels to meet Ashe and Ingrid, staring at her with astonishment and admiration.

"That was amazing, Satiana!" Ashe beamed, clapping at her. "I've never seen such…such skillful haggling before!"

"You really shone out there, Satiana," Ingrid complimented with a smile. "You were radiant like a knight."

Satiana sheepishly rubbed the back of her head with her free hand, chuckling. "W-Well, I guess thank you? I didn't do anything special, though."

Ingrid shook her head. "I disagree. There have been rumors of illegal merchants sneaking into the monastery for a long time now, but no one has ever seen through their disguise before. Even if they did, I highly doubt one could diffuse the situation so elegantly as you did."

Satiana gaped at her. "You think what I did was elegant? To be honest, I just used the same methods the thugs back in my village used to steal money from their victims."

Ashe scratched his cheeks, an amused smile on his face. "Well, to be honest, you did resort to violence or verbal abuse in the end. But still, I believe you did it for the sake of the other students. That's an admirable thing to do. If it was me, I'd probably just hand over the money to them."

Ingrid turned towards Ashe, frowning. "Ashe, you can't just let others step all over you like that. If you knew about that scam of an owner, you should've told us!"

Ashe glanced down to the floor, shifting his weight onto the soles of his feet, swaying back and forth in a show of guilt. "W-Well, I don't really like conflict. Besides, we don't know the situation of that owner. Maybe he was in trouble financially."

"Perhaps, but it still doesn't make his actions right," Ingrid chastised. "Whatever the reason, he purposefully harmed the students. I think we should report him to Seteth. We can't leave him here. It'll only cause more victims."

Ashe opened his mouth to protest but then froze. His expression tightened, and he smiled awkwardly at Ingrid. "You're right. Will you do that for us, Ingrid?"

"Of course. I understand that you dislike conflict, but sometimes, we have to do things for the greater good," Ingrid declared, eyes softening as she looked over Ashe's wilted form. "Don't feel bad about yourself. It's our duty as a knight to uphold justice and the law."

Ashe nodded stiffly in response. Ingrid then excused herself, leaving to find Seteth. Satiana stared at Ashe, who was still frozen stiff, lost in the clouds on the staircase. She lightly patted him on the shoulder, breaking him out of his trance.

He blinked rapidly, eyes tuning in on her worried expression. "O-Oh! I forgot you were still here, Satiana. I'm sorry about that."

"You have nothing to apologize to me about, Ashe," Satiana smiled back at him. "Are you feeling alright? You don't look well at all."

Ashe flinched, brows creasing. "Oh, no, it's really nothing. It's just…" he trailed off, glancing downwards to the side. "I understand what Ingrid was trying to say. But I still feel like I wouldn't have reported him in the end." He fiddled with his fingers in a show of anxiety, lips trembling as he spoke his honest feelings.

Satiana's eyes softened at the conflict whirling in his pale green orbs. "You really are a kind person, huh?" She quietly pointed out.

Ashe blinked his eyes in confusion. "Who, me?" He pointed at himself, eyes widening in genuine surprise. "I'm not that good of a person. I just…kind of sympathize with him, that's all," he chuckled dryly, a forlorn expression overtaking his features.

Satiana hummed in thought, eyes crinkling with curiosity. "You say you sympathize with him. Why is that the case?"

Ashe's trembling gaze landed on Satiana, and dark blue clashed with lime green. "Well, I could ask the same thing to you. Why didn't you report him?" He questioned.

Satiana shrugged. "I didn't bother reporting him to the authorities because it's not like I fell for his trick. Besides, I gave him a warning already. Hopefully, he takes that to heart and changes his ways."

Ashe mused, contemplating. "So, what you mean is, you were willing to give him a chance?" The pale green orbs brightened with realization, the light slowly returning to them.

Satiana frowned at his remarks. "Well, that's not how I would've put it. Look, there are plenty of shady merchants like that out in the real world. Dealing with one of them isn't going to change anything. So I just didn't bother to waste my time reporting him when someone else just as bad could easily come and replace him."

Ashe nodded enthusiastically. "So, in short, you really were giving him a second chance! I knew that you were kinder than you appeared, Satiana."

Satiana blanched at the admiration sparkling in his eyes. "W-What? I think you're just spinning tales on your own now. I'm not that great of a person. Really, I just ignored the merchant because I was too lazy to deal with his bullshit."

Ashe sweatdropped at Satiana's choice of language but quickly shook himself out of his stupor. "Still, you ended up doing the right thing. At the least, your heart is in the right place." Then, he smiled wistfully, eyes glazing over with a fog of nostalgia. "You see, I was a poor commoner living on the streets before Lord Lonato adopted me. That's why I kind of understand his struggles. It's not easy to earn a living in such violent times."

Satiana frowned. "But you don't even know if that man actually has a legitimate reason for his actions. He could just be a run-of-the-mill thug."

Ashe smiled brightly at Satiana. "Of course, but I'd rather believe a lie than risk someone's life over that small amount of money."

Satiana's eyes widened, bulging in shock. "W-Wait a minute. So you're actually telling me you were just going to forgive the man regardless of his reasons to uphold your ideals and beliefs?"

Ashe blinked, cocking his head to the side innocently. "Yes. Is there something wrong with that?"

Satiana facepalmed, groaning in exasperation. "You, my friend, are going to get yourself into some serious trouble one day. You're way too kind for your own good."

Ashe laughed wholeheartedly at her remarks. "You might be right. But my kindness may help someone one day. I wish to be just like Lord Lonato who saved me." Then, he clapped his hand loudly in realization. "Oh! Now that you mention it, perhaps I should ask the vendor the reason for his actions! Maybe I can find a way to help his situation. Thank you for chatting with me, Satiana. I'll see you later!"

And before she could even reply, Ashe ran off towards the market, a light bounce to his steps. Satiana sweatdropped, staring after his receding figure in disbelief. She shook her head lightly, sighing in exasperation. "What is he, a saint? I really don't understand what goes on in his head."

"Don't bother. Ashe has always been that way."

Satiana blinked, turning around to meet the newcomer. Felix stood on top of the staircase, staring down at her with a sharpened gaze. He slowly strolled down to her level, pausing beside her.

"He's too kind for his own good. No matter how many times we tell him that, he continues on being the half-hearted fool he is," Felix commented bitterly. "By the time he realizes how harsh the world can really be, it'll be too late to save him."

"Is that what you think?" Satiana mused. "I'd prefer it if we had more people like him around. The world would be a much better place to live in." Satiana's eyes softened as she gazed at Ashe's small form, chatting enthusiastically with the old man at the vendor.

Felix only scoffed at her response. "What nonsense. That world will never come to be."

"One can dream on. At least it's something worth aiming for."

"Dreams and wishes are for the weak."

Satiana felt her eyes twitch, and she turned to face Felix's scorching glare with a fiery stare of her own. "Are you trying to pick a fight with me, or is this how you usually speak with everyone?" She narrowed her eyes with suspicion.

"I'm not trying to pick a fight with you. Although, I have to admit…" Felix trailed off, eyes twinkling with interest. "I am intrigued by your combat style. If you're free, come to the training ground. Let's have a spar."

Satiana's expression went blank. "So, you are picking a fight," she flatly pointed out.

Felix tilted his head to the side slightly, amusement whirling in his sharp gaze. "Think whatever you like. Follow me," he barked out an order, casually walking down the steps.

Satiana scowled in distaste, though she obediently followed after him. After all, despite how calm and collected she may appear in battle, her true essence lay in the bluster and bravado. Satiana was easily fired up and hotheaded; she was never one to back down from a fight. Besides, although she didn't want to admit it, there was one truth in Felix's challenging words.

She too, was intrigued by his sword — the man who fought on even ground with Byleth. But she would rather die than admit that to his cocky face.

A far distance from the monastery, another storm was brewing in the deep canyons of Zanado. Illuminated by nothing but the small streaks of sunlight creeping through the cracks between the rocks enveloping the cave, a familiar bandit stood haughtily in the center, eyes twitching in a blatant display of discontent. Kostas, the shaggy bearded bandit, stood facing a figure masked in red and white. They were of smaller stature than him, but there was no denying which of the two had the upper hand in the argument.

"What is this nonsense?" Kostas screeched, stomping forward towards the other figure. "All I was told was to kill as many noble pipsqueaks as possible! No one said anything about the Knights of damned Seiros being on our trail! And what was that mercenary group doing there?" He pointed a wooden stick at the masked figure; it was whatever remained of his giant axe after the battle. "This is all your fault! Why didn't you inform us about those bastards?!"

If she wasn't in such a sullen mood, Edelgard would've laughed at his pathetic attempt to threaten her. She crossed her arms, scoffing. "You have proven yourself worthless, distracted by something so trivial." Her voice was heavily distorted by the giant mask on her face, lending her a baritone-like tone. "I had hoped you would achieve your goal despite the setback. But now, a child of the knights' former captain is in play. Not to mention, a child who survived those wicked schemes. How interesting."

She narrowed her eyes underneath the mask.

And how very troublesome, as well.

"Hey, are you even listening to me, you rat bastard?!" Kostas screamed in her ears, clenching his fists in barely restrained fury. "We're being surrounded by the Knights on every edge of this blasted mountain. Sooner or later, they'll barge in and wipe us all out. What are you going to do about this mess you got us in?!"

Edelgard ignored him, musing in her own thoughts. "Hiring a mercenary as a professor…just what is that woman thinking…?"

"Alright, that's it!" Kostas hurled the stick in Edelgard's face.

Of course, she deflected it with ease, simply swatting it out of the air with her armored hand. "I see you seek death," she said matter-of-factly.

"What?" Kostas jerked back in shock. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Edelgard took a small step forward, her authority and ire crackling in the air around her as she pushed the man backward with her piercing stare. The bandit stumbled until he flattened his back against the wall behind him. He swallowed loudly under her pressure, sweat like glacials glistening on his forehead.

"Underestimating the knights was an amateur mistake. One you will pay for. The road to eternal torment awaits you all." Edelgard backed away from Kostas, turning around to face the other way, disregarding him completely. "It seems I'll have to search for your replacement…"

She didn't wait for him to respond. She had no use for fallen pawns. With a swift wave of her hand, she warped off into the distance under a spiral of blue and white lights. The scenery blurred, and when her magic ran out, she found herself in the forest at the bottom of the steep cliffs.

She exhaled lightly, feeling the throbbing pain in her head. Her hands twitched, and she raised them up to her helmet, wiggling it off with a few twists and turns. The cool breeze finally entered her lungs, and she couldn't help but feel the tension loosening inside of her. She stretched her arms above her head, shaking away any remnants of exhaustion.

Another sudden flash of light and a familiar man dressed entirely in black appeared beside her. He bowed his head slightly, greeting her with his usual elegance. "Lady Edelgard. How did negotiations go?"

"He has thrown a wrench in our plans. We let him be," she spoke vaguely, but Hubert understood her sentiments all the same.

They did not need to exchange many words to understand each other's thoughts, for they were one and the same. They shared the same fate, the same future, and the same beliefs. There were no secrets between them.

"As you wish, Lady Edelgard." Hubert's eyes then sparkled mischievously under the sunlight. "And what will you do with the…other wrench in your plans?"

Edelgard smiled gently at him. "Ah, you must be talking about the professor and that girl named Satiana." She sighed loudly, shaking her head in response. "I am not sure yet what to make of them. It's a pity they did not choose to join the Black Eagles. If they did, it would make our job much easier to keep an eye on their moves."

"I, for one, find the current status quo to be to our advantage," Hubert smirked cryptically.

"What do you mean by that?" Edelgard hummed in thought.

"It would be unwise to keep them close when we do not know where their allegiance lies. In addition, we have many plans that require utmost secrecy. Having that woman as our professor would be extremely…annoying, for lack of better word." Hubert brushed his chin lightly. "Though, if I had to place my bets, I would suggest befriending the other lady by her side."

"Satiana?" Edelgard muttered, violet orbs twinkling with understanding. "I agree with you. We can leave the professor alone to do whatever she wants. But Satiana is a dangerous variable to our plans. If one day she decides to divulge what she knows to Dimitri…" she trailed off with a frown. "That would be our worst nightmare."

"Of course. The young prince does not have the right to stare into the darkness. Knowing his personality and…naive ideals, he would turn his blade towards us without hesitation," Hubert nodded. "We need those that slither in the dark to remain an untouchable existence. Until the future we seek bears fruition, we cannot allow any side acts to steal away the spotlight, can we?"

"If possible, I would love to bring her to our side," Edelgard suddenly started. She brushed her hair lightly over her shoulder, violet eyes narrowing. "If there is someone who will understand my cause, it would be someone who has survived through the same hell. However, we should be prudent with our decision. There's no need to hasten our plans. We still have twelve moons ahead of us, after all."

"Would you like me to observe her closely, Lady Edelgard?" Hubert questioned.

"No. I will do the questioning myself. There is something I need to make clear with her. All you need to do is provide me with the opportunity during the mock battle. You can do that for me, right, Hubert?" She glanced at him.

Hubert smiled pleasantly as usual and bowed his head. "As you wish, my lady."

"Good," Edelgard nodded. She crossed her hands behind her back, staring at the ebony tips of Hubert's head. "Tell my uncle we are ready to move on to the next phase of our plans."

"Yes, my lady."

Hubert disappeared in a mist of purple, warping off into the distance, leaving Edelgard to wallow in her thoughts. She sighed for the umpteenth time that afternoon, lifting her head to traverse the beautiful, serene sky above her. Unbeknownst to the lurking darkness in the shadows, the world continues moving on, leaving the poor victims stranded in the past.

She closed her eyes, listening to the sound of invisible ghosts screeching in her ears, echoing throughout the empty forest, filling the air as the wind subsided.

Will you be friend or foe? The last thing I wish to do is eliminate one of my own kind. So please, I hope that you will make the right choice, Satiana.

Chapter Text

[White Clouds]

Exchanging Blows

The school day dragged on as normal, with students wandering around campus, chatting excitedly about the latest news from the three nations, gossiping about the professor and her love for greenery, or praying for the poor victims of the dining hall's special mysterious menu that tasted like poison. It was an average day at the monastery — lackluster but filled with enthusiasm nevertheless.

But today, there was one subtle difference in the students' daily routine. A new spark of interest. A potential news headliner. Something peculiar between two specific students in the Blue Lions.

As soon as Felix and Satiana strolled into the training grounds, all heads turned to them. As if they had discussed beforehand, all the students shared a knowing look and immediately cleared a path for the two. At their well-rehearsed actions, the only thing that kept Satiana from losing her cool, collected front was Felix's scorching glare. One look from him and the onlookers scrambled off, sweating as they rushed to clean up the area neatly, placing away the wooden weapons scattered across the floor.

The mere pressure of his existence was enough to send the curious stares away to outer space, the students dispersing out of the training hall in a neat file. Satiana sweatdropped, glancing at the exit as a harsh gust of wind blew across the now-empty hall.

"You don't have many friends, do you?" Satiana accused, a funny expression on her face.

Felix snorted in response. "I don't enjoy the gallery when I train. It's nothing but a distraction." He strolled casually towards the training rack, picking up three wooden swords. Then, without sparing even a glance in her direction, he threw two of them behind with pinpoint accuracy.

Satiana caught them swiftly with her bare hands, frowning at him. "That's dangerous, you know? Someone could've gotten hurt."

"There's nobody around us. If you can't even catch that easy throw, then perhaps I should reconsider sparring with you," Felix drawled lazily, examining the wooden sword in his hand for blemishes and flaws. After he was satisfied, he dragged the wooden sword across the ground, sending an ear-piercing screech around the room, and Satiana flinched at the sound. "Get into a stance. We're starting," he commanded.

Satiana paused for a brief moment, staring blankly at him in response to the authoritative tone in his voice. Sapphire blue clashed against copper-brown, sending imaginary sparks flying into the air. Although her mouth was itching to complain about the condescending drip of his voice, Satiana knew that there was no point in arguing with the obstinate man. She had only spent three days analyzing him from a distance in their classroom, but it was enough for her to tell that Felix was never one to listen to others.

She sighed in resignation and shifted her weight, sliding her feet apart, bending her hips slightly, leaning forward. "What are the rules of this match?" She frostily replied, dissecting Felix's crouching stance with her vision.

"No rules. The stronger one wins. That's all…!" He gritted his teeth before he charged directly at her.

As expected, Felix fought with true passion. Relentless thrusts, aiming at her weak spots with machine-like precision. A flurry of attacks. The scintillating, bloodshot eyes. His fighting style may seem reckless to the untrained eye, but there was a clever pattern to his movements. He pushed Satiana back with sheer strength, overwhelming her with speed, refusing to allow her a moment of breath.

Satiana parried his blows, stepping backward little by little as he overpowered her with sheer will. Then, a flick to the right, and she dodged to the left, slamming the hilt of her blade into the back of his neck, knocking him down on his knees.

He stood up immediately, baring his fangs her way as he leaped up to charge at her face. Satiana tilted her head to the left, sliding up her right sword next to her head, blocking the blow. Then, with her left, she pummeled the end of her sword into his cheeks, knocking him back down to the ground.

She walked up to him, holding the blade underneath his chin. He glowered at her with fury from his spot on the ground, seething in quiet anger.

"Forget beating me. At this rate, you won't be able to touch a single strand of hair on Byleth's head," Satiana mocked, eyes narrowing in on his pulsating red cheek. "Sorry for the low blow, but you said so yourself that there were no rules."

Copper brown eyes flashed predictably. "Screw you." It would have been more convincing if it hadn't come out so breathy and with his pupils blown as he said it. Not to mention, he was lying pathetically on the floor.

"Is that all you've got? Just bark and no bite?" Satiana stared at him with an arched brow and as much cockiness as she could muster.

She had no idea what it was about Felix, but the way he conducted himself was so brazen and rude — it definitely irked her to the edge of her patience. She was never famous for having an extensive well of patience, to begin with. But Felix had a very…charming way with words that dug under her skin. Forget the sword; he had a talent at riling her up with that nasty glare of his.

And it wouldn't be Satiana if she didn't take it personally, being the confrontational person she was. After all, he wasn't the only one who generally had trouble speaking amiably.

"Again," Felix spat out, standing back up on two feet.

Satiana languidly complied, drawing her stance again. The lazy manner in which she pointed the sword in his direction only made Felix's temper flare to higher heights. He bulldozed his way through her defenses, slashing left and right, switching halfway to vertical slices. Satiana's expression tightened as she parried his blows, countering each and every one of them.

A particularly sharp thrust to her side and Satiana ducked, knocking his feet off the ground with a sweeping kick, the same move Byleth used against him the other day. But to her surprise, Felix backflipped away with one hand, dodging the low blow.

Satiana's eyes widened, and she hesitated in her movements, body stiffening in shock. Felix didn't let that moment of vulnerability go, and he darted back towards her with lightning-fast speed, sliding underneath her defense, slashing at her knees. The wood crashed into her legs, and Satiana felt herself falling forward, knees buckling. Before she toppled over him, she stabbed her sword into the ground.

His knee thrust up into her stomach, and Satiana felt herself cough at the sudden impact. With quick hands, Felix disarmed her with a brutal swing, sending her other sword flying across the ground. She held her stomach tightly in pain, glaring up at him as his sword pointed at the base of her throat.

"So, you fell prey to the same move the professor used against you earlier. Now, who is it who has only bark and no bite?" He sneered.

Satiana scowled, resisting the urge to slam her fists into his face. "You are one insufferable man, you know that?" Satiana bit back, snarling in contempt.

"I could say the same thing to you," Felix glared down at her. He jerked his chin to the side. "Get up on your feet. We're going for another round."

Satiana didn't know how long they sparred, but the sun was already set below the horizon by the time she realized it. She was running on empty, sweat dripping down her face, glistening against the bright red lights as she blocked another blow from Felix, eyes hazy from exhaustion. She stumbled backward, feeling her legs give in.

Felix immediately pushed forward, arms trailing in the air as he prepared to slice down at her. His stamina was monstrous compared to hers. Satiana now understood first-handedly why Renard stressed the importance of stamina for assassins; she was at a clear disadvantage from the start against Felix's relentless attack style.

But losing was never an option to her, and she refused to, not out of bitterness against the cocky man in front of her, but because she swore to herself that the next time she lost altogether, it'd only be on the real battlefield. That one victory Felix managed to steal away from her was humiliating enough. She would never let herself accept a worthless loss without accomplishing anything — a useless death, never again.

A wave of adrenaline rushed through her, and she roared out loud, lunging headfirst into Felix's blade, catching him off-guard as his eyes widened imperceptibly. Satiana's blade clashed against his, and she mutated his cut into a thrust, aiming directly at his neck. Felix gritted his teeth and tilted his head to the left, leaning backward just barely inches away from the swinging blade.

A whir of black, and suddenly, Satiana threw herself at him, knocking him off his balance. She pushed him down onto the ground, using her full weight, slamming his back against the cold hard floor. Felix grunted in pain as his back collided with concrete, bones cracking. But Satiana had no mercy for him. She lifted both her swords up in the air and thrust the edge down onto both sides of his neck, cornering him.

For the first time in hours, the training hall was silent. No sounds of wood clashing against each other or sarcastic remarks being thrown about. There was only the reverberating sound of breathing, panting, and gasps of air.

Satiana sat on top of Felix with a nasty glare aimed at him. Felix's eyes widened, staring up at her in owlish surprise. His hair was messy, strands peeking out of the bun as he lay frozen stiff beneath her.

The long battle was finally over, and both were running low on fuel. They lapsed in silence, frozen in their positions, the quietness blanketing their atmosphere, turning it into something neither hateful nor lovable. It was when the adrenaline fully ran out, her head cooling down from its previous state of unrest and fury, that Satiana realized the awkward position they were in. She felt Felix's legs shift underneath her, and shock jolted through her as she met Felix's smoldering gaze — the orbs wide with barely concealed surprise while the gleam golden with sparkling interest underneath the sunset.

She blanched, lips trembling as the grip on her swords loosened, sending the blades rattling to the ground beside Felix's head with an echoing thud. Immediately, she pushed herself off him, scrambling up onto her feet. "I-I'm so sorry! I don't know what came over me," she fumbled over her words, panic settling in. "Are you alright? Is your back okay? I didn't mean to hurt you— I mean, I was kind of mad and fired up, but still!" She was spitting verbal diarrhea on auto-pilot, her mind a mess of contradicting emotions.

Felix coughed once, and Satiana clamped her mouth shut. Felix groaned as he lifted himself on his elbows. He slowly crossed his legs on the ground, wincing in pain as he rubbed his shoulder with his hand. "What is this, a sparring session or a brawl?" He quietly muttered to himself, ignoring her flustered state entirely.

"Well, I mean, to be fair, you said no rules," Satiana started but found herself clamping up when Felix's burning gaze met her wavering ones. She glanced away from him, feeling strangely self-conscious. "Anyway, I'm sorry. Do you want me to call Mercedes? Or maybe take you to the infirmary for Professor Manuela to check up on you?" She changed the subject on a whim.

"No, there's no need. It's probably just a bruise," Felix nonchalantly spoke, shrugging his shoulders. "More importantly, there's something I want to ask you." He stood up from his position on the ground, stretching his back, feeling his shoulders pop into place with a wince. "What is it that drives you to fight?"

Satiana drew a blank at his question. "P-Pardon?"

"You don't fight like a mercenary," Felix pointed out, copper eyes burning in the sunset with realization. "You don't fight because you enjoy it. You don't seek victory. And yet, there's this strange desperation in the way you swing your blade."

Satiana tried to keep a straight face. "I have no idea what you're talking about," she replied quickly, fiddling with the edge of her shirt, casting a meaningful glance downwards. "I just don't want to lose, that's all."

Felix hummed in thought. The wind blew gently around their profiles as the stygian darkness seeped into the sky, casting shadows over them. "So, it's not that you don't want to beat your opponent, but more so that you can't allow yourself to lose?" He contemplated the thought out loud. "I don't really understand the difference, but I guess that means there's a strong reason why you cannot allow yourself to lose."

"I guess you can put it that way," Satiana replied curtly, without emotion. "A-Anyway, shouldn't you go get yourself healed up?"

Satiana looked up at him with pleading eyes. It wasn't out of genuine worry that she tried to steer the conversation to safer grounds. She simply had an inkling that the conversation was heading in the wrong direction; she didn't feel ready to talk about something so close to the heart, especially to someone she's only known for three days.

Felix stared quietly at her, noticing the awkward and anxious demeanor. "No, it's alright. I'm done here for the day. Goodbye," he said abruptly, ending the conversation at hand.

Felix walked towards Satiana, glancing at her briefly as he brushed past her. She avoided his gaze, opting for a curt bow of acknowledgment instead. He quietly slid out of the training hall, leaving her to wallow in the storm of complicated emotions heading her way.

"Woah, Felix, did you get slapped by a girl or something?"

Sylvain was the second to point out the reddening bruise on his cheeks when he walked into the dining hall, Ingrid being the first though she didn't really care much about his reply. She probably thought he accidentally bruised himself during an intense training session, but Sylvain, being the wiser of the two, knew better. Felix Hugo Fraldarius never made mistakes, whether it was in real battle or on the training grounds — especially after four years ago.

"No, of course not, you dimwit," Felix snapped at him. He sat down opposite Sylvain, placing a plate of Daphnel stew on the table. "This is from training."

"With who?" Sylvain grimaced. "Definitely not a mannequin. Unless you somehow punched yourself in the face."

"Satiana. The hilt of the sword," Felix answered in fragmented sentences, munching on a spoonful of the stew. He had been training with Satiana for more than four hours, and although he was an insatiable training maniac, he did have basic human needs; he was starving to death.

Sylvain whistled. "Damn. That girl really does pack a punch, doesn't she?"

Felix hummed a noncommittal response, lost in thought for the first time in a long while. Felix was never one to lose his focus. He made it clear to everyone that his interests lay only in his obsessive pursuit of strength. He often exhausted himself until his thoughts were eclipsed by the feeling of the sword in his hand. But today, the sparring session with Satiana left him feeling restless and unsatisfied. Felix sought a battle with her for answers, but he was left with more questions than ever before.

She avoided answering his question. Or, more bluntly, she flat out refused to indulge him in a conversation. It was evident by how her muscles stiffened, mouth clamping shut, and eyes quivering that she had no intention to speak with him. Gone was the confident girl who took on his challenge with such defiance and stubbornness. As soon as the battle was over, the bloodlust and desperation in her eyes dissipated into thin air, as if it were simply an illusion — a mirage or mistake.

It was as if he was facing an entirely different person, the meek and soft-spoken girl. He caught a glimpse of fear hiding inside those sapphire blue orbs of hers, which confused him greatly. Although the sentiments were slightly different, she had an eerie resemblance to Dimitri. They both had two different faces, and Felix could never tell which one was the true face.

But whatever the case, Felix did genuinely enjoy his spar with her. She posed a challenge and was, with no doubt in his mind, a worthy adversary. It was a completely different experience from fighting Byleth. With Byleth, she returned each thrust of his with equal strength. But with Satiana, she often opted to dodge or block his blows, waiting patiently for her chance to counterattack.

If Byleth was the epitome of a front-line soldier, Satiana was the complete opposite. She hid in the shadows like a predator, waiting for its prey to make the first move. Indeed, she fought cautiously — too cautiously for Felix's liking; it was as if she wasn't used to raw battles upfront. Perhaps more used to planning her actions before she moved, just like…

Felix jolted, accidentally clinking his spoon against the plate. Sylvain raised an eyebrow at him in inquiry, but Felix ignored him. His eyes widened imperceptibly, an epiphany lighting up his copper-brown orbs. He clasped a hand over his mouth, musing deep in thought.

"Okay, what's wrong with you now?" Sylvain asked with a frown. "You've been acting weirdly all evening, Felix."

"It's nothing," Felix answered stiffly. "It's just…I think I may have caught onto something."

"Caught on to…?" Sylvain trailed off, waiting for him to finish his train of thought.

"The true essence of her combat style," Felix finished, eyes narrowing.

Now that he spent the time to analyze her, it was so blatantly obvious he wanted to slap himself in the head for not realizing it earlier. She was proficient with the sword and fought with deadly precision — a style that depended on sharp final blows and counterattacks. She didn't thirst for victory, and yet could not dare to lose.

Because losing could mean death for someone who was trained to eliminate foes with one single blow.

He remembered back to the large bundle of steel arrows she carried from the market, and the questions clouding up his thoughts immediately cleared. Felix didn't know much about the requirements for different classes, seeing how he aimed to be a swordmaster. However, he vaguely remembered reading the requirements for a class that required one to be adept with the sword and bow.

The puzzle fell into place, and Felix found himself laughing dryly. He reclined back into the chair, staring with darkened eyes up at the ceiling. "I see. So that's what was bothering me about her…" he muttered to himself.

Because she was an assassin.

The realization triggered a memory, his mind flickering as he remembered the events two years ago, the excursion he went on with Dimitri to suppress a rebellion. The way he ruthlessly slaughtered his enemies, laughing and sneering over their corpses, stacking up a pile of bloody corpses behind him as he ran through the fields with his spear raised up high.

Now that he finally found an opponent worth practicing against, it just had to be someone who had similarities to the boar. Of course, he had never seen Satiana in action before, so there was no way of telling whether his suspicions would ring true.

But an assassin. Of all things, why did she choose to be one?

Only time could tell. His mind flickered again to the image of her, eyes glazed over with panic as she stood in front of him, trembling like a newborn deer at the thought of her accidentally harming him.

He snorted to himself, and Sylvain shot him a strange look. Felix ignored him, waving his concerns off with a hand before he delved back into the cold plate of stew in front of him.

Perhaps there was still some hope left, after all.

"Byleth, I think I fucked up."

"What's wrong, Satiana?"

It was almost midnight, and Byleth had just completed her notes for tomorrow's lecture when she heard a soft knock on her door. Satiana appeared, looking completely beaten and battered. There were red scratches all over her knees and legs. A bruise was forming on the side of her arm, her palms red from inflammation. Combined with the forlorn expression of despair on her face, Satiana looked like a drenched, lost puppy.

Byleth resisted the urge to sigh, sensing a storm heading her way, and opened the door to allow Satiana access to her humble room. Immediately, Satiana threw herself onto Byleth's bed, burying herself underneath the pile of pillows. She screeched underneath the covers and Byleth visibly winced, closing her palms over her ears at the annoying sound.

"Byleth…" she whined out Byleth's name for the umpteenth time in the past minute.

Byleth exhaled heavily, wearily staring at the sole of Satiana's bouncing feet. "What's the matter with you?"

"I think my cover just got blown, Byleth." Satiana flipped onto her side, still hiding underneath the thick duvets. "I think he knows I'm an assassin."

Byleth squinted her eyes at Satiana, scrutinizing the bruises on her body with a knowing look. "Let me guess. You just sparred with Felix?"

Satiana popped her head out from underneath the blankets and nodded stiffly. "Yep. The one and only."

"What happened?" Byleth sat on the chair, making herself comfortable as she crossed her legs.

She had a feeling this conversation would go on through the night, perhaps till morning, if Satiana wouldn't stop wallowing in despair. Byleth knew firsthand how soft-hearted Satiana was underneath all that spine and prickle. If she wished, Satiana could whine for days about how guilty she felt for hiding her true identity from them all.

Really, other than Ashe, Satiana was also too kind for her own good.

"Well, he invited me to spar with him. Actually, I take that back." Satiana threw the covers off her, crossing her legs comfortably on the bed. "He practically challenged me to a battle, and I accepted because…reasons," she explained lamely, twirling her finger in lieu of more words.

"Mhm," Byleth made a noise of recognition, eyes blank.

"And so we kind of duked it out in the training hall. I won twice, by the way. He managed to take a win off me, but that's never happening again," Satiana scowled at the memory. "Anyway, after that, he suddenly started to interrogate me. He said that I didn't fight as a mercenary did."

Byleth pondered, tapping her fingers lightly against the table. "That is true. You do have a distinct style."

"And then he pointed out how I fought with desperation. But it wasn't a desperation to win or anything," Satiana continued. "It's not like he flat out accused me of being an assassin, but he might as well be on the right path."

Byleth blinked. "That's it? And you're already freaking out?"

Satiana glared at Byleth. "See, this is why I said it was a bad idea for me to be fighting in front of these kids. They'll figure out that I'm not a normal mercenary in no time at all, and eventually, I'll have to tell them all I'm actually an assassin."

Byleth cocked her head to the side. "And? What's wrong with that?"

Satiana gaped, straightening her back in shock. "E-Excuse me? What do you mean what's wrong? Of course, it's bad if they know I'm an assassin!" She stammered out in disbelief.

Byleth frowned. "I don't get it. Why is it bad?"

Satiana groaned as she shoved her head into her palms, shaking her head in exasperation. "Telling them I'm an assassin is basically me admitting that I killed people for the heck of it. That I'm a cold-blooded murderer. Do you really think they'll want to work alongside someone like that?"

Byleth shrugged. "I guess not. But that's not who you are, right?"

Satiana paused, mouth opening and closing. She struggled to find her voice as Byleth's remark hit right on the mark. "I…well… I'm not a cold-blooded murderer. At least right now, I'm not. But I used to be, Byleth," her voice grew softer as she hugged a pillow tightly to her chest. "Maybe I'm a better person now. I hope I'm better. But still, it doesn't change the fact that I used to kill people without batting an eye."

"You did it to survive, Satiana," Byleth pointed out, eyes softening. "You need to realize that no matter what, you can never change the past. That's why all you can do is live on while bearing the full brunt of your sins."

"I know. I know that, Byleth," she repeated softly, burying her head into the pillow, and muffling her voice. "But it's tiring. It's so tiring, Byleth." Her voice trembled as she spoke and Byleth immediately moved to the bed.

Byleth rubbed smooth circles over Satiana's back. "You're doing well, Satiana. Trust me. If Jeralt, Renard, and I can accept you for who you are, these kids will do so too."

"Will they? Will they, really?" Satiana lifted her head slightly, the corners of her eyes red with tear stains. "What if they see me for what I really am? A monster in disguise?" She stared at her hands, quivering nonstop, eyes wide as if seeing a blood-stained illusion.

"You are not a monster, Satiana. If you are, then so is the rest of the world, alright?" Byleth exhaled heavily, patting Satiana's head lightly. "Just stop overthinking things. You'll be fine. If Felix picks a fight with you because of this, I'll say something to him, okay?"

Satiana straightened her posture back up. She sniffed loudly once before she turned to face Byleth with puffy eyes. "No, don't do that. If he confronts me about it, I'll deal with it on my own. I have to do this much by myself, or what will that make me? A coward who runs away from their sins." Her eyes narrowed in resolution.

A shadow of a smile crept up on Byleth's face. "Good. That's the Satiana that I know — that we came to care for."

At Byleth's kind consolation, Satiana found herself snickering. "You know what, Byleth? I never thought you'd be able to console me like this. You always seem to watch things unravel from afar with a blank expression. I'm pleasantly surprised."

Byleth's eyes softened, a wry smile appearing on her features. She closed her eyes, remembering the first time she met Satiana, the young girl dying on the ground, begging to be killed. Then, she opened her eyes and faced the tear-stained girl in front of her — the girl with the same piercing clarity in her beautiful, clear, sapphire orbs.

A wave of nostalgia rushed over her, and she laughed for the first time in her life, the sound like bell chimes to Satiana's ears. "Trust me, Satiana. I'm surprised at myself too."

The mock battle took place on the outskirts of the monastery. There was a small area of flatland littered with a few bushes and trees, but it was nowhere near a fully-grown forest. The plains were surrounded by rocky cliffs, giving the spectators a perfect birds-eye view from above. A few metal fences were scattered across the grounds, probably the monastery's choice of defense for the students to use in their battle.

"So, including the professor, there will be five combatants from each class, huh?" Annette commented as she stared down the rocky hills from above. "I wonder who will be participating from the other class?"

"There's no doubt the Golden Deers will send out Claude," Ingrid predicted. "And Edelgard for the Black Eagles."

"Well, that's for sure." Sylvain leaned up against the bark of a tree, sitting cross-legged on the ground in a comfortable position. "They are the leaders of their respective classes for a reason. That's why we sent out Dimitri too, didn't we?"

"As I thought, I should've participated as well," Dedue face was sullen as he grumbled in dissatisfaction. "I need to protect his highness."

Ashe chuckled from his position beside Dedue. "Don't worry too much. It's only a mock battle. Besides, Mercedes is there if anything happens."

Dedue turned to Ashe with a frown. "You may be right, but I cannot help but worry for his highness's safety."

Sylvain laughed out loud, shaking his head. "Really, Dedue, you might as well be Dimitri's mother. He'll be fine!"

"But I have to wonder, though," Ingrid mused. "How did the professor choose the participants from our side?"

"It's the professor we're talking about," Annette smiled. "She must have a plan!"

Ashe nodded furiously. "I agree. If we do just as we practiced, we should be able to win against the Golden Deers and Black Eagles."

Sylvain lazily trailed his eyes across the blue sky, taking in the serene atmosphere. "Well, whatever the case, knowing those guys, it'll be one hell of a memorable battle," he drawled, leaning further down the bark.

Ingrid shot a glare at his lazy stance. "Sylvain, perhaps you should pay more attention to the battle. This is the best learning opportunity for us to see the professor in action."

Sylvain waved his hand, brushing Ingrid's comments off. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Don't worry. I wouldn't miss our beautiful professor in action for anything," he threw in a wink, and Ingrid groaned.

Suddenly, a smoke bomb went off, sending gray clouds of smoke into the air.

"Oh! The battle has started!" Ashe mentioned.

"Whatever the case," Sylvain shifted his position slightly, straightening his back on the tree. A smirk was plastered on his face. "This match is bound to be interesting. Especially with those members."

"Repeat our plan to me," Byleth ordered, turning to face the combatants from the Blue Lions.

Dimitri stood in front of the group, nodding confidently at her. "We stay as a group and lure the enemies towards us. Then, the professor and I will branch off and target the Golden Deers while Felix and Satiana protect our backs from the Black Eagles. Mercedes will remain in the center of our formation so she can heal anyone who gets hurt."

Mercedes smiled pleasantly. "Don't worry! I'll make sure to patch you all up nicely if something happens. Just give me a sign."

Felix grunted. "There's no need for that. We'll end it quick and fast." His eyes narrowed at the opposite end of the field, searching for his prey. "I'll be enough to take out their mages."

Satiana rolled her eyes, sliding up beside him. "Now I see why you told me to bring my bow, Byleth. It's to cover for this idiot here, right?"

Felix whipped his head around to glare at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Satiana shrugged. "Well, if you brazenly jump into the fire, how am I supposed to bail you out unless I snipe at them from a distance?"

Dimitri shot them a warning glare. "You two, calm down. Now is not the time to be fighting each other, alright?"

Satiana and Felix shared a look of disdain before they turned their heads in opposite directions with a grunt. Dimitri sighed in exasperation while Byleth just ignored the two, choosing to turn her full attention to the battlefield.

She spotted a whiff of gray smoke fluttering into the sky from the corner of her eye. Byleth gripped her sword tightly, barking out an order. "It's time. Let's go!"

Without hesitation, the four students followed after her, sprinting down the plain. Satiana stayed in the back with her bow in hand, surveying their surroundings with her sharp vision. She caught movement from the left and right simultaneously, a flash of purple and brown flickering into her eyesight. "Lorenz is charging directly at us from the front, and Dorothea's coming from the right," Satiana announced as she grabbed an arrow, placing it against the string on the rest. She held the grip, facing the arrow towards the ground as she ran after the group.

"Don't charge straight at Lorenz. Lure him into the bushes," Byleth said as she swerved to the left, heading towards the bundle of bushes nearby.

Dimitri followed after her, spear in hand. "Do we wait and counterattack him?"

Byleth nodded. "Don't go too far from the bushes. Use it to your advantage."

"Shouldn't we just take him out now, though? He's charging straight at us like a fool. We might as well take him down now," Felix argued.

A blur of green appeared behind Lorenz, and Satiana frowned. "No, he's trying to lower our defenses by pretending to be reckless. The moment we step out of the bushes, Ignatz will be waiting for us with his bow."

Dimitri chuckled, tightening the grip on his spear. "That's a crafty plan, just as expected of Claude."

"I have a feeling Lorenz is just acting on his own accord, though," Mercedes commented, lightly following the group from a few feet behind.

"From now on, we will separate into two groups as planned. Satiana, just in case, if you see Ignatz aiming at us, shoot back at him the moment he releases the arrow," Byleth left a final order before she swerved into the bushes with Dimitri following after her.

"Got it," Satiana replied, spinning to the right, following Felix's trail.

"L-Lorenz! Wait for me," Ignatz cried after Lorenz, panting for air as he ran after Lorenz, who went completely rogue from Claude's plan. "I knew this was going to happen. And after all that warning Claude gave me about keeping an eye on him…!" He whimpered, stumbling on his feet.

Lorenz guffawed loudly, holding his spear proudly into the air. "Ignatz, my friend, a noble does not run away from battle! We have nothing to fear. I will make the first move and lure out those cowards hiding in the bushes."

"You can't just move alone like that!" Ignatz protested, fumbling with the arrow in his hand as he tried to place it on the arrow rest while sprinting after his friend. "Claude warned us to keep an eye on the professor's movements. Have you forgotten his orders already?"

Lorenz smirked. "There's no need for such devious tactics, my friend. I will show you how it's done!" With a reverberating yell, Lorenz dived right into the bushes in front of him, slashing his lance through the leaves. His swing was blank, landing on empty air as a few branches snapped underneath his lance. He paused, blinking rapidly. "Oh! It appears they're not in these bushes," he coughed awkwardly into his hands, sweat dripping down his face.

As if on cue, Byleth's sword thrust into his chin from the bush on his right, knocking him off balance. Lorenz let loose an undignified squeak, stumbling backward. He barely managed to recover, holding the lance protectively in front of him with both hands. "Hah! That was a brilliant trick, but it won't work a second time—"

Dimitri shot out of the left bush, thrusting his spear right at Lorenz's face. Again, it landed square on his face at point-blank range.

This time, Lorenz fell unceremoniously to the ground, the spear dropping out of his hands.

Ignatz facepalmed, groaning. "This is why I told him to wait for me…!" He quickly placed his arrow on the string, pulling back the grip. "Lorenz! Hang in there! I'll support you from behind with—"

He barely dodged an oncoming bullet, yelping as he ducked to the floor. Head whirling with confusion, he glanced towards the left and spotted Satiana, holding her bow directly his way. Gasping, Ignatz retreated, leaving Lorenz to fender for himself.

"C-Claude! I told you I can't do this!" he screamed, running in zig-zag motions, avoiding the arrows flying his way.

Satiana held the grip of her arrow, facing it in Ignatz's direction. She stared after his floundering back, aiming precisely at his heels. One of them luckily struck the ground before him, causing him to slip, face planting the floor. Another shot from her was enough for Ignatz to wave his white flag, surrendering the battle. A glance towards the left and she spotted a flash of purple on the ground with Byleth and Dimitri surrounding him.

"Looks like we've got things under control over there," Satiana pointed out, leaping to the left, dodging the thunder spell heading her way.

"Focus on the enemy in front of you," Felix scolded, lifting his arms above his head as he slashed through a well-timed thoron.

Dorothea leaped backward, summoning another thunder spell as sparks flew into the air, sending electricity crackling. "Let's see if you can dodge this!" She yelled, shooting three thorons in a line towards the two.

Satiana slid behind a tree for a makeshift barricade as Felix darted headfirst into the blast. He swiftly dodged the blows, sprinting down the plains with lightning speed. Before Dorothea could summon another beam of lightning, his sword was already on the base of her throat.

"Surrender. We don't have time to play with you," Felix scowled.

Dorothea frowned. "Did you have to be so mean about it? I surrender," she reluctantly waved the flag, sighing in exasperation. "Guess I'll leave the rest to Edie."

With three students surrendering, the battle temporarily paused as each class regrouped, checking on casualties. Satiana walked in front of Felix, heading towards the bushes where the rest of their classmates were. She glanced in the Golden Deer's direction, noticing the high metal fences blocking their home base. Musing with thought, her eyes trailed towards the large tree positioned in the center of the battlefield. An idea popped up in her head, and the blue in her eyes brightened up, a sly smirk on her face.

"What's with that creepy look on your face all of a sudden?" Felix pointed out with a confused stare.

She turned towards him and grinned widely, eyes twinkling with mischief. "I just figured out a plan to ambush Claude and the rest of his classmates. They'll never see it coming."

"Claude, what do we do now?" Hilda questioned with a frown.

Claude was crouching on the ground, hiding behind a boulder. He sighed, shaking his head vigorously as he scratched the loose strands. "Lorenz, that idiot. I told him so many times not to underestimate the professor," he groaned. "There goes my plan for a pincer attack with Edelgard."

Hilda hummed a cheery tune as she tapped her axe lightly against the ground next to her. "Well, there's only the two of us and Professor Hanneman left. Maybe we should just play it safe and wait behind the fences and let the Blue Lions fight against the Black Eagles for us."

Claude perked his head up, raising his eyebrows in Hilda's direction. "Wow, since when were you this smart?"

"Hey! I can get things done when I put my mind to it," Hilda pouted, cheeks puffing.

Claude snorted in response. "Yeah, of course. Except that happens like once in a blue moon." He stood up, stretching his arms and legs. Picking up the bow next to him, he twirled it around with his index finger. "Jokes aside, I think your plan isn't bad. We should just quietly wait here. That is…" Claude paused, a nagging sensation digging at his insides. "If they don't ambush us from above," he ended, a vague memory flickering in his crafty mind.

Hilda blinked, frowning at him. "From above? Are you kidding me? This fence is huge! Besides, we're hiding behind a boulder. How can they attack us from above—"

An arrow came whizzing above the fence, targeting Claude's head, and he dodged on pure instinct, crawling on the ground.

"Duck, Hilda!" he hissed, hearing the sound of metal clinking against the rock behind them.

"Woah!" Hilda crouched, covering her head with her axe. "W-What's going on?"

Claude groaned, peeking over the edge of the fence. He squinted his eyes towards the center of the map, locking target with the gigantic tree. The wind violently blew past his ear, and an arrow barely scratched him on the cheeks, landing with a solid thud on the tree behind him. He started laughing, a wry smirk on his face. "Yeah, as I thought, they're not holding back at all, huh?"

He turned towards Hilda and yelled. "Get ready! They're going to ambush us from the right!"

Dimitri stood silently under the gigantic tree. He crossed his arms over his chest stoically, staring in awe as Satiana's arrows flew past their barricade, cleanly whizzing over the fence. "I have to admit. I completely forgot this was a viable option for us," he chuckled quietly to himself, glancing above his head.

Satiana lay comfortably on a tree branch, aiming her arrow in Claude's direction. The tree gave her enough of a height boost to launch a missile attack over their heads. There was no longer any need to cut down the fences that blocked their way. She could send her arrows above Claude's head while the others sneaked around to attack from the right. In essence, it was a makeshift pincer attack — the same plan Claude probably planned to use against them.

"Don't forget to watch the Black Eagles for me," Satiana drawled, shooting another flurry of arrows in Claude's direction. "If they attack now, I'll be left defenseless." Another arrow right to Hilda's head.

"Please don't worry. I'll be sure to cover for you down here," Dimitri replied sternly. A lucky shot right at Claude's bow knocked it out of his hands.

Satiana sighed in relief. Switching up her posture, she sat cross-legged on the branch, squinting her eyes. "I think the battle there should be over soon. As long as we bring down Claude, it should be easy for us to overpower Professor Hanneman with Byleth and Felix's speed."

"Knowing those two, we have nothing to worry about," Dimitri chuckled.

Suddenly, the air around them crackled, dark flames flickering to life, and Satiana gasped, leaping off the tree in a hurry. "Oh crap—" she cursed as she fell to the ground, barely managing to land on her feet. She spun her head around quickly, watching with wide eyes as the flames enveloped the tree behind her, burning it out of existence.

"Satiana, are you alright—" Dimitri moved towards her when a black fog of poison flew his way. He clamped his mouth shut, holding in his breath as he waved his lance in the air, cutting through the air.

"I must applaud you for your brilliant tactic," Hubert complimented as he strolled up casually towards them, clapping his hands. The poisonous fog in the air surrounding him dispersed, his lips tugging up into a smirk. "But unfortunately, it ends now."

Hubert's hands glowed ominously, dark clouds gathering into a sphere, preparing another miasma spell. Dimitri narrowed his eyes and charged at him, spinning his lance behind him with vigor.

Satiana gritted her teeth as she threw the bow behind her. With swift hands, she switched to the double blades. An orange-haired blur moved towards her, and she lifted up her right hand on reflex, blocking Ferdinand's tempest lance. His strength overpowered her, and she slid across the ground. She winced as her right arm trembled from the harsh blow.

"Sorry, Satiana. But it is my duty to cut you down today," Ferdinand said through clenched teeth as he spun around on his heels, whirling around in a circle, preparing for another tempest lance move.

This time, Satiana was prepared. She tightened her grip on the blades and ducked just in time for Ferdinand's lance to breeze past her head. Because of the powerful move, Ferdinand lost control of his balance briefly. Before he could retaliate, she tilted the edge of her blades up and slashed upwards with both of her swords, landing a critical hit, a sunder, on his front side.

He yelled in surprise as he slid back. Satiana rushed him with a flurry of attacks without pausing, slicing left and right in a pattern. Ferdinand barely managed to block her moves, eventually falling prey to a well-timed faint where Satiana slashed left twice in a row. His spear fell to the ground with a thud, and Satiana pointed her sword at his throat.

"Sorry, but it's also my responsibility to win today," she turned his words against him with a proud smirk.

Ferdinand sighed, raising his hand in the air in resignation. "Alright. For today, I concede. But next time, don't expect this to go the same way," he narrowed his eyes at her, eyes burning with passion.

Satiana nodded. "Of course. I'll be looking forward to your performance in the real battle."

From the corner of her eyes, she spotted a black swirl heading her way and leaped to the side silently. The miasma ball hissed past her face, landing on an innocent bush. She turned her attention towards Dimitri's and Hubert's battle, watching from the sidelines as Dimitri charged against Hubert with another tempest lance. Hubert dodged swiftly, sending another miasma his way.

Satiana narrowed her eyes, preparing to aid Dimitri when a large axe suddenly flew in her direction. She jumped back as the axe smashed into the ground where she previously stood, slicing a small cut into her boots.

"I'm afraid this battle is our loss," Edelgard's stern voice came from Satiana's right. Edelgard gracefully sauntered over towards Satiana, the axe balanced on her shoulders. Her chin tilted up in the sky as she peered down at Satiana with curiosity. "Unfortunately, Hubert won't be able to win directly against Dimitri's brute strength. We're clearly outnumbered."

Satiana stared at her with suspicion, refusing to budge from her spot on the ground as she adjusted her grip on her blades. "It's not like you to surrender so easily like this," Satiana accused. "What are you up to?"

Edelgard glared directly at Satiana, her silvery-white hair fluttering in the chaotic wind surrounding them. A pile of ashes blew past them from a misfired miasma, sending hurls of dirt into the air, but Edelgard paid no heed to the pandemonium on the battlefield. Her attention was solely focused on Satiana.

"Who are you?" Edelgard whispered hardly, the violent wind snatching away her words.

The thundering sound of spells almost made Satiana miss Edelgard's words, but with well-tuned ears, she heard her clearly. "I'm a survivor of the experiments," Satiana stated bluntly, knowing that this was not the time for her to be keeping up facades. She slowly stood up, eyes staring unflinchingly at Edelgard. "I'm from Viscount Kleimann's territory. And you? Which facility are you from?"

"Enbarr," Edelgard replied curtly, lilac orbs gleaming with darkness. "And what do you plan on doing from now on? Where do you plan to bare your fangs at?"

The weight of her question lingered heavily between them like a smothering brick wall. Satiana tuned away from the sound of explosions around her and closed her eyes. She remembered the howling of pain, the blood-stained cells, the horrific tragedy that she faced. The screams of dying soldiers, comrades, and beasts alike, blending in with the crimson flames. The pale white skin, the black cloaks, and the sound of laughter echoing down the experiment halls.

She opened her eyes, dark blue sapphire shining with burning coldness. "I seek their death. Those monsters will pay for what they've done with our lives," Satiana snarled, unleashing her full ire and menace.

Edelgard stood stone-faced, withstanding the murderous aura surrounding the air around them. She stared at the darkness roiling inside those freezing orbs, searching for something within them. Their stand-off lasted for minutes, but eventually, Edelgard started laughing.

Satiana blinked, tilting her head in confusion. "What are you laughing at?" She scowled.

Edelgard smirked smugly at her. "It's nothing. You're really naive, aren't you, Satiana?"

Her words were laced with such bitterness and venom Satiana found herself trembling with anger in response. "Excuse me?" She seethed in anger, clenching her fists tightly around her sword. "Naive? What are you trying to say, Edelgard?" She spat out her name like dirt, baring her teeth towards Edelgard.

Edelgard only closed her eyes, turning away from her. "If you can't even see who the true enemy is, then you don't deserve to know the whole truth."

Her words were like ice to Satiana's ears. It cut deep inside of her, wrenching her heart out of her lungs as Satiana gasped with realization. "Y-You," she stammered, eyes wide in horror as she slowly backed away from Edelgard, the image of the elegant, beautiful princess morphing into the body of a hideous, black-winged monster in Satiana's imagination. "What do you know? What do you know about them?!" She found herself raising her voice, eyes brimming with need and yearning. "Please, tell me. Do you know where they are? Do you know what they're up to?!"

"I don't know, and neither do I care right now," Edelgard spat out in response. "The true enemy lies elsewhere, and I will do whatever it takes to change this wicked world. Even if I have to throw myself into hellfire and sell my soul to the devil to do so," she spoke with such determination that it only made Satiana's stomach plummet further.

"Who is it? Who is the real enemy?" Satiana repeatedly pestered her for an answer. "Tell me, Edelgard! I need to know—"

In an instant, the axe slammed into the ground underneath her feet, and Satiana yelled out in surprise as the earth split into two, sending sharp splinters hurling at her face. She blocked her face with the two swords, leaving her stomach area open to attack.

Edelgard knocked the air out of her with a brutal swing to the stomach, and Satiana flew backward, crashing to the ground. Her two blades fell limply to her sides. She groaned in pain, feeling her vision blurring with black spots, her head throbbing. She felt oddly lightheaded all of a sudden. Her thoughts clouded as she noticed the blackness that tinged the edges of her vision.

Shit, did I hit my head?

The sound of footsteps nearing coaxed her out of a trance as she blearily blinked towards Edelgard.

Edelgard paused in front of her with a death glare. "You have not yet gained the right to stare into the abyss. Spend more time in Fodlan. Explore every crook and cranny of this cruel world we have found ourselves in. See with your eyes the state of Fodlan as it is now, and tell me later what you think of the true enemy behind the scenes. Those that slither in the dark are merely one of such monstrosities. But there lies even more hypocrisy in the so-called light of this world."

Satiana groaned. "W-What are you…talking about…?"

"I will ask you again twelve moons later. I pray that we reach the same conclusion when that time comes around. If not…then it is truly a pity, my dear brethren." Edelgard then turned away from her, walking back towards the thundering battlefield.

Satiana coughed, forcing herself to breathe for air. She flipped onto her front, raising her arm weakly towards Edelgard.

"W-Wait… I'm not…done with you…yet…!" she spoke breathily, feeling the air escaping her lungs.

Another sharp pain in her head, and she found her thoughts stilling, sleep forcibly dragging her away as her vision went black.

Chapter Text

[White Clouds]

Secret Alliances

"You never change, do you?"

"I try to stay a constant variable in your life, Byleth."

"I'd appreciate it if your idea of constant isn't getting yourself hurt every day."

"It's not like I do it on purpose, you know?"

"I'm aware of that, Satiana. But you really are a magnet for trouble."

The infirmary was crowded with the Blue Lions and Manuela, casting a heal over Satiana's head. The mock battle had ended with the Blue Lion's victory with Satiana as the only casualty. She woke up to the sound of the victory flare, head throbbing like she got run over by a stampede of monstrous beasts when a blur of blue dashed towards her. Satiana's memory was a giant whirlpool; the last thing she remembered was the intense feeling of hatred, the piercing violet eyes filled with pity, and the flying debris.

Byleth sighed, sitting herself down in a chair next to the bed. "How did you even end up with a concussion?" Byleth lazily swept over Satiana's exhausted frame with her eyes, half in disbelief and half in exasperation. "It's not like you to make such a fatal mistake like slipping on the battlefield."

Satiana stared back at Byleth with a half-dazed look, eyes blurry and unfocused. "Uh, Edelgard's axe?" She started, wincing in discomfort as Manuela's healing magic intruded into her body. "And the ground. Yes, the ground."

One look at Byleth's scrutinizing glare was enough for Satiana to squeak, facing away in a hurry. She coughed into her hand, awkwardly rubbing the back of her neck in embarrassment. "I-I mean, the axe came flying. I was caught off guard. Gravity took over, and…here we are," she explained with more details.

Byleth leaned closer to Satiana, squinting her eyes as she inspected Satiana's expression. Satiana swallowed loudly, quavering underneath Byleth's sharp vision. She focused her eyes outside the window, finding sudden interest in the rolling clouds and birds chirping gleefully outside, unbeknownst to the brewing storm inside the room.

Eventually, Byleth let loose a long sigh. "Whatever the case, you're forbidden from engaging in combat for the next week. Are we clear?" Byleth shot her another warning glare, and Satiana smiled weakly in response.

"Duly noted, ma'am." Satiana offered her a weak salute as Manuela shifted her hands away from Satiana's head, white magic fizzing out of existence.

"That should do it for now! The wound on your head is completely healed now. All that's left is your concussion, but it shouldn't be a huge problem. Just try not to think so hard about things this week, okay?" Manuela kindly spoke before she moved out of the infirmary, letting the Blue Lions crowd closer towards the bed.

"Geez, leave it to Edelgard to swing that axe with brute strength that rivals our prince," Sylvain whistled with a sympathetic look. "You feeling alright there, Satiana?" There was genuine worry laced in his voice, and Satiana finally realized that every single student in the room had seen her ungraceful fall at a close distance.

Satiana brushed her hands lightly against the bandages covering her head. "Well, I could be feeling better. But, so far, other than this numbing headache, everything seems to be okay."

Dimitri looked absolutely crestfallen, head drooping to the ground. "I'm sorry. If only I were a better lookout, you wouldn't have suffered from Edelgard's surprise ambush," he chewed over his lips, glancing off to the side in guilt.

Satiana blinked, frowning at him. "What? No, Dimitri. That was entirely my fault. I was just…a little distracted and didn't see her axe coming," she purposely skipped over the details of her talk with Edelgard. "Anyway, I heard we won in the end?" She switched the topic immediately, a wide grin plastered on her face. "That's great! How was the victory feast?"

"The professor ate five whole plates of food," Annette chuckled. "And the banquet was very lively! We shared our opinions about the battle with the other classes. It's too bad you had to miss it."

Satiana shrugged. "I'm not a fan of large festivities, anyway."

"Well, next time, we'll drag you along to one whether you like it or not," Ingrid smiled. "This victory was possible only because of your brilliant tactic against Claude. You deserve a treat."

"Hmph, so you do have a brain after all. Too bad you lost it halfway through the battle," Felix drawled, rolling his eyes.

Satiana shot him the evil eye. "You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"

Felix scoffed. "If you let yourself get distracted in the middle of the battlefield, then you're not qualified to fight."

Normally she'd snap back at him — make excuses, throw in a sarcastic remark, anything that her easily-combustible head could come up with. But she was at war with herself, her thoughts a jumbled mess, emotions still astray, Edelgard's damning words still echoing in her head. No matter what lies she may conjure up, she knows it was entirely her fault that she slipped up in battle.

After Renard warned her many times, she still failed to rein in that darkness within her. Her mind went blank at the thought of Edelgard, withdrawing information from her on purpose despite being her closest lead to those monsters. She still needed to talk to her again. Ask her why she acted so hostile when they were supposed to be kin — survivors of the same nightmare.

Uncharacteristically, her temper didn't flare up to Felix's taunts. Her eyes skittered out into the far distance over nothing, her expression clouded with conflicting emotions. "You're right," she admitted. "I was being careless. Sorry for worrying you again, Byleth." She bowed her head apologetically.

Byleth blinked before she reached over to Satiana's head, rustling the strands with affection. "I know, Satiana. Just don't do it on the real battlefield. Jeralt will have my head if I let something happen to you."

Satiana snorted, lifting her head with a wry smirk on her face. "Now, that is something I want to see. An argument between father and daughter."

"Satiana…" Byleth shot her another warning glare, and Satiana whistled innocently in response.

Ashe smiled warmly at their interactions. "You two really are close, aren't you?"

Satiana blinked owlishly, turning to face Byleth with a questioning look. "Are we?"

Byleth shrugged nonchalantly in response. "We're just stuck with each other because of circumstances."

Dimitri laughed, shaking his head in disagreement. "Professor, surely, you jest. Satiana is your adopted sister, after all."

"It's alright, Dimitri. Byleth has always been a little cold-hearted. You see that blank expression on her face? Apparently she's been like that since birth," Satiana rolled her eyes. "I've only seen her smile or laugh once or twice in my life."

Mercedes politely hid a chuckle behind her hands. "Well, in my opinion, you two have very striking similarities and get along very well for non-blood relatives."

Byleth and Satiana shared a confused look. They both made a noncommittal hum in response, musing in thought at Mercerdes's observations. "Well, if you say so," Satiana eventually replied casually.

"Your highness, it's getting dark outside," Dedue suddenly interjected. "I believe it's time for you to head back to your quarters."

Dimitri glanced at Dedue over his shoulder, frowning. "I know, Dedue. When will you stop pestering me over small things like this?"

"He's just a mother-hen, your highness," Ingrid replied with a small laugh. "But he does speak the truth. It is getting fairly late. We should all head back to our rooms soon."

"Ah! I almost forgot! I have to finish my assignment for Professor Manuela's class tomorrow," Annette suddenly screamed. "Mercie, help me, will you?" Annette practically dragged Mercedes out of the infirmary, probably heading to their rooms for a cram session.

"Well, I guess that's our cue to leave," Dimitri chuckled at Annette's usual antics. Then, he turned toward Satiana with worry. "Can you make it back to your room by yourself?"

Satiana waved him off with a hand. "Don't worry, Dimitri. It's not like I broke my legs or anything. I'll head back soon after you guys do."

Dimitri nodded in understanding. "Alright, if you say so. Rest well, Satiana."

The door to the infirmary closed quietly as Byleth and the rest of the Blue Lions headed back to their dorms. Satiana sighed loudly, burying her head into her hands. Her head still throbbed, filled to the brim with thoughts about Edelgard's last words to her.

Edelgard suggested the idea of another enemy, aside from the cloaked men with white skin. If she were a survivor of an experiment in Enbarr, it would highly suggest that the Adrestian Empire had close ties with those who slithered in the dark. But if so, why did they choose to experiment on the Imperial Princess herself? If the Empire wanted to cause mayhem by slowly taking over their neighbors using the power of the experiments, then why risk the life of their next heir?

More importantly, why is she refusing to tell me anything?

Perhaps Edelgard had a reason why she was protecting her enemies. Maybe she was planning on using them; with her position as the next Emperor, she could round up the enemies in the Empire with one flick of her staff. But if that was the case, didn't that mean their enemies were the one and the same? So then why would she refuse to tell Satiana anything?

The more I think about it, the more my head hurts. This isn't getting me anywhere. I need to talk to her again.

*Knock Knock*

The sound of light tapping on the infirmary's door brought Satiana out of her trance. She slid herself off the bed, folding the blanket neatly on the footrest. Then, she moved like some kind of nosferatu's thrall, lumbering and dazed, but at least conscious enough to make it to the door. The exhaustion had finally crept up to her, and she resisted the urge to yawn, rubbing her weary eyes with her fingers.

"Who is it?" She spoke softly before sliding open the door…

Only to come face to face with the last person she wanted to have a private conversation with.

In comparison to Garreg Mach, the Western Church was unimpressive, to be quite frank. The Church was filled with the smell of dying flowers. Its stone walls were ruptured, decayed from rain and wind with large cracks along its pillars. Moss and vines freely weaved around the grounds, adding to the atmosphere of solitude and abandonment.

There were barely any bishops or priests walking around. Hell, there were scarcely any signs of life within the Church, to be more exact. Petals and soft flowers withered to a crisp on those black boughs, shaking against the cold. Broken carts carrying weapons lay scattered throughout the hall. The stench of rotting wood penetrated through the freezing air, mixing with the hazy gloom of burned incense.

Renard dragged his cart behind him, covering his nose with one hand. As planned, he was disguised as a merchant selling weaponry; the barrels on his cart were filled with weapons from Jeralt's treasury. Of course, they were all second-hand weapons, half-used and rotted. After all, he didn't come here to sell weapons and earn a living. Thankfully, his weary appearance, dressed in brown, muddied slacks, blended perfectly in with the dry atmosphere of the Church.

He avoided meeting the priests' gazes as he dragged the wheels along with him towards the abbey. In the center of the hall was a large altar and a broken statue of the Goddess. Renard walked up to the statue, peering curiously at the face of the Goddess.

Isn't this a completely different statue than the one in Garreg Mach? Are they even praying to the same Goddess?

"Hey, you there." A low, gruffy voice rang out from behind him, and Renard almost jumped out of his skin, his whole body spinning towards the source of the sound.

He faced the priest dressed in a gray-schemed version of the cloaks in Garreg Mach. "Is something the matter?" Renard lowered his voice on purpose, shifting the cape of his cloak forward to hide his face.

"I've never seen you around here before. You new?" The priest asked.

"I just got a deal from the new Viscount Hyrm. He wants to offer some of his spare weapons to the Church. You know, to prepare for the future, if you know what I mean," Renard spoke cryptically, completely making things up on the fly.

The priest seemed to buy his lies, nodding with a frown. "I see. We are running low on weapons. Those Central bastards stole most of the relics and kept them. That leaves us running low on resources all the time," he complained, shaking his head in exasperation. "Keep up the good work. Two more moons before we finally give them a taste of their own medicine."

Renard nodded stiffly, dragging his cart towards the empty spot near the statue. He placed the cart randomly amongst the other broken carts. Then, he briskly walked out of the Church. Outside the main exit, he leaned against the wall and sighed.

Two moons, huh? What are they up to…

The sound of metal clinking against each other loudly echoed through the empty Church, and Renard swerved his head around the wall, eavesdropping on the ruckus inside.

"You idiot!" One of the priests slapped his underling with his palms, sending the poor fellow crashing to the ground with a groan. "How could you forget to bring that box of donations from Lord Arundel? Are you stupid?!" He screeched in his subordinate's ears.

The poor guy was a quivering mess, his legs wobbling as his face went pale. He shrank back, huddling himself into a ball. "I-I'm sorry, sir! I will go back and retrieve the goods now!"

The priest scowled, stomping his feet in anger. "You better get back here by dawn. We need those stones to use for our ceremony! Unless you want to have them shoved in your throat, get to work, now!"

"Y-Yes, sir!" The subordinate scrambled onto his feet, sprinting out the opposite end of the Church, face ashen with despair and horror.

Renard shifted slightly, leaning his head back behind the wall. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, eyes whirling with realization.

"Lord Arundel…donations…stones…" he muttered, piecing the puzzle together. "Sounds like a giant conspiracy to me."

He spun around on his heels, heading out of the Church. He had to prepare an urgent letter to Jeralt immediately. Renard's instincts were flaring, and he had a sinking feeling that something big was about to happen. He needed to get back to the monastery as fast as possible—

*Thud*

He yelped as his shoulders crashed into an innocent bystander. Renard stumbled back a few steps, groaning as he rubbed his aching shoulder. Then, staring up at the person he bumped into, he noticed the peculiar red and black cloak the priest was wearing.

That's not the color of the Western Church or the Central Church. Who is he?

"You! How dare you lay your filthy hands on Cardinal Aelfric, our biggest supporter!" Another priest stepped up from behind the one cloaked in red. He pointed a raging finger at Renard. "Apologized immediately!"

"Y-Yes, sir! I'm so sorry for not watching my way," Renard forced his voice box to quiver as he bowed deeply at a ninety-degree angle. "Forgive me for my insolence, Cardinal Aelfric!"

The soft sound of laughter entered his ears, and Renard peered his head up slightly. The cardinal was smiling warmly at him, shaking his head softly. "You have nothing to apologize to me for, merchant. I can imagine how busy your life must be. Especially with how stretched for time we are."

"Y-Yes, of course," Renard nodded curtly. "Forgive me, sir. But I must be on my way now." Renard excused himself with a short bow, scrambling away as fast as his legs could carry him.

This place is filled with creeps…! I've got to tell Jeralt this soon.

Behind him, Aelfric stood frozen still, staring after Renard's retreating form. He hummed in thought, eyes narrowing. The priest beside him raised an eyebrow at Aelfric's peculiar actions. "Is something the matter, sir?"

Aelfric smiled knowingly, shaking his head. "It's nothing. Just a small rat. Nothing that we have to worry about, though. Continue to move forward with our plans."

"Yes, sir!" The priest saluted.

Satiana would rather be literally anywhere but there in the infirmary room, standing before him. She was not ready to have this conversation — will never be fully prepared for the interrogation. She didn't spare a glance at Felix when he marched past her into the infirmary, comfortably seating himself onto the chair Byleth previously sat on.

"Felix," she began softly, voice steadier than she thought she could manage. "What are you doing back here? Did you forget something?" she asked politely, though anyone with a good pair of eyes could see he was here to stay for the long term.

Felix crossed his legs neatly, leaning on his knee with an elbow. "There's something I need to confirm with you."

Of course, he does. I knew it.

The realization burned. He had come here for only one purpose: to rip her facade apart. Throw it into hellfire. Burn it to ashes. Make it so she'll never dare to stand in front of them again with a nonchalant, innocent face.

She forced herself to smile weakly at him, turning her body around to face him. "I didn't think you were the type to indulge with others in small talk. This is the second time you've engaged unnecessarily in conversation with me."

"Don't get me wrong. I don't enjoy idle banter like those other fools around me," Felix countered with a lax tone. "I'm here to discuss…important matters with you," he stressed his syllables, narrowing his eyes at her. "Perhaps it would do you well to get yourself seated." He jerked his chin towards the bed next to him.

Satiana exhaled heavily, dragging her feet back to the infirmary bed. She sat onto the duvet sheets, sinking into the mattress. Resigning everything to fate, she folded her hands tightly together on her lap, staring down at the floor. "I can imagine you have many questions for me," she addressed the elephant in the room. "So be it. Ask whatever you wish. I'll answer them as truthfully as I can."

Felix paused, glancing over her. His brown eyes flickered to her hands which were gripping her skirt tightly. "When you act all cordial like this, I don't know what to make of it," he confessed honestly. "That's not what I expected from you."

"What do you expect from me then, Felix?" She shot back, eyes drooping from weariness, but it was more than physical. There was a storm in her eyes, a raging maelstrom of frustrated, quiet anger, gut-twisting sadness, and complete fatigue. "Not once have I acted dishonestly towards you or the others. At least, never on purpose." She scratched the skin of her hand with her nails, digging into her bones in a show of anxiety.

Felix made no semblance of a response. Instead, he took a moment to analyze her. Underneath his scrutinizing death glare, Satiana could do nothing but wallow in despair, waiting impatiently for her doom.

After a brief pause, Felix scoffed. "So, you admit that there are things you have been hiding from us?"

A straight jab, right to the point.

"I deny nothing, Felix," she closed her eyes, voice hitched and breathy. She wasn't crying — would never dare to — but her body very badly wanted to. "Like I said, ask me whatever you want. I'll answer to the best of my abilities. That is, if I am allowed to."

The moment she let loose the small hint that her lips were tied due to straining circumstances, Felix jolted, back straightening. His glare hardened, murderous intent flaring. "You're here under someone's orders? Hah!" he sneered. "So you really are an assassin. Who are you here to kill? The boar prince?" He raised his voice, standing up on his feet as he yanked her collar up to meet his furious gaze.

Satiana coughed weakly, feeling the air escaping from her loose lips. "N-No! I could never!" She thrashed in his hold, clawing at his hands. "W-Will you let me explain first?!"

"I didn't give you permission to speak," Felix rumbled darkly, fully unleashing his menace. "Answer me. Who did you come here to kill? If you answer truthfully, perhaps I'll reconsider killing you here before turning you to the authorities."

"N-No one," she whispered harshly, gasping for air. "I'm not here to kill anyone! I'm here to search for clues!"

Felix narrowed his eyes at her. "Clues? To what?"

"T-The tragedy," she blurted out in a panic, but it was too late to take it back. Her life was literally on the line. "D-Duscur…!"

Felix's grip on her immediately loosened. She sagged to the ground at the sudden lack of support, coughing violently as she tried to breathe through her pulsating throat. Small tears pricked the ends of her eyelids, and she blinked rapidly in succession, clearing her hazy vision.

"You…what do you mean Duscur?" Felix was completely unhinged as he backed away from her, eyes widened in a concoction of horror, shock, and mind-blowing confusion. He raised a hand, shakily placing it on his forehead, eyes bulging wider. "I don't understand. How is that incident related to the monastery?" He mumbled, chewing over his lips in deep thought.

Satiana focused on her breathing, closing her eyes as she held her palms to her chest. She breathed deeply, then exhaled softly.

Oh, fuck all. The deed has already been done. There's no going back now.

"Your suspicions are correct, Felix. I am an assassin," Satiana spoke softly, her clear voice cutting through the tension in the room. "Or, to be more exact, I used to be one," she switched to the past tense, peering nervously up at Felix to gauge his reaction.

He stared dumbfoundedly at her as if none of her words made sense to him. His brain was overwhelmed, exceeding full capacity.

"I don't know how much you know about it, but I'm from one of the villages near the incident," Satiana barged forward with the topic. "And, well, I can't tell you all the details, but I've committed many unforgivable acts during my time there because I had no choice. I had to kill to survive. It was my life for…theirs," she explained vaguely, skipping over the details about her involvement in the incident itself.

"Anyway, it was after that incident that I met Jeralt. He took pity on me and took me under his wing. Taught me how to live a different kind of life," she continued. "I wanted to pay for the atrocities that I've committed. So I…threw myself into investigating the Duscur Tragedy. Because I felt, well, guilty. That I wasn't able to protect the people in the village. And somehow, I caught wind of the Church doing shady stuff and ended up here in the monastery."

Her story made absolutely no sense. She knew it. And he knew it too. There were way too many obvious holes in her statement. There was no explanation about why she became an assassin, nor was there any mention of her involvement in the Tragedy of Duscur. The reason for her guilt made no sense — it was obviously fabricated.

Whatever the case, Felix felt as if his head was about to explode from the onslaught of information entering his ears.

He let loose a long sigh, stumbling back to the chair. He plopped himself onto the chair, burying his head deep into his palms, grunting in annoyance. "You're not telling me the full truth, are you?" he spoke with certainty, weary eyes meeting her own exhausted ones. It wasn't even a question at this point. They both knew the answer. "You still haven't told me why you're not allowed to speak or whose orders you're following."

Satiana nodded meekly in response from her position on the floor. She knelt on her knees as if prostrating herself to him. "I…I'm sorry. I wish I could tell you everything. Believe me, Felix. It hurts to hide the full truth from everyone. But I…there's a political role that I play in the Tragedy of Duscur. That's all I can tell you," she spoke softly, lowering her head. "Again, I'm sorry for tricking you. For deceiving everyone. I am indeed an assassin who has killed innocent people because I was ordered to. I do not seek forgiveness."

A light breeze entered through the open window on the second floor. The fresh air mixed in with the thick fog of anxiety, caping around the room. The silence was deafening, heart-crushing, throat-clogging, and Satiana felt her head throbbing harder. Her palms were sweating as she gripped her skirt tightly, digging her nails into the fabric. She bit her tongue, tasting the metallic tang of blood.

Felix was the first to give in. "How can I believe you?" he quietly spoke, rubbing his face with his palms. "You could be lying straight to my face. Everything you've said could be a lie. Maybe you still aim for our lives — the boar's life."

"You don't have to, Felix," Satiana replied softly. She lifted her head, dark blue eyes shimmering in the darkness. "Actually, it would be more comforting for me if you didn't. Because I know I don't deserve this…this happiness. This fleeting moment of peace has overwhelmed me since I got here a week ago. But I hope you can keep this between the two of us. Lives are at stake. Or, really, Faerghus is."

"What do you mean by that?" Felix peeked through the open slits in his palms, frowning.

"Like I said, I am investigating the Tragedy of Duscur under someone's orders. And that has brought me to the Church. What I mean is, there are other powers at play aside from Faerghus and Duscur," Satiana explained. "And if we are to discover the truth behind this tragic incident, we need to keep a low profile."

"Tell me the name of the person whose orders you're following," Felix demanded. "Whether I can turn a blind eye to this depends on their identity. If you're working for the Empire or the Alliance, I can't keep my mouth shut."

Satiana froze at his words. She glanced off to the side, sweat pouring down her face. This was the dreaded question for her. Telling Felix this much was already against her promise to Rodrigue. But telling his son that he was also involved in this facade? Satiana didn't want to imagine the trainwreck that would follow. Considering Felix's personality, it would undoubtedly lead to a confrontation between father and son.

Because she knew best that Felix hated being lied to — being kept in the dark from the truth.

"Okay, but promise me one thing," Satiana chewed over her lips, fidgeting with her fingers. "Don't…well…throw a tantrum over this?" she trailed off into a question, peering awkwardly at him.

Felix dropped his hands from his face, staring at her with a funny expression, brows arched perfectly into the sky. "A tantrum? Why would I?"

"Yeah, well, about that…" Satiana sheepishly laughed, rubbing her neck in anxiety. "I'm acting under…your father's orders."

There it was, boom. The solid truth. She'd done it this time — really done it. Stepped right up to the shit-covered fan, pressed her face against it, and punched it to the maximum. If only she weren't in a bitter mood, she would've laughed at the pure look of horror on Felix's face. His jaws dropped, eyes comically wide, facial muscles twitching uncontrollably in shock.

"What."

"...Yeah."

"No, seriously, what the fuck."

"Yeah, trust me. That was my reaction when I knew you were in the class I was joining."

Satiana stewed in edgy silence, watching as Felix practically melted into his seat. He groaned loudly, slamming his forehead into his hands. The sound of his palm smacking into his forehead made Satiana wince. "Uh, are you feeling alright there?"

Felix whipped his head up, glaring at her. "Do I look like I'm okay to you?"

Satiana flatly replied. "Yeah, I think not."

Felix groaned again for the umpteenth time that evening. He tapped his foot impatiently, lacing his hands together as he placed his chin on top. His burning gaze stared holes into Satiana, and Satiana could only fidget around in place. He fumed in silence, the betrayal cutting deep underneath his skin.

This time, Satiana was the one to break the awkward silence. "A-Anyway, I've told you all that I'm allowed to. Again, you don't need to trust me or change how you act towards me. You can even avoid me altogether if you wish. I am, technically, an outlaw, after all."

Felix's lips contorted into a frown. "I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about all this. My old man is involved in this? What is the true nature of your relationship with him? And, of all things, the Duscur Tragedy? What is that senile, old man up to…" he trailed off, shaking his head vigorously.

"He just wants the truth, Felix. And so do I. That's why I've allowed myself to follow his demands," Satiana confessed. Then, she slowly stood up on her feet, eying Felix with caution. "I know better than anyone. Over these past years, I've seen him exhaust all of his resources to discover the truth behind the incident. He even chose to work with an assassin like me," Satiana chuckled dryly. "I hope you have it in your heart to forgive him for hiding the truth from you. He means well."

At this particular sentence, Felix snapped his eyes towards Satiana. He scowled in disdain. "I don't need to hear about my father from you. I will be the judge of his actions, not you."

Satiana flinched, stepping back with her hands in front of her in a resigning motion. "A-Alright, I get it."

Her voice trailed off, and he made no effort to pick up the conversation. Words were useless past a certain point. Felix released a long-suffering sigh as he stood up. Compared to how he looked when he first barged into the room, Felix seemed as if he had aged a couple of years, exhaustion piling up in those copper-brown orbs. "I'm leaving. I need to think things over," he stated.

Satiana nodded in understanding. "I'm sure you have a lot of dwell over. I hope you have a pleasant evening, Felix," she consoled him, eyes softening.

Felix stopped at the doorway. He threw a glance over his shoulder in her direction. His eyes flickered towards the white bandages covering her head, and he frowned. "I would've said the same to you if only you didn't drop such a bombshell on me," his voice was dreary, completely exhausted.

Satiana gave a curt bow. "I'm sorry, Felix. I'm sorry," she repeated until the door slammed shut, leaving her to wallow in her thoughts.

If someone told Sylvain he was sleep-walking, he would believe it. Hell, even after pinching himself on the cheeks and feeling that tingling sensation on his reddened skin, he still thought he was dreaming. Why? Because there was no other explanation for Felix's impromptu visit to his room at an ungodly hour. Not to mention the atrocity that slipped out of his friend's lips.

"I'm sorry, Felix. I think I misheard you. What did you just say?" Sylvain's lips went dry, eyes brimming with skepticism as he glanced over Felix's weary form.

Felix stared blankly at him, sighing. "I said I want a drink."

Sylvain blinked. "Uh, you mean water?"

Felix's stare hardened into a glare. "No, I mean alcohol."

Now, Sylvain was certain he was definitely half-asleep. Yes, he was rolling around in bed, dreaming up nasty scenarios he could tease Felix for later. He had to be dreaming. For starters, Felix seldom visited him, especially in the middle of the night, due to fear of overhearing some of Sylvain's private conversations with his bed partners. That happened once, and they agreed never to mention the incident again. Second, Felix and the word alcohol did not blend well together. Of course, he was underaged, so it wasn't a surprise that Felix would abstain from drinking. But then again, Felix was never one to follow the rules.

"This is a dream. This has got to be a dream, or you're pulling my leg. Who knew you had a good sense of humor?" Sylvain laughed awkwardly, brushing the messy hair strands away from his face. "Tell me you're kidding, Felix, or I think I'm going to lose my mind."

Felix groaned, ears tinged slightly red in embarrassment. "S-Shut up, you dolt. I was being serious for once."

Sylvain slowly raised his eyebrows, his expression giddy all of a sudden. "For real? You're actually here at who knows what time it is, asking me for a drink? What the hell, Felix?" Instead of disbelief, a hint of excitement laced his trembling voice.

Felix's confidence deflated, and he scowled, turning around on his heels. "Nevermind. I'm leaving. Good night," Felix spat out in a hurry, hands clawing at the door as he tried to yank the damn thing open.

"Woah, hold on, buddy!" Sylvain reached an arm out to stop Felix, gripping his shoulder tightly, holding him still. "Okay, fine. So this isn't a dream, and you're actually asking me for a drink. What the hell happened, Felix?"

Felix stiffly spun around to face Sylvain. "Just…stuff."

At Felix's lame remark, Sylvain couldn't resist the urge to snort. "Right. Stuff." He rolled his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief. "I know you're kind of emotionally constipated, but can't you give a better excuse than that?"

Felix groaned, burying his face into his hand. "Forget it. I just have a lot on my mind right now."

Sylvain gave him a pointed look. He drew a heart shape with his index finger, eyes twinkling in the moonlight. "Oh, let me guess. Springtime visited you?" he teased, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"What the hell is that even supposed to mean?!" Felix snapped back immediately.

"Yeah, I thought so," Sylvain chuckled as he swung an arm over Felix's shoulder. "Whatever the case, welcome to my humble abode. Take a seat wherever you like. I'll be your partner for the evening." He did a mock bow, swaying his hand in an arch underneath him dramatically. "I only have cheap booze, but that'll have to do for now."

Felix rolled his eyes at Sylvain's antics, but he decided against commenting on it. A part of him felt bad for disturbing Sylvain at such a late hour. Although the red-headed man greeted him energetically with the usual dopey smile on his face, he knew from the puffy eyelids that Sylvain was probably close to sleep when he woke him up. He felt bad for waking him up — really, he did. Their roles were usually the opposite, with Sylvain barging into his room to complain about girls and other nonsense like how he almost broke his dick somehow during one of his night adventures.

Although Felix would never admit it straight to Sylvain's face, he did appreciate how the man was always willing to listen to him, no matter what topic or time, even though he had a habit of refusing to reciprocate the sentiment.

Felix plopped himself down onto the chair in front of Sylvain's desk. There was the sound of rustling from under the bed and Sylvain produced two large glasses from who knows where, filling them to the brim with a bottle of yellowish liquid. He handed one to Felix, who reluctantly accepted it, eying the mysterious substance with suspicion.

"Don't worry. It's not that strong," Sylvain commented, reading his friend's expression.

"...Thanks," Felix mumbled under his breath before taking a small sip from the glass, gagging at the bitter taste. "Are you sure this isn't rotten?"

Sylvain laughed. "Trust me, that's just how it tastes, Felix." Sylvain swallowed loudly, tilting half the jug down his throat. He let loose a gasp in satisfaction, wiping his mouth with the sleeves of his shirt. "Alright, now that I'm settled, will you tell me what's bothering you tonight?"

Felix glanced off to the side, tapping the glass rhythmically as he pondered. "I…can't tell you everything."

"I never asked for the details, Felix. Just blow off some steam. I'll listen to whatever you're willing to let me hear," Sylvain replied, eyes softening. "Really, Felix. You know you can tell me anything, right?"

Felix gave him a knowing look and a small nod. "I know. I know, Sylvain."

To Felix, Sylvain was like a pillar — a solid pillar that held everyone up around him. Perhaps broken and fragmented at the edges, hollow inside, but still, a reliable existence when searching for support. He trusted Sylvain with almost everything. Sylvain would never hurt him; they both knew that fact with certainty. But this wasn't about him. This was about Satiana and the political complications she had with Faerghus.

If he had to choose between betraying Satiana's trust or trusting Sylvain with a secret, the correct choice was obvious.

Felix let the comfortable silence linger for a few more seconds before he let out a low breath. "Satiana is an assassin working under my father," he finally spoke, blunt and straight to the point.

Sylvain almost dropped the glass in his hands. He fumbled with it mid-air, nails clinking rapidly against the edges. "I-I'm sorry, what?!" Sylvain raised his voice, the silence descending into chaos. "She's an assassin? Okay, to be honest, I kind of got that feeling the last time we had a conversation in the dining hall. But what the hell? Your father? How did that happen?"

Sylvain bombarded Felix with questions, and Felix slumped over his knee, feeling his head whirling from the noise and alcohol. "I don't know. She can't tell me because of the old man's orders."

"Hold up. Are you sure you're not mistaken or something?" Sylvain questioned. "Why would your father hire an assassin to work for him? It doesn't make any sense."

"I know it doesn't make any sense. Nothing does," Felix scowled. "But that's what Satiana told me from her own mouth." He folded his arms, glaring at the empty glass in Sylvain's hands.

"Then maybe we should try and confirm it. Why not send a letter to your father? Ask him if he knows her," Sylvain suggested, placing his glass on the desk for safekeeping. "Then we can know if she's lying to us or not."

"That's…" Felix trailed off, brows furrowing. "I thought of doing that as well. But she did say it was supposed to be some top-secret mission for the sake of Faerghus. If my father refused to tell us, this might be a bigger deal than I thought."

Sylvain sighed, ruffling his hair. "Whatever the case, we either send your father a letter and ask for confirmation. Or we keep our mouths shut and believe her."

Felix's expression tightened. "If this were under normal circumstances, I wouldn't hesitate to send the old man a letter. But…"

His memory flickered back to his conversation with Satiana. She kept her head hanging low, avoiding his gaze the entire time. The only time she dared to look him right in the eyes was when she started mumbling about her feelings — how guilty she felt lying to everyone in the Blue Lions. That was the only instance Felix could see the truth unveiled; there were no lies in those bright, blue orbs.

Can he betray her in the one moment she allowed him a glimpse behind her mask?

He still couldn't fathom why his father decided to keep this a secret from him. If he was searching for clues about the Tragedy of Duscur, why did he have to hire an assassin to do it? Has his father gone mad? Regardless, Satiana and his father were connected in this web of deceit, and now, it also threatened to devour him.

"There has to be a reason why the old man ordered her to keep her mouth shut," Felix's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Even if I send a letter to the old man, there's a chance he might decide to…discard her."

The ominous wording of his statement riled Sylvain up. Sylvain perked his head up, eyes widening in horror. "Woah, Felix. You're not actually suggesting…" Sylvain trailed off, refusing to finish his line of thought. It was too horrible of an idea.

"My father is a man of integrity — sometimes too much it's insufferable," Felix added bitterly. "And yet he chose to use her, an assassin. The only time he ever loses his cool is when it involves the royal family."

Sylvain's blood went cold, face paling. "You think he's using her to do some dirty work for the royal family? For Dimitri? And that he'll throw her away once her identity gets busted?"

"Judging by her reaction to my interrogation, their cooperation seems to be on unequal terms. He must have some sort of hold on her. Something that requires her to be obedient to him," Felix analyzed, rubbing his chin in deep thought. "If I end up sending my father a letter, what would that mean for her?"

Sylvain made a slicing motion with his fingers, cutting his neck. "The death penalty."

The room grew silent once more as Felix and Sylvain sat knee-deep in the tension permeating around them. The air was so brittle it felt like any movement in the room would snap it. Copper-brown eyes slowly met honey-brown ones. They stared quietly at each other as if in a standoff.

Then, they snorted simultaneously, breaking the tension.

"Yeah, right. I think we've had enough to drink for today." Sylvain threw his back onto the bed, neatly folding his hands behind his head. He exhaled loudly, wiggling his toes in the air, releasing the tension in his muscles. "Clearly, we're talking nonsense now."

Felix found himself agreeing with Sylvain for once, and he placed his glass onto the desk, internally swearing never to touch it again. It made his head throb too much. "I blame it on the alcohol," Felix muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

The notion was absolutely ridiculous, and they both knew it. Clearly, their paranoia was running wild, and it clouded their judgment. Whatever hidden agenda Satiana had with Felix's father, it was clear that both parties had no intention of divulging information to other people. Felix had a feeling that if he sent a letter to his father, asking for details about his cooperation with Satiana, his father would brush him off with a lie. And if Satiana were under some oath, she wouldn't be able to tell him the entire truth.

Regardless, Felix and Sylvain had only one option left: to judge her with their own eyes.

"You know what, Felix? I can't imagine what kind of conspiracy is going on behind our backs since our parents refuse to tell us anything," Sylvain started. "But if Satiana is involved with your father, I think we should trust her."

Felix turned his weary eyes towards Sylvain. "You think what you will. I will only trust what I see with my own eyes."

Sylvain laughed at his comment. He swung his legs in the air, sitting back up on his bottom. "That is such a Felix-like answer."

Felix rolled his eyes. "Hmph. But for now, I agree with you."

"Hm?" Sylvain made a noncommittal noise, feeling his eyes drooping from drowsiness. He yawned, blinking his eyes in rapid succession. "What do you mean?"

Felix remembered the way Satiana stammered over her words, struggling to give him a plausible explanation — the way her fingers paused as she caught her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing over a poorly concealed lie. He sneered out loud as he vividly replayed the moment in his mind.

Sylvain shot him a confused look, but Felix ignored it.

"She sucks at lying," Felix commented with a blank face.

Sylvain blinked once, then twice. His lips curved up into a smirk as he remembered how Satiana's eyes shone with piercing clarity in the darkness when he escorted her to town, and Sylvain released a hearty laugh. "That, I can imagine."

As night fell, most of the students retreated to their respective rooms, some staying up late to complete assignments while others chose to tuck in early, preparing for the next day. Then, there were those with hidden agendas, moving around in the dark.

The monastery and the surrounding areas were coated in darkness. Dimitri found it incredibly easy to sneak into the library. He waited until he heard the sound of the door lock clicking behind Dedue's room before he crept out, stalking through the dimmed hallways towards the library. There were no knights on watch duty today, and he easily made his way up to the second floor, jumping over the red ropes.

He knew he was acting in a manner unbefitting of his status. Who would think a prince, the heir to the Kingdom, would resort to such thievery in the middle of the night? But desperate times called for desperate measures, and Dimitri would go to any lengths, even turning himself into a monster, if it meant he could figure out the truth behind the incident that utterly destroyed his life and the future of his loved ones.

Dimitri reached up on his toes, flicking the cover of the thick book down from the top shelf. It landed quietly into his waiting hands. He smoothed his hand over the cover, eyes narrowing. It was the register of empire nobles. This document was expressly for official use only by the Church of Seiros. Students were, of course, forbidden from removing or perusing this documentation.

He scanned through the text, flipping rapidly through the pages as his blue eyes honed in on a particular page of interest. It was a list of donations to the Church. He skimmed down the page, tracing the black lines of ink with his finger. There it was, Lord Arundel's history of donations. He was a devout follower of the Church, donating every single year without fail until something happened before the Insurrection of the Seven. This was the point of change for him. After the incident, Lord Arundel never again gave even an ounce of his riches to the Church.

Dimitri found it odd — incredibly odd.

For starters, Lord Arundel was a loyal vassal to the royal family. He was a devout believer of the Church, faithful to the family that Saint Seiros herself chose to crown. And yet he played a significant role in the Insurrection of the Seven, diminishing the Emperor's authority. Perhaps it was true that the Church's strength came at the expense of the Empire's wealth, but was it enough to sway the loyalty of Lord Arundel?

Dimitri didn't know much about the Empire's affairs. Still, he had heard from his father that the Emperor was attempting a centralized government based around the royal family, which many nobles disagreed with. The Insurrection resulted from this disagreement, and Lord Arundel joined hands with Duke Aegir to dispose of the Emperor's authority.

Now, he refused to donate anything to the Church, which signified his intense hatred towards the Church. Whatever happened to him in the Imperial Year 1171, Dimitri did not know, but Lord Arundel's personality was never the same after that.

It was as if he were a different person. Considering his frequent visits to the Kingdom after that period of unrest in the Empire, Dimitri had an inkling that his step-uncle was somehow involved in the Duscur Tragedy.

And so here he was, acting like a rat, sneaking into school grounds in the middle of the witching hour. He exhaled heavily, flipping to the next page, diving into the details of Lord Arundel's donations, when the sound of wood creaking broke his attention.

He gasped, spinning his whole body to face the intruder behind him. The candlelights barely illuminated her figure, but it was enough for him to recognize the cerulean orbs that glimmered in the light.

"P-Professor? What are you doing here?" He harshly whispered, voice trembling in horror.

Byleth strolled casually towards him, waving a hand nonchalantly. "Good evening, Dimitri. It's a pleasant night. The moon looks particularly beautiful today."

Dimitri gawked at his professor, shutting the book in his hands with a loud thud. "Professor, this is not the time for greetings. Do you know where this is?!" Sweat poured down his face as he nervously skittered his gaze around the room, searching for other intruders.

Byleth leaned against the rails of the stairs, blankly staring at Dimitri's bewildered face. "Of course, I do. This is the heavily restricted area of the library, a place where the Church hides some of its most precious documents."

"If you know, then you should be more careful, professor!" Dimitri raised his voice slightly, eyes narrowing in exasperation.

Byleth's lips curved slightly up, a shadow of a smile on her face. "Dimitri, I don't want to hear that from you of all people. After all, I caught you red-handed just now."

Dimitri visibly flinched, nose wrinkling, brows furrowing as he groaned. "I-I know that, professor! There's a reason why I'm here tonight. Please, believe me. I can explain this to you—" he stammered, mind running on auto-pilot as he tried to conjure up some excuse, anything, to say to the professor.

Byleth held a hand in the air, stopping Dimitri from the escalating panic. "You have nothing to explain to me. After all, I'm trespassing as well."

An awkward silence passed through them, and Dimitri paused, mouth hanging slightly open. "You…I guess you're right. But, then, what are you doing here, professor?" he asked, tilting his head to the side in inquiry.

Byleth only stared blankly at Dimitri in response. "Hm, let's just say I'm here for the same reason as you."

Dimitri blinked. He glanced down at the book in his hand. Then, he glanced back up again, eyes whirling with confusion. "Huh? You mean this?" He pointed to the book, gaping in surprise.

Byleth nodded stiffly. Then, she leaned away from the railings and walked toward Dimitri. She stopped in front of him, watching how his expression tightened under her dominating presence. Byleth then smiled, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Say, Dimitri. How would you like to join me for a tea party tomorrow?"

Dimitri was never one to lose his cool easily, but today, Byleth had utterly broken down the poor man's defenses, and his face flared red, a concoction of surprise and embarrassment.

"I-I'm sorry, what?!"

Chapter Text

[White Clouds]

Increasing Tension

The Blue Lions were assigned to dispose of some bandits causing trouble near the monastery for the following month. As students of the Officer's Academy, it was their obligation to help those in need — or at least that was what Seteth told Byleth. Although the students studied combat, this would be their first real excursion out into the battlefield. Both Seteth and Jeralt had warned Byleth to be more prudent with her lessons, prepare them for the real deal, and so here she was, giving them a lecture first thing in the morning.

"Our assignment for this month is to subdue bandits on the outskirts of the monastery," Byleth spoke loudly from the front of the classroom. She folded her hands neatly behind her back, pacing herself around the front while eying her students. "For most of you, this will be your first practical experience. Therefore, I hope you pay attention to my lesson for today. I will be teaching you what is most important on the battlefield."

The classroom went silent, all eyes glued to the front. Some students fidgeted in their seats from anxiety or excitement, Byleth did not know, but at least it was better than a cold response.

"First, I have a question for you all. What is the most important thing on the battlefield, in your opinion?" Byleth asked, glancing around the classroom.

Ingrid was the first to raise her hand. "I believe we have to have our end goal in mind. In this case, it would be our mission to eliminate all the bandits."

Byleth nodded. "Of course, it is important to remember the main goal of the battle. We are acting with an objective in mind, after all. However, remembering the objective itself does not mean that the battle will be won. Anyone else?" Byleth cued with her hand towards Ashe, who was fumbling with his pencil in his seat. "Ashe? Do you have something to say?"

"Who, me?" Ashe jerked up, sweating furiously in anxiety. "W-Well, I think that we need to have a clear plan before we dive into battle. If we carefully plan our moves, we should find it easier to complete our task."

Byleth paused in front of the podium, musing in thought. "Yes, that is true. However, do you think that the enemy will allow you the time to think ahead? What if you are facing an ambush?"

"Then, perhaps you are suggesting we should hone our abilities to think on the spot?" Annette commented, shifting her head to the side. "Maybe our ability to think and act flexibly is what you're getting at!"

"Of course, having a flexible mindset will benefit you greatly on the battlefield," Byleth agreed. "But there is something even more important — the basics of fighting, let's say, that you guys are forgetting."

The class broke into quiet murmurs, discussing the answer to the professor's question. Ingrid and Ashe shared a confused look while Annette shrugged. Mercedes smiled pleasantly, head lost in the clouds, while Sylvain snored in the back, drifting into a cozy dream. Dedue and Dimitri frowned, stoically pondering their answers in silence. Felix had his eyes closed, a persistent furrow to his brows, while Satiana stared at the ceiling, daydreaming.

"Anyone has something to share?" Byleth asked again, tapping her feet impatiently.

Dimitri slowly raised his hand. "Perhaps you are talking about our abilities to survive?"

Byleth internally sighed in relief as she nodded, pointing a finger at Dimitri's direction. "Yes, that is what I was waiting for. Your survival is of utmost importance in whatever battle that you may face. Why? Because the only way you can complete your objective is if you're alive, to begin with."

The thought was morbid, and the crowd went silent. However, Byleth refused to let the dull mood bring her down. She walked down the aisle, tapping her heels against the floor. "I know some of you are confused. Why am I speaking of such an obvious fact? But think carefully. Search deep in yourself. Are you sure you think about survival as you fight?"

She paused in the middle of the room and spun on her heels to face the front again. "Most of you here are aspiring knights. Some of you will grow up to become high-ranked officials. Regardless, if you don't fight to survive, there is no way to reap the rewards."

From the left of the room, Felix opened his eyes, staring pointedly at Byleth.

"I have met many young knights on the battlefield during my years as a mercenary. Many are incredibly reckless in battle, charging straight at their enemies with nothing but a roar and vigor. Unfortunately, that does not do anything to salvage the situation. Believe me. Dying a useless death on the battlefield does nothing to help your nation," Byleth spoke sternly, raising her voice slightly to emphasize her point. "There is no…honor in dying without accomplishing anything. Your lords do not praise your death or give you a proper burial. If you die, that's it. You don't live to see the end. You don't know anything about what happens next. So what's the point of throwing your life away for some unknown result?"

An awkward silence filled the room after her speech. Byleth was never one to mince her words, and she was facing the full consequences now as her students grew somewhat stiff. Ingrid and Ashe, in particular, had a queasy look on their faces, expressions hardened. Even Sylvain, who was sleeping peacefully in the back, suddenly jolted up in his seat, mouth dropping low to the ground in shock. Only Dimitri and Felix stared straight at the professor, eyes whirling with complicated emotions.

Suddenly, there was the sound of coughing from the right of the room and Byleth shifted her gaze languidly towards Satiana, who was sputtering in her seat. Byleth raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "Are you feeling alright there, Satiana?"

All eyes turned to Satiana, and she flinched in her seat. Satiana coughed once again into her palms, sweatdropping. "Uh, Byleth? I think you should, I don't know, maybe…switch topics. To something less morbid for our first lesson of the month, perhaps."

Although the room remained silent after Satiana's outburst, most of the students were internally grateful to her for voicing their inner thoughts. Byleth hummed in response, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Alright, if you say so," Byleth reluctantly replied, much to everyone's relief. "Then let's move on to a practical application of war tactics."

Byleth returned to the front of the room and picked up a piece of white chalk. She started drawing a diagram on the board. It was a relatively simple diagram depicting two forces, separated by a river running horizontally through the middle. She placed her chalk on the circles on the bottom. "Let's say we're here," Byleth spoke. Then she pointed to the crosses on the other side of the river. "And our enemies are here. Our goal is to eliminate their commander."

She then drew three separate bridges, two connecting the south to the north and one connecting the north to the east, that led to a large forest. The forest ran parallel to the map, leading down to the south as well. "This is what our current situation looks like," Byleth spoke as she drew a bunch of crosses, double the number of circles, on the north end of the bridge. "The enemy has their entire force waiting for us beyond the bridge after it's lowered. What do you suggest we do?"

Again, Ingrid was the first to raise her hand. "I think we should separate our forces. If we all move across the same bridge, all the enemies will target us and wipe us all in one blow."

Byleth fiddled with the chalk in her hand. "Hm, I give you fifty marks for that answer. Let's say we follow your orders and separate ourselves equally between the three bridges. The enemy force is nearly double ours. How do you suggest we deal with that?"

Ingrid paused, lowering her hand. She frowned, eyes glancing downwards. "F-Forgive me, I didn't think that far ahead yet."

"You have no reason to apologize. This is an open-ended discussion. Anyone else with a different answer?" Byleth glanced around the room, waiting for volunteers.

Annette slowly raised her hand. "I don't know if this will work, but what if we lower only one bridge? That way, all the enemies will come flooding down the same bridge, and we can slowly take their forces out."

Byleth blankly stared at Annette. "Unfortunately, you haven't considered that the enemy could also lower the other bridges from their side of the map. Then, it'd just end up being a frontal attack from both sides."

Annette sank into her seat, pouting. "This is so hard…" she mumbled to herself.

Ashe was the next to try. "Do we have any fliers in our ranks? If we do, maybe we can send a few of them over the bridges and lure the enemy away. Then, we can rush the bridge when it's less occupied."

Byleth hummed, musing in thought. "I agree that a diversion is the best solution. However, if we do it your way, the enemy's archers will target our pegasus knights. And that would be like sending our fliers on a suicide mission."

Ashe frowned, reclining in his seat. "Hm, then what other options do we have?"

There was movement from the left, and Byleth's sharp eyes tuned in towards Felix, who seemed to be scowling in his seat. "Felix, you look like you have something to say. Care to share with the rest of the class?"

The entire class turned their eyes towards Felix, and he grimaced at the sudden attention. He exhaled heavily in his seat, glaring at Byleth. "Do I have to?"

Byleth shrugged. "I'm not forcing you to, but the class is waiting for your answer."

Felix rolled his eyes. Then, he crossed his arms over his chest. "Go around east into the forest and avoid their archers. If they don't spot us, to begin with, we don't have to worry about getting blocked upfront. Lower the bridge from the east, and go around the fortification to flank the enemy. When they gather towards the east, we send half our forces back to our original position and barge through the front. Essentially, we end up performing a pincer attack before they do."

Byleth clapped her hands once. "Excellent answer, Felix. It seems you have done your research regarding military tactics."

Felix snorted. "Naturally," he answered stoically.

The class eyed him with jealousy, some frowning in distaste at his confident attitude, but no one dared to speak up against him. After all, Felix did propose a valid solution to the problem.

Byleth then strolled down the aisle again, glancing at her students. She stopped beside Satiana, whose head was bobbing up and down, half-asleep. Byleth flicked her index finger at Satiana's forehead, breaking her out of her daze.

"Ouch!" Satiana gasped, glaring daggers at Byleth's smirking face.

"It seems this lesson is too easy for you, seeing how you're dozing off. Why don't you enlighten the rest of the class with an answer of your own?" Byleth's eyes twinkled mischievously, much to Satiana's chagrin.

Satiana groaned, rubbing her post-sleep eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. Some of the students snickered, waiting for her to self-implode on herself by giving a foolish answer. To their surprise, Satiana stared blankly at the board and shrugged nonchalantly. "Blow up the bridges?" She spoke loudly with confidence.

An awkward silence followed. The students turned to each other in confusion. Sylvain gaped at her from the back while Dimitri grimaced. Annette glanced at Mercedes, who shook her head lightly in response. Even Dedue, who was famous for his poker face, couldn't resist the urge to gawk at her. Felix was the only one who appeared to be taking her seriously as he raised his eyebrows, rubbing his chin in thought.

Byleth blinked once, then twice. "I'm sorry, say that again?"

"I mostly agree with what Felix said," Satiana started, earning his full attention. "But that plan only works if we assume the enemy will move the way we want them to. What if they only send half of their forces towards the east and keep the remainders waiting at the bridge? Then, our pincer attack will fail, and we're back to the same flaw from Ingrid's answer."

She then paused, tapping her fingers lightly on the table. "If we want Felix's plan to work, we need to force them to act. Using a few mages and warlocks, we can just blow up the two bridges leading north and south. That way, the enemy will be led into believing an attack won't be coming from the front. After they move their forces to the east, we use Ashe's plan to send our fliers across the bridge from the front, and boom, pincer attack. Considering the flaw in Annette's plan, we should send our most elite soldiers down the bridge at the east. That way, they can deal with the bulk of the enemy's forces."

Nobody dared to speak the moment Satiana finished her explanation. It was on a different level of creativity — perhaps not practical, but nevertheless, she managed to fill in the gaps between everyone's answers. The brightest students in the class knew that her answer, although quite unique, was near perfect and valid. The students waited for Byleth's reaction, stewing in silence.

Eventually, Byleth turned around to face the front, a small smile on her lips. "I'll let it slide this time, but don't fall asleep in the middle of class again."

Satiana folded her hands behind her head. "I'll try not to, but I don't promise anything," she said with a small yawn.

Suddenly, the class erupted into thundering applause, and Satiana jolted in shock, almost falling off her chair. She gaped, sweatdropping at the gazes filled with admiration and awe. A few students whispered excitedly to each other, discussing Satiana's tactic. Others started chatting loudly, arguing about the practical flaws of her suggestion.

Regardless, the class descended into chaos, and Byleth exhaled heavily. "Guess class is over for today…" she mumbled to herself, watching as the students crowded over Satiana, whose face was paling at an increasing rate.

"How did you even come up with such a tactic, Satiana?" Ingrid practically shoved her face in front of Satiana as soon as class was over.

Satiana leaned back in her chair, wincing at the sudden proximity. "Uh, from experience?" Satiana meekly replied, sweating at the attention she was receiving.

"Experience? You blew up a bridge before?" Annette asked enthusiastically.

"Uh, not a bridge. But something similar to it," Satiana replied, thinking back to her time in the County of Ordelia. "I used a magic explosion as a diversion before. This was just a revamped version of that strategy."

"It's certainly a bold strategy," Sylvain whistled as he slid up behind her seat. "Got to admit, your creativity will definitely be a good addition to our class. We have too many straight-laced people here, after all."

"Compared to you, I imagine the entire world is filled with straight-laced people." Ingrid rolled her eyes, smacking her hand into Sylvain's back.

Sylvain pouted, staring at Ingrid with the look of a lost puppy. "Did you really have to hit me for that? I was being honest, you know!"

"I guess nothing beats experience in the end," Ashe interjected, laughing brightly. "None of the books in the library ever mentioned strategies that unorthodox."

"Speaking of which, are you free, Satiana?" Sylvain suddenly asked, eyes sparkling with hope.

Satiana turned to him with suspicion swimming in her orbs. "I don't have anything planned for today. Why?"

Sylvain clapped his hand once, beaming. "Great! You see, there's this amazing restaurant downtown. Since you missed the victory banquet last night, I figured I could treat you to an amazing meal."

Satiana pondered, narrowing her eyes at Sylvain. "As long as you don't have any ulterior motives, then sure. Your treat, I hope."

Sylvain flashed a predictable wink her way. "Well, if you were hoping for something, I can't have you disappointed, can I? Trust me. If there's someone who knows their way around town, it's me."

As if on cue, Ingrid glared at Sylvain. "Keep your pants to yourself, Sylvain." She folded her arms, staring knowingly at him. "You need to stop hitting on every girl in your sight. Learn some patience, will you?"

Sylvain waved her off with a hand. "Yeah, yeah. I know, Ingrid. I've heard that line from you before."

Ingrid sighed, shaking her head in exasperation. Then, she turned to Satiana, pity whirling in her eyes. "If he ends up bothering you, don't hesitate to tell me. I'll give him a good whack on the head."

Satiana chuckled dryly. "Thanks for the offer, but I'll just stab him if he pulls something." She slid her hands down to the sword attached to her hips, eyes glinting.

Sylvain winced. "Do you have to be so violent? Come on. I promise I won't try anything. I just want to get to know you better. As friends."

Satiana stared pointedly into his honey-brown orbs. With Sylvain, it was hard to know if he was genuine or not. Most of the time, his flippant remarks were an attempt to avoid addressing serious matters at hand — especially when they involved himself. But for now, he seemed to be amiable enough. Besides, it was only a meal. What trickery could he be up to?

Satiana sighed in resignation. "Fine, I'll join you for dinner today. It better be good."

Sylvain smirked smugly. "Great. Glad to have you on board." Then, his lips contorted up into a grin. "By the way, I forgot to tell you something," his tone switched to a more light-hearted one.

Satiana blinked. "About what?"

Sylvain laced his hand together behind his back and whistled a cheery tune. "Well, since you're so worried about me flirting with you, I figured I should invite someone else to the table…" he trailed off, eyes darting towards a specific seat on the left side of the classroom. "So, Felix will be joining us too. You alright with that?"

It was like someone splashed a bucket of ice water over her head. Satiana went stone-cold, shoulders and expression tightening. She decided to trust Sylvain for once, and this was the final result. The man threw back her genuine trust and basically stabbed her in the heart with his lance. Maybe even slammed a meteor on her head, judging by that look of sheer satisfaction on his smug face. She slowly turned towards Felix, swallowing loudly as her eyes widened with horror at the looming threat.

Felix only blankly stared back at her. Then, his gaze landed on those mischievous brown orbs. "What are you up to, Sylvain?" Felix's voice was filled to the brim with disdain and suspicion.

Sylvain just shrugged, feigning ignorance. "Why, I have no idea what you're talking about." His gaze flickered out the window, focusing on some unknown chick strutting outside in the courtyard.

Felix narrowed his eyes at Sylvain, dissecting his intentions with his vision before a long sigh finally escaped his lips. "...Alright," he mumbled a reply under his breath after much deliberation.

Satiana practically melted in her seat, internally sobbing in despair. She felt the weight of Felix's knowing gaze boring into her back, but Satiana didn't dare look over towards him. Under those piercing, sharp copper-brown orbs, she wouldn't be able to hide a single thing from him. She floundered inside, still without the foggiest idea of what she should do to avoid this outing that just escalated into a disaster.

"You're alright with that too, right, Satiana?" Sylvain's sweet voice sounded like poison to her ears and Satiana accidentally let loose an odd noise that turned into a cough.

"Hm? I guess so," she answered flatly, voice devoid of emotion.

Yeah, right. After what happened yesterday, you're telling me I have to eat dinner with him?!

"Great! I'll be looking forward to it, then. Meet me at the entrance to the town before sunset, alright?" Sylvain exclaimed before he pranced out of the classroom, running off into the distance before anyone could stop him.

Ingrid frowned, staring after his receding back. "What is he up to this time?"

Felix snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. "Trust me. You don't want to know."

Satiana fumed in silence, head reeling from the exchange. It was too late to take it back now. She had agreed to step into the lion's den, and there was no going back on her words. She sneaked a glance in Felix's direction and flinched when his eyes met hers. She immediately whirled her head around, glaring at the wall beside her.

I'm so dead. I'm so fucking dead.

Dimitri tried his best to keep a straight face. Really, he did. But it was hard to resist the urge to fidget in his seat when he was surrounded by a beautiful garden of red roses and a table decorated with silky white sheets. Not to mention the stacks of scones, cookies, and the irresistibly sweet smell of tea brewing — perhaps some sort of herbal tea or berry mixture.

To begin with, Dimitri and sweets did not mix well together. Even more so, Dimitri and flowers. His professor loved to shove them in his hands — he had a whole line of vases on his windowsill — and he usually accepted them gratefully with a princely smile on his face. But Dimitri never really knew what to do with such fragile objects. He was a man of brute force, beast-like according to Felix, and uncontrollable strength. So he never had business in the monastery's gardens — avoided them like the plague, for he knew it would only cause him discomfort.

But even so, he would rather deal with the curious onlookers and gaggle of gossip-mongers than refuse an earnest request from Byleth, especially when the so-called blank-faced demon had blackmail material on him.

Compared to Dimitri, Byleth seemed comfortable enough, seated on the opposite end, munching quietly on a tart. She was expressionless as usual, dressed in her usual mercenary attire, yet for some odd reason, the woman seemed to fit right in with the roses in the background. Dimitri could already imagine it, the news headliner for tomorrow — a secret meeting between two of the most famed beasts in the monastery.

Byleth lightly pushed a cup of tea in his direction, eyes glinting in the sunlight. "I heard that you enjoy chamomile tea, so I bought a few leaves from the market earlier. I hope you enjoy it."

Dimitri threw her an odd look, cautious and curious. "Thank you, professor," he responded politely, slipping his finger into the handle. He took a small sip from his cup, feeling the subtle warmth and gentleness of the tea soothing his nerves. He exhaled, the tension in his shoulders releasing. "Uh, Professor?" he asked quietly.

Byleth threw a noncommittal sound at him in response. "Hm?"

Dimitri coughed once into his hands before he straightened his posture. He laced his fingers thoughtfully, placing his chin on top of his hands, peering at Byleth with suspicion. "What exactly is the purpose of this…tea party?" The words rolled awkwardly off his tongue.

"You don't have to be so wary of me," Byleth commented, lips curling up in amusement. "I'm not here to devour you or anything."

Dimitri sputtered at the insinuating comment, ears flushed red. "P-Professor? What are you talking about?" he babbled, smoke flying out of his heated ears.

Byleth crossed her legs fluidly, staring at Dimitri with interest. "Don't mind me. I just wanted to have a nice, long chat with you. About what happened last night, of course."

The conversation finally steered in the right direction, and Dimitri sighed in relief. He didn't know what to make of Byleth's sense of humor; it was downright terrifying. Byleth was too much of an enigma for Dimitri to understand her thoughts and actions.

"Yes, of course," Dimitri started as he pinched the bridges of his nose. "I had a legitimate reason for my actions last night." He paused, clearing his throat. "You see, there was something that I needed to know. It's quite important to me."

Byleth nonchalantly flipped her hair behind her shoulder. "I can imagine so. Quite a few important documents are lying on the second floor. Many would do anything to get a glimpse of the Church's secrets. I don't blame you."

Dimitri eyed Byleth carefully, lips puckering in thought. "Uh, professor? Are you sure you should be saying this so…well…out in the open like this?"

Byleth shrugged nonchalantly. "Seteth isn't here. I highly doubt anyone cares enough about my affairs to eavesdrop on our conversation."

Dimitri's mouth itched to tell her she was wrong because he knew there were several ridiculous rumors about the new mercenary professor flying around campus. Like how she killed a hundred soldiers all by herself and ruthlessly slaughtered her enemies on the battlefield. But knowing the type of person Byleth was, she probably could care less about the words of outsiders.

"A-Anyway, professor," he cleared his throat again. "You said that you also had business on the library's second floor. Would it be alright to ask for your reasons?"

Her gaze fluttered towards him. No other movement, just a simple shift of expression. "I am searching for something. To be more exact, I am investigating the Empire's affairs, in particular."

Dimitri arched an eyebrow expectantly. "The Empire? Why?"

Byleth folded her hands neatly on the table, leaning closer toward Dimitri. "You are here to search for the true enemy behind the Tragedy of Duscur, am I correct?"

Everything went downhill from there. It was like his brain snapped — thoughts short-circuiting. He couldn't believe his ears. His bright eyes immediately darkened, skittering around as he suddenly became hyper-aware of everything around him. Every noise or sudden movement nearby sent him leaping out of his skin. His hands trembled vigorously as he dug his nails into his skin. "P-Professor…" his voice shook uncontrollably. "H-How did you…?"

He looked utterly lost, eyes widened, staring blankly into the foreign distance. Byleth's expression tightened imperceptibly. She unfolded her legs and placed her arms on top of each other on the table. "It's nothing more than conjecture. I had no proof. But you are the prince of Faerghus. I highly doubt you would let such a horrific incident escape your eyes and ears so easily."

Dimitri's breath hitched. He rubbed his fingers nervously, scratching the skin off his own hands. His face paled as he began to breathe unevenly. "I…I have to admit. I'm surprised to hear those words coming out of your lips, professor." He lifted his head slightly, weary eyes meeting confident cerulean orbs. "Why are you searching for the truth behind that incident?"

There was an ominous pause. For the first time Dimitri had seen her, Byleth looked visibly disturbed by his question. There was an almost hollow, empty look in Byleth's eyes. Of course, she still had a blank expression on her face, but something was different. Like there was some unidentifiable cloud of emotion swirling in those orbs.

"I would like you to keep this between the two of us, Dimitri," Byleth began, breaking the silence. "Someone I know was involved in that incident."

Dimitri felt his world crashing down on him. He almost jolted out of his seat, mind running on fire, thoughts scattering off to who knows where. He bit his lips till the corners started bleeding, eyes raging. "What do you mean by that?!" He raised his voice slightly, nails clawing into his skin, piercing through the dried flecks of skin.

"As I said, Dimitri, someone I know had their life completely ruined because of that incident. To help their situation, I am trying to discover the truth behind the Tragedy," Byleth explained calmly in a steady voice.

"You said that…that person was involved in the incident. Are you implying that they were a part of the Kingdom's forces? Was your friend a…knight?" Dimitri's voice broke mid-sentence, choking up on the emotions running rampant inside of him.

Byleth refused to answer his question. Instead, she opted to continue her train of thought. "My…friend, let's say, was a victim of this incident. And to give her the justice she deserves, I need to figure out the truth behind everything."

"A-Are they dead? Were they killed in the Tragedy?" Dimitri stammered.

Byleth shook her head lightly. "No, they are very much alive. However, the Tragedy still haunts them to this day. They'll never be free until the truth is revealed to the world."

Dimitri slumped back in his seat. His head drooped down, bangs casting a shadow over his features as he exhaled heavily. "I'm glad that your…friend survived. But, I see." Dimitri paused mid-sentence, trying to regain his composure. "To think that Tragedy has affected so many people beyond my reach. I thought only the soldiers of the castle and my parents were their victims."

"There are too many mysteries surrounding that incident." Byleth picked up her cup of tea and took a big sip. "It wouldn't be surprising if more victims are discovered. Of course, I'm also talking about the Duscurians who lost their lives in the aftermath."

Dimitri winced, shoulders jerking at Byleth's sharp words. He raised his head, eyes lifeless and exhausted. "Y-You're right. That incident has stolen way too many lives for me to count with my fingers." He lifted his body, clenching his hands together on his lap as he stared down. "Would it be possible for me to meet this survivor of the incident? I want to talk to them about what happened during the battle."

Byleth's expression hardened. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "You've already met her."

Dimitri froze, eyes blinking rapidly in confusion. "I-I have? What do you…" Realization struck, and Dimitri's jaw dropped. "Satiana? Are you talking about Satiana?"

Byleth nodded her head.

Dimitri clutched his head tightly, eyes widening. "W-Wait. I thought Satiana was from one of the villages that got caught in the struggle. I didn't think she was actually involved in the incident itself."

"That's just a cover-up story that we gave her. To be frank with you, my father and I found her collapsed in the forest near the plains of Duscur," Byleth explained. "When we found her, she was bleeding to death with two broken swords in hand."

Dimitri frowned. "But what was she doing there? Why was she near the battlefield if she's not from one of the villages nearby or a Duscurian?"

Byleth closed her eyes. "That, I'm afraid, is for you to discover yourself."

"Pardon?" Dimitri said quietly.

Byleth snapped open her eyes, narrowing them at Dimitri. "If you wish to know more, you should ask her yourself. It's not my place to tell her story to you."

Dimitri nodded stiffly. "I-I see. You're right. It was rude of me to interrogate you, professor. Forgive me. I tend to get…heated up about things that concern the Tragedy," he apologized, glancing off to the side with a forlorn look.

"I can imagine so," Byleth replied softly. "Anyway, I wanted to talk to you today about your thoughts regarding the Tragedy. After all, I believe we are on the same side."

Dimitri took a brief moment to reorganize his thoughts. He peered up at Byleth, meeting her steady gaze with his quivering eyes. He clenched his fists tightly, resolving himself. "Professor, will you listen to my deductions?" he asked meekly.

Byleth picked up her cup again, hiding a smile behind the glass as she took a small sip. "Of course, Dimitri. Please, do tell. That is why I called you here, after all."

"Well, wasn't this a lovely idea? The three of us sharing tea and a meal here," Sylvain said as he set his cup of tea down on the table. He was seated on the outermost seat near the restaurant entrance, the sun slowly continuing its descent down the sky.

Satiana refused to answer him. Instead, she focused her attention on the gigantic plate of steak in front of her. She swallowed loudly, eyes brightening as she watched the juicy red flesh sizzle underneath the store lights. "Sylvain, you're not going to rip me off later, right? You're actually paying for this?" She eyed him warily, but a part of her was feeling incredibly hopeful and giddy.

Sylvain blinked at her before he laughed out loud. "Hey, what do you take me for? I won't pull that old trick on you. Just dig in. Seriously, it's my treat."

"Well, if you say so," she grumbled under her breath, but her eyes were sparkling as she sliced through the meat, popping a big piece into her mouth. She sighed in satisfaction as she savored the intense flavor. "You know, I don't trust you much, but I have to say your taste in restaurants is top-notch," she gulped, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

"That's good to hear," Sylvain chuckled, leaning back against the chair. "This store is pretty famous in town. Not to mention, it's reasonably priced with a good view out the windows."

Felix snorted from his spot beside Sylvain and rolled his eyes. "When you mean view, you mean the tavern across the street?" He glanced meaningfully towards the window, watching as a group of drunk men and women joyfully skipped down the streets.

Sylvain grinned sheepishly. "Oops, busted! It's true that the ladies there are always wonderful and all. But I swear it's the food that makes this restaurant a win in my book!"

Satiana munched quietly on another piece, humming in appreciation. "To be honest, I thought it'd be the worst outing ever, knowing your inclinations. But so far, it's been a pleasant evening. Thanks, Sylvain."

Sylvain shot her a smirk. "Of course. Anything for you, dear. Now that we're at it, would you like to join me later for a walk down the streets? There's a bar I know that offers delicious booze and snacks."

Satiana rolled her eyes before she held the knife in her hand, pointing the sharp edge at Sylvain's smug face. "Watch it. I give you an inch, but don't take a mile."

Sylvain snickered, waving his hand in the air nonchalantly. "Yeah, yeah. I know. I promised Ingrid not to pull any weird tricks on you."

"Why am I even here?" Felix grumbled underneath his breath at Sylvain's antics.

Sylvain nudged him in the ribs with his elbows. "Hey man, relax a bit. We're here to enjoy ourselves, alright? Besides, be honest with yourself. You wanted to talk to Satiana anyway, right?"

At this remark, Satiana paused. She dropped the knife onto her plate and glared knowingly at Sylvain. "I knew it. It was too good to be true. You planned this, didn't you?" her voice lowered a notch, and she scowled at him. "Luring me with food. How dare you."

Felix grunted. "It's not his fault your stomach so easily moves you."

"Oh, shut up," Satiana snapped back, seething in her seat. "So, what is this, really? An interrogation?"

Sylvain backed away from his seat slightly, sweating furiously. "Hold on, Satiana. I swear I had no hidden agendas. I just wanted to get to know you better." Sylvain then turned to Felix, pleading for help with his eyes. "And Felix here too. We're classmates, right? It's not a bad idea to bond over a hearty meal."

Felix ignored the look Sylvain was shooting his way and glared directly into Satiana's eyes. "Forget this dolt here. I only came here to tell you something."

"And what's that?" Satiana replied, crossing her arms defiantly over her chest, the meal forgotten.

"I've decided what to do with you," Felix started. "I don't trust you. Not one bit. But since we're going to be stuck with each other regardless, I'll keep an eye on you."

Satiana froze, jaws dropping. Her stomach plummeted as she turned her head slowly towards Sylvain, alarms ringing in her head. The sense of foreboding only grew stronger when Sylvain glanced guiltily away from her, focusing his attention on an innocent flower pot lying on the windowsill.

She turned back to face Felix, face completely horror-stricken. "You told him." It wasn't even a question at this point. She couldn't hide the touch of panic that crept into her voice. "Felix, you fucking—"

"What? You're in no position to be negotiating with me," Felix sneered at her shaky voice. It wasn't a kind look. "I told him because he deserves to know. Actually, everyone deserves to know who you really are. But for now, I'm keeping it quiet because I don't know how well the others will take the truth."

Satiana opened her mouth to protest but lost her voice. She shut her mouth again, fuming in silence. He was right. She had no right to argue against him, especially when she was the one lying to everyone about her true identity and allegiance. But still, she didn't think he'd deliberately blow her cover to someone the day after.

Satiana whimpered, burying her head into her hands. "I can't even get mad at you because you're right. But still, did you really have to do this?"

Felix's lips slanted into a smirk, the expression one of cruel triumph against their prey. "Hah! I'm more surprised you were naive enough to think I'd keep your secret for you."

Satiana shot him a nasty glare through the slits in her hands. "Ah, yes. It was completely wrong of me to expect even the slightest bit of basic human decency from you."

Felix gritted his teeth. "Mind your words. You have no idea who you're talking to. Do you want me to blow your identity now? Perhaps you would like that."

"Felix…" Sylvain voiced sternly, gaze uncharacteristically serious.

Felix scoffed, completely ignoring Sylvain's warning. "If you didn't want anyone to know about your identity, perhaps you should've killed me last night. Yes, just like the assassin you are," he stressed every syllable, slow and deliberate.

Satiana found herself trembling uncontrollably, hands gripping the knife tightly. Her vision flared red, and she snarled. "You don't know anything about me, Felix," her words were laced with venom, murderous intent spiking.

Felix only lifted his chin, glaring down at her from above. "You're right. I don't. And neither do I care." His eyes gleamed with a wicked zeal as he regarded Satiana's trembling form.

"Alright, that's it," Sylvain stood up from his seat, gaze bouncing back and forth between the two, sweat dripping down his forehead. "You both need to calm down."

"Oh, trust me, Sylvain. I'm perfectly calm right now," Satiana drawled, stone-faced, but the death grip she held on the knife said otherwise. "Because if I weren't, he wouldn't be alive right now."

Sylvain winced at the threat in her words, and he swallowed loud enough for the two of them to hear.

Felix barked out a short laugh. "So in the end, you resort to violence. Just like the animal you are."

Okay, that's it.

Her eyes twitched violently, and her primitive instincts zapped into overdrive. Before she could stop herself, she felt her hand with the knife trailing forward towards Felix's smug face. Time seemed to stop as Sylvain yelled out something, raising his arm to block the attack while Felix's hand slid to the hilt of his sword, eyes gleaming dangerously. She gritted her teeth, biting her tongue hard as she lunged toward him…

And tilted the knife's edge downwards, slamming it into the table with a resounding thud.

Burning blue eyes met steely brown in a tense standoff as the restaurant lapsed into silence. Most of the customers had already fled the scene, leaving the three in the corner, gauging each other's reactions. Sylvain slowly dropped his arm, eyes still bulging wide in confusion. Felix's hand remained on the hilt of his sword as he judged the situation with his narrowing glare. Satiana let the grueling silence drag on for several agonizing seconds before releasing her knife grip.

She straightened her back, eyes staring unflinchingly into Felix's smoldering gaze as she lowered her arms to hang limply by her side. "You really do have a talent at ruffling someone's feathers, don't you, Felix?" her voice was steady, expression blank.

Felix slowly shifted his posture, lowering his grip on his sword. "Hmph."

Sylvain stood awkwardly to the side, sweating bullets as he waited patiently for the tension in the room to dissipate.

"You did it on purpose," Satiana stated flatly. "You wanted me to take that knife and shove it to your throat."

Felix didn't respond.

"You wanted me to prove your suspicions correct, that I am nothing but a lowly beast who kills for survival — for pleasure," Satiana continued her ramble, raising her voice with each additional word. "You wanted me to kill you, Felix. What the fuck were you thinking?"

Felix's expression shifted slightly.

"Are you crazy?!" Satiana was completely livid now, burning blue eyes puncturing him with white-hot embers wrapped in smoke. "What were you going to do if I really tried to slice your head off? Huh? You know I'm faster than you. If I were serious, you wouldn't have been able to react in time."

He opened his mouth on reflex to respond, but Satiana refused to give him room.

Satiana clenched her fists, shaking in unrestrained fury. "I could've killed you! Do you realize that?"

"Satiana…" It was barely a shadow of a breath, but she heard Sylvain whispering her name.

There was something solid in Satiana's throat, and she didn't know what to do with the feeling rising inside her. It's what she imagined it must be like to watch a tsunami come towards you, a violently intense rush of every emotion all at once: terror, sorrow, anger, but also gratitude. She was sure it would've paralyzed her if Felix's thoughtless actions were not the catalyst.

"You're insane, you know that?" Her throat squeezed, her voice sounding extremely strangled and weak. It made her feel pathetic, and she wanted nothing more than to run away from it all, hide under the covers of her bed, and scream to the heavens above.

"But you didn't," Felix finally found his voice again, and it was much softer than she would've expected.

She stared blankly at him. "What?"

"You didn't try to kill me," Felix repeated, eyes now blazing with an emotion Satiana could not identify. "You picked up that knife. Responded to my taunts. But you didn't plunge it into my throat."

Satiana waited, feeling that there was more to come, and met Felix's gaze calmly. She exhaled heavily, rustling the messy strands that escaped from her ponytail.

"As I said, I can't trust you. So I can only judge you with my own eyes. And this was what I came up with after a long night of contemplation," Felix continued.

Satiana found herself letting loose a short, dry laugh. "You mean this suicidal act of yours?"

Felix snorted. "You overestimate yourself. I could've easily blocked your attack."

"Felix, now is not the time to be rubbing your own ego. You and I both know that if I were serious, you would've well been on your way to the other world already—"

"But you weren't serious. You were acting on emotional instinct. A weak blow as that would've never landed."

"But still, you were being incredibly reckless! You can't just throw your life away to figure out my true intentions like that!"

"Don't flatter yourself. I wasn't throwing my life away for the sake of someone like you. I acted accordingly with an objective in mind."

"Okay, hold up!" Sylvain finally yelled out loud. He stomped over towards Satiana and held his arms out between the two. "Can someone explain to me what's going on here? Are you two actually on good terms or not? Because I thought you two were fighting for a second there, but now I'm not too sure anymore."

Another moment of silence. Satiana felt her head cooling down after Sylvain's interference, and her body slumped back onto the chair. She buried her head into her palms, closing her eyes tightly. Satiana wondered if the dark sky outside the window could blow it all away — the aching sorrow and guilt.

"You know what?" She finally mustered out after prolonging the silence for a few seconds. "Forget it. Do whatever you want. I'm too tired to care anymore."

She heard the sound of clothes rustling and peeked wearily through the gaps of her fingers. Felix sat back down onto the chair, crossing his arms comfortably against his chest. Sylvain still stood awkwardly between the two.

"Tell them all the truth. That I'm an assassin," Satiana continued, voice utterly devoid of emotion. "That I'm a cold-blooded killer. Whatever the hell you want to tell them, just do it. At least it's better than me having to kill another innocent person to keep their mouths shut."

She felt a hand patting her on the shoulder and slowly lifted her head up to meet Sylvain's warm brown orbs, swirling with pity and hurt.

"Satiana, talk to us," Sylvain said with a frown. He bent down slightly, staring straight into her quavering orbs. "At this rate, we're never getting anywhere. This cycle of suspicion won't end unless you tell us what's going on with you. I know you're not a bad person from the small amount of time I've spent with you."

Satiana felt the familiar stinging sensation creeping up to her eyes, and she forced it down with sheer will.

"Please, Satiana. You're just hurting yourself the more you hide the truth from everyone," Sylvain pleaded, shaking her lightly with his hands.

Normally, she'd laugh. Brush off Sylvain's sappiness with sarcasm or teasing because really, who was Sylvain to talk about being truthful when he himself hid under a pile of masks? But her lungs won't listen to her. She's at war with herself, and her autonomic nervous system and vital organs have allied with her heart instead of her brain. Because no matter what she tells herself to sleep at night, that she deserves to feel crushed under the overwhelming guilt as punishment for her ignorance, she does want this. The relief that comes with showing who she really is to others.

"There's no going back the moment I tell you who I am," Satiana whispered into her hands. "Not only for me but for you as well. Are you sure you want to hear my story?"

Satiana knows the both of them won't listen to her pleas, but she feels obligated to give them one last chance to jump the rapidly-sinking-while-simultaneously-exploding ship that is Satiana Eisner.

Felix snorted. "We've already come this far. Just hurry up and tell us already. If you won't, my hands may slip one day, and you'll find yourself killed before you can face my old man."

Sylvain seated himself down, folding his hands behind his head with a wry smile. "Don't worry. I'll keep an eye on him, so he doesn't accidentally kill you. Just spill it all out. It'll make you feel better," he goaded her on.

Satiana drew in a long, unsteady breath, clenching and unclenching her fists. Exhaled again. Stilled herself. Counted down to three. Then, she lifted her head.

Fuck it. Here goes.

"How much have you told him?" she posed the question at Felix, eying him with weary eyes.

"Almost everything that you told me. That you are an assassin working for my father," Felix summarized. "But I didn't tell him you were investigating the Tragedy of Duscur."

Sylvain's eyes widened. He spun his head towards Satiana. "The Tragedy of Duscur? That's somehow involved with whatever it is that's bothering you?"

Satiana nodded stiffly. She fidgeted with her fingers, wobbling her feet as she tried to shake off any remnants of anxiety left inside of her. "Yes. To be more exact, it's not that the Tragedy is involved with me, but more like I myself am involved in the Tragedy."

Sylvain's forehead creased, nose crinkled in confusion. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"What I mean is…" Satiana paused as she chewed over her lips. "I'm directly involved in that incident."

"You mean you were there on that day? At the Duscur plains?" Sylvain's eyes widened even further.

"We already heard from Dimitri that you're a victim of that incident," Felix scowled. "What we want to know is how that led to you working for my father."

"I lied to him," Satiana stated bluntly.

"About what exactly?" Felix narrowed his eyes.

Satiana glanced away from his pointed gaze. "That I'm a victim. I'm not from one of the villages near Duscur. Hell, I'm not even from Fodlan, to begin with."

That remark caught both of their interest, and Sylvain shared a look with Felix.

"And yet I was there at Duscur on that fateful day. Why do you think so?" She threw a question at them, waiting impatiently for their answer.

Realization dawned, and with it horror — Felix practically threw himself out of his chair, slamming his hands on the table while Sylvain's jaws dropped at the suggestion. Felix backed away, putting some distance between him and Satiana as he shook his head with disbelief.

"You…You're not actually telling me that you…" Felix slowly raised his index finger, trembling at the damning realization.

Sylvain's mouth might have been moving, but no words were coming out.

Satiana glanced at the both of them, then smiled cynically. "It's exactly what you think. I'm not a victim of that incident. In fact, it's the complete opposite." She paused, taking in another deep breath.

There's no going back from now on.

"I'm one of the perpetrators of the incident."

Chapter Text

[White Clouds]

Edge of the Storm

Satiana told them everything. There was no holding back once the worst of it was out. Sylvain thought she was joking about being the perpetrator and really, who could blame him? She recounted the details of her life in Caldea and the experiment facility. She took extra care to provide vivid stories leading up to the point where she was thrown into the battlefield of Duscur and stunned them into silence. To her surprise, they listened intently without interjecting and didn't move to report her to the authorities.

At least, that was a good start. It was when her story finished that things rolled rapidly downhill again.

"So let me get this straight," Sylvain started, staring stupidly at her with wide eyes like a gaping Teutates loach. "You're an orphan from Caldea who somehow got kidnapped by a bunch of creepy mages that decided to perform some weird crest experiments on you. They threw you into some arena to fight for your life, trained you to become assassins, then basically told you to go kill the king because why not?"

Satiana flinched at the bluntness of his words. She knew how ridiculous it all seemed, but hearing it straight out of Sylvain's mouth oddly made it sound even more absurd. "You asked for the whole truth, and I gave it to you," Satiana replied, keeping her voice steady. "It's up to you how you take it."

"I don't believe it," Felix muttered, shaking his eyes in disbelief. "It sounds so…so out of touch with reality." He genuinely looked lost for once, and Satiana would've teased him for it if only the situation weren't so dire and grim.

Satiana shot him a wry smile. "I hope I don't sound too cynical for saying this, but you two were born nobles. You have no idea how the rest of the commoners live on the streets. Minus the experimenting part, there are a lot of poor children out there who resort to underhanded means to make a living. Like thievery, for example." She folded her hands neatly on the table. "My story only sounds so special and unique to you guys because you haven't seen it with your own eyes. The empty streets. The starving children. The cries for help. We don't have any other choice than to do whatever it takes to survive."

She paused for dramatic effect, exhaling loudly. "If I didn't meet Jeralt, perhaps I would've shoved that knife into your throat, Felix."

Felix's weary eyes slowly met hers.

"Actually, I'm sure I would've done it. The me before I met Jeralt was no different than what you described me as: a beast craving for blood to survive," Satiana breathed a laugh, her inner cynic trying to burst forth. "That's why I was so angry. Because you were speaking nothing but the undeniable truth."

Sylvain frowned. "Satiana, you had no choice. If you really lived the life you told us, it wouldn't be surprising if you ended up that way."

"Sorry, but I don't need any consolation," Satiana's gaze flickered up to meet pity-filled brown orbs. "I've heard enough of those sweet lies from Jeralt and Byleth. Nothing will ever change the fact that I committed atrocious acts with my own hands, and I will bear the pain and guilt until the day I die," she spoke sternly, eyes blazing with determination.

Then, she placed her hands on her knees and bowed her head down in front of the two. "Please give me some time. After I'm done repaying my debts to Jeralt and sir Rodrigue, I'll gladly accept whatever punishment awaits. But right now, there is something important I have to do, even if it costs me this worthless life of mine."

"Woah, Satiana! You don't need to bow your head down to us," Sylvain raised his voice as he floundered in his seat, waving his hands in the air. "We're not going to turn you in. Right, Felix?" He turned to his friend for help, pleading with his eyes.

As expected, Felix ignored the silent pleas. He fixed his gaze on the top of Satiana's head, a complicated whirlwind of emotions rising up his chest. He chewed over a thought, eyes gleaming with genuine curiosity. "What is it that you need to do?" he eventually asked, voice calm and collected.

Satiana lifted her head, blue eyes smoldering with white embers underneath the silvery moonlight. "I asked for death when Jeralt found me lying on the ground, but he refused. Then, I asked your father for punishment, but he gave me a chance to redeem myself. Now, there's only one thing I want from the bottom of my heart: to deliver justice on those wicked ones laughing in the dark at Fodlan's miseries." She clenched her fists, voice trembling with deep emotion. "I'm tired of being helpless — of being nothing but an ignorant puppet on a string. I want to act on my own accord from now on. Fight for what I believe is the right thing to do."

There was a lull in the conversation after Satiana's proclamation. They lapsed in silence, the quietness blanketing their atmosphere.

Felix stared at Satiana with a tight lump wedged in his throat. He didn't know if he was still shocked, mad, or upset at the realization resting heavily on his shoulders, crushing the air from his lungs. If Satiana's story was true, Felix was sitting across what should've been the bane of his existence — one of the people involved in the incident that killed his brother, turned his best friend into a savage beast, and destroyed his relationship with his father. There was nothing to forgive about it, and if Satiana had started crying in tears, begging for mercy, he would've stood up and stabbed the sword into her neck.

But she didn't. Again, she defied all of his expectations, turned his world upside down with her declarations, and made him feel uncomfortable under those captivating blue eyes with so much clarity and sincerity.

Because no matter how much he barraged her with spiteful remarks and accusations, she was determined to live with them all in the end.

His mind felt blank. There were so many words he had prepared in his head to say to the perpetrators of the Duscur Tragedy one day — so many sentences he had tried out and moved around and changed and rephrased until he finally thought he had found the perfect things to say. But now that he was in the situation, they all sounded childish and stupid. All the words, all the sentences, had disappeared entirely from his head.

"What is it that you need to do?" was all he came up with after fumbling in silence.

He was surprised at the lack of bitterness in his tone following her confession, but perhaps, he should've accepted that conclusion. For some reason, despite all that they had been through the past few days, he could never bring himself to villainize her fully. His bitterness was the driving force behind his moods and the tone in which he addressed anyone who spoke to him — and Satiana was someone who somehow managed to rile him up every time. Whether it was her sword, her kind demeanor at times, or the small glimpses of darkness he saw underneath it all. Everything about her ticked him off.

But he was rendered mute every single time without fail by the sincerity and desperation in her voice. And now, he finally began to understand why — why she managed to get under his skin each time.

Sylvain mentioned once that she somehow reminded him of Felix. Of course, he would rather die than admit it, but Sylvain's words were starting to ring true. After hearing her proclamation, her reason to live, fight, and continue striving — it resonated with something deep inside of him.

It was like watching himself; her struggling pathetically against the tides of fate, fighting a lonely battle against no one but herself and the past that haunted her every move. But she moved forward — tried to move forward. Fought for the future, for the right thing to do, and for her own beliefs.

Perhaps it was time for him to yield and be honest about his true feelings. A small bud of respect was growing inside him and he could do nothing to stop it from taking root.

"Fine," he finally relented. "We won't report you to the authorities."

Sylvain's eyes widened, lips curving up into a smile. "I knew you'd come through for me, Felix!"

"Shut up, you idiot," Felix snapped back in annoyance.

Satiana visibly trembled, gasping as she covered her mouth with her hands. "A-Are you sure? You're not going to tell the others who I really am?" She was shaking in disbelief, eyes slightly damp at the corners.

Felix glanced away from the wistful look in her eyes. "No, but you'll have to tell them with your own mouth one day. Just like what you did today."

"I understand," Satiana quietly nodded, a tiny hint of a smile on her face. "Thank you for giving me a chance, Felix."

"Don't get me wrong. I'm not letting you off the hook yet," Felix scowled, glaring at her. "Make one wrong move, and you're done."

She nodded again. "Okay. That's already way more than I deserve."

Felix grunted in response, making no effort to continue the conversation. The rest of the dinner involved Sylvain and Satiana making small talk and discussing her next actions. At the same time, Felix sat quietly in his seat, feeling his stiffened muscles relaxing against the comfortable atmosphere.

The rest of the moon was spent peacefully compared to the first weeks she spent at the monastery. After telling Felix and Sylvain the truth, the two stopped eying her with suspicion, greatly relieving her stress. There were two fewer people she needed to keep an act in front of, and nothing could make Satiana happier. She spent the rest of her days sparring on the training grounds or reading books in the library. Before she knew it, the end of the moon came around.

And here they were, standing on top of the Red Canyon of Zanado. Climbing up the canyon was a long haul; steep cliffs surrounded the entire area, and one fatal mistake would've led to a damning fall down the edge. The rolling clouds could be seen up close from the high elevation of the canyon. After trekking up the spirals of staircases, the Blue Lions finally made it up to a large plateau.

A group of thieves stood with their weapons readied across the staircase doubling as a bridge connecting the different plateaus. Similarly, the central rocky plateau was connected to the north and east, leading to another patch of curved land. At the very far end of the canyon was the boss of the thieves, Kostas, the same guy Byleth and Satiana had fought against before.

"According to our information, there's a backroad to the west. Let's split up and approach from the west and the front," Dimitri suggested before turning to Byleth. "But I'll leave the final decision to you, professor."

Byleth stood stoically in front of the group, eying her enemies carefully. "From here on, it's going to be an uphill battle. Compared to us, the enemies have a longer attack range. They've got archers waiting on every bridge and a group of brigands protecting the archers."

"What do you suggest we do?" Satiana asked from the back of the group.

"For now, follow my lead," Byleth ordered as she began to walk forward. "Dedue, I want you right beside me as our tank. You're our main defense line. Annette, support us from behind with your magic. Ashe and Satiana, chip away at their defenses with your bow. As soon as we break through the first bridge, I want the rest of you to head straight toward the center. Don't rush the second bridge yet and hold our formation there."

"Understood," Dedue stoically responded, picking up his pace.

At Byleth's orders, the students shifted into position. The rest of the group followed Byleth, each readying their weapons while surveying their surroundings. As soon as Byleth reached the front of the staircase, a pair of brigands charged down. Her crest flared to life as she bounded forwards, slamming her sword vertically down, slashing through the opponent's armor. Dedue blocked the second brigand with his axe, knocking them backward at the impact. Right on cue, Annette summoned a wind spell, slicing the brigand's axe in half.

The two brigands screamed, collapsing to the ground in pain. Byleth stomped over their bodies, boots digging into their open wounds and one of the brigands screamed. She glanced briefly at him with a cold look and drove her sword into his legs. "Ingrid, take care of the rest," she ordered sternly.

Ingrid paused, eyes widening as she stared down in horror at the brigand writhing in pain. "But isn't he already defeated, professor?" her voice trembled slightly at the torturous sight.

"It's kill or be killed on the battlefield, Ingrid. You must remember that well," Byleth flatly instructed before she continued forward onto the central plateau, leaving her students behind in a daze.

"I-I know that, but…" Ingrid muttered, hands quivering on her lance.

That moment of hesitation allowed the brigand to throw his hand axe at her. Fortunately, Dedue blocked the attack with his shield, and the axe rebounded off into the distance down the canyon below. An arrow whizzed past her head and landed straight into the brigand's forehead, killing him with one clean blow.

Satiana walked up to her, lightly patting her on the shoulder once. "If you aim to be a knight, don't look away from the horrors of the battlefield."

Ingrid nodded stiffly, still shaken by the attack. Unlike Ingrid, Felix confidently strode up to the remaining brigand and flicked his blade upwards, piercing the throat. The body fell limply, blood oozing out of the fresh wound. Without hesitation, Satiana and Felix moved forward, stepping over the innards of the corpses.

Annette's face paled bluish-green as she clasped a hand over her mouth. Mercedes closed her eyes, looking away from the scene as she ambled up the stairs. Ashe gritted his teeth as he shot an arrow at the archer on the other side of the staircase, knocking him right in the head. Sylvain's gaze sharpened as he followed the rest of the students.

They regrouped in the center as three brigands charged from the left while two thieves darted towards them from the front.

"Professor! What should we—" Dimitri asked for assistance, but before he could finish his sentence, Byleth and Satiana were already rushing forward.

They shared a knowing look and parted in different directions without another word. Byleth sprinted towards the group of brigands while Satiana headed towards the thieves.

"Damn you!" The group leader of brigands screamed as he raised his axe high. But Byleth was faster, and before he could drive the head of the axe down, Byleth's sword had already pierced through his stomach. She twisted the hilt, sending a blood-curdling scream into the air before she slammed her knee into the brigand, sending his body flying over the edge, falling to his death.

Her war-trained senses tingled, and she ducked, narrowly dodging a horizontal slice from the other brigand. She drove her sword into the brigand's feet, knocking him off his feet as she shoved him towards the last brigand. Their bodies collided with one another, falling unceremoniously to the ground, groaning in pain.

On the opposite end of the battlefield, Satiana switched to her twin blades and swerved through the thieves with lightning speed. She slid to a halt behind them, and before they could turn their heads around to face their looming death, she cleanly sliced both of their heads off with one flick of her wrists. Blood spurt out of the headless corpses, the bodies falling to the ground with a thud. The remaining archer screamed as he released the arrow in her direction. She raised her right arm and parried the arrow, sending it bouncing down the cliff's edge.

"C-Curse, you monster!" The archer screamed as his vision flared red, sword piercing right into his eyeballs. Without mercy, Satiana used her strength to fling the archer off the cliff. His haunting wail echoed through the canyon, sending shivers down the rest of the students' spines.

Dimitri stared dumbstruck at the scene in front of him, the rest of the Blue Lions following suit as they stood frozen stiff. Byleth casually turned her head around to meet their lost gazes. She jerked her chin downwards at the two brigands lying below her.

"Ashe, Mercedes, you two finish them off," she ordered.

"Y-Yes ma'am," Ashe stammered as he stepped forward. He raised his bow, gripping the handle so tightly until his palms bled. Then, he shut his eyes as he let the arrow go. It soared through the air, piercing the brigand's chest, silencing his pumping heartbeat. "I'm so sorry…but it would've been me if not you," he softly muttered.

Mercedes swallowed loudly, tears pricking the edge of her eyes as she cast a fire spell. "Goddess, please forgive me…" she whispered as the fireball flew through the air, landing on the other brigand. The blast engulfed her foe, and a series of heart-wrenching screams reverberated through the canyon. She choked on her breath as the brigand finally fell silent, the flames dying out, revealing a completely charred corpse.

Byleth took a moment to judge the situation, eyes narrowing at the group of thieves huddling across the plateau. Unlike before, they stopped charging recklessly at the students, playing more defensively as they tried to protect their leader from harm. "From now, we will break into two groups. Dimitri, Ashe, Dedue, and Mercedes. You four follow me to the west bridge. Satiana, you take Felix, Sylvain, Ingrid, and Annette across the bridge to the front. We'll pincer them from both sides."

"Got it," Satiana barked a reply before she spun around to face her troop. "So, for now, you guys follow my orders. Is that alright with you?"

Felix grunted. "As if we have any other choice."

Sylvain's expression tightened. "You're the one with the most battle experience out of us. It's only right to trust your orders."

Ingrid nodded, grip tightening on her lance. "I…I won't hesitate this time. Please, tell me what I should do."

Annette exhaled shakily. "I'll try my best to support you," she answered weakly, clasping her hands together in anxiety.

Satiana nodded in understanding. Then, she peered over the bridge, narrowing her eyes at the shadows moving underneath. "Annette, on my mark, I want you to cast a wind spell over the cliff. Try to aim it towards the right. I believe someone is waiting to ambush us underneath the bridge."

"O-Okay!" she stammered as she raised her hand, magic flowing in her palms. The wind violently swirled around them, gathering into an orb in front of Annette.

"As soon as Annette launches the first blow, I want Sylvain in the front. Ingrid and Felix, hide behind him and wait for the thieves to attack before you parry their blows. Unlike before, these thieves are carrying swords, not axes. It shouldn't be a problem for you two," Satiana barked. Then, she glared at the bridge. "Ignore the archer hiding in the shadows. I'll catch him off guard."

The four students nodded curtly in response. On her signal, Annette released a slice of wind towards the bridge. The attack landed on the ground beside the bridge, sending large debris into the air. Surprised by the sudden attack, the archer underneath the bridge scrambled out of the shadows, head spinning in various directions as he tried to catch his bearings.

"Now!" Satiana yelled as Sylvain charged.

As planned, Sylvain thrust his lance into the first thief. "Don't blame me for this," Sylvain scowled, withdrawing the lance. The thief coughed out blood, falling to his knees.

The second thief moved to cover for his fallen comrade, raising his blade high, but Felix rushed out from behind Sylvain, blocking the blow with his sturdy swing. He scoffed in annoyance, slicing upwards, tearing through the man's upper torso and neck. "A bunch of weaklings. How disappointing."

From behind him, Ingrid drove her lance into the remaining thief's forehead, busting open his skull. This time, her grip remained steady as she yanked the blade out of his head, sending his lifeless body toppling down to the ground. "I won't hesitate this time…!" she muttered to herself. Then, from the corner of her eye, she spotted movement from the right. The end of an arrow pointed in her direction. "Ah…!" she yelped in surprise, preparing to dodge when a blur of black rushed past her.

Satiana leaped onto the edge of the bridge, gathering her strength in the soles of her feet before she practically jumped off the staircase, flying through the air. She barrel-rolled onto the other end of the cliff, catching the archer completely off-guard.

"What the hell? How did you get over here—" the archer let loose a piercing scream as the end of her sword sliced through his arm. His weapon fell to the ground with a clatter. He groaned in pain, clutching his bleeding arm as he backed away, eyes wide with horror. "D-Don't come closer!"

Satiana glared directly into his face, sneering loudly. "Perhaps you should've listened to your victims as well." She spun around on her heels, and with a roundhouse kick, her boots landed on the archer's head, sending his body hurtling over the edge. She grunted, sauntering back towards the rest of the group. They stared dumbfounded at her. An eyebrow arched upwards as she tilted her head to the side. "What? Did I do something?"

"What do you mean do something? You j-just…you jumped off the bridge!" Sylvain sputtered, shaking his head in disbelief. "What the hell was that?!"

Satiana blinked. "I just took a shortcut to reach the enemy. What else should I have done?"

"I don't know, maybe walk with your feet? Like every other normal human being?" Sylvain lifted his right foot up, pointing at it with his lance. "You're insane, I swear."

"Y-You really gave me the scare there, Satiana!" Annette screeched, clutching her face in horror. "I thought you were going to dive to your death."

"I have to admit. Even I didn't expect that move from you," Felix snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. "Sometimes, I can't tell if you're really a human being."

Satiana rolled her eyes at him. "Ah, yes. I think we've already established you have an animal fetish, Felix."

He sputtered, face flaming red in anger as her words sank in. "W-What?! How dare you—"

"Alright, stop! We're still in battle, okay?" Ingrid moved between the two, glaring behind Felix's head. "Two brigands and an archer spotted!"

"So, what did you think of your performances today?"

Byleth leaned her back against the podium in the classroom as she addressed her students. She crossed her arms over her chest, eyes flickering through the crowd of students, most with their heads hanging low or fidgeting with some imaginary piece of lint on their clothing.

The mood inside the room had plummeted to a new low. As soon as they returned from their mission, Byleth called for an emergency meeting and gathered her students for an impromptu lecture. She didn't give them time to return to normal from their high-alert state, forcing them to join the session while memories of their first battle remained fresh in their minds.

Really, she lived up to her nickname — Ashen Demon.

"I…believe many things could've gone better," Dimitri's clear voice cut through the tension in the room like a knife. "You probably realized this already, but many of us hesitated in front of our foes. We should've…acted with more haste." He spoke vaguely despite the confident tone of his voice. "We won't disappoint you next time, professor."

"I…I'm sorry, professor," Ingrid apologized from her seat behind Dimitri. "I should've acted according to your orders. I almost put my life — Dedue's life on the line with my mistake."

Dedue sneaked a worried glance at her, a frown deepening on his stoic face.

"I understand that we had to kill them. They pillaged and destroyed a bunch of villages. But, maybe they had no other choice to do so," Ashe spoke through clenched teeth, voice trembling. "I-I'm sorry, professor. But I can't wrap my head around the idea of killing them. Maybe we could've helped them somehow."

Mercedes clutched her hands together, placing her forehead on her fists. "It was my first time killing someone. I don't know if I can do it again, to be honest."

"But we did what we had to, Mercie," Annette consoled her friend, lightly patting Mercedes's shoulder. "Don't think too much about it."

"I have to be honest, I'll never get used to the feeling of impaling someone with my lance," Sylvain commented from the back of the room, eyes boring holes into the ceiling. His arms dangled lifelessly over the edge of the chair. "But I guess I'll have to change that somehow, huh?"

Felix scoffed, rolling his eyes. "If a small excursion of this level gets you all riled up this badly, I worry for the future of this class."

Satiana refused to comment. She stared at Byleth, eyes twinkling with realization. Byleth met her knowing gaze and nodded curtly, signaling her to speak. Satiana sighed, rubbing the back of her neck before she stood up from her seat. The sound of her chair rattling against the floor caught everyone's attention, and they turned their eyes in her direction.

"I don't think Byleth wants an apology from you guys. Instead, what she wants is for you to reflect on this battle. Remember the emotions you felt as you stood on the battlefield, holding a lethal weapon in hand. And decide for yourself what you'll fight for in the future. Am I right?" Satiana dragged her gaze towards the front of the room.

Byleth had a slight smile on her face as she nodded. She leaned off the podium, standing with her back straight in the middle of the room as she met the lost gazes of her students, one by one. "Perhaps things could've gone smoother. But for your first battle, you did plenty enough. As Satiana said, I want you guys to remember something from this battle."

She strolled down the aisle, hands behind her back. "As you continue on your journey at the academy, you will be faced with the harsh reality of this world. Sometimes, you might have to follow unreasonable orders from your commanders. Perhaps you might have to fight against someone you hold dear in your heart. Or maybe, you will be forced to kill just to survive. To protect the people that you care for. To protect this nation that you work for."

The students listened intently to her lecture, eyes sparkling with understanding.

"Whatever feeling it is lurking in your hearts, I hope it never goes away," Byleth declared, halting to a stop at the back of the room.

Dimitri's eyes widened in surprise. "Professor? What do you mean by that?"

Byleth met his weary gaze directly in the eye. "It's true that hesitation is deadly on the battlefield. You could lose your life over one mistake — perhaps lose your friend's life because of your reckless actions. However, if you do not hesitate, you are no different from an animal."

Felix perked his head up at Byleth's choice of words.

"And none of you are aiming to become beasts. Mindless puppets. Killing machines. Whatever you choose to do in the future, I am here to teach you that you are allowed to choose for yourself what path you shall take," Byleth confidently spoke, raising her voice slightly. "Rein in your hesitation and doubts on the battlefield, but do not forget to think about your actions. Do not turn your eyes away from the consequences of war. Learn from your experience so that you will not repeat the same mistakes again."

"Professor…" It was barely a shadow of a breath, but Dimitri's words were filled with admiration and newfound respect.

Byleth walked to the front of the classroom and clapped her hands once. "That is all for today. You all deserve a good night's rest. Your assignment for tonight is to write a reflection on what you could've done better. You are dismissed."

"Jeralt, you should've been there to see Byleth lecture the kids," Satiana spoke excitedly, beaming with delight. She shoved a piece of meat skewer down her throat, munching at the exquisite flavor, cheeks puffing outwards like a squirrel. "I feel so proud, like a mother watching her newborn child crawl for the first time!"

Satiana and Jeralt were having dinner in a small shop downtown. Unlike Renard, Jeralt was decent enough to avoid the taverns when meeting with her. Really, she wished Renard would learn a few tips from Jeralt about dealing with children younger than him.

Jeralt guffawed out loud, honey orbs filled with warmth as he patted Satiana on the head. "It's way too soon for you to be understanding how a mother feels. If Byleth heard you say that, she'd never let you live it down."

Satiana laughed, shaking her head. "Nah, you have to admit. Byleth has been getting softer around the edges lately." She placed the empty skewer down on the plate, gulping loudly. "Did I tell you how Byleth scared the students shitless when she started lecturing about knighthood and death on the battlefield for her first lesson?" Satiana rolled her eyes at the memory. "I swear that's just like her to ignore the mood in the room."

"I'm glad to hear that kid has been adjusting well to her life in the classroom," Jeralt snorted. "To be honest, I thought it was a lost cause. To imagine my daughter dealing with a bunch of noble brats in a school?" He shook his head in disbelief. "I'd rather have you teach the kids than Byleth."

"Who, me?" Satiana gaped, pointing at herself. "I can't teach for shit, Jeralt."

Jeralt shrugged. "You'd still be a better substitute than Byleth." Then, he grabbed the jug of beer on his table and chugged the contents down his throat. Sighing in satisfaction, he placed the glass back down. "Seriously though. You two have settled into the monastery way sooner than I expected."

Satiana hummed in thought, placing her head into her palms as she leaned on her elbow against the table. "I don't know. I guess I just kind of got used to it. Besides, the other kids aren't half-bad."

Jeralt arched his brow. "Hm? Have you made a few friends?"

Satiana's mind flickered back to her conversation with Felix and Sylvain, and she frowned. She fiddled with her glass of water, lips puckering. "I…don't know. I wouldn't call them friends."

Jeralt leaned his head comfortably to the side, placing his elbow on the table. "Why not?"

Satiana glanced off to the side, lips shifting in anxiety. "Well…it's not like we get along well. It's just that a few of them now know my true identity."

Jeralt's eyes widened. He straightened his posture immediately, gaze sharp on high alert. "What? Why did you tell them?" He harshly scolded her, burning glare making her flinch.

"I was being threatened," Satiana confessed bluntly, holding her hands in front of her innocently. "And there was nothing I could do about it. If I didn't tell them the truth, they might've sent me right to the authorities, and our hard work and effort would've gone to waste."

Jeralt sighed as he rustled his hair in frustration. "I knew it. I should've kept you away from the monastery. It was a dangerous decision to involve you," his voice was quiet and soft, brimming with regret.

Satiana frowned. "Jeralt, you wanted me here to accompany Byleth, and there was nothing wrong with that decision. Besides, this is sort of my fault. I wasn't acting discreetly enough, and they found out about my existence."

Jeralt glanced up at her. "How did the kids react?"

"For now, they promised not to report me to Rhea." Satiana folded her hands neatly on the table, nose crinkled. "They said they'd keep a close watch on me. See if I'm up to something nasty."

"And do you think you can trust them?" Jeralt narrowed his eyes with suspicion.

"Well…" Satiana trailed off as she gathered her thoughts together.

It had only been a week since she first stepped into the monastery, but Satiana felt as if she had already spent years at the place. Too much had happened in such a short amount of time, and if she were being honest with herself, she was utterly exhausted physically and mentally.

A week was certainly not enough time for her to get well acquainted with the rest of the students. Aside from Felix and Sylvain, she only exchanged a few words with Ingrid and Ashe. She avoided Dimitri and Dedue like the plague and never had the chance to join Annette and Mercedes in their tea sessions because she would only look out of place there. So, to answer Jeralt's question honestly, it would be no. She couldn't trust any of these students.

But it wasn't like she could blame them. Satiana herself was a walking time bomb, and associating herself with them would only backfire on her one day — just like how Felix and Sylvain forced their way through her barricade. She didn't want to trust them or get to know them better because she knew she had no future in the world they lived in. After all, she was doomed to live a life of solitude after paying for her crimes.

So what use was it to befriend them when she would only leave one day without looking back?

"I can't trust them. Not yet," Satiana replied bitterly. "Actually, I don't think I'll ever be able to trust them wholeheartedly. They're just normal kids. They don't deserve to be pulled into this nasty mess the adults caused," she laughed cynically with a wry smile.

Jeralt tapped his fingers against the table, eyes boring right into her soul, laying it bare with his keen insight. "So, it's not that you can't trust them. You're just choosing to avoid them from the start." His words were sharp, a bullet aimed right at the center of her heart.

Satiana closed her eyes tightly, gripping her hands hard until her palms turned pale white. "Jeralt, I'm just…afraid," the pain hidden in her heart spilled out from her lips, a concoction of fear, bitterness, and sorrow. "I felt relieved when I finally spilled the truth to two of the kids. I really did. They seemed amiable enough and reacted pretty well to my story. But I still…"

Jeralt exhaled lightly, eyes softening. "You don't think you deserve it. The chance I gave you. The chance sir Rodrigue gave you. The chance they gave you."

Satiana didn't respond. She kept her head hanging low, bangs casting a dark shadow over her face. "I spoke big words, you know? I told them to give me a chance because I had something I had to do, even if it cost me my life," she began softly. "That I was acting for some big cause. For world peace or whatever you want to call it. But that's not really it."

She sank deeper into herself, that swamp of self-loathing and guilt, a blackhole vast and crushingly destructive. "I was just trying to protect myself. Because if I don't struggle till the very end, how can I face the pile of corpses lying behind my back? How can I save myself from my own sins if I don't move forward?"

Her inner cynic burst forward, and she snorted. "Really, I don't even know if I'm trying to save people or save myself from my own dark past. I'm just a pathetic, selfish human being who survived by turning a blind eye to everything. And now I speak of some grandiose self-sacrificing plan when I'm really just afraid of being judged for the monster I am."

Jeralt silently listened to her rambles. He reached over to her head and carded his fingers through her hair, consoling her.

"I mean, think about it, Jeralt. It's already been four years, and what the hell have I ever accomplished? Destroyed a few corrupted noble houses, one experiment facility, and basically nothing after that. I'm just riding along with the tides of fate, failing to take action again. Nothing has changed from before. I'm still as useless as ever," Satiana mumbled, burying her head into her palms. Her breath hitched as she sighed shakily. "Fuck, I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. Just forget it. I'm acting like a spoiled brat again. I don't deserve to whine and complain when I should be facing my fears head first because I—"

"Then here's your chance," Jeralt suddenly interrupted her monologue and threw a piece of paper right at her sullen face.

Satiana yelped in surprise, the envelope smacking square on her face. It drooped slowly down to the table, fluttering in the air. Satiana clutched her nose and glared at Jeralt with a look of furious betrayal. "What the heck was that for?!"

Jeralt scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Well, you wouldn't stop rambling about stupid things, so I had to shut you up one way or the other." Then, he crowded closer to her, bending himself over the table. He gripped both of her shoulders and gave a heavy, warm squeeze like an anchor keeping her from floating to who-knows-where in that hellish land inside her head. Satiana shrank against the domineering look of pure ice Jeralt was giving her, unconsciously whimpering.

"Listen here, you brat. It's high time I start drilling this into your head. You need to forgive yourself. You can't change the past, and yes, you will continue to be haunted by the shadows for eternity until you breathe your last breath." He wasn't mincing his words, and Satiana swallowed loudly. "But that doesn't mean you should be undermining your own accomplishments. I don't know what you expected, but this incident you've embroiled yourself with is something even the goddamn Duke of Faerghus couldn't resolve. So stop being so harsh on yourself. You've done plenty enough."

He then flicked her on the forehead, huffing a sigh of annoyance. "Seriously, it's about time you become more confident in yourself. Who cares what other people think? You just need to do what you believe is right for yourself. That isn't selfish; it's called being human. Besides, compared to those selfish nobles out there who ruined the lives of many innocents, you're a thousand times better, alright?"

A shadow passed over Satiana's face. "Am I?"

"Yes," Jeralt insisted, his voice growing stronger. "And if you doubt that one more time, you'll have to face my lance." He tapped the table rapidly, catching her attention. "Now, read that letter already."

Satiana blinked, glancing down at the innocent envelope on the table. She ripped off the seal with a frown, flipping open the folded paper. She scanned the contents, eyes widening with each word. Her mouth dropped, and she stared at Jeralt, gobsmacked. "Uh, you're not being serious, are you?" Sweat glistened on her forehead, hands trembling nervously.

The glare Jeralt sent her way made her blood freeze. He was completely, utterly, deadly serious. Satiana rubbed her eyes, blinking rapidly as if she couldn't believe her eyes. "Holy fuck, Jeralt. This is…well…something," she commented lamely, eyes bouncing comically between Jeralt's stern face and the paper in her hands.

"It's been a while since we've caught wind of their actions. Maybe this will help cool your head down a bit," Jeralt grunted, reclining back into his chair. "Hurry up and get out there already." He jerked his head towards the exit of the restaurant. "You better leave before the Church catches wind of this."

"R-Right." Satiana stood up from her seat, placing her hand on the table for support as she wobbled onto her feet. She glanced back at Jeralt, the letter still in her hands. "You sure you're leaving this to me? What if I fuck this up real bad?"

"Even if you do, the church will just clean up the mess for you," Jeralt replied nonchalantly. "There's no pressure. Just think of it as a simple mission."

Satiana stared blankly at Jeralt with a funny look that screamed 'are you fucking kidding me,' but Jeralt ignored her, choosing to chug another glass of alcohol down his throat. He waved her off with his hand, shoo-ing her away from the scene, and Satiana treaded with heavy footsteps back to the monastery, sputtering complaints along the way.

Imperial Year 1180

Harpstring Moon - Day 26

Hey Buddy,

You will not believe what the heck I just witnessed at the Western Church, Jeralt. Holy fucking shit. You remember the creepy mages from Count Orderlia's mansion? A few of them showed up at the Western Church, and the priests gave them a ton of chests filled with these weird stones. I think they might be the crest stones that Satiana mentioned. I'm not sure, though.

What I do know is that they're planning some massive rebellion against the Central Church on the coming moon. Apparently, this noble named Lonato joined hands with them to take revenge on the Church. And guess what? This Lonato had a son who got executed for being involved in the Tragedy of Duscur. I hit the jackpot, didn't I, Jeralt? There's got to be something fishy going on here. Maybe the Church really was involved in the Tragedy.

Also, do you remember the name Arundel? I remember he was a noble from the Empire. He's been donating a lot of gold to the Western Church. They also mentioned that he gave them some stones. Jeralt, I think we just found the entrance to the Lion's Den.

So, what I mean is, I'm planning on trespassing into Lord Lonato's mansion to search for more clues. Perhaps he might know something about the Tragedy or the secret dealings between the Church and the Empire. Do you think you can spare me a few of your men? If you can, before the end of the moon, please. I want to end this quickly so I can go back to the monastery. How's that kid doing, by the way? Anyway, hope to hear from you soon, pal.

P.S. Do you know someone named Aelfric? He's a priest who wears this weird red set of clothing. He was associating himself with the priests in the Western Church, so maybe he's some spy of theirs.

Stay alive and well,

Renard

"Here you go," Mercedes spoke softly as she placed a cup of mint tea in front of Ashe and Ingrid.

The three of them were currently seated in the empty dining hall. It was already way past curfew, but none of them felt comfortable enough to return to their quarters after the events during the day. It wouldn't be surprising if nightmares plagued their rest; it was their first time killing someone with their own hands, after all. Being the kind-hearted woman she was, Mercedes offered to brew a soothing cup of herbal tea for the two restless ones who gratefully accepted her generous offer.

"Thank you, Mercedes," Ingrid smiled, picking up the cup immediately. She took a small sip, sighing in relief as the soothing warmth enveloped her, loosening the stiffened muscles in her body. She placed the cup gracefully back onto its platter. "You really do brew the greatest tea, Mercedes." The light slowly returned to her eyes as she stretched her arms above her head.

Mercedes chuckled, hiding her mouth behind her palms politely. "Oh, no. You flatter me. It's just a small hobby of mine." Then, she glanced at Ashe and noticed that he was staring down absentmindedly at his reflection. "Ashe? Is something the matter?" Mercedes asked with a small frown, her brows creasing with genuine worry.

Ashe jerked his head up, cheeks flushing red in a panic. "Oh! S-Sorry, I was lost in my thoughts for a second there, haha…" he laughed sheepishly, sweat dripping down his face.

Mercedes's eyes trembled with kindness as she lightly shook her head. "You have nothing to apologize for, Ashe. Today was a rough day for all of us. Please, help yourself to some more tea if it helps you relax."

"Thank you, Mercedes. I appreciate it," Ashe brightened up immediately, and grasped the cup with his hands.

He smoothed his palms over the edges of the cup, sinking into the waves of lulling warmth and serenity. Eventually, he held the cup up to his face, breathing in the heavenly scent of mint and other floral accents before taking a large sip. He lowered the cup to chest level, resting his elbow on his knees, lime green orbs softening as they trailed the small white wisps of smoke.

"Do you feel better now?" Mercedes asked.

Ashe found himself nodding, suddenly feeling a wave of exhaustion rush over him. The adrenaline from the battle finally depleted, and he found his head bobbing up and down, sleep threatening to steal his consciousness away. "Yes. I think my nerves have calmed down quite a bit now," his voice was steady and calm, unlike before.

Mercedes clapped her hands together, beaming. "That's great to hear!"

Ingrid exhaled lightly, closing her eyes as she remembered back to the morning's events. "I need to get it together. My performance earlier simply would not do. I need to be stronger if I wish to be a proud knight," she uttered out, voice steady and stern.

Ashe met her burning gaze and nodded meekly. "I agree with you, Ingrid. I also found myself hesitating far too often for my liking. To be a knight, I must learn to act in a more composed manner."

Mercedes frowned, tilting her head to the side. "But the professor told us to take it easy. We shouldn't be so hard on ourselves. Next time, we can do better. I'm certain of it."

"I guess you're right." Ingrid shot a wry look in Mercedes's direction. She laced her fingers together on her lap and sighed for the umpteenth time that evening. "I still remember the look on the enemy's face, how the light disappeared from their eyes. The glares of hatred directed my way. My head understands that we only did what was right, but it still hurts to see such contempt towards us."

Ashe nodded in understanding, his smile drooping downwards into a frown. "My hand trembled the entire time on my bow. It would've been nice if we could find another way to resolve our differences."

Mercedes looked crestfallen as she pondered over Ingrid's and Ashe's thoughts. "I…to be honest, the moment I faced the burnt corpse of the enemy, my mind went completely blank."

"I can imagine so." Ingrid lifted her head to meet Mercedes's solemn face. "I believe we all experienced the same complicated feelings today. But as the professor said, we need to learn from this experience and grow stronger. Become accustomed to the feeling."

Ashe and Mercedes nodded in agreement.

The wind started howling outside the dining hall, sending the doors rattling. Mercedes blinked, turning her head to peer outside the window. "Oh my, perhaps we will have a rainstorm tomorrow. We should head back to our dormitory now."

"You're right. Today has been a long day. We need to rest up well for tomorrow's lessons," Ingrid replied, scooting out of her seat.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Ashe suddenly spoke up. He reached behind his back and touched the steel bow hanging on the strap around his chest. "I haven't put my weapons away yet," he laughed sheepishly.

Ingrid and Mercedes shared a brief look before they launched into a snickering fit.

"Oh dear, how could you forget something so important as that?" Ingrid shook her head in disbelief, eyes twinkling with amusement.

Ashe blushed madly, his cheeks dusting red. He groaned, puckering his lips out. "I-I don't know how it completely slipped my mind! I should hurry and return to my room now. I need to sharpen the arrows before tomorrow's practical lesson too." He hurriedly jolted out of his seat, scrambling towards the exit, sweatdropping along the way.

True to Mercedes's words, the clouds turned tar-black, blending in with the stygian darkness. Ashe frowned and quickened his pace, sprinting down the stairs towards the fishing pond. Alone in the open grounds, he was only accompanied by the wind whispers that seemed to blow stronger than earlier, creating a spooky atmosphere. He shivered slightly at the sudden coldness and rubbed his arms unconsciously.

Light drops of rain began to pour down on him from above, and he gasped. "Oh, no! I can't risk getting sick now!" He muttered to himself as he sprinted to the right, rounding the corner towards the commoner's dormitory. He lightly jogged up the small staircase, taking care not to slip on the puddles plinking as the rainfall grew heavier.

Soon enough, he reached the front of his dorm room. A shadowy figure stood outside his door, and he paused underneath the roof, squinting his eyes in the darkness. Lime-green irises flashed against deep blue, and he gaped. "S-Satiana? What are you doing out here?" he raised his voice over the thundering storm.

Satiana sighed in relief as soon as she spotted him. "Thank goodness. You're still awake, Ashe."

"Did you need something? Oh, hold on, let me open the doors to my room." Ashe walked over to his door, searching for the keys in his pockets before he suddenly froze. He gasped, ears turning slightly red at the realization, half from the cold air and half from embarrassment. "W-Wait, I didn't mean anything weird by that! I just wanted to invite you in so that we can talk in a, well, warmer environment!" He sputtered, the keys jingling in his hands as he almost dropped them in a panicked frenzy.

Satiana chuckled at his antics. "Ashe, calm down. I understand what you mean. But really, this won't take long at all. There's just something I need to ask you."

Ashe blinked. "Did something happen?"

"Yes." Satiana nodded sternly, the smile wiped off her face as her expression tightened ominously. "As you know, I used to be a mercenary. And well…" she trailed off, gaze wavering. "I just received a foreboding letter from a friend I know who lives in Gaspard."

Ashe's brows shot upwards to the sky, eyes widening with interest. "Gaspard? You know someone from the Gaspard territory?"

Satiana nodded stiffly in response. She placed a hand on her arm, turning her head away from his waiting gaze. For some reason, watching her nervous actions made Ashe straighten his posture. It put him on edge, the way she mentioned the Gaspard territory and how her friend's letter somehow involved him.

Combined with the raging storm around them, Ashe had a bad feeling about it all. His stomach felt queasy underneath her quivering gaze, and he gulped loudly in anxiety. "Uh, Satiana? What's wrong?" His voice lowered, turning to a more serious tone as he regarded the way Satiana flinched.

"Ashe, I don't know how to tell you this…" she started, voice drowning in the sound of rainstorm. "The letter I received from my friend. It was about an odd rumor surrounding Lord Lonato."

Ashe's heart skipped a beat. "L-Lord Lonato? What about him?"

Satiana's eyes flashed as a bolt of lightning struck the monastery grounds, adding to the tense air permeating the two. "It appears that he's planning a rebellion against the Central Church."

Ashe didn't know what to do. His mind went blank, a pure white sheet — the sound of raindrops reduced to a muffled, buzzing hum over the distance as he zoned out of reality. His brain had short-circuited and malfunctioned completely. The panic and horror inside him swelled up, a snowball gathering momentum down a mountainside, and he gasped, feeling the air knocked out of his lungs.

He was distraught, unable to function or succumb to anything other than mind-crushing despair.

"I-I don't understand. Aren't you just mistaken? Lord Lonato would never do something so…so horrible!" Ashe screamed, his voice cutting through the rainstorm around him, piercing Satiana's ears. He trembled, muffling a choked sob with his hands. "S-Something must be wrong. I won't believe you!"

"Then come with me," Satiana blurted out.

Ashe coughed loudly once, then twice. "W-What?" His eyes widened with disbelief.

Satiana stepped closer, filling Ashe's vision with nothing but her sharp, blazing gaze underneath the moonlight and crackle of thunder. Her eyes glimmered, face contorted into one of sudden confidence and resolution.

She moved her mouth to speak again, and her clear voice stole away his breath.

"Ashe. Come with me to Gaspard."

Chapter Text

[White Clouds]

Cloudy Days

"Professor, have you adjusted to life in the monastery?" Rhea smiled at Byleth, eyes brimming with warmth. "I heard you performed exceptionally well yesterday at Zanado."

"I only did what I had to," Byleth responded, the usual blank expression plastered on her face.

"You underestimate your abilities, professor," Rhea laughed. "I heard that some of your students hesitated to deal with the bandits. It is unfortunate, but we must punish those who have strayed from the teachings of Seiros for their sins." She exhaled, shaking her head in disapproval. "Those bandits have been causing us much trouble so I would like to offer you my gratitude for taking care of them for us."

"...I only did what I had to," Byleth repeated awkwardly, expression tightening at Rhea's words. "Why have you called for me today?"

"Oh, of course," Rhea blinked, her sunny smile darkening into a storm-like simper. "Seteth, if you would do the honors," she ordered, nodding at Seteth, who took a step forward.

He placed his arms behind his back, glaring into Byleth's eyes with hostility for some unknown reason. "We have received reports that Lord Lonato has rallied troops against the Holy Church of Seiros."

"And why would he do that?" Byleth mused.

"Lord Lonato is a minor lord of the Kingdom. He has been showing hostility toward the church for some time now," Rhea replied vaguely.

"A vanguard unit from the Knights of Seiros is already on its way to his stronghold, Castle Gaspard. Lord Lonato's army is nothing compared to the knights. It is quite possible the rebellion has already been suppressed," Seteth continued explaining.

"I would like for your class to travel with the knights' rear guard to deal with the aftermath," Rhea ordered.

"War zones are unpredictable. We do not expect you will have cause to battle, but prepare for the worst." Seteth crossed his arm, narrowing his eyes at Byleth.

Byleth ignored his blatant look of distaste, choosing to focus her attention on more important matters. Of course, Byleth had read the letter from Renard beforehand. Jeralt had warned her that the church would most likely send her to Gaspard for the upcoming moon. His direct orders were to hold back from joining the battle until as late as possible — bind time for Renard and Satiana to finish their mission.

And she would do just that. Because choosing between following the Church or her father was a simple decision to make.

From behind, the sound of footsteps broke her out of a daze. She glanced over her shoulder, analyzing the newcomer with her sharp gaze. The blonde-haired woman met her gaze with confidence, striding up beside Byleth with her chest held up high.

"Excuse me. You sent for me, Lady Rhea?" The woman spoke, voice deep and filled with the utmost respect for Rhea.

"This is Catherine. She will lead the knights whom you will accompany," Rhea introduced, lips contorting up into a warm smile once again.

Catherine turned to Byleth, holding a hand out in front of her. "Nice to meet you. We've heard a lot about you. If you need anything, just ask," she greeted.

Byleth nodded stiffly, returning the handshake. "Likewise."

"She is one of our bravest knights, and that is no small feat. Only an exceptional few have what it takes to join the Knights of Seiros," Rhea proclaimed. Then her voice dropped a notch, eyes narrowing imperceptibly. "This mission should prove useful in demonstrating to the students how foolish it would be to turn their blades on the church."

Byleth's brows arched up, curious at the sudden change in demeanor. "What do you mean by that?"

Rhea blinked. "Pardon?"

Byleth returned her confused gaze with a pointed stare. "I am just curious. Why would this Lord Lonato turn his blade against the church? From what I know of him, he was quite the devoted believer until… four years ago, if I remember correctly. Perhaps he had a valid reason to rebel against the church. Would it not be in our best interest to figure out his intentions and motives?"

It was like someone cast a warp spell underneath her feet because the moment she finished her question, the temperature in the room plunged below zero. If someone told her it was the middle of winter, Byleth would've believed it because the look Seteth was giving her was pure ice. There was a lull in the conversation, during which she seemed to understand that she had reached a point of no return, and an anxious miasma settled over the room.

"There is no need to figure out the intentions of a devious man who has strayed from the teachings of Seiros, professor." Seteth seethed with unrestrained anger, the hostility breaking free, civility flying out the windows. "It would do you well to remember that anyone who bares their fangs towards the church are sinners, no matter what reason they may hold. There is no need to show any mercy to such lowly beasts."

Byleth blinked, resistant to the brewing storm in front of her. "So, you just don't care?" she asked with the same even control of her voice.

Seteth looked like he was going to burst a blood vessel with the way his eyelids rapidly twitched. "I don't know what you're insinuating, professor," he drawled, emphasizing each word with venom. "It is not that we don't care. It simply does not matter in the long run."

Byleth's lips twitched, contorting down into a visible frown. "So, you're just choosing to ignore the fact that someone may hold hostility towards the church for valid reasons."

"Professor, that is enough." The single word from Seteth was loaded with enough finality and a warning Byleth could not ignore that it silenced her accusations. "You may excuse yourself, now. We are quite busy, you see." He glared daggers at her, eyes scorching with flames.

Byleth nodded curtly. "If you say so, I will excuse myself. Pardon me." She spun on her heels, refusing to look back, as she strolled down the hallway, heading right out the door, leaving a stunned Catherine and dumbfounded Rhea behind.

She closed the door quietly behind her and sighed. "Guess I should've been more discreet with my interrogation."

Floating behind her, Sothis screamed about her lack of social competence, but Byleth shut her eyes and ears, lost in thought as she made her way to the classroom.

The entire classroom was doused with black clouds, dour expressions, and muffled anxiety. News of Lord Lonato's rebellion had escaped from the knights patrolling around the monastery and now the students huddled in small groups, discussing the repercussions of such a reckless move by a minor lord in their homeland.

"Is the Church really going to attack Lord Lonato?" Ingrid blurted from her seat behind Dimitri. "Why is this suddenly happening, anyway?"

"According to what the knights have been saying, Lord Lonato has been planning this for years already," Dedue commented, stern face more hardened than usual. "I'm afraid this is a premeditated attack against the church. Of course, we will have to retaliate back."

"You're right," Dimitri frowned. He glanced down at his lap, clasping his hands together. "We have no choice but to end this reckless rebellion. However, what if he had a powerful motive to do so?" He lifted his head up, eying his friends with a wistful look in his eyes. "Do we have any right to turn him in to the church?"

Felix scoffed from his position near the wall of the classroom. "Have you gone senile already, boar? It doesn't matter what his reasons are. As long as he's disrupting the peace in Fodlan, we have no choice but to strike him down."

"Felix…" Dimitri narrowed his gaze towards Felix. "Sometimes, you really are heartless, huh?"

Felix's eyes flashed predictably, and he leered at Dimitri. "Quite ironic to hear that from you, of all people, boar prince. Everyone fights for their own beliefs — including me and Lord Lonato. Eventually, you'll have to cross blades with those who think differently than you. If you don't have the spine to do that, then scamper away from the battlefield."

"Felix, that is enough!" Ingrid scowled, shooting up from her seat. "Why do you always have to pick a fight with his highness like that?!"

"Geez, everyone needs to relax," Sylvain complained, walking between Ingrid and Felix with his arms spread out. "We don't even know the details yet. Let's just wait patiently for our professor, alright?"

"Hmph," Felix grunted, turning his head away from his classmates.

"I wonder if Ashe is okay…" Mercedes mentioned, catching everyone's attention. "He still hasn't shown up today."

"Did he lock himself up in his room?" Annette frowned. "Maybe someone should go check on him after class."

"Knowing Ashe, I doubt he would accept the Church's decision so easily," Sylvain muttered, glancing out the window, brows creased with worry. "Lord Lonato is everything to him. If we have to join the battlefield this moon, I don't know how it'll affect the poor guy."

"You're right," Mercedes sighed. "Maybe we should all visit him after class. I can bring him some snacks and tea. Perhaps it'll help calm his nerves down."

Annette beamed at the suggestion. "Oh! That's a great idea, Mercie! Let's go to the dining hall and bake some treats for him. He has a sweet tooth, after all."

"I wish we could do more for him, though," Dimitri spoke softly, muttering under his breath.

The sound of boots clicking against the floor turned their attention towards the door. Byleth strolled in, pausing in the middle of the aisle as the students watched her every move, breathless. "I imagine you all have already heard of Lord Lonato's rebellion."

The silence was deafening as all eyes and ears turned in towards her.

"Lord Lonato was the aggressor. The church has assigned us to aid the rear-guards with the aftermath of battle. I do not expect us to join the battle itself. However, proceed with caution. It is a battlefield, after all," Byleth briefed as she walked to the front of the classroom.

Dimitri raised his hand. "Professor, may I ask a question?"

"Of course you may."

"Did Lady Rhea inform you of Lord Lonato's motives? I cannot fathom why Lord Lonato would indulge in such a reckless rebellion like this."

Byleth hummed in agreement. "I was actually about to ask you about that. Do you have any idea why Lord Lonato has started this rebellion?"

Dimitri frowned, shaking his head. "After the King of Faerghus lost his head, there have been many rebellions before. Even now, conflicting nobles and organizations still squabble over what power they can claim. However, Gaspard land is neither lacking in size nor resources."

Byleth pondered, rubbing her chin in thought. "So you believe he has a direct issue with the Church itself?"

"Well, that's… also sort of unbelievable," Dimitri stumbled over his words. "Few in Fodlan would ever transpire against the Church. It is almost unheard of."

"Does the church hold that much power in Fodlan?" Byleth blurted out without thought, and the students stared at her with horror.

"Um, professor? Perhaps you don't know this, but the Goddess Sothis blessed the lands of Fodlan. According to legends, we all owe our flourishing lives to her. It is only right that we revere the Church in response," Mercedes explained, sweatdropping. "I still cannot fathom how someone lived without interacting with any of the Churches in Fodlan before."

"Forgive me, but my knowledge is lacking in that aspect. I am, however, trying to discover the truth behind this incident to the best of my abilities," Byleth informed. "Regardless of what the church may want, I intend to consider this incident from every perspective." Then she paused, blinking rapidly in realization. "Ah, before I forget, there is something I need to inform you all."

Byleth cleared her throat once, gaze sharpening as she spoke to the class. "Ashe and Satiana will not be joining us for our mission this time."

At this announcement, the Blue Lions perked up.

"What? Did something happen to Ashe, professor?" Dimitri bolted up from his seat in alarm.

"Oh dear, perhaps he really is unwell…" Mercedes muttered, her head drooping to the floor.

"I can understand why Ashe isn't taking part since this incident is very close to his heart," Ingrid commented. "But why is Satiana also not present?"

Byleth motioned for her students to calm down with a raise of her hand. "Calm down. There is nothing wrong with Ashe. However, last night, he applied for an urgent leave with me. As his professor, I granted him permission to leave the grounds for this moon."

"Wait a minute…doesn't that mean…" Sylvain's eyes widened.

"Of course, he'd run back to his adopted father," Felix snorted. "He probably went back to Gaspard to find answers himself."

"Isn't that sort of dangerous? The Knights of Seiros are already waiting in front of the castle!" Annette yelped, face paling in horror.

"Professor, why did you allow him to leave?" Dimitri demanded, eyes blazing with fury. "What if he rebels against the Knights of Seiros to protect his father? You have put him right in the middle of danger! Do you realize that?"

"Then what should I have done?" Byleth turned the question back to Dimitri. "Refused his earnest request to visit his adopted father? Perhaps this is the last time they can talk face to face. Would it not be cruel to prevent him from talking to Lord Lonato?"

"I…well…you are right," Dimitri stammered, the heat dissipating from his forehead. "But it is still far too dangerous!"

"Of course, I am aware of that," Byleth responded sternly. "I cannot leave Ashe alone, even if he is simply visiting his adopted father. We don't know what the rebels may do to him if he refuses to listen to Lord Lonato. That is why I have taken precautions."

Felix jolted in his seat, eyes widening with realization. "Is that why Satiana isn't here?"

Byleth nodded. "I asked Satiana to accompany him last night. Or, really, it was Satiana herself who offered to join him. As you know, Satiana is still technically a member of my father's mercenary troop. Coincidentally, she was assigned a separate…mission near the borders of Faerghus and the Empire. And so I allowed her to accompany Ashe."

Brown eyes flickered and Felix spun his head around to meet Sylvain's knowing gaze.

"Anyway, that will be all the announcements for today." Byleth clapped her hands loudly, forcing her students to glue their attention to the front of the classroom. "I am aware of how anxious you all are feeling. However, for now, we should focus on the things we can do. Today, I will teach you the art of battalions…"

Although Byleth tried her best to keep the student's attention on the blackboard, it was hard to do so when all the students were wallowing in their own thoughts, worried about their friend's safety. Nevertheless, the rest of the class went fairly smoothly as the students eventually zoned in on the lecture, scribbling notes in their books.

The forest near the Oghma mountains was swaddled in a veil of white mist. Although the sun should've been high in the sky, one could hardly trace the round shadow through the thick fog. It was eerily silent, and the reason was obvious; there were most likely knights and soldiers hiding amongst the deathly vapor surrounding the area. To everyone who roamed through the vast rows of green, the fog acted like a defense wall against enemies.

Of course, it acted as the perfect disguise for Satiana and Ashe to sneak to Gaspard through the Magdred swamps.

"Do you need to take a quick rest?" Satiana asked from her position mounted on top of a horse.

Ashe followed closely behind her, the sound of hooves squishing against mud echoing through the silent forest. He shook his head in response. "It's okay. I just want to get to Gaspard as soon as possible," he replied, eyelids drooping from lack of sleep.

As soon as Ashe agreed to follow her to Gaspard, Satiana dragged him to Byleth's room. He didn't know what was more surprising: that Byleth was still awake, looking as focused as usual past midnight, or how Satiana coaxed Byleth into giving them permission to leave after much protest. Of course, their heated argument made Ashe feel guilty, but he was thankful that Byleth trusted Satiana enough to allow her to accompany him.

Or maybe Byleth knew nothing could ever stop Satiana once she settled on a decision.

They left right before dawn, hiding their figures underneath long, black cloaks that Satiana procured from her room. The journey was indeed tedious, especially because they galloped through the rainstorm the entire night till noon the next day. Although Magdred was famous for its impenetrable fog, Ashe had a feeling the storm only made it worse. If it wasn't for the horse they were riding on, Ashe wouldn't have been able to keep up with Satiana's pace. He could barely see anything past his own arm.

Really, he was glad Lord Lonato had taught him how to ride a horse before he joined the academy.

"Don't push yourself too hard, okay?" Satiana's voice reverberated through the mist, her breath sending wisps of white smoke scattering in the dampened air. "We're only halfway through the forest. At least I think so from what I can see."

"No need to worry about me. I'll be fine," Ashe replied confidently. He lightly shook his head, hoping to wake himself up from his post-sleep state. "Lord Lonato must be waiting for me."

Satiana slowed her pace down, combing the mane of her horse with her fingers, dragging its hooves backward. "By now, the church must've heard of his rebellion already. I hope we don't arrive too late."

At the mention of the word 'rebellion,' Ashe tightened his grip on the reins of his horse. "I still can't believe it. Why is Lord Lonato causing such a reckless rebellion like this? And why didn't he tell me anything?" He cleared his throat once, his voice growing hoarse from the cold.

Satiana spared him a quick glance, brows furrowed with worry. "Maybe he just wanted to protect you. Perhaps he didn't want to get you involved in his own agendas." She yanked on the reins, forcing her horse to leap over a giant puddle of water. "Speaking of which, would you mind telling me more about this Lord Lonato? I'm curious to know what kind of man he is," she switched the topic, eyes gleaming with genuine curiosity.

Now, this was a topic Ashe was glad to talk about. His brooding demeanor disappeared into thin air, a bright smile making its way up onto his features. "To me, Lord Lonato is both my father and my life savior. I look up to him." He paused, organizing the swelling emotions and warmth budding inside his chest. "I used to live on the streets. My parents died of illness and we lost our home, so I had to look after my siblings by myself. I even had to resort to thievery to make ends meet."

Satiana's eyes softened. "I see. You must have suffered a great deal."

Ashe smiled sadly at Satiana, though he appreciated her sentiments. "Yes, my life was indeed horrible back then. Perhaps horrible is an understatement. But everything changed after I met Lord Lonato. When I turned nine, I sneaked into a local noble's mansion, hoping to steal whatever I could get my hands on. The noble had many valuables, but what caught my eye was a book with a fancy cover," his voice trembled with emotion. "The knight in the illustrations was so impressive, I just couldn't tear my eyes away. Before I knew it, I grabbed the book and, well, you can imagine what happened next," he chuckled wryly.

"Lord Lonato caught you in the act?" Satiana asked, eyes staring ahead into the fog, lost in thought.

Ashe nodded. "Lord Lonato was really kind. He allowed me to take the book and even gave me some money. When I told him I couldn't read, he invited me into his mansion, along with my brother and sister. He taught me how to read. The only reason I made it here to the academy was because Lord Lonato recommended me. I owe him so much."

Satiana stayed silent as she listened intently to his story. She had a feeling that interrupting his thoughts would be incredibly rude, especially when Ashe was being so sincere about his feelings to a stranger like her.

"I want to grow up and become someone like Lord Lonato. I want to make up for all the bad things I've done. To leave this world better than I found it." Ashe closed his eyes, breathing deeply. When his eyes flickered open, they glistened in the darkened forest like jewels, sparkling with determination. "Lord Lonato gave me a chance to change myself for the better and I will do anything I can to repay his kindness. That's why I must ask him, see with my own eyes why he turned his blades against the Church like this. I wish to help him, just like how he held my hand when I was at my lowest."

Ashe lowered his burning gaze to the ground, staring holes into the ground. "He pulled me out of the darkness. This time, it's my turn to lend him a hand. If he has been misguided, then I need to lead him back to the right path."

Satiana stared at Ashe from behind her shoulder. A quiet contentment spread through her and a satisfied smile played on her lips. "Ashe, has anyone ever told you that you're a walking ball of sunshine?" She found the words tumbling out of her lips before she even had the chance to organize her thoughts.

Ashe's expression froze for a split second, his brain short-circuiting. As her words sank in, Ashe's cheeks bloomed a dusty pink. "H-Huh? Satiana, what are you even saying?" he sputtered, sweat dripping down his forehead.

Satiana chuckled at his reaction. "I'm being serious, Ashe. You just have this…soothing quality to you. You're always so optimistic and forward-looking. It's hard to be anxious around you." She paused, humming in thought. "At least when I'm with you, I find my thoughts clearing up. It's relaxing to have you around."

"O-Oh," Ashe meekly rubbed the back of his neck, laughing in response to her compliments. "I guess, thank you?"

"You should be proud of yourself, Ashe," Satiana continued. "Not everyone can be as strong as you. Some kids who were in the same situation as you would've never had the same revelation you did. Perhaps the harsh reality would destroy their lives forever — warp their mindsets to the point of no return." Her tone changed, voice lowered to baritone as her eyes darkened like polished coal. "I respect you, Ashe. Perhaps even look up to you."

For some odd reason, Ashe sensed with his empathetic heart and high emotional intelligence that Satiana was talking about herself. They had spent a month together as classmates, but he still barely knew anything about her. All the Blue Lions knew was that her village burned down four years ago in the tragedy and she became a mercenary afterward. Everything else about her was a mystery as cryptic as their stone-faced professor.

And every time they tried to grow closer to her, making casual talk about their hobbies and other light-hearted topics, she had a habit of moving away from them, steering the conversation to safer grounds for her. Of course, being the kind-hearted person he was, Ashe always gave her some space. Let her open up to them at her own pace. But Ashe could count with his fingers how many times he conversed with Satiana. All of those started with him initiating the conversation, asking her for tips and tricks with the bow and sword.

Perhaps it was time to push her a little. See where it took them.

"Satiana, from my eyes, you are the one who is worthy of respect," Ashe retorted with a pleasant smile. "You learned to survive as a mercenary at such a young age and you have a great sense of responsibility. You're always quick with the sword, and your abilities and keen judgments have saved us in battle many times now."

Satiana didn't spare him a glance this time, keeping her head directed forward, shoulders stiffening. "I'm not that amazing of a person, Ashe. I just did what I had to in order to survive."

There it was again, the way she constantly underplayed her own achievements. It was something Ashe noticed after observing her from a distance this past month. Even on the first day where she showed them a brilliant battle against Byleth, she acted as if it was to be expected of her — how good she was with the sword. When they complimented her, she'd shy away from the attention, throwing in a joke or laughing it off with a wave of her hand, eyes darting away from theirs.

Ashe didn't know why she was so averse to the idea of being complimented. True, he himself was also shy when placed under attention. But with Satiana, it somehow was different. It was in his nature to be modest, but Satiana was like a raging fireball. She had her bitter moments, but she easily got fired up and bam, she'd go, spitting sharp words at those who offended her. Satiana was bluntly honest without being unkind, knowledgeable without being arrogant, and she bulldozed her way through conversations.

And that wasn't the personality of someone who constantly berated themselves. Sometimes, it'd sneak out from underneath: the nervous and anxious child, the inner cynic within her. He wished he could help her somehow because that was what Ashe wanted to be — someone who could support others in their worst of times.

"I beg to differ," Ashe spoke with confidence, voice steady and clear-cutting. "If you're telling me to be proud of myself, then you should, too. Few can turn out as skilled as you. Besides, you have a strong sense of justice. Remember that merchant who was scamming the students a month ago? You let him go out of kindness."

"No, Ashe, it wasn't out of kindness. I was just…indifferent to it all," Satiana countered. "If you want to talk about kindness, look at yourself first. You're literally a walking definition of it." She laughed out loud, but the sound was dry and hoarse.

Ashe frowned, his heart sinking. "I'm sorry. The more I talk, the more I seem to offend you."

At this remark, Satiana finally whipped her head around to face him. For the first time in hours, he saw her face and felt a painful tug inside of him. This wasn't the girl who courageously grabbed his hand last night, dragging him to Gaspard with her. She looked absolutely crestfallen, eyes hollow, drained, and devoid of everything. The look haunted him, sending shudders down his spine, leaving him feeling helpless.

Really, what on earth had happened to this girl in front of him to reduce her to a shell of her former self?

"Ashe, you have nothing to apologize to me for. I'm not mad at you, nor do I dislike your company. I told you, right? Being with you makes my head clear up. So, don't worry too much about me. It's not you, it's me." She flinched at her own cliche remarks, but they were all she could offer him.

Ashe was being straightforward today. Satiana thought he was the timidest of the group, judging by how he always lingered behind the crowd, smiling at everyone from the shadows while supporting them from behind. He always backed away from a fight, refused to confront others, and chose to quietly endure everything by himself. But Ashe could be unexpectedly stubborn at times, now being one of them.

If Satiana was being honest with herself, she was the one who admired Ashe. He was so pure, good-hearted, and innocent it made her feel as if her sins were being cleansed just by living in the same air he breathed. But it only made her look like a monster walking in sheepskin in comparison.

She earnestly wished that one day, she could walk down the flower path with confidence like Ashe did. He believed not only in the good of others, but in himself. Ashe wasn't stuck in the past like she was; he trusted himself to change. And he believed this like he believed the sky would be blue tomorrow, like a truth he could always prove if he tried hard enough.

Satiana envied his certainty from the bottom of her heart.

"Then can you tell me more about yourself?" Ashe blurted out.

If her mood wasn't so dark, she would've snorted at his remark. Of course, leave it to Ashe to be so tactless with his words. He had no talent at interrogation — his words were just as straight-laced as his personality.

"I-I don't mean anything weird by that! I'm just curious about how you became so strong." Ashe fumbled on the reins, his horse neighing in response, kicking its hooves up into the air. He yelped, frantically trying to calm his horse down by smoothing its mane with his hands. "S-Sorry about that! Anyway, you don't need to tell me if you don't want to."

Satiana stilled in her seat atop the horse, her pace dropping slightly. "My story isn't anything interesting, though. I'm sure it'll bore you to death, unlike those valiant knights in the books you love."

But Ashe gave her a wonderful smile filled with warmth and understanding. "It doesn't matter if it's boring. I just want to know about the life you've lived, Satiana. You know, as a classmate and, well, friend."

Satiana blinked, stirring in her seat as she turned her head around to face him with a frown. "A friend? You consider me a friend?"

Ashe looked absolutely dumbstruck at her question, eyes bulging with confusion. "Huh? Are we not?"

The innocence with which he posed the question back to her made Satiana feel like she was the stupid one for realizing it so late. Of course, Ashe considered her as a friend. More like he probably never had a single enemy in his whole life.

Suddenly, Jeralt's warning from yesterday echoed inside her head. There it was again, her bad habit. She was choosing to run away from her classmate, moving a step back when Ashe took a step forward. Her inner cowardice reared its ugly head once again, but this time, she was self-aware to pause and think.

You need to stop running away, Satiana. He's offered you his hand already. Now, it's up to you to take it. Trust in yourself and others for once.

"Uh, never mind," Satiana deflected. "Anyway, I was being honest when I said my story would be boring. It's actually not that different from yours."

Ashe perked up, back straightening. "Really? How so?"

"Well, I also lived on the streets for most of my life," Satiana replied with a nonchalant shrug. "I'm an orphan. I don't know who my parents are but they left me at the…village since I was born," she chewed over a proper lie, mixing in slight truths. "Unlike you, I wasn't so lucky to get adopted by anyone. The village was poor and already in shambles, to begin with. I had to survive on my own. Things like stealing — even killing. I've probably committed more evil deeds than you have in your life."

Ashe's expression softened. "I see. So you had to resort to dirty tricks to survive as well."

"Ashe, we're not the same," Satiana scowled. "I killed to survive. That's much worse than stealing."

"Well, that's…" he trailed off, lips dripping into a frown. "Unacceptable, of course."

Satiana's lips twitched, curving upwards into a smile.

He really is such an honest fool.

"Now, do you understand? You asked me where I got my strength from," Satiana sneered at herself, shaking her head. "Well, that's the short answer. I got it by learning how to kill others to survive. To be honest, I didn't even need to kill them. Perhaps I could've asked them for help. But I didn't. I chose the sword as my way of speaking."

There was a slight pause in the conversation as Ashe listened intently in silence. She could feel his gaze boring into her back, and she shuddered imperceptibly.

A cynical laugh burst out of her chest. "Do you know how Jeralt ended up picking me up from the streets? I got myself hurt after killing someone to survive. It was probably divine retribution. I was swaying between life and death when I collapsed. Jeralt found me and ended up saving me. What do you think I did to repay him the moment I opened my eyes?"

Ashe didn't answer.

A part of Satiana wished the thick, misty fog around her would hide her hideousness from him — make him see her as something more than a disgusting, bloodied monster. But she knew better than to rely on things like wishes. The Goddess never answered her pleas, anyway.

"I tried to kill him," she answered bluntly. "My savior, the one and only person who tried to help bring me out of that shit hole called life I was drowning in. I turned my blade against him just because his righteousness pissed me off." She breathed a snarky laugh, chuckling at her own antics. "You told me I had a strong sense of justice. That is the most laughable thing I have ever heard in my whole life."

She shifted her head slightly, shooting a blank stare at Ashe. "So don't look at me with such admiration in your eyes. I don't deserve it, Ashe. I'm not a knight from one of your fairytales. I'm just a sewer rat who outlived her enemies for far too long."

Her confession stunned Ashe to silence. He genuinely looked speechless and lost as he opened his mouth to refute something, only to end up closing it again awkwardly. The wind picked up around them, sending thick swirls of white their way, and Satiana turned her gaze forward. "We should pick up our pace. We don't want to get lost in the fog after coming this far." She snapped her wrists, the reins smacking against the horse as it neighed loudly, forcing its legs to move faster through the mud.

"...Yes, of course," Ashe responded quietly, trailing behind her.

Now, she'd really done it. Smashed the fantasy to pieces, hurled the shards back at him, pierced him through the heart. Of course, she expected it. How else would one react to such a damning confession? Silence was the correct answer because there was no room for comforting or consoling. The truth was ugly, but it had to be said. She couldn't leave the poor boy in his make-believe world of fluff and sunshine any longer.

This is good. It's fine, Satiana. This is what you deserve.

But no matter what lies she tells herself, the stinging sensation in her chest wouldn't disappear. She wanted to be honest with Ashe, but at the same time, she feared his judgment. Yes, just like the hypocrite she was, playing hero when she was nothing but a villain.

But she had no choice but to bear the pain. Because she was a sinner. A murderer. A ruthless killer. And there would be no salvation waiting ahead of her.

"But you saved me."

Satiana froze. The sound of hooves digging into the ground and the howling wind against her almost made his words fall on deaf ears. The wind snatched softly at his muffled words, and she thought she was dreaming for a split second.

"I'm sorry. What did you just say?" She sputtered, eyes widening.

His voice made her heart more than ache. She couldn't turn around, not after telling him everything. She feared that if she did, she'd only see eyes filled with contempt and disgust, and the black hole that would form inside her would suck that spark of hope up, vast and crushingly destructive.

She couldn't bear the illusion of being forgiven. Not now. Not ever.

"You brought me here with you. You didn't have to, right?" Ashe spoke steadily, his voice piercing through the darkness swelling inside of her. "You received a letter from your friend about Lord Lonato's circumstances. And you remembered about me. I never told you about my relationship with Lord Lonato, but you remembered it somehow."

"That's true, but what does that have to do with anything—"

"It does, Satiana," Ashe interrupted sternly, raising his voice. "Because you thought of me. Even though we are hardly close, you still had the heart to think of my situation and came to tell me about the rebellion in the middle of the night. You were waiting outside my dorm room in the freezing rain, Satiana."

"Well, I…I just…" Satiana stammered, voice trembling.

"Of course, what you've done can never be forgiven. Even if it was for survival, it doesn't change the fact that you destroyed someone else's life." He then shook his head. "But that doesn't mean you don't have a good heart, Satiana. Even the worst of monsters have a beating heart."

Satiana stared, dumbfounded, in front of her as she listened to Ashe's rambling. "Ashe, I have to admit. You have a pretty way with words. But in the end, it changes nothing."

"Exactly!" Ashe raised his voice even higher. "Nothing you do can ever change what you've done. I also have regrets about the way I lived my way so far. I was really foolish. But I can't go back and apologize to the people I stole from now. Even if I want to, it's impossible to turn back time." He cleared his throat once. "That's why we have to try harder. Not for others to forgive us, but for ourselves. To grow into a better human being."

This time, Satiana turned to meet his blazing gaze. "Ashe…you…"

Ashe's gaze narrowed into a glare. "I want you to listen to me this time, Satiana. If you didn't call out to me yesterday, by now, I would still be stuck in the monastery. I wouldn't be able to see Lord Lonato unless I held up my lance with the conviction to kill him on the battlefield. That's not what I wish for. I want to talk to him again, and you're the one who provided me with this chance."

Satiana swallowed loudly, turning her head away from his warm stare.

Ashe pushed forward, realizing that his words were affecting her. "In this one instant, you saved me from despair. And I'm confident you've saved others unbeknownst to yourself. You've spent four years as a mercenary, right? I can't be the only one you've helped before."

Satiana's heart wavered, her mind replaying the events from four years ago. The times when she laughed alongside Jeralt, Renard, and Byleth. When Rodrigue asked for her assistance. When she broke Lysithea out of her cage. Helped her parents. Watched as Viscount Hyrm was slain. Destroyed the facility underneath Count Ordelia's House. Fought alongside the mercenary crew. Helping villagers along the way.

"Ashe…you…" she repeated, voice trembling harder with emotion.

"I won't allow it," Ashe snapped. "It doesn't matter what you've done in the past. It won't change the fact that you lent me your strength when I needed it most. Just like what Lord Lonato did. And I will believe in the kindness that I saw with my own eyes."

The fog thinned as they slowly parted from the forest, entering Gaspard territory. The misty clouds faded away, the bright sun shining strands of golden rays through the shades. In the far distance, an enormous castle emerged over the town. Satiana cast her gaze over the town. She could see families strolling down the streets, smiling and laughing happily, unbeknownst to the threat that loomed over them.

She found her lips tugging upwards. "Ashe, did you just yell at me?"

Ashe arched a brow, jaws dropping to the ground in disbelief. "Really? I tried my best to make you understand my feelings, but that's what you came up with in response?

Satiana chuckled, shaking her head lightly. There was no denying the spreading, numbing warmth inside her chest now. "You are a fool, you know that, Ashe?" Her words had no bite in them. "A gigantic big oaf. A giant teddy bear. A walking piece of candy. A gallant—"

"Okay, stop!" Ashe blurted out, halting her linguistic pursuit of synonyms. "What are you even saying right now?! I'm being completely serious, Satiana!" Ashe pouted, red cheeks puffing outwards.

"I know," Satiana replied. "Trust me. I know, Ashe," she repeated softly, voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia and mellowed down affection. "You're always so straight-laced, after all. You don't know how to make jokes. So I know you're being serious, Ashe."

Ashe frowned, lips puckering. "Now you're just making fun of me."

"I'm not, Ashe. I'm being genuine right now. For once, that is," she laughed wryly, sighing quietly to herself. "You really are something, you know that?"

Ashe paused, noticing the way her back straightened from behind. "Are you feeling better now?" he asked.

Satiana turned around to meet his warm gaze this time, staring straight into those lovely green orbs of his. She smiled sincerely. "A little."

Ashe blinked. Then he beamed. "That's great! I hope you stop being so hard on yourself, Satiana."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," she brushed him off with a light wave of her hand and turned her head back to the front, trying her best to ignore the prickling sensation crawling up to her eyes, the rising bubble of overwhelming emotions inside of her.

She sniffed loudly once, but Ashe, being the gentleman he was, pretended not to hear it.

I can never win against you, Ashe.

"Hey, professor!" Catherine's booming voice echoed down the corridors.

Byleth paused, raising her eyebrows in surprise. She was seated on a bench in the North Courtyard, munching on a stick of picked rabbit skewers she grabbed from the dining hall. According to her schedule, she had no classes to teach in the afternoon, so she took a long-deserved break instead, relaxing underneath the burning sun.

But of course, leave it to Byleth to attract strange individuals her way. Aside from Satiana, Byleth herself was a different kind of magnet for trouble. Whether it was the stray cats and dogs purring underneath her feet all the time or the horde of students begging her for a spar session, Byleth was oddly popular, despite her indifferent attitude. Her days spent at the monastery were halcyon and calm, yet busy in a weird way.

However, Byleth never thought Catherine would join her crew of fangirls and stalkers. After the standoff with Rhea and Seteth earlier, she didn't expect Catherine to be the one to call her over for a talk.

Byleth internally sighed, flicking the empty skewer into the metal trash bin beside her before she stood up, brushing the dirt off her cape. Catherine stood proudly in front of the training grounds, arms crossed, with a bright grin on her face. She appeared to have been waiting for Byleth to show up, judging by the way her grin shifted to a small smirk the moment their eyes met.

"So, you were waiting for me," Byleth stated flatly as she approached her.

Catherine shrugged nonchalantly, the lopsided smirk still plastered on her face. "Something like that," she answered. "It's been a while since Lady Rhea called me to the frontline. So I thought that my skills may have gotten a little…rusty." Her eyes sparkled mischievously.

Byleth shot Catherine an exasperated stare like she had the word liar printed in bold across her forehead.

"So, you're looking for a fight," Byleth deadpanned.

Catherine laughed, placing her hands on her hips as she swayed to the side. "That's not how I would've put it, but you're not wrong. Besides, I know you're interested in the hero's relic that I wield." She tapped her finger on the sword strapped to her hips. "There's nothing like firsthand experience. So, what do you say?" Her gaze narrowed, eyes gleaming with barely concealed bloodlust. "Care for a friendly fight?"

Byleth would've rolled her eyes if only she weren't surrounded by curious onlookers who watched the standoff with burning interest.

She knew Catherine wasn't looking for a sparring partner. Being a mercenary herself, she recognized that look of hunger in Catherine's eyes. There was arrogance hidden underneath her words and Byleth knew that Catherine probably thought she would easily mop the floor with Byleth, despite her reputation as the Ashen Demon. Byleth thought it would reflect badly on her if she lost in front of a bunch of students, but the mercenary spirit inside of her wouldn't let her refuse such a brazen attempt at provocation.

But she refused to be just a spectacle for Catherine and fuel for the gossip monkeys around her.

"...I'll fight you under one condition," Byleth drawled, taking a step forward.

Catherine's eyes flashed with amusement. "Oh? And what's that?"

"If I win, you answer questions I have regarding this incident with Lord Lonato," Byleth stated, cerulean eyes clashing with aqua blue.

Catherine's eyes widened in barely hidden surprise. "I didn't expect that from you, professor. Were you always this nosy about others? I figured you were more of a lone-wolf."

"Don't get me wrong," Byleth uttered. "I have no personal interest in this incident. However," she paused, eyes flickering to life. "I don't enjoy being lied to or kept ignorant. If I'm going to get involved, it's only right that I have all the information needed to make proper judgments. Don't you agree, Catherine?"

A tensed air permeated the duo as they stood staring at each other, reading the intentions behind each other's faces. Catherine's smirk eventually loosened into a frown. "Whatever gets you in the mood, I guess," she muttered. Then she beckoned with her hand. "Follow me."

Byleth strolled confidently past the growing crowd of students, heading into the training grounds. She closed the door behind her, hushing the wave of disappointment behind her.

"Hah! Are you afraid to lose in front of your precious students?" Catherine provoked her again with a mocking remark.

Byleth brows twitched slightly but kept on the blank poker face. "Indeed, I have a reputation to keep. But I hardly think you have the time to concern yourself with such things."

Catherine didn't let the underlying meaning behind her words slip. Byleth was obviously implying that she was going to emerge victorious. Catherine laughed out loud at Byleth's confident demeanor, eyes glinting like daggers. She licked her lips, a smirk plastered on her face. "I hope you will prove to be an entertaining foe, professor."

Byleth took a moment to analyze her opponent's weapon. The Thunderbrand dimly glowed red as if it were engulfed in flames, though the weapon wasn't giving off heat. Catherine raised it to shoulder level, holding the sword up with both hands as she slid her right leg backward, bending slightly into a comfortable stance.

Byleth slid her sword out of its sheath, holding the blade pointing forward at Catherine's face, eyes narrowed into a glare. Before she could make any further observations, Catherine darted forward. Byleth swung her arm with as much force as she could, her blade slamming into the glowing weapon. Her eyes widened as her balance faltered, her feet sliding backward against the ground.

True to its fame, the sheer difference in power between a Hero's Relic and a normal everyday-use sword was significant enough to send Byleth stumbling backward. The clash felt uneven, as if she had barely deflected a giant boulder instead of a sword. To Byleth's dismay, Catherine whipped the sword back, preparing to launch another thrust forward.

On pure instinct, Byleth shifted her weight to the soles of her feet, holding her sword horizontally with both hands as the blow crashed onto her blade, sending red sparks crackling in the air. She had no other option but to play defensively against the monstrous brute force. Catherine grinned, pressing down harder as Byleth gritted her teeth, arms shaking against the attack.

"Hey now, professor. Don't disappoint me…!" Catherine yelled as she swerved around Byleth, using Byleth's sword as a turning point.

Byleth's eyes widened, and she backpedaled in a hurry, raising her arm up to protect her head against the strike. The Thunderbrand crashed against her sword again and this time, Byleth's entire body flew backward, filling her vision with nothing but the rolling clouds and clear blue sky. Byleth pressed her hand to the ground and backflipped just in time to avoid another thrust aimed at her head.

Before Catherine could push her into a corner, Byleth found solid footing and rushed at Catherine with her blade raised up high. Catherine dodged easily, side-stepping away from the attack before she launched a relentless attack at Byleth's mid-rift. Byleth tilted her blade downwards, deflecting the blow. She rebounded, swinging her arm upwards as the Thunderbrand trailed after her movements, exposing Catherine's stomach. It was a split-second decision, but Byleth used her knee instead of her sword. The armored knee crashed against Catherine's armor, sending the sound of metallic screeching into the air.

But Catherine was like a solid fortress, unbudging and sturdy. In response to Byleth's knee-punch, she used her free arm to swing a brutal blow at Byleth's shoulder, shoving Byleth backward again for the second time.

Gravity took hold and all Byleth could do was release a haphazard swing in recoil. Catherine swatted away the blow with a light flick of her wrists before she rushed forward, launching a series of destructive strikes, refusing to give Byleth room to readjust herself.

Sweat poured down her face as they exchanged relentless blows at each other. Although Byleth tried her best, she was stuck in place as Catherine cut off all escape routes, swerving around to meet her every time she sidestepped away. Her options were rapidly dwindling and all Byleth could do was swing wildly against the force of nature.

Eventually, Byleth's grip on the sword loosened from the sweat, and her sword flew through the air, flying towards Catherine's face. Catherine gasped in surprise, eyes widened as she ducked down on reflex. But that was hardly enough to catch Catherine off balance as she shoved her shoulder right into Byleth's chest, knocking Byleth backward.

Byleth, exhausted and beaten, crashed against the ground on her back. She groaned, panting for air, the numbing pain rising up her spine.

"Hah…I see you aren't just all talk," Catherine complimented. She straightened her posture and stabbed the Thunderbrand into the floor with a giant grin plastered on her face. "You did fairly well for someone who's never fought against me before. I even had to use dirty tricks to win."

Byleth's brows twitched again, this time from annoyance and anger. Her gaze flickered up at Catherine's pompous, cocky face and she glared hard. "So, you were holding back?" she accused.

"Of course I was," Catherine replied, swinging her sword behind her shoulder. "If I seriously tried to win against you, your head would've gone flying by now. It's not like I can control my partner's destructive power, you know?" she guffawed.

Byleth went silent as she seethed in anger, her pride as a mercenary shredded to pieces. She found her lips twitching up into a smirk when a devious thought entered her mind. "I concede. This is my loss," Byleth calmly spoke as she lifted her back off the ground.

"You're right," Catherine smirked at her. "It's my win."

"Yes, it is," Byleth exhaled lightly, eyes twinkling with mischief. "For now, that is."

Catherine froze, her smirk stiffening. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What is that supposed to mean, professor—"

Sothis, can you hear me?

Time seemed to stop — the wind howling around them dissipating into thin air, the birds freezing in position like statues. Color faded from the world and Byleth's vision blurred, the scene rewinding backward in a rush like a broken record. Byleth memorized every move as time flowed in reverse, imprinting them into his mind like a searing wound. In this timeless moment, Byleth hurriedly searched for counter moves to all of Catherine's attacks.

Soon enough, the whirlwind faded away, and the scenery stilled. They had returned to the moment before the start of the fight where Catherine slowly raised her blade up to shoulder level, shifting her position downward.

Byleth didn't waste any time.

She made the first move, sprinting forward with lightning speed, thrusting the sword right up at Catherine's face. Just as she expected, Catherine's focus shattered for a split second as she shifted back in surprise.

Forget fighting her head-on. I can't give her room to start up her engine.

Their positions were reversed compared to pre-time skip with Byleth relentless in her assault — stabbing left, thrusting up, slicing down, stepping forward with each blow. Of course, Catherine responded with ease to each attack, the Thunderbrand acting like a giant shield with its sturdiness as she parried smoothly. But this was all playing according to Byleth's script.

Attack her mid-rift and she responds with a wide-angled blow to the shoulder.

Byleth gripped her sword tightly and slashed upwards in a wide arc with all her might, steel crashing against solid bone as the Thunderbrand sparkled, trailing upwards. She lifted her right knee, slamming it into Catherine's stomach. As predicted, a quick flash of gray blurred to her left and Byleth lifted her free arm up to guard against the punch.

Catherine was completely caught off guard this time, eyes bulging wide with shock.

If I respond with a slice, she'll block with the Thunderbrand and push me back with brute force.

Byleth's cerulean eyes flashed, the memory of their fight flickering in her head, and she sidestepped to the right instead, the Thunderbrand crashing to the ground beside her. With Catherine hunched down, Byleth swerved easily behind her and lifted her knee up to smash the back of Catherine's neck—

Her knee-guard collided with an armored arm and her eyes widened.

Of course, she's faster than me.

Byleth hopped backward, putting distance between her and Catherine. A lightning blur rushed past her and Byleth attempted to spin around, knowing that Catherine was already preparing a deadly strike behind her.

My experience tells me she'll slice before I manage to spin around. If so…

Byleth suddenly remembered a neat trick Renard once showed Satiana. Actually, she tried it herself against Satiana in their mock battle before, but it completely slipped her mind under the sheer amount of pressure Catherine was radiating. With a quick flick of her wrists, she paused mid-spin and tilted her blade backward over her shoulder.

If I know where the attack is coming from, there's no need to turn around and block it.

As expected, the Thunderbrand came crashing down behind her and Byleth blocked it neatly without sparing a glance over her shoulder. However, she miscalculated the sheer amount of strength behind Catherine's powerful blows and winced as her wrist bones creak in pain. With her sword-hand rendered immobile, the only option Byleth had was to use her feet.

She ducked down, swinging her leg in a wide arc behind her, aiming to knock Catherine off balance. Wielding the Thunderbrand came with one fatal weakness that Byleth finally recognized after turning back time; the sword was much heavier than the wielder. Although Catherine was nimble enough to dodge or repel quick blows and sturdy enough to withhold a fatal blow, her upward swings were much slower than her downward slashes.

This kick won't land, but it'll give me the window of opportunity I need to win…!

Byleth's legs crashed against armored boots, and she flinched in pain. Catherine didn't budge and held the Thunderbrand with both hands, stabbing the sword downward towards Byleth.

Byleth's lips twitched, visualizing her winning move in her head as she flipped her body, dodging the blow. The hero's relic slammed into the ground next to her neck as she released her sword, sending the hilt flying up parallel to the Thunderbrand.

The hilt landed with a hollow thud against Catherine's neck.

Time seemed to pause as the sword bounced off Catherine's neck, clattering down to the ground. Catherine stared heatedly at Byleth's satisfied face. Byleth picked herself up from her crouched position, standing back on steady feet as she brushed the dirt off her knees. She lifted her head to face Catherine's burning glare and felt her lips curling upwards.

"Just in case, I used the hilt of my sword instead of the sharp end," Byleth drawled calmly, voice steady this time without panting for air. "If that was an actual battle, it would've pierced your neck."

"...Hah!" Catherine released a breathy sound that escalated into a full-blown laugh. "To be honest, I thought the rumors were exaggerated when I heard you were a one-man army of some sort. Ashen demon, huh?" She stopped laughing, eyes staring at Byleth with amusement and admiration. "That name is certainly fitting."

"I could say the same to you," Byleth responded. "You're a formidable opponent. It was pure luck that I won this time."

Catherine blinked once, then twice. She ended up in another fit of laughter. "Geez, I didn't take you to be such a jokester, professor! Surely, you jest. You underestimate your own abilities, professor."

Byleth's blank face twitched imperceptibly as she resisted the urge to smile. "If you ask my students, they'll tell you I have a dry sense of humor." She then coughed into her palms. "Now then, Catherine. Will you keep up your end of the deal?"

Catherine sighed, rustling the strands of her hair. "Yeah, yeah. I know. You want to hear about Lord Lonato and his business with the church, right? I'll tell you. Just maybe, we can move to a more secluded spot."

Byleth exhaled softly, lips curling up into a small smile. "Well, you are lucky. I know a suitable spot to talk over some tea. Care to join me in the garden?"

For the third time that day, Byleth made Catherine double over in a laughing fit. From that day on, there was a new piece of gossip flying across the monastery: that the Ashen Demon actually had a gold sense of humor, even breaking through the legendary Thunderstrike Cassandra's wall of defense.

Chapter Text

[White Clouds]

Mutiny in the Mist

The core members of the Blue Lions sat in their seats in the classroom. It was already nighttime; most of the students already headed back to their quarters, leaving the hallways and corridors empty. The monastery was silent except for the sound of crickets chirping and the wind whispers that blew throughout the courtyard.

It was the night before their mission to Gaspard. To the Blue Lion's surprise, Byleth called for an emergency meeting disguised as a late-night seminar session. For some unknown reason, Byleth treated this meeting like a secret heist, even lying to Seteth about her plans for the day to avoid his watchful, hawk-like eyes.

Whatever this impromptu meeting was, their professor was up to no good.

"Hey Ingrid," Sylvain whispered from the seat behind her. "What do you think is the purpose of this meeting?

Ingrid turned her head around to face Sylvain. "I don't know, Sylvain. Perhaps the professor wanted to give us additional information about our positions in the army tomorrow."

"Hm, knowing her personality, I doubt the professor would forget to tell us something so important," Mercedes pondered, tilting her head to the side. "Maybe something unexpected came up?"

Even Dedue was anxious, his stone-face more stiff than usual. "It is unlike the professor to resort to meetings past curfew. She usually teaches in an organized and timely manner. Something must have happened that requires our immediate attention."

Dimitri nodded in agreement. "Yes, knowing our professor, she wouldn't gather us together unless it was of utmost importance. This all sounds very…foreboding." He rubbed his chin in thought, eyes narrowing.

Felix rolled his eyes in response. "Hmph. Whatever it is, I hope she'll wrap it up soon. I need to go back to training."

Sylvain blanched at Felix's remark, sputtering in disbelief. "Wha— are you insane? It's already about to be past midnight! Who the hell would train now?!"

Felix grunted, leaning his back against the chair. "I do."

Sylvain groaned, slumping forward onto the table. "You're insatiable, you know that? Why am I even friends with you? You could use that time to, I don't know, pick up some girls downtown."

Felix shot him a nasty look. "I could say the same to you, fool."

"Aw, those two are fighting again," Annette pouted.

Mercedes chuckled, a cheery smile on her face. "Just leave those two alone, Annie. It's the usual for them."

The giant doors behind them creaked open, and all heads spun to the newcomer. Byleth strolled through the doors, holding a stack of papers in hand. Her heels clicked against the floor as she walked down the aisle with grace and confidence, as usual.

Dimitri stood up from his seat. "Professor, good evening. We are all present, waiting for your instruction."

Byleth nodded in response. "Thank you for agreeing to meet this late in the night. I must apologize. I didn't think there was any need to hold a special lecture past curfew. But a few weeks ago, I received information that could affect our performance tomorrow." She glanced down the row of tables, meeting her students' curious gazes. "I spent the entire month devising a plan of action for us tomorrow. However, the final decision lies with you."

Dimitri blinked. The rest of the students shared confused gazes, cocking their heads to the side. As the representative of the class, it fell on Dimitri to voice out their sentiments. "Um, professor? What do you mean by that?"

She threw the stack of papers down with a soft thud on the podium. Then she leaned over the table, staring at them. "I'm sure all of you have questions regarding tomorrow's excursion. The church refused to inform me of Lord Lonato's reason for causing this rebellion. However, I have done some…searching on my own. Of course, without the church knowing. Let's just say I have a capable ally who specializes in intelligence gathering."

Felix and Sylvain shared a knowing look. Byleth said nothing, but they had an inkling it had to do with Satiana's mission in the Empire.

"I have discovered something of huge relevance to this case," Byleth continued. "Lord Lonato had a son convicted for high treason against the King of Faerghus."

The mood dampened inside the classroom. The students froze stiff at Byleth's declaration. Dimitri, in particular, had a look of pure horror on his paling face. Even Dedue wasn't left unaffected by the sudden confession, his eyes widening imperceptibly, lips tightening.

"P-Professor, is that true?" Dimitri found his voice quivering. He swallowed, then opened his mouth to try again. "I mean, his son was involved in that…that tragedy?"

Byleth met his wavering gaze with a steady stare. "No."

Dimitri paused, blinking in confusion. "But you just said that—"

"I said that they implicated him in the incident. However, I never said if it was true or not."

Realization dawned, and Dimitri shot up in his seat, hands balled up into fists. "You're not saying that it was a false conviction, are you?" He raised his voice, jaws clenching.

Byleth crushed whatever bud of hope inside him with a damning nod. "The church executed Lord Lonato's son, Christophe Gaspard, for a crime he did not commit. It was officially announced that he took part in the Tragedy of Duscur, aiming to kill the King of Faerghus. However, this is actually not true." Byleth paused in her speech, choosing to walk to the front of the podium instead. "Christophe was taking part in a plot to assassinate Lady Rhea."

A wave of chaotic whispers flew over the Blue Lions.

"I-I can't believe it! A plot to assassinate Lady Rhea? How atrocious!" Mercedes gasped, clasping a hand over her mouth in horror and disbelief.

"Wait, so he didn't take part in the Tragedy of Duscur. But he tried to kill Lady Rhea?" Sylvain's eyes widened. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"But what reason would anyone have to assassinate Lady Rhea?" Annette clutched her head in sheer panic. "This makes little sense!"

"Why would Lord Lonato's son do something of that sort?" Ingrid muttered to herself, brows dragging down in deep thought.

"H-Hold on, professor." Dimitri raised his hand in the air, catching Byleth's attention. "So Christophe Lonato committed a crime, but against the wrong target. It still doesn't change the fact that he took part in a plot to assassinate someone. He cannot be forgiven for such a senseless act."

Byleth stared blankly at Dimitri. "You're right. I do not think the church's decision was unreasonable. He tried to commit murder against one of the highest authorities in Fodlan, after all." She then narrowed her eyes. "But the church covered up the truth behind this incident, implicating him in the worst tragedy ever. I think this gives more than enough reason for Lord Lonato to harbor some lingering resentment towards the church."

Felix snorted from the back. "Hah! I see. So the Church of Seiros dishonored his son's life by implicating him in an abhorrent tragedy to keep the peace in Fodlan. Leave it to him to cling over such useless ideals."

"Felix!" Ingrid snapped, slamming her palms onto the table as she stood up from her seat. "You shouldn't disregard Lord Lonato's feelings like that! He had a valid reason for causing this rebellion. The church lied to him, trampled over Christophe's reputation, and tarnished his life."

Felix sneered at Ingrid. "Regardless of how the church reacted, it doesn't change the fact that his son committed a crime, which he properly paid with his life. The old man's resentments are unfounded. Lord Lonato took up his blade in the name of revenge for someone who's long dead, causing havoc in his territory and involving innocent civilians in his crimes. The only thing he's doing is piling up more corpses in his son's name."

"You might be right, Felix," Dimitri muttered, clenching his fists. "But Lord Lonato didn't take up arms out of lust for power. He believed his cause to be just. Who's to say it wasn't?"

Felix scoffed, rolling his eyes in disappointment. "I don't care whether his reasons are just. The moment he involved civilians in his schemes, he already crossed the point of no return. If he wanted revenge, he shouldn't have dragged others into the mud with him."

"...I guess you're right," Dimitri quietly conceded, but the grip he maintained on his fists conveyed otherwise. Something in Lord Lonato's actions resonated deep inside of him, but he was too afraid to let it loose. At least not in front of everyone.

"Actually, I don't understand why the Church kept it a secret from us," Mercedes spoke with a frown. "Of course, publicizing the truth about the assassination attempt on Lady Rhea would cause political turmoil, but…" she trailed off, thoughts in disarray.

"It can't be helped, Mercie," Annette replied, consoling Mercedes by rubbing circles on her back. The church did what they had to. If people knew about the threat to Lady Rhea's life, their faith in the church would plummet and mass panic would ensue."

Sylvain always remained quiet during serious discussions. It was in his frivolous nature to do so — brushing off his duties as the heir with a wink and a smile. He'd usually plop his head down on the table, bury his head into his arms, and doze off into a sweet dream about picking up girls downtown. But for once, he felt obligated to speak up because he too, had a bone to pick with the church. More specifically, the propaganda they spread about the importance of crests and their self-indulgent actions.

"If you ask me, it's more like the church was unwilling to face the possibility that there are those who have genuine grievances with them. Rather than confronting those potential issues and looking inwards, they just brushed it all under the rug and pretended it didn't exist," Sylvain commented, eyes blank and devoid of emotion.

Ingrid whipped her head around, jaws dropping in shock. Even Felix's eyes widened, staring at his friend with genuine surprise.

Sylvain remained nonchalant under their scrutinizing gazes. He shrugged, a half-smirk plastered on his handsome features. "Hm? Did I say something wrong? Why are you looking at me like that, my dear friends?" He laughed dryly, the light of his smile not reaching his eyes. "It's true though. The church turned a blind eye to their faults and used the Tragedy of Duscur as a scapegoat, just to suit their political needs. If Lord Lonato can't be forgiven for his crimes, then what about the church for lying to the public and disgracing the dead?"

"Well, that's…" Mercedes's hands trembled as Sylvain's perspective sank in. "The church must've had their reasons. I'm sure they thought it through."

Felix snorted. "Yes, and now that decision drove a man insane. Really, these idiots are all the same." He threw his hands into the air in exasperation.

Ingrid glared daggers at Felix. "Then maybe you should make the right decision for them. Though I don't know if someone like you who ran away from all his duties and responsibilities as an heir would be capable of doing so."

Felix's eyes flashed. He leaned forward, snarling with disgust at Ingrid. "You may be right, but at least I know better than to support blind obedience to these political institutions who wield their weapons under a deluded banner of justice in the name of peace and righteousness."

"Guys, calm down!" Annette's eyes bounced around the room in a flurry. "This isn't the time to be arguing! We need to decide what we're going to do tomorrow."

As if on cue, Byleth clapped her hands loudly, catching everyone's attention. She cleared her throat, tapping her boots against the floor with her arms folded. "Annette is right. I didn't call you guys here to debate over whose sense of justice is right or wrong," she started sternly as her eyes trailed down the row of students, noting their expressions. "There is no correct answer. Everyone fights for what they believe in and it would be foolish to convince your opponents otherwise when they feel as strongly about their beliefs as you do."

The class went silent, pondering over Byleth's wise words.

"Justice is a weapon. It can cause harm, but it can never protect or save others. Regardless, someone must take action to stop this senseless slaughter. And that is why I have gathered you here today — to discuss our plan of action."

Dimitri's forehead creased in confusion. "What do you mean by that, professor? Are you suggesting that we act independently from the Knights of Seiros?"

Byleth nodded. "As Lady Rhea ordered, we are supposed to be stationed with the rear guards, helping with the aftermath of the rebellion. However, as your professor, my duty and responsibility to you comes before my promise to the church."

Dimitri's eyes widened, his heart swelling with newfound admiration and respect for his professor. "You…you're giving us a chance to decide for ourselves what our next course of action should be?"

Byleth's lips curled up into a smooth smile. "If you ask me, I would cut Lord Lonato down if he tried to fight against me. But I'm not fighting for the Church's sake. I'm fighting to protect the innocent civilians who got caught up in this political mess."

Felix snorted. "Spoken like a true knight…"

The Blue Lions were stunned to silence at Byleth's declaration. Although they were arguing for the past ten minutes, they shared a harmonious look of understanding and agreement. Regardless of what they believed in, there was no valid justification for Lord Lonato's actions. In the end, he committed a crime. And just like his son, he must pay for his mistakes.

But the professor was giving them an opportunity to deliver their brand of justice on the man.

It was at this moment that the Blue Lions finally accepted their mysterious teacher as the leader of their house. Although she always carried herself so nonchalantly to everything around her, she had a keen eye and a strong sense of responsibility. She may be a blank-faced demon, strong enough to slaughter an entire army by herself. But unlike her outer demeanor, she possessed a kind heart.

Perhaps their teacher cared about them more than they thought.

Byleth's eyes had a silvery gleam to them under the moonlight shining through the windows. They twinkled brilliantly in the darkness with such piercing clarity it drowned out the anxiety permeating through the room.

The Blue Lions had decided.

Byleth's lip twitched upwards, a ghost of a smile on her face again. "I see from your faces that you have made your final decisions."

The Blue Lions didn't reply, only staring unflinchingly into their professor's knowing gaze.

Byleth swerved around the podium, grabbing the pile of papers on the table. Then, she passed them out to the students. She swatted the paper in her hand lightly. "This is a map of Magdred and the forest we will march through tomorrow. According to weather predictions and my ally's research, I've circled the blind spots in our formation for tomorrow."

Dimitri arched an eyebrow, realization dawning. "So what you're saying is…"

Byleth tilted her head innocently, though her eyes glinted mischievously. "The fog's thick. We can blame our failure to comply with orders on…well…unforeseen circumstances."

"So, you're telling me you sneaked into the high bishop's room?"

"That and also their basement."

"And you actually managed to leave without getting caught?"

"Hey, what can I say? I'm an awesome assassin."

"More like a thief in disguise!"

Ashe sat in the corner of their camp, eyes darting in a frenzy between Satiana and Renard, who were chatting through the night. After meeting up with Renard, the trio set up their camps near the castle. At Satiana's suggestion, they walked back through the forest, arriving at a wide glade where the trees fell away, revealing the bespectacled sky.

The campfire warmed the wintry air; the temperature plummeted after the sun disappeared over the horizon, the cold remnants of moisture prickling their skin. Ashe huddled close to the flames, feeling the radiating heat, holding his hands over it and watched them glow palpably golden.

"More importantly, don't we have better things to discuss? Like what we should do tomorrow," Renard brought up, stretching his legs out in front of him as he leaned against the bark of a tree. He crossed his legs together and placed his hands behind his head comfortably, white wisps of smoke fluttering from his lips as he exhaled lightly. "I didn't think Jeralt would send you, of all people, here."

Satiana snorted, switching to a cross-legged position on the grass. "Let's just say I have personal stakes in tomorrow's battle as well." She glanced briefly in Ashe's direction. "If possible, I'd like to end the rebellion peacefully. Perhaps lead him into surrendering."

"I doubt that's possible," Renard shot her down with a frown. "From what I've heard, the Western Church has been feeding him a bunch of lies, using his sorrow against him and forcing him to direct his anger towards the Central Church." Renard yawned, mouth gaping wide. He rubbed his drooping eyelids in a hurry. "Gosh, why is it so cold when it's not even winter?" He shuddered, unkempt hair rustling in the icy breeze.

"Faerghus has always been a cold place." She wiggled her toes, keeping them from freezing under the weather. "By the way, what lies have they been feeding him?" She traced a small firefly with her eyes, humming to keep herself awake.

Renard pulled a frustrated face. "Oh, a bunch of nasty things. Like how the Central Church is the one who caused the Tragedy. Or how they preyed on the follower's faith, earning mass amounts of financial support that they then used to strengthen their authority."

Satiana made a noncommittal grunt-like noise, head bobbing up and down from fatigue. "Huh. And he actually believed them?" her voice had a rough and hoarse quality to them, a side effect from breathing in the misty air. She coughed loudly, clearing her throat.

Ashe handed her a mug of warm water to which she accepted with a small whisper of 'thanks.' She swallowed, feeling her belly swell with warmth and she sighed contently, back hunching deeper into herself as she hugged her knees close to her chest.

Renard shrugged, his languid gaze traversing the night sky above. "When you're in despair, your thoughts can easily fall prey to manipulation. I doubt Lord Lonato even cares anymore who caused what. He just wants revenge against the church who killed his son."

The conversation stalled, the sound of wood crackling and sizzling flame reverberating through their ranks. A solitary crow's grating caws created a haunting melody, adding to the brewing storm of anxiety among the two younger members of the team.

Ashe was the first to break the bone-chilling silence. "So, what are we going to do?" His soft voice was a huge contrast to the heavy atmosphere permeating the three of them.

Renard jerked his head up, Ashe's voice catching him off-guard. "Sorry, I dozed off for a moment there," he sheepishly apologized. "That's a brilliant question. We still need to plan for tomorrow." He snapped his fingers consecutively, noticing how Satiana was rolling back and forth in her balled-up form. "Wake up, Satiana. Now's not the time to sleep."

Satiana stirred, blinking blearily as she lifted her head to meet his warning glare. She sniffed, rubbing the tip of her reddened nose. "I know, I know. Just needed a brief break." She stifled a yawn behind her palms. "Okay, so, tomorrow. Should we just barge through the front? Ashe is with us. If we tell him we're Ashe's friends, maybe he'll let us in."

Renard gave her a pointed look. "What is this, a sleepover? As if they'll let us in that easily. In case you've forgotten, we're trying to stop a rebellion here."

"I know, but he's still Ashe's father," Satiana shrugged, "if we tell him Ashe wants to talk with him, he might oblige."

"I…want to talk to Lord Lonato." Ashe fidgeted in his seat, the flames flickering to life in his mossy green irises. "Even if he might not wish to see me, I need to talk to him."

"Then that settles it," Renard smirked. "Guess we'll have to use good old brute force." He punched his fists together, grin pure shark, teeth glistening in the moonlight.

Satiana could hear the laughter in Renard's voice, and she eyed him suspiciously from the side. "What are you cooking up in that brain of yours?" She froze, a nasty thought creeping up from the back of her mind. "Don't tell me," her voice lowered a notch in disbelief. "You're not thinking of using plan blast-open-the-goddamn-wall again, are you?"

Ashe's brows slowly arched up. He turned his blank gaze towards Satiana. The pure incredulity of the name made him stare comically at Satiana as if she had sprouted a second head.

Renard snorted. "Of course not! After that failure, I'm never using bolganone again. I was thinking more of a sneak-into-the-mansion-like-a-first-class-thief kind of thing."

Ashe's expression faltered even more.

Satiana gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. "Oh god, so you really turned to thievery to survive. You've fallen to a new low, teach."

"Then what do you suggest we do? Surely, not blow-up-half-the-castle-with-magic?"

"I don't know. To be honest, I was thinking of using plan distract-with-your-life-on-the-line again."

"I'm not being the decoy again, Satiana. I almost lost my head the last time we did this."

"I mean, that is the name of the game. You know, put your life on the line to distract the enemies."

"Then why don't we try Jeralt's plan? I think it was something like pretend-to-be-a-merchant-and-fuck-them-from-the-inside."

"Oh please, that's too much effort. We don't even have goods to sell."

Ashe facepalmed in disbelief, shaking his head in exasperation. "Am I the only one who's sane around here?" he yelled out loud, sending a flock of crows rustling through the trees. "This isn't a joke, you know? Lord Lonato's future is on the line! Please be more serious about this!" He was standing on his feet now, glaring daggers at the sheepish looks on Renard and Satiana's face.

"Woah, calm down, buddy! Our naming sense may suck, but we're actually serious about this," Renard laughed, waving Ashe off with a hand. "We just wanted you to feel better. You know, make you smile again."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ashe pouted, turning his head towards Satiana.

Satiana's lips twitched as they curled up into a lop-sided grin. "Think of it as a small payback for earlier."

Ashe groaned, slumping to the ground in a huddled ball. "I swear I'm the only one about to lose my mind here," he whined, pouting as he slammed his head repeatedly onto his knees.

Satiana shifted over towards him, crawling on her knees across the grass before she patted him on the shoulder. He lifted his head up, eyes brimming with tears as he sniffed. Satiana smiled warmly at him, gaze softened. "Hey, it'll be alright. You want to talk to Lord Lonato before the rebellion and I'm here to make that happen, okay? I promise you that."

"B-But how are we going to get inside the castle?" Ashe whimpered, sniffing again. He coughed, choking on his tears.

"It's easy," Renard interjected with a grin. "Just stroll up to the front gate, inform the guards you're Lord Lonato's son and that you brought reinforcements with you to help him in his cause."

"Will that actually work?" Ashe blinked, wiping his tears away with his fingers. "What if Lord Lonato refuses to see me?"

"Then we switch to Plan B and sneak you in there ourselves," Satiana replied. "We may look like a couple of fools, but Renard and I are used to trespassing on our missions. If you give us a detailed explanation of the castle's interior, we'll dress up as soldiers and enter from the back-gate. Hell, if you want us to, we can even try traversing up the castle walls."

Ashe went bug-eyed in disbelief. "Really? Climb the walls? Are you insane?"

Renard let loose a bark of laughter. "Hey kid. Don't underestimate us. We're professional assas—" He winced, noticing the nasty glare Satiana shot his way. His mouth clamped shut, and he cleared his throat, trying again. "I mean, mercenaries. We've done this before, don't worry. Besides, that's just a back-up plan. I highly doubt your adoptive father will dismiss you."

"...If you say so," Ashe mumbled, head drooping back down again.

"I'm telling you, Ashe." Satiana patted him again on the back. "You just focus on preparing a speech to convince Lord Lonato to stop this rebellion. That's your one and only job. It's something only you can do, alright?"

Ashe tilted his head up, eyes flaring to life under the moonlight. "I know, Satiana. I'm the only one who might talk him out of this senseless slaughter."

"I'll take over the night watch for now." Renard got up on his feet and stretched his arms above his head, bending his hips to the side. "You two go get some sleep. I'll wake you up when it's dawn."

"You sure you'll be okay? Aren't you tired as well?" Satiana frowned.

Renard laughed, brushing her off with a chuckle. "Leave it to the adults for once, alright? Besides, you two are the main characters for tomorrow. I'm just a sideshow." He shrugged, mossy-green eyes gleaming mysteriously underneath the silvery rays. "I have my role to play, so just focus on smoothing out your issues, okay?"

Ashe's brows drew together in confusion, but he nodded reluctantly in response.

Satiana, on the other hand, stared directly at Renard's retreating form with a sullen frown plastered on her face. Her eyes darkened with concern, a small wave of anxiety rushing through her.

Renard, what the hell are you planning behind our backs?

One hour before the fateful moment. A mass of white. Or was it yellow? Lonato was pretty sure it was white, even under all the sunlight. He considered it a sign from the Goddess, a blessing from Saint Seiros herself. The fog would aid him well, hiding him from his enemies, allowing him to catch them off-guard with his spear of justice.

The winds were blowing in his favor. Today was the day he would bring divine punishment on the infidel who deceived the people and desecrated the goddess. He had been waiting for this moment. The hatred, fury, betrayal, and bitterness had far exceeded its capacity — he was a ticking time bomb, waiting to explode.

And he'd do anything to make this last blow count, even if it cost him his life in return.

He stared out the window from the highest vantage point of the castle; the tower keep. His residential room was on the highest floor. Compared to his mansion, it was decorated with only the bare minimum: a large king-sized bed, a few tables and chairs, acting as a makeshift study room. The walls were stone-gray with a few banners of the symbol of House Gaspard hanging along the edges.

It was a dull and barren place — a befitting place for a man who failed his son to breathe his last breath in.

He peered down at the line of soldiers and civilians below him, marching out through the open gates. He imagined an arctic tempest, the fires of hell not far below. Lonato smiled, if it could be called that. It promised only judgment and death.

There was no turning back from this point onward. He had gone too far off the rails. A madman. A rabid dog. A cursed beast who was clinging to the lingering ghost, the disapproving look of his beloved son, the haunting screech of pain the moment Christophe's head tilted off diagonally down his bleeding neck, the sea of black crowding in front of the empty coffin, rainstorm or was it tears, the invisible arm embracing him, sticky and inescapable, clawing and dragging him down to the cloying dread and wailing darkness—

A flash of light in the darkness. A bright, pure, gentle smile. The beautiful shade of lime-green. The sound of laughter like bell chimes in the wind. The small, tiny hands he dragged out of the darkness into the light, only to leave them stranded behind.

Lonato shook his head. He chuckled wryly to himself.

It was only an illusion. The shadow had long robbed the light from his eyes; it followed him with unrivaled persistence, seized every opportunity to creep under his skin, pierced his inner soul, destroyed his entire being, drowning it in nothing but despair.

He was beyond repair. His eyes could no longer see the light — only imagine it.

*Knock Knock*

"Who is it?" Lonato barked.

"Sir, your son is here to see you."

He stilled. For a moment, the soldier's words drew a blank. He must've misheard something. It couldn't be.

"Say that again?" This time, his voice cracked at the end, the broken pitch revealing the truth hidden inside his clouded heart.

No. Not now. Not him.

He didn't know whether the boy standing outside those doors would be his savior or the death reaper, coming to steal his soul away. Of all times, it just had to be now, before the moment of doom. After he had spent years resolving himself to destroy the church, he couldn't allow some measly kid to convince him otherwise.

He clenched his fists, biting his lips till the corners bled.

Why, Ashe? Why now?!

"I said your son is here to see you, sir. Should I…?" The soldier trailed off, uncertain.

Lonato buried his head in his hands. He exhaled, feeling the air rush out of his lungs. An unimaginable weight crushed his heart — a concoction of guilt, sorrow, and anger. But now, for a split second, his guilt overpowered all the other emotions battling for control inside of him.

He breathed a laugh, shifting his weight as something cynical tried to burst forth, but he drowned it out with the sound of his own beating pulse. His lips curled into a half-grin instead. Lonato glanced at the lance lying on his table. He grabbed it, tilting the sharp edge up high, letting the silver edge glow under the small ray of sunlight that escaped through the thickening fog outside.

Is this also a sign from the Goddess? Or perhaps…

He closed his eyes. He clearly felt it. A light push. A pair of warm hands covering his freezing, gloved one on the lance. He felt his grip loosening on the weapon. Lonato slowly opened his eyes.

Of course, there was nothing but empty space in front of him. Yet somehow, he could see it clearly with those blinded eyes of his. The halo-white strands of unkempt hair, the striking green orbs, the look of sheer sorrow and pity.

"...Let him in," Lonato spoke with finality, dark blue orbs thinning.

So, even now, you choose to watch over my every move, huh, Christophe?

"With this fog, it's impossible to tell where the enemy might be or how many of them there are," Catherine muttered.

She stood in the center of the formation, surveying her surroundings with a torch in hand. The rest of the Knights of Seiros traveled in small groups of five, acting like a defensive wall barricading her from the enemies. The Blue Lions dragged their feet along behind the troop, lingering near the back.

"Catherine, perhaps we should send a recon group deeper into the woods," Byleth spoke up from behind. "At this rate, the enemies can easily surround us."

"No, they shouldn't have enough soldiers to form a tight circle," Catherine refuted. "Take down anyone who breaks through the fog and push through."

Although Catherine commanded the troops with confidence, they were at a terrain disadvantage. Their enemies were more accustomed to the forests than they were. Not to mention, the mysterious fog was adept at creating illusions, invoking paranoia; in the dense shadows, it was easy to mistake the thick grooves for silent sentries, waiting to ambush them. The century-old trees with sprawling limbs only heightened the soldier's awareness of traps. Combined with the low visibility, prolonging the battle took a toll on the troop's mentality.

Catherine scowled. They needed to end this battle quickly. She spun around and beckoned with her hands. "Any soldier who can see me, pick up your pace and march forward!"

A series of 'yes ma'am' echoed down the line as the knights picked up their pace, jogging through the fog.

Byleth glanced behind her shoulder briefly, making eye contact with Dimitri, who nodded sternly in response.

Soon enough, the sound of knights and villagers alike shouting pierced through the fog. Catherine darted to the front of the formation, raising her Thunderbrand up high as she leapt up into the sky. The blade crashed down with enough force to split the terrain, causing a few villagers to stumble over their feet. With finesse, she rounded them up with one wide slash; the sword glowing ominously red in the dark.

Their heads fell to the ground with a solid thud. One enemy archer collapsed to the ground, whimpering as he tried to back away. Catherine stormed her way towards him, eyes glinting dangerously. She lifted the sword.

"No, wait! P-Please, I surrender—"

*Squelch*

His shriek for mercy died off with one swift flick of her wrists. She scoffed, rolling her eyes in annoyance as she lifted the blade up to her shoulder, glaring at the rest of the enemies standing stiff behind the fallen corpses of their comrades.

"Y-You devil! Monster! Heretic—"

Catherine paid them no heed, sprinting through their ranks with lightning speed, piercing them in the stomach, torso, shoulder, throat, wherever her sword desired. Occasionally, the militia would strike her back with their axes or lances. But such flimsy objects stood no chance against a well-crafted hero's relic. She left a trail of broken wood and metal behind her wake.

By the time she finished most of them off, she was drenched head to toe in blood. The sound of battle continued to echo hauntingly through the forest as she dived deeper into their ranks. She recognized a few of the knights in their ranks — she remembered meeting a few of them at the Lonato mansion before when she was younger.

"You betrayer! How could you do this to Lord Lonato and Lord Christophe?!"

She pinned all of them to the ground with brute force, slicing their limbs with her sword. They thrashed on the bloodied dirt, sobbing and wailing in pain, choking on their own tears and blood. She silenced them with a brutal swing of her legs, armored boots cracking their skulls open.

Hoisting her sword over her shoulder, she narrowed her eyes, squinting through the fog. Judging by the movements of the shadows, there were still a hefty amount of enemies left hiding in the fog, waiting to ambush them.

"This will never end," she snarled in distaste.

She didn't know how long the battle took. Catherine laid waste on the entire right flank of the enemy, hacking through bones and flesh with the fervor of a mad beast, thirsting for blood. Eventually, the sound of screaming and howling dulled. The fog flickered to life with red sparks of flames as the Knights of Seiros held their torches up high in the air, signaling their positions to their allies.

Catherine quickly counted the number of flaming torches in the air, checking for casualties within their ranks. To her relief, their siege was successful. Not a single knight under her command had lost their life. It was to be expected, of course, considering their opponents. Nevertheless, she felt wholeheartedly relieved. She stepped over a corpse, snapping the neck of the body in half as she returned to the center of their formation.

"All clear?" She barked out.

"Yes, I believe most of the enemies have been subdued—" the knight standing beside her was cut off when the surrounding air suddenly sizzled.

A soft hiss-like sound reverberated down their ranks, and Catherine spun her head around frantically to detect the source of the sound. The wind picked up, sending twirls of mist into the air as the poltergeist-white fog dissipated. Their warped sense of direction returned, the sunlight a sharp blade in the sky, causing them to squint, blocking the sudden attack of blinding light with their arms.

"What just happened…?" Catherine mumbled in a daze. "How did the fog just disappear?!"

Their white surroundings had drifted away, revealing the true atrocity of their actions. A pile of corpses lay scattered throughout the muddy grounds, drowning in giant pools of blood. Severed limbs darted across the sullied land, the wind launching them into a rattling fit as if they were haunted by the ghosts of their owners. The entire wasteland glowed grotesquely red, a deep and jarring contrast to the green nature around them.

And there she stood in the center of the massacre, swinging the blood off her sword. "I don't know what happened, but our work here is done. Let's head deeper into the woods and round up the rest of the sinners all the way to Gaspard!"

"C-Catherine!" a squire squeaked from behind her.

She spun her head around and glared at him. "What's wrong? We're in a hurry here, so make it quick."

"Y-Yes, ma'am." The squire bowed deeply, knees trembling as his face paled bluish green with nausea. He gagged, launching himself into a coughing fit. "E-Excuse me, Catherine. But we're missing a few of our soldiers!"

"Who?" Catherine asked with disinterest. It was normal to have a few casualties in battle. She was numb to the experience of loss by now.

"W-Well, about that…" the squire trailed off, eyes darting away from Catherine's scorching glare. "It seems like we lost the professor and her students in the fog!"

Catherine froze. She spun her head around in a frenzy, gasping in horror as realization dawned. It was just like the squire said. The professor had somehow disappeared in the middle of the conflict, taking her students with her. Catherine scowled, gritting her teeth in annoyance.

She remembered how she told Byleth about Lord Lonato's motivations behind the rebellion. The professor had a blank expression on her face the entire time Catherine chatted with her. It was hard to read her thoughts, just like when she battled against Catherine.

Catherine figured the professor was simply curious about Fodlan's political affairs. Mercenaries of her sort never involved themselves with such matters, so perhaps the thought of engaging with rebellion intrigued her. Catherine never thought that the professor was somehow emotionally swayed by Lord Lonato's story. It simply couldn't be. The Ashen Demon, moved by a sob story?

Catherine's war-trained instincts flared. Byleth was up to something. No doubt about it. The professor was not only skilled with the sword, but also a crafty woman.

"Find them now," Catherine commanded in a loud voice, eyes twitching violently. "Don't let them impede our purge!"

For a castle in noble territory, the security was lax. It was laughable, really. Commoners playing dress-up in armor, fumbling over their swords. Villagers plowing seeds in the castle grounds. Then there were the more buff and beefy fighters with larger frames, nothing more than a couple of thugs, eyes sparkling with astonishment at the metal gauntlets on their wrists.

This wasn't an honorable fleet of knights. It was a haggard group of ragtags and beleaguered volunteers who had no choice but to follow the pleas of their revenge-driven lord.

Disgusting.

Renard shifted the helmet on his head lower, hiding his eyes away from sight as he plodded down the stairs of the round tower. Through the small arrow slits in the stone walls, he could see a line of militia marching out into the distance. Compared to the Knights of Seiros, they were nothing but a circus troupe, eager to try out new tricks they've learned on the battlefield.

But this was war, not a game. If Ashe and Satiana failed the peace talks, the Goddess's land would be soiled with the blood of innocents today.

Then again, since when did he care about such trivialities? He didn't want to admit it, but after Satiana joined their crew of mercenaries, he had changed. Or really, he was forced to change. To think the assassin who murdered his entire family in cold blood would one day be worried about a bunch of strangers dying in battle. It was laughable, indeed.

But if a young child was fighting with her life on the line for what was right, what else could he do but join her cause? His life had become much more eventful ever since she joined. Satiana was indeed a magnet for trouble, but it also brought such color and flair to his dull and purposeless life.

Yes, he'd never had this much fun ever since his beloved wife passed away.

Renard never told Satiana his story. Hell, he didn't even tell Jeralt. And yet the two idiots accepted him, like the naïve, kind-hearted fools they were.

Renard chuckled dryly to himself as he crossed over the battlements, the wind gently blowing around his profile as if consoling him.

Aside from the fog, it really is a beautiful day. Perhaps…even a good day to die.

His story was run-of-the-mill. Renard Von Dietrich was from a collapsing noble house in the Empire. As a household that desperately needed the fame and prestige that came with a crest, they forced him to marry some woman from the Essar family. It was in this cruel twist of fate that he fell in love with his partner, Helena Von Essar. Unfortunately, the two had no children who bore crests and in the end, he lost his beloved to a heart disease…

Or so they said in the papers. He knew it was no heart disease that stole the life of his beloved. It was none other than the filthy aristocratic society and church that placed crests onto a pedestal, destroying the lives of many innocents.

The systematic society and their families abused her for giving birth to crest-less children. Helena chose death, taking her beloved children with her in despair. In a storm of madness and sorrow, by the time Renard woke up from his enraged trance, he had already slain his entire family. Of course, his next target was the entire Essar household. He eliminated them all in a blind rage before he escaped to the Abyss, resolving to live the rest of his life in solitude until Helena came to retrieve him.

But she never did.

He picked up the sword, tried to end his own misery countless times, but never once succeeded. And that was why Satiana's existence destroyed his entire being — flipped his universe upside down.

He knew from the first moment he spotted Satiana, sitting blankly in bed after Jeralt saved her. This girl would be his impending doom. She was his mirror — a perfect carbon copy of him. A living dead. A child who was as lost as he was in this maze they called life. She was dangerous, not because she was involved in regicide. Renard may have acted like she would've been a threat to Jeralt, but that wasn't the whole truth.

He didn't want Satiana aboard because she was dangerous to him.

And dangerous, she was. She was like an addictive drug. Even that blank-faced demon of a child named Byleth started showing lively expressions after spending time with her. He didn't want to admit it, but she breathed life into them all.

She did what he could never do. He fell to despair and never made it out alive. But she did. Somehow, in that uncanny way of hers, she always bounced back on her feet. No matter what nightmares haunted her, trying to shatter her beliefs, she would always claw her way forward like a persistent bug.

He had already failed his family. Helena, his children, and himself. He had lost everything dear to him and succumbed to the wallowing despair. But he wouldn't do it again this time. Not when his savior was still fighting.

Really, what have you done to me, Satiana?

Renard hid something important from the rest of the crew. In his time searching the Western Church, he had discovered a trail that led to the basement of Gaspard Castle. According to testimony from a random priest he interrogated, the Western Church hid a couple of crest stones in the inner bailey of the castle.

Renard had a sinking feeling the cloaked mages would wait for him underneath the inner bailey. Why wouldn't they be? They were the true masterminds behind his incident, manipulating both Lord Lonato and the Western Church to complete their own nasty plots.

He kept this from Satiana. She had more important things to focus on. He didn't want her to waver between saving the life of Lord Lonato and fulfilling her duty to Rodrigue.

Renard never wanted to see Satiana wallowing in despair ever again. He owed her that much.

He soon reached the basement of the inner bailey. Only one metal door blocked his way. Renard narrowed his eyes, gathering flames in his glowing hand. He cast a fireball spell, blasting through the door, melting the hinges off with one clean blow. The door fell to the ground with a resounding thud.

A man dressed in black armor turned to him, his face covered in a skeleton-like mask.

"Who are you?" The sinister, dark figure rumbled.

Renard smirked at him, casually strolling into the room. "Your worst nightmare," he taunted.

The masked man faced his way, the open slits in his eyes flaring red. "Heh. A simpleton. I am the Death Knight."

Renard arched an eyebrow. "Really? That's what you call yourself? Even I can come up with a better name for myself." His eyes sparkled with amusement, though the grip he maintained on the sword in his hand spoke otherwise. He took a brief glance around the room, littered with crates and cobwebs. Mossy green eyes landed on a chest hidden in the rightmost corner of the room. "I see the goods are still here. Guess I wasn't too late."

The Death Knight summoned his sickle out of thin air, enveloping the basement in a thin veil of purple-colored mist. The scythe boasted a length far beyond those of a normal lance, the sharp end protruding out into the air, curling in on itself. Unlike most weapons Renard had seen, the scythe was made of agarthium, a rare metal the average blacksmith could never get their hands on.

Renard reached behind his back, pulling out another blade from inside his cloak. He gripped two swords in both hands, eying the enemy cautiously. "So, you use a scythe?"

"Sariel's scythe." The Death Knight made a giant swing diagonally in the air, sending a wave of shadowy mist soaring towards Renard.

The gust of wind was easily dodged by Renard, who sidestepped to the right. He turned his head around, watching as the ominous fog dissipated, leaving a giant crater in the wall.

Renard made a small noise of surprise. "What the hell was that?"

"You dare stand in my way?" The Death Knight bellowed, a thundering voice reverberating inside the room. "If you do not prove yourself worthy of my blade," he paused, lifting his scythe into the air. "Then death is all that remains…!"

Renard's head snapped to the exit, and he threw himself towards it, barrel-rolling on the ground. He felt a searing hot pain in his cheeks and winced. Black flames roared around him, the miasma spell creating a scorching fog of poison. There was movement from the front and he leaped to the right, crash-landing against the wall beside him. The Death Knight blocked the entrance, forcing Renard into a corner with only the spiraling staircase behind him.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance.

It's way too cramped down here. I'll be mince meat if I take even one blow of that stupid fog attack of his.

If Renard had to choose between retreating up to the grounds above or fighting this monstrous entity in an underground basement, he'd always choose the former. If he could cause a commotion upstairs, he'd be able to draw the attention of the other soldiers strewn about the courtyard. He could easily make his escape that way.

But he really didn't have a choice. He needed to secure those crest stones inside the basement. And if he escaped to safer grounds, the Death Knight would never pursue him. They both had the same target in mind, and Renard quickly realized that this battle would soon escalate into a dirty mud fight.

Fuck it. Fight till the death it is.

His hand sizzled, glowing ominously red as he cast a bolganone underneath the Death Knight's feet. The ground erupted open, sending a tornado of fire swirling around the Death Knight. The world went red; the flames devouring everything in sight. Inside the cramped basement, clouds of black fumes billowed into the air, remnants of the burning crates obscuring both of their vision with smoke.

Renard prepared to dive into the fire when a blast of flame flew in his direction. He yelped in surprise and dropped to his knees, crouching low as the fireball crashed into the stairs behind him.

What the fuck?! How did my attack get reflected at me?

"Leave." The Death Knight rumbled darkly as he emerged from the scorching flames. As if they obeyed his command, the flickering fire parted ways for him. He stormed down the short hallway, halting in front of Renard's crouched form in front of the staircase. He lifted the scythe up high into the air, the blade glinting red from the sweltering heat permeating the air. "If you refuse, this will be the place of your death. I have no time to indulge in my pleasures today."

Unexpectedly, Renard cackled hysterically, eyes flashing with bloodlust. "Hah! What a monster!" He doubled over, clutching his stomach in a show of unrestrained amusement.

The Death Knight peered down at him, red eyes flashing with recognition. "You…you smell of death and blood."

Renard paused, lifting his head up to meet the curious gaze of his foe. His lips curled up into a wolfish grin. "Well, what can I say? It's been a while since I've faced such a destructive opponent like you."

He gathered himself back up on his feet, pressing closer to the Death Knight. They stood silently amongst the roaring flames, chest to chest. Molten green eyes, like a beast, swept over the Death Knight's frame in blatant appraisal with sweeping arrogance. He licked his lips lightly, feeling the heat tickling the tip of his tongue. "I knew it. Today really is a great day to die in," Renard spoke ominously before he thrust his arm forward.

The Death Knight loosened his grip on the scythe, sliding the hilt down to parry the blow. "I see." Renard could imagine the way the Death Knight's eyes narrowed in interest. "So you are also craving blood."

Red eyes clashed with green, and Renard laughed. "The world is a shitty place, after all. What's left to entertain a dead man other than a few blood bouts?" Renard leaped back to the stairs, gathering his weight to the soles of his feet before he charged forward.

His blade crashed against agarthium, sending another burst of flames into the air as the Death Knight reflected his attack back at him. But this time, Renard was prepared. He stabbed the sword in his left hand into the wall beside him, plunging it deep into the stone before powerful legs propelled him up into the air. Using the sword as a foothold, he leaped onto the wall, then spun around behind the Death Knight, aiming his right blade at the neck.

The Death Knight ducked, only to have Renard knee him in the back. A low growl escaped from the Death Knight's muffled lips as he swerved around mid-air, slashing the scythe diagonally upwards. Renard faced the poisonous slice from the front, holding his sword horizontally. The violent gust sent him sailing through the air, his back eventually colliding with a half-burnt shelf near the right corner of the basement.

"You're a mad beast." The Death Knight's low baritone chuckle echoed hauntingly down the empty cellar. "To think you'd dive straight into the fog of death." His boots snapped a broken crate in half, sending splinters jetting into the air. He shifted his stance, holding his scythe horizontally as he darted forward.

Renard coughed up blood, wiping the corners of his lips with his sleeves as he raised his leg up, slamming his heels into the hilt of the scythe, forcing it to a halt with sheer strength. The Death Knight pushed harder, sending Renard's leg curving up, knee trembling near his chest. The added pressure launched Renard into another coughing fit, his left hand twitching leftwards, glowing palpably white.

"If you fled, I would not have chased you. But it seems you wish to die." The Death Knight swerved his blade forward, letting gravity take hold as he pushed Renard's feet out of the way, plunging the scythe into Renard's shoulder.

Renard gasped in pain, clutching his left shoulder with tears pricking his eyes. The pain threatened to steal his consciousness away as the corners of his vision slowly stained black. He mustered up the last bit of his strength and chuckled, eyes twitching. "Hah…it's true that I yearn for death. That still has not changed." Green eyes flashed unpredictably. "But before I do, I have a promise to keep." He threw an awkward wink in the Death Knight's direction.

The Death Knight froze. He tightened his grip on the scythe, stabbing it further into the wounds as Renard hissed. The Death Knight glanced around the room, watching as the flames died out from the wind blowing through the arrow slits up in the turret.

Most of the room was charred black. The remains of burnt wood fluttered through the acrid air. His eyes eventually landed on the empty corner next to Renard's limp body. There was nothing in the now empty spot. Only remnants of white sparkles and bluish light remained.

The chest of crest stones was nowhere to be found.

The Death Knight scowled in distaste. "You…you tricked me."

Renard smirked. "Hey, perhaps you should've, I don't know, paid more attention to your actual target?"

He yelped as the scythe was violently yanked out of his shoulder. The scorching heat sizzled against his open wound and he almost bit his tongue from the surging pain. But he forced himself to breathe, gasping for air. He launched himself into another coughing fit, this time mixed with the sound of soft laughter.

"So, what are you going to do now?" Renard mocked, spitting blood out of his mouth. "For your information, I'm not really a skilled mage, so I don't even know where I warped that box of crest stones."

Just kidding. Of course, I'm not that dumb. By now, that box is safely in Fraldarius territory.

The Death Knight held the scythe to Renard's neck, his grip shuddering. "And here I thought you were the same type of person as me. Searching for a battlefield. It seems I was mistaken."

Renard snorted. "Don't get me wrong. I wouldn't mind dying by your hands in a proper battle. That's what I yearn for. But there's one big difference between us." His mossy green eyes gained a golden gleam, fiery and bright. "I'm not an aimless wandering beast. Not anymore. I got myself involved with a very annoying group of busybodies who just love getting themselves into trouble of this sort. Seriously, you should meet them—"

The scythe plunged into his rib cage and he screamed, toppling down to the floor on his side.

"Perhaps bathing in your blood will satiate me," the Death Knight snarled. "I will never forget this humiliation."

Renard's eyes stung and the lump in his throat was an oversized brick, painfully digging in at every point of contact. He wheezed for air, breath slowing at a rapid pace as blood pooled out of his open wounds. His vision blurred, the darkness creeping underneath his drooping eyelids, the pain too hard to bear.

From the corner of his fading vision, he saw the Death Knight raise the scythe up high, the sharp blade pointing directly towards Renard's head.

His lips contorted into a pained, strained smile.

At least I got my hands on the damning evidence from them. I hope this pays my debt to you, Satiana…

The scythe moved downward.

Chapter Text

[White Clouds]

Blade of Justice

The lonely silhouette, back lit by the dim lights, piercing through the fog into the window. Tall. Steadfast. Resolute. This man would never walk away empty-handed. He was dead serious, an unmoving boulder. It would take more than a tsunami to sway him — much less some naïve words from a teenager who knew nothing about the harsh realities of the world.

Even so, Ashe had to try. He couldn't let his savior, the knight he looked up to — his father, walk to the gallows.

He could imagine it vividly. The sea of mourners from Gaspard territory, clad in black. The same ocean that Christophe's body drowned in before they buried him underneath the ground. But this time, there would be no funeral. No flowers for mourning. No honor for his death. There was no one to beg and cry for Lonato's body.

It was already a miracle the Church allowed Lonato to have his son's body. They would never give him a second chance.

Ashe was already crying, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. He felt the weight of a hand on his shoulder. It was heavy. He wanted to shrug it off and run away from the now stranger in front of him.

But he knew underneath those lifeless orbs was a well of warmth lying dormant. He believed this with certainty. No one knew Lonato's kindness more than he did. It was impossible to fathom the idea of Lonato committing a senseless rebellion without guilt.

"Why?" It was barely a breath, but it was all Ashe could come up with. "Why did you do this, Lord Lonato?"

Lonato's grip on Ashe's shoulder trembled gently.

Ashe felt a small spark of hope budding inside of him. His voice trembled as he tried again. "Please, explain to me. Lord Lonato, what drove you to this…this madness!"

"Ashe, you will never understand," Lonato spoke sternly.

"Then talk to me so I can understand!" Ashe raised his voice, the dam in his eyes breaking free, flooding his face with tears. "I've come all this way to stop you. Please, listen to me—"

"I will not, Ashe," Lonato crushed whatever warmth remained in Ashe's heart, pouring ice over him with his bitter words. "Whatever you say to me will fall on deaf ears today. I have already decided. Rhea must die."

"Why?" Ashe sobbed louder. "B-Because she executed Christophe? Over a false crime?"

For a split second, Lonato's blue orbs flickered. His eyes widened imperceptibly. "You knew? You knew about it?"

Ashe blinked rapidly, clearing his blurring vision. "I…I heard about it recently from my friend. She told me that Christophe was executed for planning an assassination against Lady Rhea. But then the Church pinned the crime of Duscur on him to justify their decision."

Lonato laughed in disbelief. "If you knew, then why are you trying to stop me, Ashe? Do you not understand my pain more than anyone? Christophe treated you like his real brother! And you are telling me to forgive—" Lonato choked on the word, spitting it out with disgust. "That heretic infidel?"

"I'm not telling you to forgive her or anything of that sort!" Ashe yelled. "Your feelings are valid, Lord Lonato. I…I have to admit, after hearing the truth behind the incident, the church's actions also disturbed me." He glanced briefly to the side, avoiding Lonato's fiery gaze.

"Then why? Why are you trying to stop me?" Lonato tightened his grip on Ashe's shoulders, pressing down onto Ashe's skin.

Ashe winced as he choked on his own tears. "B-Because I don't want to turn you into a murderer!"

Lonato breathed a dry laugh. "How foolish of you, Ashe. Every knight is, in fact, a murderer. We slay others to protect our own territory, our lords, and our beliefs." Lonato shook his head. "None of our hands are clean."

Ashe's memory flickered to his conversation with Satiana. He gritted his teeth and raised his hand up to wipe away his tears. Then he glared hard at Lonato. "Don't make light of me, Lord Lonato. I know that the path of knighthood isn't as honorable or clean as I thought. Especially after seeing you like this."

Lonato went silent.

"I have to admit. I believed I understood you more than anyone," Ashe spoke through clenched teeth. He dug his nails into his palms, hands balled in tight fists. "But I see I was mistaken. I turned a blind eye to your hatred, sorrow, and disillusionment. I was so caught up in my ideals that I forced you to play the role of a gallant knight," he paused, eyes softening. "The same righteous and kindhearted knight who saved me from despair."

Lonato's expression faltered, eyes quivering.

"Lord Lonato, you were the one who taught me how to live a righteous life," Ashe's voice trembled with nostalgia. Despite the red and swollen edges, his eyes shone with such clarity in them. He placed his hand on his heart. "You showed me how kindness can save someone. You showed me what it meant to be a knight — that true honor came from the heart. To have pride in yourself. To always do what is right, not what is expected of you." Ashe shook his head lightly, scattering any remnants of anxiety away. "Is this really your answer? To the church's misguided actions, is delivering death, fighting violence with more violence, truly the most honorable response? If so, then why did you spare me, a lowly thug who snuck into your mansion to steal?"

Lonato closed his eyes tightly, the grip on Ashe's shoulders loosening.

Ashe noticed this brief display of vulnerability and reached up to hold Lonato's hands. He covered them with his own palms, lightly brushing over the skin endearingly. "These hands that saved me from poverty — from straying down the wrong path. I wish I could do the same for you." He stared unflinchingly at Lonato. "Lord Lonato, you already know deep in your heart that this vendetta is wrong. I'm sure you know that more than anyone. You're not fighting for honor right now. Not for yourself, your name, or Christophe. You're fighting under a misguided banner called anguish."

Lonato slowly opened his eyes, the glassy quality to them stealing away Ashe's breath.

"...I already know that, Ashe," Lonato spoke quietly. He tilted his head down, boring his gaze down to the cold, hard floor. "No matter what I do, Christophe will never come back to me. I can never embrace my beloved son ever again." He paused briefly, exhaling heavily. "But there is still one thing I can do — something I must do. Not as an honorable knight." Lonato's head shot up, his gaze darkening. "But as a father."

Ashe froze, eyes widening in disbelief. "You…you think Christophe wanted this? You actually believe he wanted to murder Lady Rhea? That he wasn't misguided by the Western Church?!"

"I don't know. I'll never know. My son is dead and I can never ask him what his true intentions were," Lonato spoke sternly, the frigid facade returning. "However, it does not change what the church has done. They lied to the masses and watched in utter silence as the people of Fodlan suffered underneath their absolute rule. The church gave nothing back to their devout believers. Instead, they spat on our beliefs."

Lonato yanked his hand away from Ashe's embrace. "House Gaspard was always a protector of justice. We spent years protecting the Kingdom of Faerghus and the Church. But look at how they repaid us," he raised his voice slightly, slowly becoming unhinged as his face turned red with fury. "They willingly used my son as a scapegoat to preserve their own reputation while doing very little to bring real justice for Duscur and the death of King Lambert."

He trembled in unrestrained fury, crowding closer to Ashe, ire almost a tangible entity coiling and suffocating the surrounding air. "That vermin tarnished not only my son's life but the entire Kingdom's dignity and pride. Despite knowing about the Western Church's assassination attempt on her, she chose to lie to the mass to protect herself from the faults and flaws in the religious system. Instead of facing the voices of disagreement, she silenced them, erased them out of existence, and pinned their crimes on an innocent Kingdom noble."

"That's…you may be right," Ashe swallowed loudly, backing away slightly. "But still—"

"Though, I must thank you, Ashe."

Ashe froze. He blinked rapidly in confusion. "P-Pardon?"

"Fury and anguish may blind my eyes. I see nothing but the empty darkness in front of me." Lonato turned his back to Ashe and grabbed the lance on top of his table. He clutched it firmly. "Despite that, I can hear you. I understand what it is you are trying to tell me." His eyes were filled with sorrow and regret as he turned around. "But it is far too late for me to stop Ashe. Even if my head understands it, my heart, dignity, and pride have been shattered to pieces. I'm already beyond repair, Ashe."

Ashe eyed Lonato carefully, watching as Lonato suddenly thrust the lance into his hands. Ashe gaped, mouth dropping wide in horror. His hands trembled as he slowly seized the hilt. "L-Lord Lonato, I cannot do this. Please, don't make me do this—"

"Ashe, let this be my last lesson to you." Lonato pulled his hand back, allowing the heavy weapon to land in Ashe's shuddering hands. "So long as you continue to pursue the path of knighthood, you will face an insurmountable obstacle. To defend your honor, your lord's honor, or your nation, you will be forced to shed blood, even if it goes against the code of chivalry."

Lonato took a few steps back, his hands groping for something underneath the table.

"There is no such thing as true justice. We knights put our lives on the line to uphold justice, but really, what we do is no different from man-slaughter, forcing our ideals onto others. But there are fights we are not allowed to lose, even if it stains our hands with blood. If you do not wish to lose heart, then you must resolve yourself. Whoever the enemy may be, whatever circumstance they have, if you do not wish to lose all that you care for, then you must fight with all you have. When two knights clash on the battlefield, there is only victory or death. Nothing in between. The only way you can force your opponent to submission is to win. It would be foolish and disrespectful to convince a knight to drop his weapon, for it is the same as surrendering his beliefs."

Lonato pulled a different lance from underneath the table, this one much larger and longer. The blade gleamed ominously underneath the dimmed lights in the room. Lonato slowly turned around as he raised the lance to shoulder level, eyes darkened like polished coal.

Ashe twitched, his grip immediately tightening on the lance in his hands.

"If you are to tell me you are right and I am wrong, then show me the proof with your blade, for the Goddess is always on the side of the victorious…!"

Lonato thrust the lance forward, the weapon glancing off Ashe's spear as the smaller boy blocked the attack by launching a horizontal slash. Ashe knocked the end of Lonato's lance, pushing it towards the right as he ducked in for the kill, aiming right in the center of Lonato's abdomen.

Lonato made a small noise of satisfaction as he leaped back, calculating the distance of Ashe's reach with his eyes. He backed away to the edge of the table and spun around on his heels, dodging a fatal blow from Ashe. The lance crashed onto the table, shooting splinters of wood into the air as the table cracked in half.

Before Ashe could pull his lance out of the broken object, Lonato went in with a powerful swing of his lance, striking Ashe's head with the blunt edge of the blade.

Ashe screamed in pain as he felt his skull burst open, blood oozing out of the open wound in the side of his head. He gasped, collapsing to the ground on his knees. He gripped his head lightly, watching in horror as his hands became completely stained in crimson red. His vision blurred, dark spots scattering. The sound of footsteps approaching him from behind coaxed Ashe out of his daze as his bloodied hands wandered across the floor, searching for the hilt of his lance.

Lonato let loose a sinister laugh, his eyes completely devoid of sympathy and guilt. "Is that all you can do, my boy? After all those years spent training?"

Ashe's fists trembled as he felt the tears streaming down his cheeks again. The hot drops of water blended in with the red pool of blood staining the floor. He coughed harshly, back hunching.

"Stand up, Ashe," Lonato snapped.

As if in a trance, Ashe stumbled back onto his feet. His face paled ghostly white, dull lime-green eyes unfocused in front of him. But even on the brink of consciousness, something compelled him to grip that lance in his hands tighter. He raised his arm up to his head, wiping off the oozing blood.

Lonato aimed for this moment of vulnerability and darted forward, roaring loudly as he slammed the blade into Ashe's right shoulder. The blade plunged deep into his flesh, scratching against his bones, an incredible spike of pain searing into his soul.

But he didn't scream. He didn't make a single noise. Not even a whimper or gasp.

Lonato was the one breathing heavily, sweat pouring down his now anxious features. "Why?" he whispered. "Why do you not fight back? Do you not wish to stop me, Ashe?!"

Ashe absentmindedly raised his left arm up. He gently grabbed the hilt of Lonato's blade, his warm hands brushing lightly against Lonato's as he yanked the blade out of his shoulder. Despite his right arm being his dominant, Ashe continued to tighten his grip on his lance. He smiled gently up at Lonato, the tears finally drying out.

"I will, Lord Lonato. I only needed to confirm one thing. And now, I know for sure," Ashe chuckled through the pain, his eyes twitching uncontrollably. "You missed my vitals on purpose. You can't kill me. No, you won't kill me. Because I am your only family left. And your pride as a knight will not let you take me down with you."

Lonato's expression stiffened for a split second.

"But I can, Lord Lonato," Ashe drawled, coughing out blood as he took a bold step forward, eyes suddenly flaring to life with such piercing clarity it made Lonato freeze in hesitation. "Because death with honor is better than a life of degradation." He took another step forward. Lonato slid back. "I couldn't understand why the professor could easily kill another. Even when Satiana told me about how she had to kill for survival, I didn't really understand her sentiments. I spoke pretty words about how I could forgive her because she was a kind person at heart, but now that I face the same decision involving you, I'm not so sure anymore."

Ashe glared at Lonato. "Lord Lonato, I cannot forgive you for involving many innocents in your vendetta. For walking down this senseless path of murder and blood. Even if you are my savior and the one person I hold most dearly in my heart, I cannot forgive you. And therefore, I will kill you. No," Ashe shook his head lightly. "I must be the one to kill you. It has to be me and no one else."

Lonato felt his eyes quiver, his soul breaking free from something dark and sinister that tried to devour him for years. His grip on the lance loosened.

"This is the last form of respect I can give to you. Goodbye…father."

Ashe screamed, eyes blazing with the last of his strength as he launched himself forward with the lance aimed directly at the middle of Lonato's forehead.

In the final moment before the blow, Lonato's lips curled into a small smile. He closed his eyes slowly.

Ashe. I am so proud of you, my son. You will grow up to be a fine knight, a much better one than I ever was.

Satiana stood silently outside the room. The soldier who brought them up to Lonato's room lied limply on the ground beside her. She had knocked him out the moment he exited, slamming the hilt of her sword into the back of his neck. He collapsed easily enough. Really, he was just an amateur.

The sound of blades clashing could be heard through the door. There was the sound of wood breaking. Then, a loud blood-curdling scream. The sound of footsteps clicking against the stone floor. The wet, resounding squelch of blood. The muffled sobs. Anguish. Sorrow. Regret.

It all echoed down the hallway in an ugly mess, and Satiana wished she could close her eyes and ears to it. But she had a duty to keep watch. This heartless battle between father and son — someone had to watch it all unfold.

She promised Ashe not to interfere until the battle was over. Whatever the result, he told her to accept it with no guilt or regret because it was the path he had chosen after a long, sleepless night of contemplation. Of course, there was nothing Satiana wanted to do more than kick down that door, barge into the open space, and let her rage run wild.

She couldn't fathom how Lonato was willing to fight against his one and only son. Not to mention, she absolutely loathed the man despite never knowing him. If there was one thing Satiana despised more than anything in the world, it was a useless death. She had gone through enough despair and hell to realize that nothing was more precious than life. To use it so stupidly, so rashly, so pointlessly — it pained her to her soul. And the bastard dared to drag a bunch of innocents down with him.

Satiana never had the heart to tell Ashe how she truly felt about his so-called savior. Really, what kind of dashing man could Lonato be when he was the one who started this stupid rebellion? She wanted to believe that Ashe was simply the naïve cinnamon roll he was, tricked by some knight-clad in shining armor who was really no different from a beast inside. But the genuine admiration and respect shone in those lime-green orbs proved otherwise.

If Lonato was as humane and just as Ashe believed him to be, she should have nothing to worry about. The battle would definitely end soon, with the victor to be expected.

As if on cue, her thoughts halted when the sound of wood creaking entered her ears. She watched as the giant doors slowly opened. A giant figure drenched in red, holding a half-broken lance, stumbled out.

Satiana immediately stood in his way, eyes boring right into the weary man's soul. She spoke softly, voice trembling with sorrow. "So, in the end, you must go?"

The man's eyes were already broken and lifeless. He glanced briefly up at her, expression blank. He breathed a dry laugh. "Are you his friend?"

Satiana hesitated for a moment, eyes wavering. In the end, she nodded curtly.

"He's lost quite a lot of blood. The head wound has to be dealt with immediately. Can you use heal?"

"A little. Not the best at it, though."

"I leave him to you. I must go. To the battlefield. To my end."

Satiana parted ways for him, stepping to the side.

"...You're not stopping me?"

"If Ashe couldn't stop you, then no one on this planet can."

"Hah. I guess you're right."

She watched in complete silence as Lonato ambled down the hallway, turning down the stairs, leaving a trail of red and crippled dreams of hope behind him. She closed her eyes for a moment, standing still in the aftermath's quietness, listening to her heart shattering.

So, you failed, Ashe. Then there is only one last thing I can do in your stead.

Satiana opened the doors, steeling herself to face the bloody mess inside. True to her expectations, the entire room was a complete wreck. The bed, chairs, and tables were completely broken. Somehow, even the windows were shattered. Ashe lay limply on the ground under a pool of red blood. She took a sharp intake of breath and quickly scrambled towards him. She bent down and hovered over his still form, pressing her ears on his chest.

He still has a heartbeat. That's a relief.

She nimbly yanked him up onto his feet, supporting his weight with her shoulder as she dragged his arm around her neck. She grabbed his waist and slowly lurched forward. Her boots crashed against Ashe's lance, sending the metal clattering across the floor in a bloody mess. She turned her eyes away from the scene, focusing only on the exit.

I need to bring him to Renard. I can't heal him fast enough with my feeble talent in reason and faith.

She heard Ashe moan softly in pain, her movements waking him from his slumber. He blinked blearily, still half-asleep. Satiana whispered in his ears for him to rest and he obliged, closing his heavy eyelids again.

She didn't know how long it took her, but she eventually made it out to the courtyard. By now, the sun was high in the sky; the fog had already faded out of existence. She did not know what happened, but judging by the lack of security, the battle in Magdred must've already started. There was a trail of blood across the grass and she realized Lonato had already mounted onto a horse, most likely headed straight to his death.

Satiana didn't have any time to waste and pushed herself forward, stumbling across the grounds.

It was then that a peculiar rumble caught her attention. The ground below started shaking, and she yelped in surprise. Ashe's body leaned towards the right, head drooping off her shoulder and she yanked him back into position, gritting her teeth under the weight. The tremors vibrated through the land as her feet quaked under the shifting ground.

What the hell? An earthquake?

Panic-stricken eyes bolted rapidly around its surroundings. Her gaze lay on the burning turret towards the left of the courtyard. A wave of dread rushed through her as her stomach plummeted. Beads of sweat were glacial on her temples and she itched to wipe them off, but her muscles were locked.

Unless the castle had a habit of hiding firearms or bombs inside their warehouse, there was nothing that could start a fire that big. Not to mention, with her war-trained senses tingling, she noticed the weird purple wisps mixed in with the raging flames. The first thing that came to mind was dark magic. But there was no one on castle grounds that should be able to use such high-level reason talents. And the giant crack on the ground below the turret…

Realization dawned and her face went ashen. Someone had cast a bolganone. The fissure on the ground was damning evidence and there was only one person she knew who used that spell. Her grip on Ashe's waist loosened and Ashe limply collapsed to the ground below her. She swallowed heavily, dragging Ashe by the legs towards a safe corner of the courtyard. She placed him against the wall and cast a quick heal on the open wound in his head, watching as the flesh bubbled red. Her hands were trembling uncontrollably as they flashed white.

Hurry…I have to hurry…!

Satiana didn't know how long it took her, but Ashe's wounds eventually closed up. Of course, it was a haphazard job, half-completed. But she was no healer nor a talented magic-user. This was all she could do for him. It was a miracle she even healed properly, considering the fact she learned it from memory, purely from watching Renard and Mercedes.

Before her mind could catch up with her actions, she was already sprinting across the grounds. She headed straight back through the great hall and darted up the enormous staircase, swerving down the hallways towards the tower. The sense of foreboding only grew with each passing scenery. She hoped and prayed with every turn around the corner.

Please…please let me make it in time…!

She eventually reached the entrance of the bailey and immediately spiraled down the staircase, placing her arm on top of her nose as she dived straight into the fog of ashes and soot. By the time she got to the basement, the flames had died out. The walls were covered in charcoal black, burnt to a crisp. The door was on the floor, the metal object melting on the edges. There were giant splotches of blood on the ground between the broken crates and wood.

*Clink*

It was the sound of armor shifting. Satiana's anger flared, her vision turning red. She was distraught, unable to function or succumb to anything other than mind-crushing despair. The beast inside of her threatened to lash out, her bloodlust spiking to newfound heights.

Her world went dark and before she knew it, she was soaring through the sky.

A shadowy figure spun around and steel clashed against agarthium. She didn't even bother to analyze her enemy or whatever it was standing in front of her. All she saw was a black monstrous blur and from the corner of her vision, a quiet body lying on the floor with familiar, unkempt light brown hair.

She flashed a wolfish grin from ear to ear, eyes sparkling with adrenaline and pure hatred. A bubbly laughter spilled from her lips as she cackled in despair, small streams of tears littering her mad expression.

"You…you will pay with your death, you monster!" she screeched as she swung her blades up into the air with a sudden surge of vitality.

The vile liquid sprayed on her uniform as her blades shattered the armor with unimaginable force, piercing directly onto the skin underneath. She paid no heed to the bloodstains on her clothing and snarled with disgust, crouching lower, twisting her ankles to the right. Eyes glinting with danger and insanity, she slammed her left foot into the head of the enemy, knocking the knight off balance. She launched a flurry of attacks, stabbing anything in front of her, occasionally parrying the scythe's blows as she pushed the knight backward with sheer determination and strength.

In a fit of madness, she failed to realize the reflective ability of the enemy's weapon and all her attacks repelled against his scythe, sending the same amount of force right back at her way. She gritted her teeth and took every single blow headfirst, hacking haphazardly at the opponent with the grace of a wild lioness.

She wasn't in the right mind to analyze the battle. She herself did not know what was going on. The scythe eventually landed on her shoulder and she screamed in pain. But with nothing but stubbornness and sheer will, she dropped one of her swords and used her hand to stab the scythe further into her skin, plunging it deep inside of her shoulder blades. Before her opponent could release his grip on the weapon, she jammed her fists into his helmet, knocking him in the head once more.

The enemy raised his free hand up into the air to block her next punch, but she used her right hand instead, blasting a cavity through his hands with her blade, bursting crimson into the fading day.

The knight rumbled darkly, yanking his hands back in a hurry. She scowled and pulled the scythe out of her open wounds, throwing it under his feet.

"I don't fucking know who you are, but today is the day you die," she spat in a fury, pointing her blade at his neck.

"To think I'd meet two beasts in one day. Perhaps luck is on my side, after all." The masked knight suddenly laughed, eyes flashing red through the helmet.

*Cough*

Satiana froze. Her mind went pure white. She turned her gaze to the body on the ground, noticing the light trembles. The light slowly returned to her eyes, and she gasped out loud, a concoction of relief, horror, panic, and whatever emotions she could have felt at the moment.

"R-Renard? Are you still alive—"

A sudden surge of pain and she clutched her stomach as the knight's boots slammed into her abdomen. She crashed into the broken wall behind her, the sharp edges of stone stabbing into her skin. She wheezed for air, launching herself into a coughing fit.

A pair of dark boots entered her vision, and she snapped her head up.

"My business here is over." The knight loomed over her. "I must go. The next time we meet on the battlefield, perhaps one of us will perish."

There was a flash of white and purple. She shut her eyes tightly, blocking the blinding light before the world went silent again. By the time she opened her eyes again, the knight had disappeared into thin air; only remnants of his warp magic remained scattered on the ground.

But she didn't concern herself with such trivial matters. Whoever the knight was, whatever his goal was, her entire being only focused on the man drowning in his own blood. She sputtered, wiping the blood trickling down her lips as she stood up on her feet.

"R-Renard? If you can hear me, make some sort of movement. Please."

The man coughed again, groaning in pain.

She stumbled on her feet, collapsing to the ground in a mash-up of relief and worry. Haggard blue eyes trembled with tears as she dragged herself towards him on her knees, leaving a trail of blood behind her. Quivering hands reached over towards the man, lightly tousling the strands of hair as she hissed in pain, forcing herself to cast a weak healing spell.

Her hand barely glowed, but it would have to do. His head, shoulder, torso, anything. As long as one of those healed properly, he would last longer against the freezing cold, threatening to steal his life away.

"You better not fucking die on me, Renard. I swear to god, if you do, I'll never forgive you."

Renard hoarsely chuckled, eyes straining to focus on her tear-stained face. He lifted a hand shakily, lightly brushing off her tears with his fingertips, a gentle smile on his face. "I thought…today would be the end of me."

"Shut up, Renard." Her hands glowed brighter, aura crackling in the air.

"But hey, at least I could see your face again before I—"

"Shut the fuck up!" She yelled, voice cracking at every edge. "Can't you just keep quiet for once?! I'm trying to concentrate here!"

Renard let loose a small sound — perhaps a snort. "Even on my deathbed, you still swear at me, huh?"

"This will not be your deathbed. I won't allow it. I will not let you just kick the bucket because of blood loss. You deserve more than this." Satiana's hands sparkled palpably under the dimmed lights, her aura seeping into the wound.

"Hey, at least I did my job, alright?" Renard coughed loudly, his strength returning slightly. He wiggled his fingertips. "I sent the box of crest stones to the Fraldarius estate already."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Satiana glared at him, switching the topic entirely. "If you told me you had another job here, I would've helped you!"

"You had that brat to take care of, no? I can handle this myself."

"Just look at yourself before you speak. You're literally half-dead!"

"...Well, I have many debts to repay," Renard said cryptically, glancing away from Satiana.

But it was a futile move on his part. Satiana practically yanked his face sideways, forcing him to face her. She gripped his jaw, locking it into place. Renard could only manage a jerky shake of his head as he tried to angle his face away from her knowing gaze.

The light buzz of the heal echoed softly through the room like white noise, permeating the atmosphere with warmth — not from the heated flames of anger but from a lull-like acceptance.

Concern flared through Satiana when she finally locked eyes with him. He looked like a man who'd been floating in a calm sea for hours and finally accepted that rescue would not come, so he voluntarily let himself sink. He didn't exactly welcome drowning, but understood it was inevitable. There was sadness in him, but not the sort that provoked tears; a sadness of the soul, a slow downward tugging on the heart. It was not a sinking feeling, but the feeling of already having been sunk.

"You came here, knowing that you could face death." It wasn't a question, but a statement. "You didn't tell me because fucking hell, Renard, you're an idiot." Her words had no bite behind them, but she was still dead serious with her accusations. "Did you think I would praise you for this? For throwing your life away to get your hands on some dirty stones?"

Renard didn't answer. His mossy-green eyes flickered back to life for a split second.

"You know, I still remember clearly, like it was today. The first day I met you. How hopeless you looked. Like you were already dead. A corpse with a smile permanently wretched into their face." Satiana freed his jaw, allowing him room to breathe, but to her pleasant surprise, he continued to stare right at her. "But then there were moments where you genuinely looked like you were having fun. Like when you argued with Jeralt. When you drink in the taverns with everyone else." She paused, choking on her own tears. "When we did missions together."

Renard's expression tightened.

"Do you still want to die?" She asked softly. "Because sometimes, I find myself thinking that way, too. But not like this. Not now." Her magic slowly fizzled out of existence with Renard's head and shoulder wound healed on the outside. "We're both sinners so we won't be getting a beautiful death like in the fairytales, but at least we can prolong it until the right moment comes. So don't do this again. Don't just throw your life carelessly to complete a mission like a brainless puppet. There's no point if we don't all survive to see the end of all this tragedy surrounding us." She placed her hands on his, their bloodstains mingling in with each other. Their skin was both freezing cold, but the contact created enough warmth to swell their hearts. "And if we reach the end and still want to die, then maybe we can end it then. Kill each other."

Renard suddenly laughed, chest heaving heavily. "What a romantic confession of love."

"You are literally double my age, Renard." Satiana glared at him. "Age-wise, you'd be like a big brother to me. Hell, you could even pass as my father or uncle."

"Yeah, yeah. I know." Renard groaned as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. "But seriously, keep those words for later. For someone who deserves it better than I do."

"Well, you're the one who needs to hear it most right now. I want you to live, Renard. Regardless of whatever self-deprecating thoughts are floating around in your head, I need you to live for me," Satiana pleaded.

"That's funny coming from you, the most suicidal person other than me I know," he chuckled dryly, shaking his head. "Truthfully, I don't want you to die either, kid. We've come long past the point of enemies to friends. In my head, I've already adopted you as my child, but then you're using Jeralt's last name right now, so that would be awkward as hell." He rolled his eyes.

Satiana snorted. "Sorry, but for now, you'll have to settle with being my uncle."

"Whatever." Renard leaned against the wall. He coughed hoarsely a few times, clearing his blood-clogged throat. "So, what the hell happened with that kid named Ashe?"

"Negotiations failed," Satiana replied bluntly. "Lonato is heading out right now to the battlefield. Although, I don't think he's actually going forward with the rebellion."

Satiana remembered the lifeless and dull blue orbs. Whatever anger or fury previously dwelled in them, Ashe had at least extinguished the flames. He no longer cared about the success of his revenge — hell, he probably never thought it would succeed in the first place. All he cared about now was dying with honor on the battlefield for what he believed in.

But if I am to give in to his wishes, I need Renard's help…

"Renard, can you still walk?" She stared at Renard's bloodied form with a frown plastered on her face.

Renard shifted his arms and legs, bones creaking. He slowly stumbled onto his feet, legs quivering. "I can probably make it as far as our camp yesterday. Though I might faint before then." He cleared his throat, sharp eyes zooming in on Satiana. He narrowed them knowingly. "Let me guess. You want me for something?"

"Not if it costs you your life," Satiana muttered with a shake of her head. "Promise me you're not overexerting yourself right now."

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Are you kidding me? You said it yourself. I'm half-dead right now. All I can do is cast one last warp spell to get us out of here and crawl to the forest on my knees. After that, so long world."

Satiana grunted, rolling her eyes. "If you can still joke around like that, you'll probably be fine. Besides, that warp spell is all I need."

Renard arched a brow. "What?"

"I'll help bring you back to our camp. Ashe is lying unconscious upstairs, out in the courtyard. Then, I need you to warp me back right into the middle of the battlefield."

Renard gaped. "And what the hell are you going to do there? That Lord Lonato is going to die, anyway. Byleth can take care of the rest with your classmates."

Satiana shook her head, eyes burning with determination. "It'd be good if Byleth was the one who ended him, but knowing his personality, he yearns for Catherine's sword." She stared down at her bloodied hands and clenched them into tight fists, trembling lightly. "But I won't let him die by that woman's hands. I owe Ashe that much."

"Professor, did we lose them?" Dimitri gasped for air as he continued sprinting through the thin line of trees, hiding himself behind the forest.

"Do not let your guards down yet. Our goal is the frontline. We need to use the fog to slip past the knights' perimeter," Byleth commanded, slipping herself between a pile of boulders, swiftly leaping through them. "Be careful. Some of these soldiers will not listen to our words. If you must, strike them down. But try your best to aim for their non-vitals."

"Of course, professor," Ingrid nodded in response, ducking behind a thick bush as a knight rushed past her.

"Do you think Ashe is waiting for us at Gaspard Castle?" Annette asked. "Maybe he stopped Lord Lonato from rebelling?"

A scream rang out through the forest, and Mercedes frowned. "It sounds like he failed."

"Forget the details. Keep your eyes on the front. Enemies incoming!" Felix yelled from the front of the group.

A group of villagers broke through the fog, each carrying bright torches and axes. Byleth was the first to react, bounding across the open terrain, making no effort to hide her presence as she approached the first target in the group.

"What? Where did you come fro—" the villager managed before Byleth slammed the blunt end of her sword behind his neck, knocking him unconscious with one clean blow. The other villagers nearby had little time to react as Byleth spun around on her heels, kicking them in the head.

Behind her, Dimitri and Dedue engaged a different group of soldiers who emerged from the fog to their left flank.

"Please, put down your weapons now!" Dimitri bellowed out as his lance crashed against a wooden axe.

"Why the hell should we listen to some noble brat like you?!" the soldier yelled, pressing back against the lance.

"Hold on, isn't he…" another soldier suddenly blurted out in horror. "T-The prince of Faerghus?!"

"Are you a Gaspard knight?" Dimitri questioned, narrowing his eyes into sharp slits. "Then I command you to drop your weapons. Cease this senseless rebellion immediately!" Dimitri struck, swinging his lance in a wide arc as it landed on the soldier's chest, sending him flying across the terrain.

"Your highness, I am sorry, but we only obey our lord. This is what Lord Lonato wishes and so we will do everything it takes to make his wishes come true!" The knight's comrade screamed as he swung the axe in a vertical slash.

Dedue forced himself in front of his liege, stopping the blow with his own axe. "His highness has ordered you to stand down. Obey him," he spoke sternly, eyes completely devoid of emotion.

"Y-You Duscurian beast! As expected of you monsters, siding with each other!" The knight cackled, sneering at Dedue as he leaped back. He recovered his stance and charged once more with a roar, slicing diagonally downwards.

Dimitri's eyes flashed with fury, and he darted forward, blocking the axe with his lance. The knight gasped in surprise as Dimitri suddenly spun around in a circle, driving the sharp end of his lance through the knight's armor, piercing his right shoulder. The knight collapsed to the ground on his knees, his right-hand limp as he dropped the axe in his hands.

"Silence," Dimitri ordered, voice trembling in quiet anger. "You will not insult my dear friend like that."

Dedue's eyes widened imperceptibly, blank eyes glimmering for a moment with light and warmth.

"Don't just stand there gawking," Felix scowled as he pierced his sword through an archer sneaking behind Dedue's back. The archer sputtered, coughing out blood as he dropped the bow. Felix slammed his elbows on the man's neck, knocking him out cold. "We're still in the middle of battle. Hurry and get your act together, rabid beast!"

"Y-Yes, of course," Dimitri stammered.

A few meters behind them, Ingrid finished a nearby group of villagers with a tempest lance. She pinned their weapons to the ground with her lance. "I do not wish to kill you. Please, retreat. There is no reason to take part in this senseless slaughter."

"Y-You don't understand," one villager started speaking, voice trembling with emotion. "Lord Lonato has done so much for us. He is the greatest lord in Faerghus, and we have a duty to repay his kindness!"

"You think this is what he wants? To have his citizens throw away their lives like this?" Ingrid argued, eyes flashing with anger. "Please, return to your senses! Lord Lonato does not wish for this massacre!"

"What do you know about him?!" another villager retorted. "We're not throwing away our lives. We are dying for a noble cause. Master Christophe was treated like a criminal by those bastards from the Church and died fighting for what he believed was right. We are only doing the same!"

Sylvain clicked his tongue as he swerved behind the villagers. With one clean sweep, he knocked the air out of them. They collapsed onto the ground, weaponless in a heap. He had a permanent frown carved on his face. "These guys are so loyal to him. It's pointless to convince them to stop."

Ingrid gritted her teeth. "Of course, I know that. They're also fighting for what they believe in. But still, this isn't right!"

"That's why we're here, right?" Sylvain sighed, tousling the strands of his hair in frustration. "All we can do is knock them out cold and pray the church has mercy on them."

From the top of a boulder, a group of archers took aim at the students. Readying their bows, they fired. Suddenly, a blast of wind sliced through the fog, blowing the arrows out into the far distance. Annette gathered another orb of wind, hands glowing palpably green as she released a swirl of windstorm towards the archers. They flew into the sky, dropping from a height to the floor with a resounding thud.

"Mercie, I leave them to you!" Annette yelled out as she rushed towards another group of villagers hiding in the corner.

"Leave it to me," Mercedes said from behind Annette as she rushed over towards the archers, casting a heal on their heads. "I won't let them die."

Byleth swerved through the enemy ranks, sword roaring like thunder as she sped through the plains with lightning speed, knocking them all out with quick blows. She glanced over her shoulder, analyzing the state of the battlefield. From behind her, she could see Dimitri, Felix, and Dedue making quick work of their enemies. Ingrid and Sylvain lingered behind, knocking the weapons off the villagers while Annette and Mercedes took care of the right flank.

Sighing softly in content at her student's performance, she pushed onward into the fog, leaving them stranded behind.

Those kids will be fine. They've grown from their last battle.

She darted through the trees, searching frantically for hidden enemies in the shadows. As she passed by a thick grove, she spotted a faint purple light emanating from inside the bushes. Her gaze hardened, razor-sharp instincts kicking in and she bounded towards the grove immediately. She used the fog and trees to obstruct the enemy's line of sight, quickly closing in on them from the front.

She broke cover and charged forward when she stood a meter ahead of the bushes. The dark mage was caught unaware, his beak-shaped mask glinting underneath the dimmed lights piercing through the fog. The purple glow evaporated as Byleth startled the mage with her appearance. Before the mage could react, Byleth sliced her sword through the mage's neck, beheading him in an instant. She pivoted around the falling body, dodging the blood spurts with ease.

The sound of liquid sloshing echoed through the now silent forest as she stepped over the corpse, heading into the light. The fog had dissipated, the sun a blazing fiery orb above them. She darted back through the canopy, searching for her students. The familiar blue cape swaying lightly in the breeze caught her attention immediately, and she sighed in relief as she emerged from the forest into an open clearing.

Dimitri immediately ran up to her with a proud smile on his face. "Professor, we knocked out all the villagers and knights here." His eyes were sparkling brightly underneath the heated sun despite the tragedy that had just occurred and she chuckled softly.

Dimitri's eyes widened imperceptibly. "P-Professor, did you just laugh—"

"So this is where you were, professor." Catherine sauntered out of the forest, passing by the bulk of the Blue Lions. Her eyes were dark but the gleam golden, ensnaring Byleth in an air of barely concealed menace. Her arm shot forward, and she grabbed Byleth's shoulder.

Perhaps it was the biting grip on her shoulder coupled with the hard edge of Catherine's voice, but Byleth stiffened up. She feigned ignorance, tilting her head innocently to the side. "Hello, Catherine," she greeted nonchalantly, as if she had not disobeyed direct orders from the Church.

Catherine snarled. "Hello, professor. What were you thinking?" She glanced around her, noticing the swarm of villagers and knights alike sleeping peacefully on the floor. She barked out a laugh, the prominent condescending look in her eye and the distorted drip of her mouth making Byleth's expression tightened. "So, even the Ashen Demon has a soft heart, huh?" Catherine mocked.

Byleth gently swatted Catherine's grip on her shoulder away with her hands. "I believe the word you're looking for is honest. I simply acted according to my beliefs. Instead of riling up the villagers for no good reason, I figured it would be easier to knock the air out of them. We wouldn't want to shed blood unnecessarily, right?" Byleth's eyes narrowed slightly as she regarded Catherine's posture.

Catherine's grip on the thunderbrand shook. "Whatever your reasons, you are a professor of the monastery. Your reckless actions put the entire company in trouble, and you will have to face Lady Rhea afterward."

Byleth simply shrugged. "I don't see how my actions put anyone in danger. In fact, it looks like the complete opposite. No one got hurt. Or are you telling me that the Knights of Seiros can't handle a bunch of rebels on their own without me and my students?"

Catherine's anger spiked, and she moved to grab Byleth by the collar, yanking her up into the air. "Don't mess with me, professor. I'm simply asking you why you ignored orders, Lady Rhea's orders to subdue the rebels."

"But we subdued them. Properly, too," Byleth stated without a bat of an eye. "Most of the rebellion has been quelled already. I do not understand why you are angry at me."

"These villagers and soldiers are all Lord Lonato's men. Even if you knock them out, when they awake, they will simply cause another rebel. You have only prolonged the rebellion. How will you take responsibility if these men gather enough forces for another rebellion?" Catherine argued.

"I'll resign as professor if they do," Byleth spoke confidently, staring right into the boiling well of anger in Catherine's eyes. "Again, I acted according to what I believed was the most efficient method. Whether you or Lady Rhea agree with my decision is not my primary concern."

"You—!"

"If you wish to deliver justice upon these men, then be my guest. I will not stop you. But I will not allow you to dirty my students' hands with your version of justice. They are not the Knights of Seiros, but students of the academy who will rise to be future leaders. They have the right to decide on their own what their next course of action should be." For the first time, Byleth's cerulean orbs flickered to life with flames of anger. "As long as I am here as their professor, I will take responsibility for the consequences of their actions. If Lady Rhea wishes to punish me for my actions later, then so be it. But you do not have the right to criticize me, Catherine."

The Blue Lions gathered behind Byleth, glancing at her with worry. They didn't expect their professor to make enemies with the Knights of Seiros. Of course, they all simply did what they believed was right, following their professor's lead. However, none of them really planned ahead.

Disobeying orders on the battlefield was reckless and a punishable offense. All of them knew that the commander's orders were absolute — defiance and arguments had no place during war. But, even so, they trusted in the professor's words and her leadership. Regardless of the consequences, they were prepared to face it with the professor.

Because she saw them for who they were instead of treating them like brainless soldiers.

"Catherine, please forgive the professor for her rash decision. All the Blue Lions agreed with her plan. If you wish to punish the professor, then you will have to take all of us into custody as well," Dimitri spoke up from behind Byleth and gave a deep bow.

Catherine immediately let go of Byleth's collar. She waved her hand frantically in the air, sweat glistening on her forehead. "Y-Your Highness, please, you do not need to lower your head to a lowly knight like me," she sputtered, eyes darting rapidly like a pinball between the Blue Lions. "Regardless of what discussions went on between the two of you, the professor is the one in charge of making final decisions. The fault ultimately lies with her."

"Yes, but you are mistaken." Dimitri lifted his head, clear blue eyes staring straight at Catherine. "Our class as a whole takes responsibility for this incident. We forced our professor to comply with our selfish demands because we are naïve. This is only our second real practical experience on the battlefield and a few of us are still not accustomed to the idea of…slaughter. That is why we asked our professor to kindly lead us in battle."

Sylvain and Ingrid shared a brief look, nodding in agreement.

"I mean, it's not as if they technically ordered us to kill all these traitors, right?" Sylvain whistled from behind, casually stretching his arms behind his back. He plastered a lopsided grin on his face. "Lady Rhea just ordered us to take care of the aftermath. It's not like we were told to take part directly in sabotaging the rebellion."

Ingrid smiled sweetly. "We trusted the Knights of Seiros's abilities to subdue the rebellion on their own, so we forced ourselves deeper into the forest to search for casualties ahead. I apologize if our actions seem as if we were acting independently from the Knights of Seiros. I hope you realize our goals are the same. We both want to keep the peace of Fodlan by eliminating the rebels. We simply left the rearguard to you and took action with the Church's well-being in mind. It wouldn't do well to paint the Church as a strict authoritarian, wouldn't it?"

Sylvain flashed her a thumbs up from behind. She lightly smacked his hand away, shooting a glare in his direction.

"Blind idiots, each and every one of them—" Felix started, only to have his mouth slammed shut by Annette, who smashed his face with her hands.

She laughed awkwardly. "What he means is we should all look at the bigger picture. These rebels may have been misguided by their leader. The fault doesn't lie with them, but with Lord Lonato. If we simply killed them all, the Church's image may be tarnished."

"It is unforgivable to raise arms against the Goddess," Mercedes mumbled from the back as she shook her head lightly. "But these villagers have harmed no one yet. They simply acted in an outburst of misguided fury. I believe we should give them a chance. Surely, the Goddess does not wish for unnecessary blood to be shed." She clasped her hands together in a praying motion.

Catherine fumed in silence as she glared at the Blue Lions. "...Fine," she eventually conceded. "For now, I will not argue with you about your actions. We still haven't found Lord Lonato, after all. This conversation can wait until later."

The Blue Lions collectively sighed in relief the moment Catherine turned away from them, heading deeper towards Gaspard Castle.

Dimitri appraised Byleth's form from behind, eyes littered with worry. "Professor, are you alright?"

Byleth nodded stiffly in response. "Do not worry about me. I am fine. In fact, I should thank all of you for your backup."

Ingrid shook her head. "Please, we only did what we had to. It was our choice to follow you, after all."

Dedue nodded in agreement. "You gave us the opportunity to think for ourselves. You treated us as equals and listened to his highness's opinion. I am the one who would like to offer you my deepest gratitude." Dedue bowed lightly, catching Dimitri's attention.

"Dedue, this isn't just about me. The professor listened to all of our opinions and chose the course of action that we agreed with the most. Of course, I don't believe Catherine was wrong to note our actions." Dimitri glanced guiltily to the side. "Someday, we will have to commit atrocious acts ourselves to protect what we vowed to defend. The Knights of Seiros should not be faulted. They simply did what they believed was right."

"Well, it won't do us any good to mull over what's already been done," Sylvain cheerfully laughed from the back. "Although I have to admit, if there were a few cute girls in their ranks, I would hesitate to even knock them down." He threw in a wink and the Blue Lions groaned in response.

Mercedes smiled gleefully. "Sylvain, you really never change, do you?"

Sylvain shrugged, a small smirk on his face. "Well, what can I say? I am the mood maker around here."

Felix rolled his eyes. "More like you don't know how to read the atmosphere. We're technically still standing on the battlefield, you know."

Ingrid snorted. "I don't think you're one to talk about that, Felix."

Byleth suddenly clapped her hands, gaining her student's attention. "We should follow Catherine. It wouldn't bode well for us if she got to Lord Lonato before we did. Let's pick up our pace from here."

A chorus of 'yes ma'am' echoed through their ranks, and the group started sprinting forward.

Chapter Text

[White Clouds]

The Aftermath

"It's you…" a gravelly old voice spoke from his position mounted atop of a horse. His blue eyes seethed with barely, restrained rage as he readied his spear and shield. "Only you, I must kill with my own hands…!"

Catherine scoffed, rolling her eyes. She balanced her sword on her shoulder, eying Lonato with disdain. "Sorry, but I no longer go by that name. The only name I answer to is Catherine. It's unfortunate that things have come to this, Lord Lonato."

"I can speak the same to you, Cassandra," Lonato spat. "To think they would reduce you to nothing but a mere dog of the Church. If Christophe saw you now, he'd never be able to lie down in peace."

Catherine barked out in laughter. "Hey, sorry to disappoint you, but I know Christophe better than anyone else." She glanced off to the side, eyes flashing with something akin to regret. "Whether or not I like it, that is. Regardless, you have raised your spear in the Goddess's direction. You must pay for your crimes today, Lord Lonato!"

"Lord Lonato!" A group of villagers and soldiers appeared from behind him. They raised their weapons up high into the sky, roaring with confidence. "We will be behind you all the way. Damn church dog. You will experience the same pain and anguish that Lord Lonato has suffered!" The troop prepared to charge, tilting their weapons at Catherine's infuriating face.

"Halt!" An authoritative voice bellowed, causing them to pause in their steps.

The villagers turned to each other, tilting their heads in confusion. One soldier swallowed audibly before he addressed his lord who galloped up beside him. "L-Lord Lonato? What is the matter?"

"...Drop your weapons."

The soldier gawked. "W-What did you just say?"

"I told you to drop your weapons. Leave the battlefield. This is not the right place for you to die in. There must be someone left to take care of Gaspard territory, after all." Lonato turned his back to the villagers, head drooping down as he galloped back towards Catherine. A dark shadow covered his eyes from sight and the villagers raised a commotion in disagreement behind him. But he paid them no attention.

Catherine's eyes widened. Her grip on the Thunderbrand loosened as she stabbed the sword into the ground. "What is the meaning of this, Lord Lonato?"

"Yeah, what she said!" a random soldier barked.

"Lord Lonato, do not worry about us. We are prepared to sacrifice our lives to protect you and your cause!" Another villager screamed in a fit of rage.

"We must open the eyes of Fodlan to the truth! The Church has inflicted wrongs, parading as an absolute figure of authority when all they have done is order countless massacres under the name of the Goddess for their own greedy needs!" A Gaspard knight broke through the commotion, swinging his sword in a rage. "As long as we are by Lord Lonato's side, we have nothing to fear for the Goddess is watching over us all!"

"Silence!" Lonato screamed, his voice filled with fury and anguish echoing throughout the open terrain. "As your lord, I command you to retreat. I will be the only one marching forward from this point onwards. We have already lost, anyway." He stared off into the distance, noticing the group of villagers fainted on the ground. "It is only right to cut our losses. I order you all to leave. If you do not wish to, at least do not interfere with my battle."

"B-But sir!"

"This is my last command to you all as your lord. Live in my stead. Spread word of the Church's misdeeds. But do not follow down the same path I have," Lonato's voice dimmed, eyes softening. "My remaining son has opened my eyes to the light. I do not have any right to drag you all into this slaughter with me. However, I have a duty to fulfill in Christophe's stead and so I must continue forward."

The villagers and knights stood knee-deep in reverberating silence. They stared at each other, some shedding silent tears while others embraced each other. The sound of weapons dropping to the ground with a solid thud echoed down the terrain.

For their lord had commanded and as loyal subjects, they would follow his orders to wherever it led them — whether it was to salvation or through hellfire.

Lonato raised his lance high into the air, the blade gleaming gold against the blazing sunlight, casting golden rays around his sturdy silhouette. It gave him the illusion of vigor, the warmth acting as the Goddess's blessings as he glowed under the halo. For a moment, the youth returned to him and he swelled in a sudden surge of adrenaline. Lonato slashed the lance down, cutting a crevice open in the ground ahead of him. The earth quaked under his force, parting ways for the now rejuvenated man.

"My dear loyal men. I will leave the rest to you. Thunderstrike Cassandra!" Lonato roared, barging forward on his mount, spear pointing at Catherine. "Only you, I must slay with my own hands! It was your wretched zealotry that killed my son and you will pay with your life!"

"Oh no, the battle has already begun!" Ingrid's voice echoed through the battlefield as the Blue Lions reached the open clearing while panting for air.

Catherine was troubled by Lonato's sudden change, her usual confident demeanor faltering as she clumsily parried Lonato's blow with the Thunderbrand. The weapon glowed red, emanating sparks of a mysterious-like aura as she pushed haphazardly against Lonato's weapon, sending it rebounding up into the air, exposing his chest plate. She forced herself to focus on the enemy in front of her, hand resting on the sword for a split moment before she took a step forward, thrusting the sword at Lonato's heart.

The blade crashed against algid steel as Lonato blocked with his shield. The Thunderbrand sparked more intensely, sending crackles of electricity flying into the air. Lonato yanked on the reins of his horse, spinning himself around in a circle as he prepared to skewer Catherine on his spear with a well-timed tempest lance. Catherine barely leaped out of the way of the barging horse, the man's spear scraping past her shoulder, sending an ear-splitting screech of metal into the air, making the onlookers wince.

Lonato rounded on his horse, preparing to strike Catherine from behind, when Catherine's entire figure began to sizzle. She lowered her stance, gripping her sword with both hands, and swung in a large arc. An explosion of red sparks, light, and heat blinded Lonato, and he charged blindly, only to find his spear slicing through empty air. His eyes widened in surprise, his ears tuning in on the sound of armor clinking behind him, and he whirled around in a stupefied state.

Catherine had seemingly vanished behind him with such monstrous speed no one realized what was happening until a bloodcurdling scream parted from Lonato's lips as the Thunderbrand tore clean through his armor from behind. Part of her sword landed on the horse's behind and the creature brayed in pain, thrashing wildly as it roamed across the grassland, carrying Lonato along with it on a mad hunt.

Lonato flew off the horse, crashing to the ground in a bloody heap.

Catherine had no mercy, sprinting towards him. Lonato's spine was broken, yet the hunched man scrambled onto his feet, voice box screeching as he blocked the oncoming blow with his shield. But his lack of balance and Catherine's raw power proved fatal. The impact sent Lonato's shield twirling across the ground, bouncing off into the far distance. Lonato stumbled backward, groaning in pain. He forced himself into a defensive stance, holding his lance protectively in front of him.

Compared to his previously majestic regal form, he was reduced to a shadow of himself. His white hair billowed behind him, his expression bloodied and haggard as he stood there, panting for air, limbs trembling like a newborn fawn. The proud insignia of the Gaspard House on his armor had been shattered to pieces, now a broken symbol mirroring the state of his land and people.

"L-Lord Lonato!" A villager couldn't stand the one-sided battle and tried to interfere, scrambling to Lonato with fat tears rolling down his face. A group of Gaspard knights threw themselves at him, clawing at his skin as they dragged him away from the battlefield. They all huddled, sobbing in anguish and inexplicable pain, not of the physical kind but of the soul.

Dimitri felt his head throbbing at the tragic scene of misery. He quaked under the tyranny of his nightmares, images of hot searing red flames flickering to life in his head. He winced and clutched his head, willing the image to fade into the shadows of his mind.

"Your highness, are you alright?" Dedue was by his side, hands holding Dimitri's shoulder for support.

Dimitri shook his head, blue eyes weary and dull. There was a complicated storm brewing within them, a raging maelstrom of torment, quiet anger, gut-twisting sorrow, and mental fatigue. He unconsciously trod forward. "Lonato…" he called out in a weak and pathetic voice, hitched and breathy.

Despite the distance between them, Lonato somehow heard his phantom-like whisper. The old man slowly turned his head to meet Dimitri's forlorn gaze.

"Please, stop. Lonato, I… I sympathize with your position. I really do," Dimitri stammered out. "Your heart yearns for revenge and you shall have it. But at what cost, Lonato? Think of your followers. They need you as their pillar of support."

"Your highness," Lonato chuckled, startling everyone with the deep affection and care lacing his tone. He choked on his own blood and wiped his lips with his sleeves, leaving a trail of blood behind. The crimson red marred his features, highlighting the cold smirk on his lips. "It is regrettable that I must leave you so young like this. I cannot stop now, your highness. It is far too late. I have already committed a grave sin. I will not drag any innocents down with me any further, but my sword yearns for the head of that heretic, and I must offer it to my son. Only then will his shadow leave me alone!"

Dimitri's blood froze as Lonato's words sunk into his mind. His heart skipped a beat, thundering in his ears as sweat poured down his paling cheeks. Lonato's words struck a deep chord within him and Dimitri found his vision blurring, whether out of sympathetic tears or his waning consciousness he did not know. He leaned against Dedue's hold for support.

"Give up, Lord Lonato," Catherine said, sauntering towards Lonato's wilted form with her Thunderbrand sizzling in the air. "Your time has come."

"...So it seems." Lonato turned his eyes away from Dimitri. He mustered up the rest of his strength and shot Catherine a dirty glare. "Even if I die, I will take your head along with me, Cassandra. Mark my words. You will never have a single day of peace ahead of you. Every day, plague and illness shall torment you. Even in death, I will come to you and curse you until the end of time. One day, you will face a worthless death, your pride ripped to shreds, honor shattered to a million irreparable shards. You and your entire band of heretics will drown in the tears and blood of your victims. Justice will be served upon your kind!" Lonato screamed in a fit of insanity, eyes blazing with such hatred and loathing it made even Catherine flinch.

Catherine chuckled wryly. "Don't worry, Lord Lonato. I have never slept peacefully since that fateful day." Her gaze hardened, underpinned with determination and resolution. "I live to serve Lady Rhea. Regardless of your reasons, I have a duty to bring justice. Anyone who turns their blades against the Church will be punished."

Lonato levelled his gaze at her. He stumbled forward, eyes barely conscious as blood poured out of his open back, the pain numb and icy. He lifted the lance upwards. "This is the final blow, Cassandra!" Lonato hoarsely screamed as he bumbled forward on quivering legs, lance quivering mid-air. He pushed himself forward on nothing but pure will and determination.

Catherine closed her eyes, stilling the complicated emotions inside her with one silent prayer. "Farewell… Lord Lonato." Her eyes snapped open, and the Thunderbrand flashed, ripping through the open air, sending a piercing screeching sound through the air as she charged forward—

A sudden burst of light and the plains warped. A cloaked figure floated down from the sky, landing right between the two opponents.

The crowd stared in deafening silence. Lonato's spear shattered Catherine's armor, landing near her shoulder. On the other hand, Catherine's Thunderbrand landed on a steel sword. Her blow was parried, sending the Thunderbrand clattering backward with overwhelming strength. Catherine stumbled backward, eyes bulging wide with shock at the interference.

"You… who are you—"

*Splat*

The gut-wrenching sound of blood splashing against the ground made Catherine turn her gaze behind the cloaked figure. Another sword had punctured right through Lonato's breastplate and torso, piercing his heart with one fatal blow.

Lonato coughed a pool of crimson red blood, lifeless eyes staring at the cloaked figure. Glassy eyes widened imperceptibly with recognition before the darkness devoured him. His body slumped forward, leaning against the cloaked figure who whispered in his ear.

"I will not let you die a villain, Lord Lonato. May you return to your son's arms in peace," the cloaked figure offered their condolences. Then, they brushed Lonato's body off their shoulder, letting his corpse fall to the ground with a resounding thud.

No one spoke a word. Even Catherine was stunned speechless. A thousand questions rang in the crowd's minds as they drowned in silence. The long battle had ended, but not in the way any of them could've ever imagined.

Byleth was the first to break the silence. "It appears a different group targeted Lord Lonato. Perhaps the Western Church who incited him into rebellion," Byleth spoke suggestively, eyes sparkling with realization.

"W-What just happened…?" The villagers stared at each other, dumbfounded.

"P-Professor, what is going on—" Dimitri started, only to freeze as he caught a sudden shift in movement from the cloaked figure.

The cloaked figure darted across the fields, heading straight into the forest. Byleth's knowing eyes trailed after the figure, and she started sprinting after them. "Catherine, I leave the cleaning up to you. We will follow the cloaked man," Byleth barked out a swift order.

Catherine blinked in confusion. "W-What? I… s-sure?" she stammered, shocked at the sudden turn of events.

"W-Wait a minute, professor!" Dimitri yelled after her as he followed Byleth's pace. "What is going on?"

Byleth spared a glance over her shoulder and placed her index finger in front of her mouth. "Shh, do not make a loud ruckus. We don't want anyone to follow us. There is nothing to worry about. This is all going according to our plan."

"Our plan…?" Dedue mumbled under his breath as he jogged up beside Dimitri. He remembered the way the cloaked figure parried Catherine's blow with precision while simultaneously skewering Lonato through the heart with the accuracy of a well-trained warrior. Realization dawned and his eyes widened. "I see. That cloaked figure was a dual wielder."

Ingrid perked up from the back of the group, nose crinkling in thought. "A dual wielder…? The only person who uses two swords we know is…!"

"So, it's her. She was the one who killed Lord Lonato," Felix muttered, copper-brown orbs darkening. He scoffed, sound harsher than intended. "In the end, she couldn't help herself, huh?"

Sylvain patted Felix on the shoulder, a permanent frown tracing his features. "Don't be quick to judge. If she didn't do it, Catherine would've. Lord Lonato refused to back down. Someone had to end him." Then, Sylvain chuckled dryly, shaking his head vigorously as if to chase away the remnants of anxiety surrounding him. "Maybe this was the better result. To be honest, I didn't want to be the one to deal him the fatal blow," he confessed, the wind whispers stealing his breath away.

Everyone went silent.

No one wanted to admit it, but he mirrored all of their sentiments. Seeing the way Lonato cursed Catherine so openly and vile-like with such raw emotion — an endless well of pure animosity. It was downright terrifying and haunting. And the man who stood tall, broad back filled with pride and life, fighting under the Gaspard banner to protect his people, was now reduced to a mere corpse, joining the faceless apparitions of the deceased he left behind.

It was a reminder for the students — that life was indeed so fragile, so fleeting, and so futile. This was a prime example of what the professor warned them before. A worthless death on the battlefield. For the sake of broken pride and honor. A reckless struggle. A battle already lost from the start.

In the end, Lonato accomplished nothing before his death but accumulating innocent blood dirtying his land.

But the students vowed to never forget this day. Lonato's last moments. He may have been a rebel, but he did not die a villain. The church may never forgive him, but to the students, especially those who walked down the path of chivalry, they knew clearly.

Lonato died like a true knight.

He was no rogue or rabid beast, driven to the end of despair, like the church portrayed him as. He made mistakes and atoned for his sins with his life while fighting for what he believed in. Regardless of his previous actions, in the final fateful moment, he returned to the same Lonato they knew all along. Righteous, chivalric, and proud.

"We're here," Byleth spoke from the front, snapping the students out of their daze.

It was an open clearing in the forest, secluded from outside interference. There were signs of campfire — burnt ashes littered the ground, the grass slightly tinged by wildfire. Two tents were set up near the black circle of rocks. The door flapped against the violent windstorm picking up around them.

The cloaked figure stood in the center of the open field, a small pool of blood dripping from underneath. They flicked the hood of their cloak back, exposing weary deep blue eyes filled to the brim with sorrow and unfettered tear stains, dry on their rapidly paling skin.

"Byleth," Satiana croaked. She wobbled as she took a step forward, the grip on her swords loosening as they fell to the grass below. "Ashe and Renard need healing. Now. Head and back wounds." The girl's speech became broken, voice dry from obvious dehydration and fatigue. Her eyes twitched, lids drifting downward. "Mission… complete."

She fell headfirst to the ground and the Blue Lions descended into chaos.

They set camp deep inside the Magdred forest, far away from the Church's reach. Although they had plenty of time to make it back to the monastery, all of them were running blank on fuel. Combined with the mental strain from Lonato's cruel death, none of them were in the right shape or form to travel miles, especially when they had three casualties with them.

They had spent the entire afternoon dealing with the aftermath of the attack; the Knights of Seiros returned early after clearing up the pile of corpses while the Blue Lions retreated into the forest under the guise of searching for the mysterious cloaked figure.

Of course, that same person, along with two other men, were now sleeping innocently inside one of the spare tents Byleth brought along with her.

The Blue Lions huddled around the fire with leather blankets wrapped around them. They dozed off under a sky of perfect midnight velvet and blinking stars, their patterns ever-changing. It was an uncomfortable tranquility when contrasted with the rebellion that ended mere hours ago. Nevertheless, the students appreciated the dim sequin-like glow of the moon and stars. It gave them hope for the breaking dawn, perhaps even chasing away some of their nightmares from the bloody carnage they saw on their walk back to the forest.

Leave it to their professor to be prepared for any mishap during missions.

The Blue Lions did not know how she did it, but perhaps Byleth was a grand wizard in disguise because there was no other explanation for the nine different tents she packed into that tiny bag of hers. Not to mention, the professor was fully prepared with cooking knives, a pot, tons of fishes — airmid pikes, white trouts, and teutates loaches — even a bag of exotic spices and tea leaves. Really, her bag was like a bottomless treasure vault.

Mercedes crawled out from one tent, her eyes drooping low from exhaustion. She yawned, hiding her lips behind her palms as she blinked rapidly into the night. "All of their conditions are stabilized now. For now, we should let them rest for the night." Mercedes's diagnosis created a ripple of sighs as the Blue Lions exhaled in relief.

"Mercie, head in and rest," Annette suggested. "You've been healing all of our cuts and bruises since the afternoon. I don't want you to collapse on us, too."

Mercedes nodded. "Thank you, Annie. I think I'll take you up on the offer."

Dimitri smiled kindly at her. "Please, rest well, Mercedes. We'll wake you up when it's morning. Do not worry about us."

"I appreciate it, Dimitri. Then, good night everyone!" she spoke before she headed to her own tent underneath a large forest tree. She zipped up the flapping door and dived into the comforting promise of sleep.

The conversation halted, each student concentrating on their own thoughts and questions. Many had burning questions regarding Satiana and Ashe's whereabouts, but both of them were out of commission. They would have to wait till later to ask; their professor refused to elaborate anything, busying herself with the mundane chore of cooking dinner or taking the role of night watch.

Sylvain sat cross-legged on a giant log near the campfire, honey-brown irises gleaming golden under the resonating heat as he stared at Byleth, who sat with her eyes closed while leaning on a tree stump.

Although he acted flippantly most of the time, pretending to be a dull-headed fool with nothing but cotton candy for brains, his closest friends knew he possessed a sharp mind. Sylvain never voiced out his opinions out of a lifelong habit of pretending to be dimwitted, but that didn't mean he was non-observant.

Out of the Blue Lions, Sylvain was the only one who could read Byleth's expressions. Of course, not to the same accuracy as Satiana, who had a head start because of her close relationship with Byleth. But spending a life near fat-faced nobles who loved using backhanded comments gave Sylvain the edge with reading the genuine sentiments hidden behind the different masks people loved to put on.

For the first time, ever since he met Byleth, he caught a glimpse beneath that stoic poker face. It was when she confronted Catherine. There was a genuine spark of anger roiling inside those cerulean orbs. Where it came from, he could not fathom. Whatever it was Catherine said to her, it struck a chord in Byleth and made her uncharacteristically seethe in fury.

Sylvain bit his lips, chewing over a proper question. Perhaps it was time to unmask the true face behind the Ashen Demon. Did she genuinely care about the students? Or did she have some secret agenda?

Byleth was Satiana's elder sister on paper and anyone with proper brain cells could deduce that Byleth also had a role to play with Rodrigue's schemes. Although he gave Satiana the benefit of the doubt, it was a different story from the blank-faced professor in front of him.

What reason did she have to stay here, teaching them?

"Professor, I think you owe us an explanation," Sylvain broke the silence. Byleth startled out of her daze, gaze zoning in on Sylvain's frown. "We took a detour during the battle so we could engage the villagers without having to harm them. I'm happy you listened to our pleas. Really, I am grateful." His forehead creased up in confusion. "But was that it? Did you let us act freely because you agreed with our ideals? Because you wanted to be a proper professor?"

Byleth's cerulean vision glowed mysteriously under the silver gleam. "All I did was provide you with the opportunity to choose your own paths. Is it strange of me to do so?"

"Well, to be quite honest…" Sylvain rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "I expected you to follow Lady Rhea's orders to a tee. I mean, think about it." Sylvain rubbed his chin. "We let a lot of the villagers survive. Some of them were even Gaspard soldiers. Catherine made a brilliant point earlier. There's no guarantee the survivors of this incident won't gather forces and raise their arms against the church again, this time under the pretense of revenge for their fallen lord." Honey-brown orbs sharpened, and Sylvain narrowed his eyes. "It'll be all our fault if another massacre happens again. And you let us do whatever we pleased. Did you agree with our judgment? Or did you give us a chance because you wanted to be a kind professor?"

Felix scoffed, rolling his eyes. "So are you praising the professor or picking a bone with her? Pick one side and stick with it."

Ingrid fixed Sylvain a blank stare. "It's not like you to act so smart like this, Sylvain."

Sylvain gasped, clutching his heart dramatically in feigned hurt. "You guys wound me. I was being serious for once, you know!" he whined, lips perking outwards into a pout.

"Sylvain is right with his concerns, though," Dedue responded. "I would like to hear what the professor is thinking."

Byleth hummed in thought, leaning off the tree. She lifted one leg up, placing her chin on her knee. "Sylvain, you are mistaken about one thing. I did not give you the leisure to decide because I trusted you or believed in the same ideals as you. In fact, in all honesty, I believe I would've killed the civilians in the rebellion without thought because they were necessary sacrifices."

Dimitri perked up, eyes blazing with a sudden surge of fury. "But professor, those weren't knights or soldiers! Some of them were fathers and sons! We didn't need to kill them."

Byleth held a hand up in front of her, shaking her head. "Please, let me finish." Dimitri reluctantly hunched back into his seat, frowning with disagreement. Byleth cleared her throat once. "As I said, I would kill all of those civilians like the church ordered to prevent further casualties. I'm sure you all experienced it today, but none of those villagers were willing to listen to your pleas."

The Blue Lions went quiet because they realized the professor was right. Their ideals were naïve and had no place in the real world.

"Even so, I allowed you all to act as you please and I will continue to do so, so long as you do not endanger everyone else with your reckless actions." Byleth paused, closing her eyes. "I do not care what the rest of you think because in the end, there are no two people who have the exact same beliefs. Therefore, instead of forcing you all to act under my command, I figured it was easier to allow you free rein. It would be quite bothersome to convince you all otherwise."

Dimitri suddenly snorted, hiding a chuckle behind his lips.

Byleth turned to him, cocking her head in confusion. "I do not understand what was so amusing about my statement."

Dimitri waved his hand dismissively, shaking his head lightly, lips curled up in a wry smile. "Sorry, professor. I just found it quite funny how you easily contradict yourself." Byleth shot Dimitri an even more blank stare, and Dimitri coughed. "Have you forgotten what you said to Catherine yourself? You argued with her, saying that you would not allow our hands to be dirtied by the Church's version of justice. You said that you would take responsibility for our actions. To me, it sounds like you believe in us. And yet now you are acting very coldly."

"I do not believe I acted contradictory." Byleth blinked once, then twice. "If the church insisted on attacking the villagers, I would not stop them. When I said I acted according to what I believed was the most effective way to end this rebellion, that also included having to convince you all to kill your opponents. I figured instead of wasting time doing so, it would be better to let you do as you please."

This time, Dimitri stared confusedly at Byleth. "Professor, you really are an enigma. I can never understand what you are thinking. Sometimes, you act as if you genuinely care about us. Like when you listened to our pleas. But at times, you push us away, acting nonchalant. As if we don't matter to you."

*Cough*

All heads turned toward the medic tent. A hoarse voice gasped for air as they tried to muster up their strength to speak. "B-Byleth, you suck at talking about your feelings." The thin layer of fabric muffled the voice enveloping her bandaged form, but the Blue Lions heard her, nonetheless.

"Satiana?!" Annette gasped. "Are you awake?" She scrambled towards the tent and opened the flaps.

Inside, Satiana was already up in a sitting position. She groaned as she stretched her limbs across the ground. Another rough cough erupted from her throat and she flopped back onto her back, whimpering in pain with her nose wrinkled. "Okay, nevermind. That hurt more than I expected. Ugh."

Felix grunted. "Just go back to sleep, idiot." His words had no bite behind them and she knew, but Satiana was always one for confrontation.

She glared through the open slit in the tent and scowled. "Shut up, Felix. I know what I'm doing."

"No, you clearly don't," Felix said as he shot her an incredulous look of disbelief.

"Satiana, please rest," Byleth spoke up from her seat, staring in disappointment at the girl, who kept wiggling like a worm on the floor of her tent. "You can join the conversation after you've recovered."

"Oh, no, you don't." Satiana forced herself up into a sitting position again, crossing her legs. "I can't let you ruin yourself by being the socially awkward person you are, Byleth."

Byleth shot her a blank look, but with Satiana's keen eyes, she spotted the subtle twitch of Byleth's brows. Byleth was visibly annoyed at being probed.

Satiana jabbed a finger in Byleth's direction. "Now, back to the conversation. What this… this idiot means," she paused, clearing her throat loudly as a particularly large blob of saliva choked her, "is that she wanted you guys to learn the consequences of your actions on your own. She says she was too lazy to convince you otherwise, but really, she's the professor. If she ordered something, you guys would have no choice but to follow her command. Even so, she allowed you guys to take the reins. Why? Because she wanted to teach you something."

Satiana launched herself into another coughing fit and Annette was by her side, rubbing smooth circles on her back. Satiana muttered a quiet 'thanks' before she continued on with her speech.

"What she wanted to teach you was that your beliefs and the most effective way to end bloodshed can be contrary to each other. For example, you all believed in knocking the enemies out without killing them. But now, you face the potential threat of a second wave of rebellion. Meanwhile, Byleth knew that killing the villagers was the most effective way to resolve this issue. But on a personal level, she believed the villagers did not deserve death."

The Blue Lions pondered over her speech, eyes boring into the flickering flame.

"Which decision leads to the better outcome? No one will ever know. In life, you can only make one choice. There's no going back. Sometimes, you will have to act differently to your beliefs in order to prevent further casualties. While at other times, following what your heart tells you will only lead to unnecessary problems in the future."

Satiana closed her eyes and for a moment, she was sent back to the familiar plains of roaring fire. There was no one who understood the dilemma better than she did as one who swam through the guilt of slaughtering many innocents. She breathed softly, sighing shakily as the wind howled around them.

"No matter what choice you make, there will always be regrets. No one knows what the end result of a decision is. Perhaps things could've gone better if you listened to your commander. Perhaps things ended well for you this time. Regardless, as long as you continue to fight on the battlefield, these types of questions will plague you till the very end," Satiana ended solemnly.

A long, deafening silence enveloped the group after her speech ended. Nobody dared break the uncomfortable silence, for none of them knew the right response to such a morbid dilemma. The Blue Lions were still inexperienced fledglings in comparison; none could fully comprehend the weight and burden that came with the responsibility of protecting one's nation or land.

Of course, it only then proved natural for Byleth to break the silence as the most experienced member of the group.

"...That was what I meant to say," Byleth interjected flatly. "That's why I said that I didn't believe in you guys. I just let you do as you please because it was bothersome to explain everything and learning first-handedly the consequences of your actions would prove to be a useful experience in the future—"

"Fuck, you really do have communication issues, Byleth," Satiana groaned, rolling her eyes. "Stop talking in such a roundabout manner, alright? Just be honest and tell everyone you cared enough about them to teach them a valuable lesson."

Byleth blinked. She tilted her head to the side, lips thinning to a straight line. "But I really did not act out of care, per se. I simply acted according to my beliefs."

Satiana slapped her palms onto her face, stretching her skin downward in dismay. "You are hopeless. A hopeless idiot, Byleth." She threw her hands into the air in exasperation. "Sometimes, I wonder if you're just emotionally constipated or something. How can you not recognize your own feelings?!"

"I don't have a heart, Satiana. I'm incapable of feeling emotions."

"Bullshit, Byleth. I've seen you smile. Like once. Maybe twice. You even glared at me before. You have plenty of emotion, Byleth. It's high-time you start putting words to your feelings."

"I'm afraid that is an insurmountable obstacle for me."

"Then, I don't know, try harder?!"

"I cannot try harder without comprehending what it means to have emotions, to begin with."

The Blue Lions stared awkwardly at the raucous fray of bickering between the two. They sat in silence, listening to the cheerful bantering as Satiana's profound explanation of Byleth's intention sank into their heads.

They weren't sure what to make of it.

Indeed, Byleth had a very peculiar way with words. Without Satiana's translation, the professor would've led them into the false belief that she did not care about anyone but herself. Now, they knew the professor simply had a cold front. Underneath all that awkwardness lay a deep well of warmth and care. Her words may be sharp and lack control, but she always meant well.

Dimitri smiled at the scene in front of him. He shared eye contact with Sylvain and noticed the satisfied grin on the man's lips. Ingrid and Felix shrugged as they shook their heads in exasperation. Annette was chuckling to herself while Dedue hid a small smile behind his palms.

Dimitri closed his eyes, letting the sound of bickering fade away into the scenery. For now, he would allow himself to indulge in the tranquil air. It was a much needed change of pace after today's tiring events.

The wind picked up behind him. From deep inside the darkness in the forest, he felt a pair of strange eyes boring into his back. Of course, it was nothing but a fabrication of his own mind. He willed it away, letting the twisted shadows of the dead clinging to his back blend in with the surrounding nature.

The only time ghoulish assailants weren't gnawing on the fringes of his mind seemed to be when he was with Byleth, the woman's overwhelming presence suppressing the clamoring in his head. She was his only beacon in the darkness — the only person who he could look in the eye without feeling an inch of guilt.

He loved his friends. He really did. But at times, they also reminded him of what he had lost — what he failed to protect. Even Satiana, the recent addition to his now growing family, was involved in the nightmares that plagued him. Byleth was the only person who had no connection to that damning incident.

He wished this moment of peace would never end. But of course, the Goddess would never listen to his pleas.

She never did.

Not even a day had passed since they returned from Magdred and Byleth was already making her way up to the second floor of the monastery. As expected, Catherine had reported to Rhea before Byleth. And now, she faced dire consequences. It wouldn't be surprising if she got fired for disobeying orders.

But Byleth didn't care about her punishment.

It wasn't as if she cared enough about the students to bother defending their actions. She was simply doing her job. She believed a professor was someone who taught students things they could apply to real life and that, she did. Although her methods were sort of abstract, giving her students freedom on the battlefield of all places, she wasn't a babysitter.

Who was she to teach the kids what was right or wrong? Even she wondered at times if she was doing the right thing. Jeralt was better with teaching morals and ethics. Byleth wasn't one to mind about such philosophical and ethical aspects of battle — she was more fit for a sword instructor.

But the church hired her as a homeroom professor. She acted according to what she believed was the kind of professor the students needed. If the church wasn't satisfied with that, then to hell with them. She was never one to follow strict orders, anyway.

Though, perhaps she should ask them for extra severance pay in advance.

Byleth was acutely aware of the strange looks the other priests and knights were giving her. Perhaps news of her treacherous actions had already reached their ears. They didn't even bother to hide the way they jumped around her, darting away like squirrels as soon as she stepped onto the second floor. She sighed internally in annoyance as she stepped into the audience chambers.

Rhea and Seteth stood in the center as usual. To her surprise, Rhea still had the same gentle smile plastered on her face. Seteth was of course brooding as usual, a permanent look of suspicion carved onto his features. She greeted them. "Lady Rhea, Seteth. Good morning."

"I am glad that you made it back safely, professor," Rhea nodded. "I heard about your accomplishments on the battlefield from Catherine. You did an excellent job. As expected of someone with the Goddess's divine protection."

Byleth couldn't resist the urge to arch her eyebrows in a blatant display of confusion. She did not expect Rhea to compliment her, especially after what she had done. By Rhea's side, Seteth seethed quietly in disagreement, eyes blazing with fury. Byleth ignored him, glancing off to the side.

"I only did what I had to, Rhea," Byleth replied.

Seteth leveled a hard stare. "Yes, of course. You did exactly what was expected of you," Seteth spoke flatly but there was no hiding the slight sneer hidden inside his mocking words.

"I heard that some students were… hesitant about fighting militia. However, we must punish any sinners who may inflict harm upon believers, even if those sinners are civilians," Rhea paused in her speech, pale green irises glowing white on the edges. "Which is why I must ask you, professor. Why did you let some civilians leave unharmed?"

Byleth stood her ground. "I didn't believe it was necessary. As long as we take down Lord Lonato, the rebellion will halt on its own. Without a leader to follow, none of the villagers would've been able to do anything against the Knights of Seiros."

"So, you took mercy upon them. How unexpected of the Ashen Demon." Seteth didn't even bother to hide behind his backhanded comments this time. He unleashed his ire. "You must understand that if you do not cut these sinners down, they will only rise again. Perhaps next time with a new leader. What will you do then?"

"If they still have not learned from their mistakes, then I will have no choice but to cut them down," Byleth replied.

Rhea frowned. "So what you mean to say is that you wanted to give these sinners a second chance. You did not comply with our orders to eliminate them because you believed they deserved to be saved?"

"There is more than enough evidence to prove that Lonato incited his own men to rebel against the Church. They did not do so out of personal hatred against the church, but because of their love for their lord. I must be honest with my sentiments regarding this case," Byleth continued. "Lady Rhea, why did you keep it a secret from me you executed Lord Lonato's son under false conditions?"

One look was all it took for Byleth to straighten her back against her will. She could feel the piercing glare prickling her skin, erupting goosebumps. Seteth's presence morphed from pure menace to scintillating darkness. But that was nothing new. She was used to Seteth's pressing glares.

It was Rhea that took her completely by surprise.

It was only for a small sliver of a second, but Byleth saw the angelic-like facade shatter as Rhea's lips twitched downward. The pale-green pupils filled with nostalgia and warmth warped, stretching vertically into thin strips and Byleth felt a vigorous shudder run down her spine. The gaze was mesmerizing, enchanting, but also paralyzing. Her eyes glinted with a sudden surge of murderous intent. A deep well of potent darkness lurked inside the reptile-like gaze filled to the brim with something akin to heavy disappointment.

It wasn't a kind look. There was obvious judgment and disenchantment within those condescending orbs. Rhea stared at Byleth as if she were an insignificant bug. But the freezing turbulence disappeared as quickly as it came. Rhea returned to her usual sunny-smile, eyes sparkling vibrantly under the heavenly glow of sunlight.

Byleth felt another cold shiver overwhelm her. The sudden disparage was too much to bear. To think a hideous monster hid underneath that seemingly innocent face.

She stifled a small laugh of disbelief.

"Professor, I hope you will forgive me. I did not tell you because I didn't think it mattered in the long run. Regardless of his reasons for instigating this rebellion, Lord Lonato's sentence is already finalized. It is foolish to point one's blades towards the heavens. I hope you and your students learned a valuable lesson from this excursion," Rhea explained without hesitation.

Byleth crossed her arms, staring at Rhea. "Lady Rhea, when I asked you last time whether you knew the truth behind Lord Lonato's rebellion, you refused to answer me. I dislike being lied to or kept ignorant on purpose. As the leading professor of this case, was it not in my rights to be informed of everything about the incident beforehand?"

Rhea smiled her patented, familiar smile, the one that irked Byleth now that she had glimpsed the true face behind the mask. "Yes, you are correct. However, I was afraid that his reasons would sway you. That is why I kept it a secret from you. Please, forgive me. I simply took precautions."

"Lady Rhea, it appears you do not trust me as much as you claim to," Byleth accused. "Because you hid this from me, I could not make sound judgments on the battlefield because I was not sure of your intentions. If you want me to trust you, then please do not hide fatal information from me in the future."

Seteth finally exploded, interjecting into the conversation. "Professor, that is enough. It is you who must prove yourself worthy of Lady Rhea's trust, not the other way around." He pointed a finger at Byleth.

"I believe you are heavily mistaken, Seteth," Byleth retorted immediately, eyes narrowing. "I am not a member of the Knights of Seiros. I did not swear fealty to your cause. I am simply a professor of this academy that you have hired to take care of the students. That is all that is written in my job description. I am not a devout follower of the Church and you will treat me as such."

Seteth's jaws dropped in horror, eyes bulging wide. "I cannot believe this! You are desecrating the goddess in front of the archbishop!"

"You can take my words however you like. That is not my primary concern," Byleth continued, turning her head towards Rhea. "Lady Rhea, if you had told me earlier about Lord Lonato's intentions, I would've slaughtered all the civilians," Byleth confessed. "We would not be having this argument right now if you had been honest with me from the get go."

Seteth sneered without humor. "Surely, you jest, professor. Your actions contradict your words. Was it not because you probed into the church's affairs on your own, learning Lord Lonato's motives, that led to your hesitation on the battlefield?"

Byleth shook her head. "Again, you are incorrect. Do you still not understand why I let those villagers survive?" She gave the two a sharp look. "It is because of your response to this incident. You attempted to sweep everything about Lord Lonato under the rug. Your actions only proved that Lord Lonato raised a valid concern regarding his son's execution."

Seteth took a step forward, snarling. "Professor, you are acting out of line. Get out of here now—"

"I am not done yet, Seteth," Byleth interrupted. "I understand the reasoning behind your decisions. I do not disagree with any of them, in particular. You have valid political reasons that led you to your choices. Both you and Lord Lonato acted according to your beliefs. There is nothing inherently wrong with that. However, there is something wrong with trying to hide away from the consequences of your actions."

Seteth paused mid-rant, stunned to silence by Byleth's freezing stare.

"Do not misunderstand my words. I am not against the church. I respect your authority. So please, do not make my faith in you waver any longer," Byleth ended amiably. "One should take proper responsibility for their actions. You did the opposite, which only diminished my faith in your decision. That is why I could not bring myself to kill those civilians because I do not make a habit of killing innocents. If they are indeed as sinful as you claim, then prove it to me with your confidence instead of hiding behind the shameful truth. I am more than capable of understanding that some sacrifices are necessary in this world."

Rhea and Seteth shared a look of astonishment. No one could blame them. Who could ever imagine that the cold-hearted mercenary who barely spoke at all would one day preach so eloquently about her beliefs?

Rhea wanted Byleth to change after her stay at the monastery, hopefully indoctrinating her into the religion. That was why she offered Byleth the open spot of professor, to begin with. But never in a billion years could she predict Byleth would change so drastically in a completely different manner.

What on earth did the Blue Lions do to her?

Rhea found herself coughing, clearing her throat. "Y-Yes, professor. I understand your concerns. From now on, I will be most honest with you about my intentions. I hope you will one day come to see that the Goddess is always on the side of the justice we embody."

Seteth still stood stiff, mouth hanging open in shock.

Byleth hummed in satisfaction. "Good. Then I look forward to our next endeavor together. Please, do not hesitate to call me for another mission." Her eyes sparkled as she spun on her heels, heading out the door without even sparing a glance behind.

After that day, a new rumor began spreading around campus. It started from an innocent bystander who passed by outside the audience chambers when Seteth started screaming. Exaggerated stories of how the demon professor threatened the archbishop's aid with her sword echoed down the hallways of Garreg Mach for many moons, much to her students' dismay.

"I must say, Satiana. I feel like you are a regular in the infirmary," Manuela chastised as she applied extra force into the heal, making Satiana wince in pain. "How do you always get yourself hurt like this?"

Satiana shrugged, letting the sheepish grin on her face widen in increments of inches. "If it makes you feel better, I don't get myself hurt on purpose." She sat up on the bed, leaning against the pillow. "I'm sorry, Professor Manuela. I seem to always cause trouble."

"I hope you understand how worried I was when Byleth carried the two of you into the infirmary," Manuela frowned, eyes bright with worry, scanning Satiana for traces of injuries or scars. "You were lucky Mercedes got to you in time. If not, the both of you would've died from blood loss."

Ashe smiled weakly from his position on the opposite bed. "Y-You have my utmost gratitude, Professor Manuela."

Manuela shot him a glare. "I don't need your thanks, Ashe. If you really want to thank me, then please be more careful on the battlefield." She strolled from one bed to another, squinting for any injuries she may have missed at first glance. Eventually, she nodded in satisfaction, placing her hands on her hips. "Good! You both should be alright now. Don't forget to rest easy for today. Also, no combat training for a week!"

Manuela strolled through the open door of the infirmary, calling out the names of the visitors waiting outside.

There was a stilted, pregnant pause as the rest of the Blue Lions strolled into the room. Dedue closed the door behind him, giving them a sense of privacy. Dimitri stood in the center of the room, glaring holes at the two patients on the bed. The rest of the students crowded around him, most with frowns or worried gazes plastered on their faces.

"I think it's about time you explained to us what you were up to," Dimitri started calmly, though there was no denying the subtle pressure he radiated.

Satiana occupied herself with watching the birds chirping outside the window. Ashe found a fascinating crease on his worn-out uniform. The room lapsed into silence once again, each inhabitant stewing in tension.

Dimitri crossed his arms, glaring at the two. "I believe I asked you two a question." He tapped his toes impatiently.

Ashe and Satiana winced, both refusing to meet his scorching gaze.

"Just what were you thinking? Throwing yourself into danger like that?" Dimitri continued scolding, baritone voice trembling. "Did you even stop to think about your actions?"

"Uh, yes, I did—" Satiana cut in.

"Yes, of course, you did," Dimitri repeated but there was no amusement lurking in those fiery blue orbs. "You have a brilliant mind, Satiana. Reasoning always sound, logic well-formulated, built upon years of experience. And yet what did that brain of yours lead you to? A concussion, a stab wound in the back, a fall of a giant tree, a sad attempt at jumping over a cliff—"

"Hey, to be fair, I made that jump and killed the bandit—"

Dimitri groaned. "Satiana, that is not the point." He rubbed his face with his hands, exhaling in disbelief. "I am trying to tell you that you are far too reckless for your own good. It is your overconfidence that led to these injuries."

Satiana bit her lips, turning her head away from Dimitri's worried gaze. "Then what would you suggest I do? Turn a blind eye to everything that is happening behind the scenes? Let Lonato just lead a bunch of innocent people to their deaths? Let Ashe wallow in regret his whole life?"

Dimitri's lips thinned in a chapped line, prone to sighing. His face was a bruise, exhausted by the nightmares that plagued him, dark circles underneath his eyes and lines on his face. "No, that is not what I mean. I am well aware you acted with everyone's safety in mind. But you failed to realize your own limits. We could've come up with a better plan of action if you only spoke with us."

"Your highness," Ashe croaked from his position on the bed, mustering up the courage to meet Dimitri's worried gaze. "Please, do not blame Satiana for everything. To begin with, I was the one who accompanied her. I asked her to allow me to see Lord Lonato, even though I knew it would put the both of us in danger." Ashe shifted, folding his legs behind him as he knelt on the sheets. He bowed his head, hands gripping his knee. "I am sorry for causing so much trouble with my actions, your highness."

Dimitri only scowled in response. "No, I do not want your apologies. What I want to hear is a promise from the both of you." Dimitri walked up between their beds, eyes darting between the two who met his weary gaze with a guilty look of their own. He placed his hands on both of their shoulders, clutching tightly. "Please, do not throw your life away so senselessly like this ever again. Consult us. Are we not members of the same class? Do we not hail from the same Kingdom?"

Most of the students were too focused on Dimitri's heartfelt confession to notice it, but Satiana choked on thin air. Heart was up in her throat, blocking all words from articulation. She turned away from his heated gaze, refusing to meet him halfway. Her hands paled as she grasped them together hastily, feeling the sweat from discomfort rubbing on her skin.

For a split second, copper-brown landed on her hunched form. Felix wouldn't have called it horror but the closest thing to how she currently felt was probably so.

There was so much sincerity and honesty in Dimitri's voice Ashe couldn't help but tear up in response. "Y-Your highness, I just did not want to bother you with my thoughtless plans. I couldn't get you into trouble with me." He sniffed, the dam breaking free, the river flowing down his pale cheeks.

Dimitri's eyes softened as he knelt to eye level with Ashe. He made a valiant attempt of a smile, despite his heart clenching with pain. "There is no need to cry, Ashe. Do you still remember what I told you before? I wanted you to treat me like a friend. I wanted to be someone who could help you, not just be protected like a useless ornament on the throne." He scrunched his face into a sulk. "To be honest, this incident wounded me deeply. I feel as if I am a failure. I failed to recognize the darkness lurking inside Lord Lonato and burdened you with the sin of slaying your own father. I am the one who has to apologize to you, Ashe."

Ashe blinked the giant blobs of tears away from his vision. "W-What? But I failed to kill my father…"

"That, you did. But you shouldn't have been forced to. If only we had found a better way to talk things through. If only I had realized earlier. Perhaps, things wouldn't have escalated this far." Dimitri spiraled into the rabbit hole of never ending guilt and regrets. Once it started, there was no escaping, and he sank rapidly into the quicksand.

Felix's scoff broke the tension in the room. "How naïve. No matter what you did, Lord Lonato was resolved to fight till the very end for his beliefs. There was no stopping that man. Forget about him already."

"Felix…" Sylvain shot him a warning look.

Felix grunted. "Lord Lonato lived the life he wanted to live. In the end, he ordered his men to drop their weapons and paid for his mistakes with his life. There's nothing more to talk about. He was a fool who realized at the end of his life how pointless his actions were."

Dimitri snapped back in anger. "Felix, you will not step over his memory like that."

Felix only rolled his eyes. "Who said I was? I was simply speaking the truth."

Satiana turned her weary eyes towards him, a frown plastered on her face. "Who are you, Byleth?" The implication behind her innocent question struck a chord in Felix and he glared hard at her but she ignored him, choosing to turn her attention to Dimitri instead. "Dimitri, there is no need to mourn any further over Lord Lonato's death. I sent him peacefully back to his son's side as he wished. There was nothing tragic about his death."

Dimitri lifted his head. He looked crestfallen, the light stolen from his eyes. "Really? Do you think so?" His voice trembled with disbelief.

Satiana stared at her hands. "Dimitri, I believe there is no one who understands Lord Lonato's sentiments more than you do. What the church did was unacceptable to him and he did everything in his power to bring justice to his beloved son. He died doing what he believed in. Is there a need to mourn over his actions? Instead, why don't we pay our respects to his bravery?"

Felix growled at her remarks. "What is there to respect about a man driven insane by the dead? He dragged a bunch of innocents into his cause and look where it led them all."

"That does it!" Ingrid stomped towards Felix, only to be held back by Sylvain who grabbed her under the arms, yanking her back.

"O-Okay, guys! Calm down! We should leave now and let Satiana and Ashe rest, alright? We can discuss more important things later!" Sylvain raised his voice over the chaos, swinging his head back and forth.

Annette nodded her head in agreement. "Right, Professor Manuela strictly told us to let them rest. We shouldn't bother them any longer."

Mercedes smiled from the sidelines. "Indeed, we can fight over our different beliefs later. For now, Ashe and Satiana need absolute rest."

Albeit reluctantly, Ingrid freed herself from Sylvain's clutches, lips puckered in a pout. "I understand. Let's talk more about this on a later date. For now, please rest well, Satiana, Ashe."

Ashe weakly nodded, lying his back down onto the bed. He threw the covers over him and soon enough, the fatigue took over and he drifted off into a peaceful slumber. There were still red marks around his eyes, remnants of tears and sorrow.

Dimitri did a quick glance-over in Ashe's direction, blue irises still whirling with guilt, before he spun around on his heels, exiting the room with Dedue following behind him. Sylvain pushed Ingrid out of the door with a sheepish smile as she stormed off in a fit of anger. Annette and Mercedes snuck out, chatting happily about sugary treats.

Felix was the last to leave, cursing under his breath in displeasure. "All of these idiots… why doesn't anyone understand…" he whispered, voice barely audible.

But with her sharp ears, she caught his words anyway. Satiana sighed in response, shaking her head. "If you want them to understand your thoughts, then you should work on communicating them properly."

Felix spun his head around to meet her blank stare. "What do you even know?" he spoke bitterly.

"I don't," Satiana started with a shrug. "I can't guess what's in your mind, Felix. I can only infer from what you're saying. But judging by the amount of passion in your speech, you seem to have burning thoughts." She fiddled with her blanket. "Too bad you lack the ability to put them into words without sounding like you're trying to bite everyone in front of you."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Felix repeated, though he realized he was only proving her point with his lack of creativity. He scowled in distaste. "All of them are the same. Wallowing in despair over the dead. Losing their heads over regrets. No one seems to understand. You can't change the past. You can only move forward." He threw his hands into the air, shaking his head in exasperation. "What's the point of trying to find meaning in someone's death? In the end, you're only trying to make yourself feel better."

Satiana stared at him, eyes sparkling with realization. A burst of air escaped her lips and she hid her mouth behind her palms, snickering. Felix shot her a nasty glare, but she waved him off with her hand. "It's uncanny how much you resemble Byleth. And here I thought she was the one with the biggest communication issue." She switched to a cross-legged position, placing her elbow on her knees as she leaned against her palm, a wry smile hanging on her lips. "You care too much, you know that?"

The look of sheer horror on Felix's face almost launched her into a guffawing fit. He blanched as if she had done something blasphemous or downright inappropriate.

"What are you on about? Did you lose your brain cells on the battlefield?"

Satiana snorted in response. "You wanted to console everyone, didn't you? You wanted them to stop worrying so much about things that were unchangeable. You wanted them to move on from Lord Lonato's death. You were trying to cheer them up in your own bullheaded way." She grinned wider, wiggling her fingers in the air. "You speak in a condescending tone, but it comes from a place of care."

Felix's brows twitched, and he clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Shut it," was all he came up with in response to her taunts.

The slight red flush on his pale cheeks only reinforced Satiana's train of thought and she smirked at him. "You are so not honest with yourself despite how straightforward you usually are with your words. It's hilarious, at times."

She was on a roll.

Satiana didn't know what came over her. Maybe she was still half-feverish from her wounds or perhaps she really hit her head like Felix accused. She wasn't thinking straight. Not ever since Dimitri dropped that bombshell on her.

She had grown too attached to the students. She didn't want to admit it, but she came to enjoy their company. They were a rambunctious bunch — loud, cheerful, energetic, and so warm she couldn't resist the urge to jump into their waiting embrace. She couldn't help but feel like she was truly a part of them sometimes. Maybe that was why she dared to tease Felix over his mishaps. Two moons ago, she never would've thought she'd be chatting with the kids. Although things were still rocky between them, especially with her true identity hidden, she found it quite comfortable around them.

But this delusion needed to stop. It had to. One day, everything would come crashing down; it was inevitable. Just when Satiana thought her life was coming together, the past would catch up to her and tear it all apart, revealing the construction to be no sturdier or substantial than a sandcastle that crumbled under the first touch of fingers.

But was it so wrong for her to wish this wonderful dream would never stop?

"Stop…"

"Hm?"

"I said stop it," Felix snapped, this time with a tone of finality. "Who do you think you are to speak so casually with me? Stop acting like we're close."

Of course you just had to bring me back to reality, huh, Felix? As expected of you.

He didn't put much thought into his words. Satiana knew. But it didn't change how much it hurt to have the truth dangling in front of her eyes. Dimitri's words gave her an uncomfortable sense of hope and Felix threw it all into the trash can, burning it to a crisp with his scathing words.

"Speaking of which, your actions were beyond reckless. I don't buy it. You didn't go to Gaspard to protect Ashe." The accusation stung and Satiana could do nothing but sit helplessly as Felix continued to shatter her hopes to a million irreparable pieces. "The professor told us: you had a separate mission." His heated glare only made the numbing pain in her chest worse. "What were you actually up to in Gaspard?"

Satiana's expression dampened, the victorious grin wiped off her face. "Do we need to talk about this now?" She curled a strand of hair behind her ears, looking off to the side with a heavy sigh. "I need to rest, Felix."

He folded his arms, glare hardening. "So, you choose to lie straight to my face again?"

Satiana threw the covers over her head, turning away from him with her eyes shut tight. "Yes, I will," she mumbled under her breath.

Because you don't deserve to have your world destroyed by associating yourselves with me.

"You're right." Her voice was muffled underneath the covers but Felix heard her, nonetheless. She clutched the blanket harder, yanking it down to her face as she spoke through grinding teeth. "I don't know what came over me. We aren't friends or comrades. I'm still a prisoner under watch. Anyway, I can't—" she coughed once, choking on thin air. "Won't tell you about it until I deem it necessary. Sorry about teasing you earlier. I overstepped my boundaries."

Felix went quiet. His hands twitched, and he raised his arm to scratch the back of his head, scowling again for the umpteenth time that day. "No, I…" he started, biting his lips. He opened his mouth to try again, only to clamp it shut. There was another lull in the conversation, this time, quite uncomfortable for the both of them. Eventually, he settled on a sigh. "Forget it. Just… go get some rest," he ended awkwardly and turned around towards the exit. He paused mid-way out the door. "Hurry and recover already. I need a sparring partner."

Satiana's eyes widened imperceptibly under the covers, blue orbs glowing with a small flicker of warmth, but her smile was rigid. "Sure. I'll try my best."

Her heart remained heavy throughout the day.

Chapter Text

[White Clouds]

A Leap of Faith

The Fraldarius estate was in an uproar and that was an understatement. Not because a bloody, bandaged mummy wandered into Fraldarius domain the day before and most certainly not because said man almost blasted a hole in their mansion with his faulty warp magic the afternoon before his impromptu visit.

No, who was he kidding? Rodrigue still remembered the way he was completing file work as usual on his desk, chatting with his butler about their next plan of action when his entire world went pear-shaped. For a moment, he thought the sky collapsed on him, surrounding him with bluish-white, or was it whitish-blue? Whatever it was, the giant windows behind him shattered, jetting shards of glass across his study. If someone informed Rodrigue a meteorite or comet had crashed into their walls, he would've believed them.

That was, until a giant box broke a hole in his ceiling and crash-landed on his desk, almost snapping the beautifully carved wood in half. The butler offered to probe the unknown object on his desk to which Rodrigue obliged.

And now, his butler was lying half-dead in the infirmary from a heart attack. Really, he should give the old man a vacation. The poor guy had been a loyal servant of the Fraldarius family even before Rodrigue himself was born.

Rodrigue moved to his library instead, sitting on the sofa lying in the center of the room under a beautiful chandelier and vivid blue ceiling. Renard sat opposite of him, a sheepish grin on his bandaged face. Rodrigue resisted the urge to facepalm, instead settling on keeping on the usual plastic, well-mannered smile on his face. Inside his brewing mind though, he was already set on strangling the cheeky man in front of him.

"So, let me get this straight," Rodrigue began amiably, smile hardening for a split second. "You snuck into Lord Lonato's mansion before the church got to them, fought against some knight dressed like a skeleton, and almost got yourself killed before you warped a giant box of crest stones to the Fraldarius estate without warning because…?" He arched an eyebrow, waiting for Renard to continue his train of thought.

"A mink's last fart," Renard deadpanned. "That's what it was."

"...Yes, as in, it was your last resort?" Rodrigue had become accustomed to the man's peculiar language over their years of cooperation. In a manner different from Satiana, Renard also had a nasty habit of being blunt, sometimes even mocking with his words.

"Uh, yeah, that," Renard coughed once into his palm. "Sorry about your window and ceiling, by the way. I swear it wasn't on purpose. I didn't have time to calculate the distance between your domains and honestly, I didn't think it was possible to use warp to send something halfway across the continent but hey, what do you know?" He laced his hands behind his head, tilting his head. "It worked. Miraculous, ain't it?"

"Putting that aside," Rodrigue diverted attention away from Renard's antics. "I am not sure why you thought it would be in our best interest to steal away their crest stones."

Renard blinked, lips curling down into a frown. "Why not? It's better than the enemy using these stones to create more monstrous beasts."

"Well, yes, of course it would be better for us to prevent them from doing so. But I have to be honest with you. Politically, this is a very… dangerous move." Although Rodrigue didn't say it outright, he really meant that it was a ridiculously suicidal move on Renard's part. "I'm sure you are aware of this already, but the Western Church is most likely erratic now that they're missing a huge chunk of their plans."

"Yes, literally a huge chunk." Renard grinned, eyes boring into the innocent chest lying on the table between them. "A few chunks, to be more exact."

This time, Rodrigue failed to keep a poker face, groaning. He slumped forward onto his elbows, rubbing his palms into his tired face. "Renard, please. Forget the puns. This is not the time for such… activities."

"Alright, alright. Sorry, pal. My head's still up in the clouds after that hectic battle," Renard threw a random excuse into the air, a lopsided grin hanging on his lips. "But I'll be honest with you. I wasn't really thinking things through."

Rodrigue shot him a tired look that screamed 'of course you didn't' and Renard flinched.

"Renard, do you realize what you have done?" Rodrigue began gravelly, sinking deeper into the sofa. He clasped his hands together and hid his chin behind them, midnight blue irises narrowing. "These crest stones technically belong to the Western Church. The Central Church is not aware of their existence. Now that these stones have disappeared from the Western Church's watchful eyes, who do you think will take the blame for your thievery?"

"The Central Church?" Renard answered with a nonchalant shrug.

"Yes, exactly. Your actions just fueled the Western Church's hatred towards the Central Church. This could lead to a whole dogmatic war between the two factions."

"Uh, Rodrigue?" Renard meekly raised his hand. "I think you've forgotten something."

"What is it, Renard?" Rodrigue grumbled, thoughts in disarray.

"Regardless of my actions, the Western Church already had a bone to pick with the Central Church. My actions simply… well… added to the fire," Renard chose his words carefully, noticing the dampening mood in the room. "I got a message from Byleth earlier, saying that Lord Lonato's corpse carried a document detailing an assassination plot on Lady Rhea."

At this remark, Rodrigue perked up. "An assassination plot? Another one?"

Of course, Rodrigue was aware of the vendetta between the Central Church and Lord Lonato. Renard had given him all the documents he stole from the bishop's room, including every single account letter describing financial donations between Lord Arundel and the Western Church. He felt for Lord Lonato's cause — really; he did. If the Central Church pulled the same thing on Glenn, he would've ransacked their altar, burned the entire place to ashes, charged in with nothing but the Sword of Moralta and the Aegis Shield.

It was truly a pity that a man of Lord Lonato's caliber succumbed to the sweet poison of the Western Church, allowing him to be used as a throwaway pawn. If it was Rodrigue, he would've gathered more forces in secret.

Rodrigue shook his head, smiling wryly at the thought. There was no point in thinking further about the dead or divulging in fantasy what-if scenarios.

"We can expect the Western Church to launch an attack on the monastery," Renard added. "Now that Lord Lonato is out of the picture, it's only a matter of time before the higher-ups in the Central Church realize their heavy involvement in the rebellion. Word of mouth has it that some villagers are already lending help to the Knights of Seiros with their testimonies."

Rodrigue's eyes widened. "Really? Why would they choose to help their sworn enemy?"

"Probably because they realized their Lord was being manipulated behind the scenes. We have to thank Satiana for her amazing act," Renard smirked at the thought. "She hid in a cloak and killed Lonato herself. Then, Byleth told the villagers it was the Western Church's henchmen that did the fatal blow. No one knows what truly happened, but hey," he winked, "it's easy to manipulate the thoughts of those who have succumbed to despair."

Rodrigue mused, rubbing his chin in thought. "I see. I have the documents entailing the Western Church's involvement in Lord Lonato's case. We can plead for the villager's safety to the Central Church."

Renard nodded. "That's a brilliant idea. It's the last form of respect we can give Lord Lonato. He may have failed to deliver justice, but at least we can protect his people." Then he leaned forward, mossy-green irises sparkling under the golden gleam of chandelier lights. "By the way, Rodrigue. I have a suggestion to make."

"What is it, Renard?" Rodrigue replied flatly, already eying the man with uncertainty. "Please don't tell me it's another plan of yours that lacks thought and proper preparation."

"Oh, forget the details already." Renard rolled his eyes. "Just listen to me for a moment. The Western Church is already occupied with the Central Church. Now's the best time for us to sneak in and catch them off-guard—"

"Halt," Rodrigue interjected.

Renard blinked. "What's wrong?"

"There's no need to touch the Western Church any further. We have all the information we need. They are useless to us, now that we have their crest stones in hand," Rodrigue commented. "The Central Church will crush the Western Church. We shouldn't focus on the religious war between them. Instead, we should remember who the real enemy is."

Renard crossed his arms. "The ones that slither in the dark? And perhaps, the Empire?"

Rodrigue nodded. "Our most damning evidence right now is the fact that the Western Church hid crest stones in Lord Lonato's mansion. The box in front of our eyes can attest to that fact. This more than implies their direct involvement in misconduct according to the religious laws of Fodlan. We can bring the Western Church down politically with this."

Renard caught onto his train of thought. "But you also don't want to hand such an important clue to the Central Church."

Rodrigue smiled. "Of course not. That's why we can give them something else in exchange. For example, the list of donations Lord Arundel provided to the Western Church."

Renard contemplated, eyes twinkling with realization. "You want to pit the Central Church against the Empire. You want to suggest through Lord Arundel's actions that they agree with the Western Church's ideals and shove a wedge between the Central Church and the Empire. Perhaps even ally yourself with the Central Church."

"Personally, I do not agree with what the Central Church did to Lord Lonato. The Tragedy of Duscur is not meant to be used as a scapegoat to protect their own reputation. However, I understand what motivated them to do so. We did the same to the Duscurians," Rodrigue smiled wryly. "That is how politics work in this world, I'm afraid."

"So, regardless of your personal feelings towards the Central Church, you want to ally with them to prepare for the day Faerghus heads to war against the Empire," Renard stated bluntly. "Am I right, Rodrigue?"

Once in a blue moon, Rodrigue's poker face would shatter, this being one of those times. "War? You must be joking, Renard," Rodrigue threw in a laugh, feigning indifference, but the lines on his forehead and tenseness in his shoulders exposed a fraction of how on-edge he was.

Renard glared at Rodrigue. "Is that not what all this is to prepare for? You've spent years on your own, spending all your resources to search for clues behind the death of your King. You're even willing to ask the Church for help."

"War is not something we can easily talk about like this," Rodrigue exhaled heavily, clamping his hands together on his lap. "Our true enemy isn't the empire itself. It's the ones that are playing everyone like fiddles, exploiting Caldea, the Empire, Lord Arundel, and the Western Church."

"How do we know they're not the same?" Renard crossed his legs, narrowing his eyes. "From how I see it, this Lord Arundel and the rest of the bastards in the Empire are all in cahoots with the experiments. Did you forget about what we found in Count Ordelia's territory?"

Rodrigue went silent.

Renard noticed his hesitation and pushed forward, raising his voice. "Those nobles turned a blind eye to the blatant corruption in that territory. They may not have directly taken part in the experiments, but they were complicit in it. There's no need to feel guilty for baring the Lion's fangs against them, Rodrigue."

Rodrigue wearily eyed Renard. "Renard, even with all the evidence we have, it's hard to justify a war against the Empire. We have no authority to enact justice in their territory. Even if they have been illegally dealing with the church, conducting inhumane experiments on their people, we have no right to interfere with what they are doing. The three different fronts have agreed for centuries not to delve into each other's affairs. The moment we break this pact, it'll launch the entirety of Fodlan into war." Rodrigue's gaze swept sideways, avoiding Renard's pointed look. "Besides, I am a mere Duke. I hold no such authority to begin a large-scale war on my own. One wrong move and I could be tried for treason."

"Then why have you been collecting all of this evidence so far? Is it not because you cannot forgive them for their atrocities?" Renard argued, crossing his arms. "I did not take you to be a coward, Rodrigue."

Rodrigue snapped his head up, meeting Renard's glare with a scorching gaze of his own. "Renard, you do not understand the severe implications our actions could have on the future of this land—"

"This land never had a bright future, to begin with. Have you still not realized that simple fact, Rodrigue?" Renard stood up from his seat, staring down at Rodrigue with contempt. "You know more than anyone. At this rate, those scheming bastards will devour Fodlan. No one realizes who they really are, and the Empire is blatantly working together with those evil snakes. If not war, then what do you suggest we do? Lie low forever?"

"Even if it comes down to war, we still need more information," Rodrigue frowned. "We don't even know where their headquarters lie, nor can we justify our actions with such flimsy evidence. I cannot taint Faerghus's reputation with another senseless massacre. How will I be able to face Lambert if I throw the entire continent into chaos with my preemptive decisions?"

Renard scowled, rolling his eyes. "Forget the dead king for a moment, Rodrigue, and look at the people alive on this land. Thieves are running rampant, nobles are fighting against each other, crestless kids are being thrown away like trash, and kids without crests are being turned into monsters. Is this the sort of status quo you want to keep?"

Rodrigue's expression tightened. He clenched his fists harder, hands trembling. "Of course not. I also want to eradicate these pests as soon as possible. However, now is not the time, Renard. His highness… his highness is still far too young."

Renard snorted. "Ah, yes. The young prince. So when will you be telling him about what you've been doing behind the scenes? Soon, I hope?"

Rodrigue closed his eyes, sighing. "I don't know, Renard. Perhaps after he takes the throne."

The unease was prominent on his face with the glistening glacial of sweat dripping down his forehead and Renard knew Rodrigue was churning out excuses. They both knew Dimitri would have trouble claiming the throne for himself at such a young age, especially with a power-hungry Regent acting in his place.

"So, you want him to decide what to do next? That means we'll be waiting for years, Rodrigue." Renard slammed his hands on the table, sending the box clattering against the wood. "I don't enjoy working for free, Rodrigue. I want a more solid plan detailing your next actions and our end goal."

"You are quite impatient, I see," Rodrigue chuckled, eyes drooping with exhaustion. "I will take your opinion into consideration," he conceded. "For now, I will pay a visit to Garreg Mach and talk with the Central Church about Lord Arundel's actions."

"Do you think they'll answer you?" Renard questioned, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Rodrigue smiled cryptically. "I may be a single man, but I'm still a Duke. I'll ask them for help regarding the bandits in my territory while striking a deal with them. If it's for Fodlan's safety, I highly doubt the Church will reject my offer for a temporary alliance."

"Temporary, huh? So you realize that there is no end to this conflict without war," Renard smirked.

Rodrigue sighed, shaking his head in exasperation. "Sometimes, I feel like I'm dealing with the devil when I talk to you."

Renard snorted. "Well, I have quite the reputation in the underground world."

"...Renard?"

"Yes, Rodrigue?"

"We're running out of time, aren't we?"

"So, you know what I'm getting at."

"I'm not a fool, Renard. Who do you think will strike first? The Empire? The dark mages? Or…"

Renard watched as Rodrigue's gaze flickered to his desk. It was a cheap replacement for the one Renard broke with his spell, but that wasn't the main point. There was a pile of documents, filled with Renard's investigations in Western Faerghus. He knew every fact and detail by heart. After all, he gave Rodrigue those documents himself.

Aside from information on the Western Church's dealings with the Empire, there was also an endless list of noble houses in Faerghus who received military funding and supplies from across the border.

Renard leaned back, reclining against the sofa for support. He stared up at the ceiling, a heavy sigh erupting from the deepest parts of him.

From Viscount Mateus, Gideon, to Elidure… we haven't even finished following the trails up north to Itha yet. Forget the invaders. Things are looking grim even within our own borders.

Renard closed his eyes, mirroring the look of fatigue on Rodrigue's face. "If only I could tell you, Rodrigue. If only."

"You guys are acting weird again."

Satiana brought the sword down as Felix swung upwards, their weapons screaming out upon striking each other. They danced around the blade, letting the wood visibly shake on impact as they swerved around each other. They deflected each other's strike and brought back their weapons for another swing.

"You're not even talking to each other anymore."

Satiana did a quick back-flip, dodging Felix's thrust, sliding against the floor. He chased after her, relentless with his moves, spearing the sword towards her. She parried flawlessly with her left arm, knocking his blade to the side. Pushing forward, she flicked her right sword upwards and slammed the blade against Felix's side, earning a small wince from him. He leaped back, one and two steps, gaining distance.

"Did something happen when I wasn't there?"

Satiana wasted no time in darting forward, slicing downwards with her left sword. Felix parried the move effortlessly with both hands on his sword, on impact deflecting her sword upwards, leaving her mid-area open to attack. He dived lower, thrusting right into her stomach. Satiana lowered her right arm, blocking the attack, though the difference between their strengths sent her sliding back.

"Alright, now you guys are just ignoring me!"

Felix snarled, eyes twitching violently as he threw his sword in Sylvain's direction. Sylvain yelped as he ducked, covering his head with both hands. The wooden sword landed on the wall behind him, reflecting off to the ground.

"Hey, what the hell was that for?!" Sylvain whined, pouting in feigned hurt.

That only seemed to rile Felix up as he stormed off towards Sylvain. He looked just about ready to tear out Sylvain's throat and play his lungs like bagpipes. The fuming steam puffing out of his ear was more than enough evidence of his fury. He grabbed Sylvain by the collar, spitting fire in his sheepish-looking face. "Will you shut up already?! You're bothering my training!"

Sylvain coughed under the grip. "O-Okay man. I g-get it. Sorry—" he gagged, face paling purple and blue. "C-Can't breathe…!" he patted Felix's arm. "L-Let me go!"

Felix released his grip, sending Sylvain into a coughing fit on the bench. He glared down at the red mop of hair, fiery gaze searing into Sylvain's skin. "If you don't have something important to say, then stay quiet. I'm warning you, Sylvain. I don't want another word of your nonsense."

Sylvain lifted his head. The corner of his eyes were brimming with silent tears as he gasped for air. "F-Fine. You and your goddamn temper. I swear you'll be the death of me one day." He mustered up the strength to smile weakly at Felix. "Not that I mind, though."

Felix's eyes twitched again. He took a step forward and Sylvain darted backward, jumping off the bench, flattening his back against the wall behind him with his hands hanging innocently in front of him. "Woah! Just kidding. I'll shut my mouth up now." He made a zipping motion with his fingers, clasping a hand over his mouth to seal the deal.

Felix rolled his eyes. He walked towards Sylvain and bent down, picking up the wooden sword. Then he swerved around the breathless man, focusing his attention on the absentminded woman in the middle of the training ground. He scowled in distaste before pointing the sharp end of the sword at her face. "And you. What's with you today?"

"Hm?" Satiana made a noncommittal sound in response. "What?"

Copper brown eyes narrowed. "You're not fighting as well as you used to. Something's distracting you."

Satiana gave Felix a pointed stare. She flickered her gaze towards Sylvain, hoping Felix would catch the drift. "I mean, you're not wrong. Sylvain has been yapping nonstop for the past hour."

Sylvain opened his mouth and let out a quiet 'hey' in protest when Felix's glare shut him up again.

"Aside from the fool, I mean." Felix crossed his arms, tapping his toes. "Your blows aren't as clean as usual. You hesitate more before you dive in for the final blow. Not to mention, you're not using dirty-handed tricks like before. What happened to the punches and kicks? Are you still recovering from your wounds?"

Blue irises darted to the ground. "Not really," she mumbled, rolling the wooden blades in her palms. "Maybe I'm just tired."

Of course, Felix didn't believe her lies. "You're lying. Is that all you know how to do? Lie your way out of confrontation?"

Satiana groaned, feeling the beginnings of a headache throbbing. She pinched her forehead, lips tilted into a frown. "Felix, can you, I don't know, mind your words a bit?"

Felix arched a brow in response. "Why do I have to change my speech to fit your needs?"

"Now you're just being a dick for no reason."

Sylvain snorted at the remark. He hid a snicker behind his palms. Felix sent him another warning glare that shut him up.

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean." Felix crossed his arms in a show of defiance. "Explain to me what I'm doing wrong."

"Are you kidding me? Do you even listen to yourself?" Satiana gaped, jaws dropping low. "You always try to pick a fight with me." She placed a hand on her chest, glaring at him.

Felix went silent. He genuinely looked confused, nose crinkling, brows creasing. Satiana knew he didn't mean to be such an asshole, but it didn't change how his attitude always seemed to irk her — especially because he always somehow knew which combination of words would end up causing the most harm to her mentality. Every sharp remark out of his mouth was like a stab wound to her heart, and he never hesitated to pour salt into those open wounds.

She could've just ignored him, like Ingrid, or Sylvain did. But she just had to be the self-deprecating, low-esteem, fidgety as fuck girl who soaked up every word like a sponge, drowning in the ocean of negative thoughts whirling in her mind.

And Jeralt had already warned her to care less about other people's opinions and believe in herself, but it was never easy to conjure up self-worth out of thin air.

"I… don't know what gave you that impression. But I am not picking a fight with you," Felix said, a frown plastered on his face.

Satiana wanted nothing more than to hurl her sword at the infuriating face, but she held back, choosing to grip them tighter. "Yes, because you are just speaking the truth?" This time, she threw back a mocking remark, and it had an effect immediately.

Felix flinched, the frown slanting lower into a grimace. "Now, who's the one picking a fight?"

"Well, good for you! Now you know how I feel lately around you." Satiana threw her swords into the air, letting them fly across the grounds. "Fucking hell. Talking to you is like talking to a goddamn parrot sometimes. You keep on spouting the same nonsense. Like how you're just speaking the truth or how everyone is so stupid compared to you. Just because you disagree with someone doesn't mean you get to be so rude."

Felix clicked his tongue in annoyance at her extra flair and flamboyance. "I don't know what's got into you, but all I need from you are your sword skills. You are a worthy adversary to test my skills against. That's all. I'm not seeking companionship with you. If that's what you want, then you're wasting time with the wrong man."

Satiana exploded at his condescending remark. Her face flared red like a volcano, mouth hanging wide open in shock. "Ex-fucking-cuse me?! You're the one who dragged me here to the training ground to spar with you!"

"To which you didn't refuse."

"Yes, because I don't mind sparring with you either."

"Then I see no reason as to why we're arguing like this."

"It's because of your stupid attitude, Felix. Did you emotionally stunt yourself at six years old or something?!"

"I don't want to hear that from someone who's screaming in my ears."

By this point of the argument, Sylvain was rolling around on the floor in a fit of unrestrained laughter. Tears sprayed from his eyes as he guffawed, holding his stomach as he gasped for air. "Holy shit, this is amazing. There's actually a woman who dares to confront Felix about his constant verbal abuse—" he broke off into another laughing fit, pounding his fits against the ground.

"Would you stop laughing already?" Satiana puckered her lips. "I'm being serious right now, and your bright countenance is throwing me off my game."

"How did I get myself into this mess…" Felix mumbled to himself, sighing in exasperation as he rubbed his head. "I should ask the professor for a spar next time."

Satiana felt her last remaining civility fly to outer space and she glared belligerently at him. "Oh, so that's how you're going to play?" Satiana sneered. "And here I was, so stressed about how I was going to make up for being a goddamn assassin and lying to you all. I even dragged Ashe to Gaspard, even though I didn't need to. I threw my life into harm's way on purpose, just to earn back some trust, but in the end, I see it was all pointless. No matter what I do, I'm still never going to be a part of this crew."

Felix froze, eyes growing wide. "What? Who said that—"

"Literally you!" Satiana spat. "Did you already forget what you told me yesterday? I know I don't deserve to be treated like a comrade because I am a fucking prisoner of war, but everyone treats me so kindly I sometimes forget that I'm just an insignificant piece of trash but then you just had to remind me all over again that I—" she choked on thin air and clamped her mouth shut.

The rising panic and anxiety were overwhelming, and she spiraled out of control. Satiana tried her hardest to battle for composure, but her breath was hastening, sweat pouring out of her nervous, trembling skin. She bit her lips, letting the pain dull her senses.

"Alright. Both of you, stop."

Felix stared helplessly at Satiana's shivering form and Sylvain eventually intervened between the two.

Sylvain stood in front of Satiana, exhaling before he patted her once in the head. She flinched, blue orbs darkening as they quivered from the shadows seeping into her mind. He continued combing the ebony strands of hair, threading his fingers through them, rubbing her scalp in a soothing manner. His expression was the epitome of warmth — a million-watt smile and softening honey-brown orbs.

"There, there. Let's relax for a moment, okay?" Sylvain patted her head again.

Satiana's shoulder loosened, the muscles relaxing under his comfort. She breathed slowly, the warmth of his touch seeping into her freezing skin. She swallowed loudly, feeling heartbeats dimming. "Sylvain, I—"

"Shh, there's no need to speak. I get it. It happens. The spiraling, the fall, the suicidal thoughts and all."

Satiana almost choked on thin air again at his remark. "H-Hold on, I haven't gone that far off the edge yet," she sputtered, eyes wide with horror at the implications of his words. "You, do you even know what you're talking about right now?"

Sylvain's sunny exterior cracked for a split moment, a quick flash of darkness darting through those understanding orbs. "Hm, I think I know what I'm talking about. Not that I ever want to talk about it in more detail, though."

For some odd reason, Satiana believed him. Sylvain was a masterful liar compared to her, especially with hiding his true thoughts from other people. He spewed nonsense daily, making light of everything around him to fill the vacuum of darkness inside his heart. But with truly important matters, things that came from the heart of others, he became honest with his words.

When faced with sincerity from strangers and those he could care less about, he would lie through his teeth. Make fun of their situation. Throw himself under the covers of cynicism that protected him from being harmed. Get slapped or punched. At least it was better than the pain that came with being deceived and betrayed.

But with those he cared about, even if the truth was harsh, he would give it to them because they deserved more than the sweet lies he habitually whispered in the ladies' ears. Especially when the topic at hand involved mentions of suicide and trauma. Sylvain may be a douche with his romantic endeavors, but he could never make light of someone else's troubles.

He was no saint, but he wasn't a monster at heart.

The sound of Felix's shuffling steps echoed throughout the empty hall and Satiana snapped her head towards him. "Hey, I—"

"No," Satiana cut him off sternly, eyes growing blank. "I don't want to hear it now."

Felix snapped his mouth shut, halting mid-step.

"You know, there were crest stones underneath Lord Lonato's castle," she started on an new topic, catching everyone by surprise. "Apparently, the Western Church was in cahoots with the dark mages who carried experiments on the children. They allied themselves with some high-ranked noble in the Empire, found out about Lord Lonato's hatred towards the Church, and incited him into rebellion."

"Wait, what?" Sylvain paused, lowering his hand from her head, arms hanging on his sides. "The Western Church, Empire, and those weird mages you mentioned are all working together?"

Satiana nodded stiffly, eyes still emotionless. "From what I can infer, the Western Church has been under the Empire's control for a long time now. Even that assassination plot Lord Lonato's son got involved in? I'm willing to bet the Western Church set him up on purpose, just to see how the Central Church would respond. There was evidence found in the high bishop's room that suggested the Western Church wanted to assassinate Lady Rhea."

"The high bishop's room?" Sylvain raised an eyebrow.

"My partner infiltrated into the Western Church. You know, the half-dead guy with brown hair," Satiana explained. "Combined with Byleth's intel about suspicious donations across borders between the Adrestian Empire and the Western Church, it's clear now the Empire had something to do with the Tragedy of Duscur."

Satiana skipped all the details and summoned a giant bombshell on top of their heads. Felix choked on thin air and Sylvain winced, head darting like a chicken as he glanced around them, searching for signs of eavesdropping.

"Woah, hold on, Satiana. Can you really be telling us all of this? Isn't it some secret mission between you and Felix's father?" Sylvain whispered, face paling in horror. "I mean, I know we kind of already blew your cover apart, but you don't have to tell us everything—"

"Then what am I supposed to do?" Satiana's voice cracked as she raised her voice. "I can't tell you anything because sir Rodrigue told me not to. But then, if I don't do something, you can never truly consider me a part of you guys. So I should just, I don't know, suffocate myself to death? Hurl myself off a cliff? Jump into hellfire? Throw myself into danger so I can earn your trust—"

"That's just suicidal," Felix interjected immediately, as if it were instinct. "And pointless."

Satiana shot him a nasty glare. "I don't want to hear that from someone who tried to get me to stab them just so that they can discover my true inclinations. Also, coming from you, the person who trusts me the least in this entire crew? How laughable."

Felix flinched. He lowered his head, glancing off to the side in a small show of guilt.

"Anyway, forget it. Just forget everything I said today. I'm not thinking straight and I'm throwing a tantrum like a child because you keep hitting my nerves, Felix." Satiana shut her eyes, lowered her head, and covered her face with her sweaty palms. "You're being an asshole, but so am I. Because you don't trust me and worst of all, I don't even trust myself. So I'm just throwing my frustrations at you. I'm sorry," she ended lamely.

It was clear from her speech that her thoughts were in disarray. Nothing was connecting and her words were all over the place. But from her hunched, shivering form, her sentiments were properly conveyed to the other two students in the room.

Sylvain exhaled, tousling his vibrant strands of hair in frustration. His gaze slanted side-ways towards Felix. His lips tugged down into a frown. "So, what are you going to do about this, huh?"

"Do what?" Felix asked, though it was clear from the slight edge in his voice that he knew what Sylvain was getting at.

Sylvain jabbed a finger in Satiana's direction. By now, she was huddled into a ball on the ground of the training hall, head digging into her knees as she hugged herself. Thankfully, there were no noises of coughing or sniffing coming from her and Felix heaved a sigh in relief because the last thing he wanted to deal with was a crying adolescent woman on an emotional roller-coaster—

"Felix," Sylvain spoke his name with such finality Felix had no choice but to succumb to the man's unsaid pleas. "This is your fault. You solve it yourself for once without my intervention, alright?" Sylvain walked over towards Felix and shoved the said man towards Satiana.

Felix stumbled awkwardly across the ground, almost tripping over his own feet in the process. He came to a halt in front of the gloomy mess, dark clouds hanging over her tiny form. He clicked his tongue once in annoyance before he scowled, scratching his head in a fury. "You are one annoying woman, you know that?"

An awkward silence passed through them, blowing a cold gust of wind into the training hall.

Sylvain slammed his face against the wall, groaning in exasperation. "Felix, you're my best buddy, but I swear to god you are so emotionally constipated I cannot even—"

"Just shut up and let me finish!" Felix snapped back.

*Sniff*

Felix whirled his head back towards the melting heap of despair, mouth dropping in horror. Now he had done it. Him and that goddamn mouth of his. Felix had made a lot of enemies throughout his life. Ingrid always warned him about his sour mouth — that he was prone to making enemies out of misunderstandings. He didn't really care about her warning. Felix always did as he pleased, without regard for other people's feelings. He simply continued walking down the path he believed was right.

A few hateful glares here and there; he could deal with that. Felix Hugo Fraldarius never needed friends or comrades. All he needed was himself and the sword.

But even he never stooped so low as to make a girl cry.

For the first time in his life, Felix was absolutely dumbfounded and clueless. He had no idea what he was doing, what kind of nightmare he had walked himself into, and Sylvain would probably tease him about it forever, but Felix had no choice but to console the poor girl somehow.

So he did what he knew best.

"Pick up the sword."

"What the fuck?!" Sylvain's voice box exploded, a ripple of screeching sound waves sending the birds perched on top of the roof flying into the air. He blanched as he yanked the strands of red hair in frustration and disbelief. "Felix, holy Seiros!"

Even Satiana could never expect this response to her outburst. She was still hunched up on the floor, but her head perked up at his random choice of words. She froze in slack-jawed shock. But fucking hell was Felix completely, utterly dead serious. The way he pointed the sharp end of his sword at her only reinforced his train of thought.

Her immediate reaction was to laugh, a nervous, slightly hysterical sound. "Felix, I'm literally sobbing here and you want me to spar with you? Have you gone mad or are you seriously that one-track-minded?" She coughed once on her tears, though her lips were twitching upwards in amusement, a shadow of a smile appearing on her weary features.

Felix felt his ears flush red in embarrassment and humiliation for a split second, but he brushed it off with a quick shake of his head. "I don't know what you're rambling on about, but this is the only way I know how to settle our differences. You win and I'll listen to you. If you lose, then you deal with your issues on your own."

Satiana stared hard at Felix. She slowly blinked the remnants of tears away from her eyes. She took a moment to analyze him, watching the way he chewed over his lips, copper-brown orbs trembling imperceptibly under her piercing gaze. After a long pause, she snorted. "You are one hell of a person, you know that, Felix?"

"What do you mean?"

Satiana managed a laugh. The sound was breathy and hoarse, but it was clear she was in a much better mood than before and Felix felt the tension in his shoulders loosening. He lowered his arm, letting the blade hang by his side. The sparkle and fire returned to her bright blue irises, and he felt himself backing away in reflex.

It was always that goddamn knowing vision of her. The one that always seemed to see past his bitter remarks, peering into his soul, laying it bare. It was the same as yesterday in the infirmary. She always somehow saw through him in that uncanny way of hers. But then, at times, like how she completely missed his point earlier, she acted as if she did not know what he truly meant.

She was an idiot — a stupid, self-deprecating idiot. But then again, so was he, for being the dishonest and roundabout fool he was.

"Alright, Felix. Let's spar."

It was a complete 180 from the angsty woman he saw earlier. The black fog of despair had vanished, revealing a brilliant pair of eyes. She grabbed the two swords lying on the floor and pointed the sharp end at his face without hesitation. "One minute. That's all we need, right?"

And there it was again, the same old woman with nothing but bluster and bravado. The familiar hard gaze underpinned with a gleam of confidence whenever she held two swords in hand. The one he had grown comfortable with. Because in that enigmatic way of hers, she always knew how to light that competitive spirit inside of him.

She came with a heavy baggage — an annoying one, if he had to choose a word to describe it. There was still so much mystery behind her identity. Where her future led, he had no clue. And to what sort of hell this woman would end up dragging him to, he didn't want to know. But he was the one who joined the sinking ship called Satiana Eisner.

And Felix Huge Fraldarius was never one to back away from a challenge, even if said challenge involved interpersonal relations.

Felix made the first move. Although it was quite underhanded of him to start the battle without warning, he had a feeling it would only be a waste of time. His instincts were screaming at him; he wanted to clash swords with her now — crush her clumsy facade, break through her defenses, and emerge with absolute victory. Dominate over her quaking will, teach her a lesson, impose his beliefs on her because he was so sick and tired of seeing such a valuable opponent dwell in the shadows of the past that shackled her from reaching her true potential.

If his words bothered her so much, then perhaps it was time to force her to bend with his actions.

As expected, Satiana responded immediately, and they ended up striking at the same time, both flicking their weapons with ease as they swerved around each other with momentum. Satiana twirled one of her swords in her hand and swept low. Felix responded by jumping over the blow, parrying the right sword that came diving towards his head with a hard slash. Satiana backed out of range, hopping backwards in a zig-zag motion to adjust her grip. Felix refused to give her room and charged at her.

At close range, Satiana had the advantage because of her superior speed, plus the addition of a second weapon. But today, her moves were much weaker and slower than usual. They both knew that. While Felix's moves could not break through Satiana's defenses, he also left no room for a counterattack with his relentless pursuit. Today, the sword wielder with more hunger and thirst for victory was Felix.

Satiana bit her lips in frustration, mostly directed at herself for fighting so pathetically. She haphazardly went for a small strike or jab at Felix's right leg, which was met with a quick two-part counter, one to block the blow and the other forcing her to move backward as he thrusted right into her stomach. He moved with a speed and finesse that far surpassed her, and she flew backward towards the wall.

On nothing but pure instinct and stubbornness to lose, she released her grip on the left sword and reached her arm outwards, grabbing his collar, yanking him down along with her. Using her momentum, she flipped their positions mid-air, preparing to shove Felix down to the ground with her remaining sword when—

*Crash*

For a moment, her vision was filled with nothing but dark blue and a flashing light of gold and brown. Her head was whirling in a concoction of throbbing pain and confusion as she lay there on her back, both swords out of reach. A blunt wooden blade was stabbed into the ground mere inches near her left cheek.

A memory darted through her numb brain and she realized Felix had somehow turned her move against her, shoving her in the shoulder mid-air, spinning her around so that he had the upper hand again before he pinned her to the ground while straddling her hips.

Wait a minute… isn't this exactly what I did to him the first time we sparred?

"F-Felix, since when did you learn to—"

She froze. There was no other word to describe it. The searing golden flames roiling inside those copper-brown orbs stole away her voice, breath and all. She had no idea what had gotten him so worked up, but whatever it was, holy flaming bison bells.

The deep gaze was intoxicating and inescapable. It amplified the underlying scent of bloodlust and musty wood that could be no one else but Felix Hugo Fraldarius, who drowned himself in sweat every day with a training sword in hand. The heated glare, the unyielding skills with the sword forcing compliance — it was throbbingly inflammatory and overwhelming.

Satiana gulped in a sudden wave of anxiety. "Uh, I… I lost?" Her voice broke into a high-pitched squeak at the end and she flushed in embarrassment.

"That, you did," Felix snorted. Then, he crowded closer to her, barely an inch lower, but he still radiated fluid, coiled, spellbinding power and Satiana winced under his blazing glare. "You lost, so you will keep up your end of the bargain. Deal with your issues on your own."

His words were sharp like razor-blades, but Satiana didn't feel the familiar wave of despair and hurt rushing over her. Perhaps it was because there was no hatred or anger swirling in those eyes of his, now that she had a close look at them.

Maybe they never had such loathing to begin with, and it was all her own imagination. She realized her damning mistake now, and it made her feel like a pathetic weakling all over again. Satiana wanted nothing more than to drown in the ground, bury herself six feet under, play dead like the corpse she was.

Me and my goddamn stupid self-esteem. Fucking—

"I'm not one to mince my words. By now, you've probably realized that already," Felix started on a new thought, catching her off guard. She stared up at him, expression tightening. He leaned backward, giving her room to breathe, but remained seated above her as if to remind her who was in control. "Sorry to disappoint you, but I never plan to change my ways. Do not expect some… consolation from me. If that's what you want, go ask the fool squawking over there in the corner." He jerked his head towards the left and indeed, Sylvain was in a stupefied state as he stared at the scene in front of his eyes.

"If you are seeking… friendship," the word rolled awkwardly off his tongue as if he was speaking a foreign language and Felix flinched. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Then I'm afraid you'll have to deal with the kind of person I am." Felix shifted on top of her, confident irises dimming. "However, if you must…hear it from me, then I will say it only once."

He paused, chewing over his lips. It felt like there was something solid in his throat and he didn't know what to do with the complicated feeling rising inside of him. But he enjoyed sparring with Satiana. That was a true fact that came from the bottom of his heart. So if he needed to strain himself a bit to keep their current relationship, then so be it.

"I do not… hate you," Felix muttered. He sounded strangely strangled, as if there was something else lurking inside his voice box that he didn't dare let free. "However, you annoy me. Greatly."

Satiana couldn't help but frown at his words, and Felix reeled backward again. He groaned, loosening his grip on the sword, letting it clatter to the ground beside them. "Look, I…" he exhaled, rustling the strands of hair that escaped from his bun. "I don't understand you sometimes. You're a confusing creature. Sometimes, I don't know if I can trust you because of your background, but then you act as if you're some reckless saint trying to save the world. It's stupid."

Satiana stared at him dumbfoundedly. "You…don't like the fact that I threw myself into danger on purpose to discover clues about the Duscur Tragedy?" Her brows furrowed, nose wrinkling in confusion.

Even to Felix himself, the words he spouted were sounding more and more ridiculous by the second. But what else could he say? "What I mean is, you irritate me with the way you so readily put yourself in harm's way because of some false sense of guilt. The only thing propelling you to get stronger is your regrets, and that is what's annoying to me. Because without it, you would be so much…so much stronger. And free."

Satiana's exterior cracked and for a brief moment, she felt a sudden surge of warmth rushing through her. Her eyes widened, realization dawning. Jeralt's and Byleth's words started pouring into her mind. How they told her she could prevent others from following down the same path. How she had already done plenty enough. How she should just be selfish for once.

How she had to learn to forgive herself to move forward.

"Felix…I…" she stammered, eyes darting away from his knowing look.

"You told me you wanted to fight for your own beliefs. I gave you a chance after hearing you say that," he paused, glare hardening, "but I see it was a hasty decision, a mistake on my part."

Her expression dampened again, but before she could mumble a protest, Felix moved the wooden sword closer to her neck.

"Tell me. What exactly is it you're fighting for? What beliefs are pushing you to act?"

Blue orbs flashed with burning coldness, and her response was with no hesitation. "I want to slaughter all those bastards who ruined the lives of many innocents for their own pleasure."

"You misunderstand my question," he snarled, the intense irritation twisting his face into a storm-like simper. "I asked you about your belief, not your goal."

She turned her head away from him.

The sword nudged roughly against her neck. "Don't you dare turn away from me. I won the battle fair and square," he growled. "Now, give me your answer."

She didn't comply with his command. Instead, she shut her eyes away from it all, face scrunching up with distress. "I…I don't understand your question, Felix."

The scoff entering her ears sounded harsh, but for some odd reason, it didn't crush her heart. "So, you don't actually know? I was right. You still haven't changed. You're still entrapped. The same puppet on the string."

Her breath hitched. Her hands balled into fists as she trembled. "Stop…"

"You're not acting on your own accord. They've played you like a fiddle and you're still launching yourself into a fit over them. How pointless."

"Shut up, Felix." Her eyes snapped open, and she whipped her head back to meet his scorching glare. "Are you telling me it's wrong of me to seek revenge? Do you honestly want me to just let them roam free? After everything they've done?" She raised one of her hands to the wooden sword next to her neck and grabbed it by the blade. "They framed the Duscurians. They killed many people. My comrades. The innocent children. The fucking King of Faerghus." She squeezed the blade tightly, feeling the blade sink into her skin. "Your goddamn brother, Felix."

It was a low blow even for her, but with such a blatant show of hostility and anger, she only knew how to react like the well-trained assassin she was. But it didn't make her feel better. The quick flash of pain on Felix's face only made her heart ache.

"And you're telling me I'm wrong?" Her voice trembled over her raging emotions, ones that she had kept a close lid over for years. She bit her lips, a small trail of blood trickling down the side. "Do you even know what you're saying?"

"I could say the same to you," he retorted. "What's the point of sacrificing yourself for some dead people who can never appreciate what you've done for them? It's a waste of your time and effort."

Another rush of anger surged from deep within. "What do you even know about me, Felix?"

Felix returned her taunt with another glare. "At least more than you know about me."

Satiana picked herself up from the ground, yanking the wooden sword out of his grip. She hurled it over to the side; the weapon snapping into two with a resounding crack as it crashed against the wall beside Sylvain, who squeaked in shock. Felix winced and jumped back on instinct.

Satiana breathed heavily, fixing her glare on him as she took a step forward. "Ah, of course. You know so much more than everyone else. Do you think you're that smarter than everyone?"

He lowered his gaze, glancing at the broken sword on the ground. "Watch it." There was no threat behind his words.

The warning blew past her head. She stormed at him, jutting her chin up into his personal space, blue striking against copper, sending invisible sparks flying in the air. "Not everyone can be selfish like you, Felix. You may have heard of my story from my mouth, but that doesn't mean you experienced it yourself. You can't understand what I'm going through. You'll never be able to."

"And I don't plan to any time soon," Felix threw a snarky remark right back at her, snarling. "I don't need to know what you went through to see how pointless your actions are right now." He pointed his index finger at her face while glaring down at her from the bridge of his nose. "You're obsessed with redeeming yourself to the dead, but listen to me for once." Copper-brown flashed golden. "The dead will remain dead. Your victims can never forgive you or resent you. You're throwing yourself into hellfire for some redemption that will never come."

"How dare you." Her voice was barely a whisper as her soul quaked under the tyranny of his scathing words. She felt the familiar stinging sensation returning to her eyes and sniffed once. "How could you say that to me?" She clutched the front of her shirt helplessly with one hand, eyes tearing up.

"I'm saying it because you need to get it through your thick skull." He jammed his finger into her forehead, knocking her head slightly back. "No one can give you the redemption you desire. You're the only one who has to move on. Are you fighting against those black mages to repay some unknown debt to the dead? Or are you throwing yourself into hellfire to make the world a better place?"

"...Why can't I do both?" she whimpered, blinking rapidly as tears spilled again.

Perhaps it was just her imagination, but for a split-second, an emotion akin to sorrow swept across Felix's expression. "You're being ridiculous. They're both awful choices to make. What in the world do you think will be left after you lose your life in the fray of battle against those mages? More dead bodies, that's what." To both of their surprise, his tone was softer than expected.

Satiana didn't answer him. She already knew the dreadful answer. Even if she was angry at him, she knew she was fighting a losing battle. She couldn't drag on this verbal exchange any longer.

Because he was right.

Jeralt, Renard, and Byleth had reminded her countless times to forget her guilt and move on. Even now, after years of self-depreciation, she still found herself stuck in the same place.

Satiana took a small step away from Felix, head hanging low. She wiped her tears with the end of her sleeves as she released a hefty sigh.

He's right. I told him I wanted to fight for what I believe in. But…what exactly do I believe in?

She stared at her hands, pondering Felix's words. It blew her away — destroyed her entire being, shattered the rudimentary building blocks that made her who she was today. It made her rethink everything that she had believed in, everything that she had been fighting for from the beginning.

Of all people, it was Felix who broke through her armor of defense. Not even Jeralt with his kind and warmhearted words, Byleth with her soothing advice, and Ashe with his sincerity scratched a clink in her steel-guarded heart. But then came Felix and, like the rough, straight-forward man he was, he clawed his way into her shell and bulldozed through the edges, crash-landing inside her heart.

Perhaps that was what she needed all along. Not some kind, soothing words — because she didn't believe she deserved them. She needed something more raw, more honest, more believable. Because of their rocky start, it only made this sudden outburst from him much more heartfelt. And Felix, despite his lack of communication skills, tried his best to convey his feelings to her.

It was an awkward attempt at most, but it was so genuine and so unexpected from him, Satiana would've broken into another crying mess, if not reminded of her pathetic tears a few seconds ago. She blinked away the beginnings of rain in her eyes and willed away the stinging sensation rising upwards.

"Tell me something, Felix."

Felix scowled. "What now?"

Watery blue orbs shimmered as she blinked up at him. "Why are you telling me all this?"

Felix froze.

"You said it yourself. You made a mistake trusting me. And now, you've completely ripped my facade apart," Satiana's voice fluttered against the wind, a resigned sadness in her eyes. "It's as you said, Felix. I don't really know what I'm doing. I'm just…doing what I know is what I must. Even if I have to throw away my life for it."

Felix sighed deeply, placing a hand on his forehead with his eyes closed.

"I'm a walking contradiction. I asked you for kindness, but now that I have it, I can only shy away from it all because I don't believe I deserve it." She lowered her head and stared at her palms. There were no blood trails, but with her trauma-stricken eyes, the crimson red forever remained. "So, please tell me one more time. Just once. That I am not your adversary. Your sworn enemy. Because I know you're not one to lie."

A deafening silence enveloped the two as they stood in an impasse. When Felix finally met her gaze, she took a sharp intake of breath.

The sharp look on his face was gone. He still looked far from satisfied, but there was no disappointment in his expression, no more anger. A steadfast gaze, underpinned with gold and confidence. A straightened posture. Felix Hugo Fraldarius at his core.

"Earn it," Felix said in a low voice after much delay. "Earn my trust. Not with your death or some noble sacrifice. Show me with your actions. And if you fail, then I will end you myself."

She cracked a wry smile at his empty threat, the air of familiarity chasing away all her fears, and tried her best to appear normal again.

"Fucking hell, Felix. I didn't know you had it in you," was all she came up with in response to his most honest confession.

Felix bristled, stepping away from her. "Shut up."

"Okay, okay," Satiana muttered to herself. She wobbled slightly, feeling the wave of relief rush through her. She felt light — lighter than ever before. Like a huge burden had been lifted off her back. "Hey, Felix?"

Felix rolled his eyes. "What now?" His voice was haggard, the adrenaline-fueled passion dissipating within him.

Satiana smiled brightly at him. "One more spar, please?" She blinked at him, battering her eyelids in a sudden show of innocence. "I want a rematch. Now."

Felix stared at her blankly. "Stop with that disgusting act already," he snapped back. "If you want another match, then so be it. Gather your weapons. If you give me a pathetic show again, I'll kill you."

"Duly noted," she spoke with a small laugh, bending down to grab her swords. She paused mid-stance, then stared unflinchingly at him. "Felix? I'll try to…change my view on some things. It might take some time, but please bear with me. For now…thank you."

An odd expression manifested on Felix's face. His eyes widened slightly, copper-brown orbs whirling with surprise, brows knitting together in disbelief. "You…" he started, only to snap his mouth shut again.

Satiana tilted her head to the side. "What's with that face?"

He continued staring at her, observing her, dissecting her apart, or whatever it was he was doing. "You…actually listened to me?" was what came out of his lips after a pregnant pause.

Satiana lowered her swords to her side, blinking. "Uh, yes? Was that not the point of your speech? To make me listen to you?"

"Yes, but…" he trailed off, voice fading. The words were tugging at his tongue, but he gritted his teeth, preventing them from escaping. "...Hm." He shook his head and made a small grunt-like noise in recognition, then slipped into a proper stance.

Satiana shot him a curious look as she entered her own stance.

Sylvain stood silently from the sidelines, watching as the two jumped into another fierce battle. He sighed, shaking his head in exasperation. "What is it with people and bonding through clashing blades these days?"

Byleth would rather be anywhere but here in the moment, standing in front of the brooding green-head who most likely wanted nothing more than to feed her to his favorite wyvern pet. But she was a professor, as she proclaimed so confidently to them the day before, and she had a job to accomplish — even if said job required her to talk amiably with Seteth.

Of course, it seemed her sentiments were shared with the said man. The moment she stepped into his office, he scowled, glaring daggers at her. His eyes twitched violently and Byleth remained blank-faced underneath his pressure.

"So…are there no transfer forms available?" she started.

"...Yes, there are."

Another awkward pause.

"Where are they?"

"My…apologies," he spat out the word with disgust. "I seemed to have moved them somewhere. Give me a moment to search for them." He ravaged through his desk, opening random drawers, ruffling through sheets of paper. His hand eventually rested upon the forms, but he pretended to waste time searching for another entire minute, just to piss her off on purpose. He finally procured the documents after over five minutes. He threw them into her face with the same old nasty glare plastered on his face. "There you go. Now, if you will excuse me. I am quite…busy dealing with the aftermath of your excursion."

"I can imagine so," Byleth replied nonchalantly, as if she weren't the cause of his headache.

Seteth slammed his face into his desk. Byleth stared blankly at him, brows arching deliberately slow. He lifted his head eventually, forehead blazing red at the sudden impact. "Professor, you are doing this on purpose."

Byleth's face was the picture of innocent puzzlement. "Doing what? My job?"

Seteth exhaled heavily, clenching his fists in barely restrained malice. He tried his best to mask his displeasure, but really, what was the point of hiding it when it was obvious to everyone they were not on friendly terms? "No, professor. I am talking about your blatant condescending attitude towards me. Am I not your superior?"

"Indeed you are," Byleth hummed. "And I believe I have been treating you as such."

"Oh, really?" Seteth narrowed his eyes. "Because all I see is you attempting to get under my skin every moment of the day!"

"Seteth, I must say, you are overestimating your own looks. I have no interest in literally getting under your skin—"

"Not that, professor!"

"Oh. Forgive me. My mind seems to be troubled lately with abstract thoughts."

"Those are exactly my words, professor."

There was another lull in the conversation when Byleth ran out of smart, verbal counterattacks. Of course, she never planned on antagonizing him to this extent. On a personal level, she had no qualms regarding Seteth as a person. He was simply loyal to a fault, especially regarding Rhea and the Church. Sometimes, he became extremely blindsided by the obvious bias in his own actions and words, but she couldn't blame him for being so.

Seteth was just a devout believer of Saint Seiros. There was nothing inherently wrong with protecting one's own beliefs. However, he was prone to being overly defensive.

But then again, so was she with matters involving her beloved family that seemed to be growing in size lately.

"Seteth, I would like to apologize to you," Byleth said.

Seteth eyed her with suspicion. "For what, professor?"

"I am aware that you revere the Church and Lady Rhea. And perhaps I have been too…violent with my words yesterday," Byleth continued, chewing over her words. "However, I hope you understand I am not here to antagonize you or the Church. We may have different beliefs, but I hope that does not sour our partnership."

At her words, Seteth shot up from his seat, emerald green sparkling with something akin to surprise. "P-Partnership? Are you saying that you consider me as…as…" he trailed off, sputtering.

"We are colleagues, are we not? Friends, if that is what you wish to say," Byleth replied. "At the very least, I do not think little of you as a fellow human-being. In fact, I find you to have very useful insights. I have seen you interacting with some students on monastery grounds, advising even my students. Bernadetta, Hilda, Felix, and even Ingrid. I know Ingrid, for one, relies on your advice about worries she cannot bring herself to talk to me about. To be honest, I am aware how lacking I am in the interpersonal department, especially things that involve emotions. As a mercenary, I find emotions to be very annoying."

Seteth went quiet, listening intently to Byleth's words.

"As you may have heard from my father, I have lived in absolute seclusion from the rest of Fodlan. I had no interaction with the Church since young, so I hope you will not blame me for my ignorance regarding the religious beliefs in Fodlan." Byleth glanced at Seteth, analyzing his reaction to her words with her dissecting vision. "In fact, I would love it if you could inform me more about yourself. I still have much to learn about many things in life. Like how to interact properly with my students. How to be more approachable. My little sister seems to have a better hang of my personality than others, so I rely too heavily on her. Perhaps it is time I ask for outside help."

Seteth was staring at her in pure shock. "Professor, to think you had such thoughts in mind. I have misinterpreted you. I believed you were surely mocking me. It is very hard to infer from your expressions what you truly mean. I can only see the bite behind your words."

"I've been told I have quite a peculiar sense of humor," Byleth responded with a shrug. "However, I hope you now understand that I have no intention of belittling you. We simply stand on opposite ends."

Seteth frowned. Indeed, perhaps he had been too hasty in his decision to stamp her as an enemy. He remembered the words he once used on Felix. He had lectured Felix once before on a random visit to the training grounds about how he had a habit of pushing others with different beliefs away. And now Seteth was doing exactly the same thing he had scolded Felix for.

Perhaps Byleth was right. He indeed was defensive about anything regarding Seiros. His entire identity and being relied on his full devotion to the Goddess. But no one could ever understand his feelings of deep gratitude towards Rhea. He couldn't tell anyone about his true identity. Never. Not when he had too much at stake to lose.

But this brat of a professor was offering him a hand. As the wiser adult of many millennia, it would only be right to take her offer.

"I see. So you seek to reconcile our differences," Seteth hummed in thought, though there was no denying the small shadow of a smile hanging on his lips. "Friendship…huh…?" he mumbled to himself.

Byleth placed a hand on her hip, tilting her head to the side. "There's no need to hurry, Seteth. I plan on staying for the long haul. Unless my father leaves the Church one day."

Seteth crossed his arms behind his back, straightening his posture. He then nodded. "Of course. I will…take your offer into consideration."

Cerulean orbs twinkled underneath the newfound wave of warmth permeating the air between the two previously tensed duo. "That is more than I could ask for, Seteth."

"Is that a transfer form you are holding in your hand?"

Lysithea glanced up from her seat outside Seteth's room. She spotted the familiar silvery hair from miles away, but ignored it. It was a confrontation she expected to happen, yet wanted to avoid at all costs. But fate seemed to have different plans for her, and she sighed. She mustered up the courage to speak and stared directly into those piercing violet irises. "Yes, it is, Edelgard."

"...I see." Violet orbs burned holes into the innocent paper in Lysithea's hands. She noticed the familiar insignia or dark blue manes stamped onto the paper — one that she could never bring herself to look at without feeling an uncomfortable feeling rising inside of her. Was it hatred or perhaps a dull sense of loneliness? Whatever it was, she ignored it and focused on more important matters at hand. "So, is this your answer to my preposition?" Edelgard spoke quietly under her breath.

Lysithea closed her eyes. "Edelgard, I do not know what you have in plan." She paused, flickering through the burning memories in her head. The dark cells. The screams for help. The never-ending piercing pain. And then the whirlwind of blue that came crashing into her life, throwing her out of the darkness, giving her a new beginning. Pink orbs snapped open, resolute. "However, I cannot walk the same path you are heading down. I am sorry."

"May I ask why?" Edelgard frowned in heavy disappointment, violet eyes losing their shine for a brief second. "I treated you as a long, lost sibling. One who could understand the pain I went through. Do you not wish for the same change I wish?"

Lysithea shook her head, white hair twirling in the calm breeze that swept in through the open windows of the second floor. "Of course, I do. If possible, I want to change this world from the bottom to the top. This world that relies too heavily on the power of crests. Those nobles that misuse their powers for their own greedy needs. I want to purge them all." She then glared at Edelgard. "But I will do it in a way that will not obliterate all that I care for in this world. This world is still worth living in, Edelgard. Even if I only have a couple of years left, there are things I must do to protect, not destroy."

Edelgard stared blankly at Lysithea, her stomach plummeting at the younger one's confident declaration. "I see. So you choose to protect what you have instead of fighting for the future. That is a shame. A real shame."

"Edelgard, I would like to give you a warning," Lysithea began. "Do not bring Satiana into your endless pursuit of revenge. She does not wish for the destruction of Fodlan, Edelgard."

"I do not wish for the obliteration of Fodlan, Lysithea. I only pursue a revolution. It is for the greater good that I will dirty my hands in blood," Edelgard argued, violet eyes narrowing with a spark of disdain.

Lysithea frowned in response. "But it is that action of yours that will ultimately turn her away from you. Satiana would never stoop as low as those disgusting mages to create the future she wishes to see."

"Like I said, that is naïve," Edelgard scoffed. "Even if we destroy them, it will change nothing. Lives will continue to be lost under the tragic and heinous reign of those in power. This cruel world will never change unless someone destroys it all from the beginning."

Lysithea shook her head. "I may not know everything you are planning, but I can assure you, it is absolutely reckless, Edelgard. What will you do after imposing your will through force? How much blood will be shed for the sake of Fodlan's future?"

Edelgard gritted her teeth. "Someone must do it, Lysithea. For how long must we live in a world trampled by beings proclaiming themselves as divinity? They know nothing of our suffering and will never bat an eye in our direction." She glanced off the side, a solemn look on her face. "The Goddess has answered none of our prayers. I doubt they will soon. That is why…I must change this world. For everyone's sake."

Lysithea sighed. "That is where our beliefs differ, Edelgard. To me…to us…even in this cruel world, there are still things worth living for. She taught me something, Edelgard. When she saved me from the dungeon, from my death sentence, she showed me it was possible for the world to change. For people to come together. I spent three years rebuilding the County of Ordelia with my own hands. It was a very…eye-opening experience for me."

Lysithea exhaled shakily, staring at her hands. "If she didn't come for me then, perhaps I would've joined your cause. I would've wanted nothing more than to destroy all those nobles and this crest-ridden world. But right now, I want my beloved family to live in peace first. And as a noble myself, I have the power to do so. I've seen with my own eyes the change a righteous leader can bring, and that is what I will fight for."

She lifted her head up to meet Edelgard's burning gaze. "There is still hope in this land, Edelgard. We are not forsaken. When like-minded individuals work together for a greater cause…it is simply magical. If you insist on shattering this world through force, then this is where our paths diverge, for I believe such a reckless pursuit of change would only lead to chaos. I do not want our future to be built upon unnecessary bloodshed," Lysithea concluded, standing up from her seat. "I believe this conversation is over. I have nothing more to say to you. However, as fellow brethren…I am sorry that I cannot help you with your cause. I wish you will one day find peace, Edelgard. I truly do."

Lysithea deserted Edelgard, opening the doors to Seteth's office, handing in the paper that sealed her fate as a new member of the Blue Lions.

Edelgard stood outside the door, clenching her fists. She stared out the window, eyes forlorn. "Hope, huh?" She laughed cynically to herself, shaking her head. She stared at her hands, feeling herself sinking into the vast black hole of despair, devouring her whole. "Unlike you all, I have no one who will take my hand out of the darkness. The only one who can save me is myself. I am envious of you lot. I really am. I have no reason to live in this cruel world unlike you all who have found new family or friends."

She exhaled, violet eyes shining with determination — the determination to die.

"But I cannot stop walking down this bloody path. I will emerge victorious. I must, for my sake. For everyone's sake. Even if I must play the role of the greatest villainess of all time."

Because Edelgard was really nothing but a lonely and loveless child, one forsaken by the Goddess. There was no one who could guide her down the correct path. Fate had already chosen a side.

And it wasn't hers the professor took.

Chapter Text

[White Clouds]

Forgotten Bonds

"So, our task for this moon is to patrol and guard the monastery to help put a stop to that assassination plot." Dimitri stood in the center of the group, rubbing his chin in thought. "Considering the recent confrontation between Lord Lonato and the Church, this sounds like part of a deeper conspiracy to me."

The Blue Lions gathered in the reception hall after Byleth returned from her audience with Rhea. The Church ordered them to guard the monastery, placing utmost importance on protecting Rhea during the Goddess' Rite of Rebirth scheduled for the end of the moon. But seeing how Lord Lonato acted moments before his death, none of the students believed he was the true mastermind behind this heinous attempt.

"If I remember correctly, Christophe took part in a plan to assassinate Lady Rhea in the past," Annette muttered. "And Lord Lonato led a rebellion this time with the main purpose of destroying the Central Church. Then why would he carry around plans of an assassination plot?"

"I agree. I found that strange as well," Ingrid commented with a frown. "He resolved himself to a frontal attack. If Lord Lonato wished to assassinate Lady Rhea, he wouldn't have needed to resort to desperate measures to begin with. This assassination plot is a different plan of action than the path Lord Lonato took with his rebellion."

"I imagine this assassination plot is something even Lord Lonato was unaware of," Ashe muttered. Mossy-green irises darted to the ground. "Lord Lonato may have wished to kill Lady Rhea, but he would never resort to such underhanded tricks like an assassination. If so, then it must be the Western Church that tricked him into carrying this assassination letter."

"The Western Church? What do they have to do with all this?" Dimitri's eyes widened in surprise. "Ashe, is there something else you are hiding from us?"

Ashe glanced at Satiana, who motioned towards Byleth with a nod. Byleth stepped forward to face Dimitri.

"Actually, I have further information regarding Christophe's assassination plot. He was working together with members of the Western Church," Byleth informed. "I know little about the different factions in Fodlan, but it appears the Western Church had some sort of vendetta against the Central Church themselves. They used Lord Lonato's personal grudge against Lady Rhea to mask their identity as puppeteers behind this entire incident."

"The Western Church, huh?" Mercedes mumbled under her breath. She clasped her hands in front of her, frowning. "I hear they preach a very…extreme version of Saint Seiros's teachings. So Lord Lonato got caught up in their dogmatic war. That is a pity. I cannot fathom why one would ever turn their blades against the Church like this."

"Well, thinking about all that annoying stuff won't get us anywhere," Sylvain said with a shrug. "For now, let's just focus on protecting Lady Rhea from the evildoers."

"About that, I've given it some thought," Dimitri mused, folding his arms across his chest. "The knights will have their hands full protecting Lady Rhea. And perhaps our enemy is counting on that."

"Please, elaborate," Dedue spoke from beside Dimitri.

"Isn't it possible the Western Church hoped to monopolize everyone's attention with this alleged plot in order to distract from their true aim?" Dimitri narrowed his eyes. "As we know, Lord Lonato wished for the death of Lady Rhea. Everyone would assume this assassination plot is something he developed. It's as simple as putting one and two together. But we know better than that. If Lord Lonato truly wished to kill Lady Rhea, he wouldn't carry such an elaborate plan with him. It would be easier to just burn the contents. Which means the Western Church planted this on him."

"So you believe they wanted to pin the crime of assassination on Lord Lonato?" Dedue asked.

Dimitri shook his head. "Well, yes, that is part of it. But is the assassination itself their primary goal? If the archbishop were to lose her life, the Knights of Seiros would do everything in their power to figure out the truth behind her death. Eventually, the Western Church will be booked for this incident. Why? Because Lord Lonato is already dead and yet the assassination plan has continued, even though his villagers have already given up on revenge, following their Lord's last words."

"I see," Sylvain interjected. "The moment Lord Lonato's plans were discovered, the Western Church knew their downfall was inevitable. Yet they still announced their existence through the assassination letter, regardless. This means they are willing to take on the crime of assassinating a high-ranked official of the Church, in order to accomplish some other aim. There must be something else in Garreg Mach that will help them win their dogmatic war against the Central Church."

"Hmph, then that settles it," Felix scoffed. "If they want to win against the Central Church, all they have to do is fight against the Knights of Seiros and emerge victorious. If so, it's obvious where they'll plan to attack."

"The armory?" Ingrid mused.

"Or maybe the treasure vault! The monastery hides a lot of their sacred weapons there." Annette snapped her fingers in realization. "Oh, I know! What about the Holy Mausoleum?"

"The Holy Mausoleum? Why would the Western Church want to rob a tomb?" Sylvain grimaced at the thought. "Unless they have a fetish for bones. But then again, there are probably a few pretty ladies who are buried there."

Ingrid slapped Sylvain behind the head, eyes twitching violently. "Sylvain, how blasphemous of you to desecrate the Goddess in front of everyone! Saint Seiros's remains lay dormant in the Holy Mausoleum."

"I am not sure why the Western Church would target the Holy Mausoleum, but legends state Saint Seiros went into an eternal slumber there. Perhaps they want to take the coffin itself as a symbol of authority?" Mercedes shuddered, rubbing the goosebumps over her arms. "Though I cannot imagine how one could ever consider doing something so atrocious such as stealing the Goddess's remains."

"Regardless of their aims, we have only one thing to do," Byleth ordered. "We'll let the other knights guard Lady Rhea. We shall stand watch near the Holy Mausoleum instead." The Blue Lions nodded in understanding. Then, Byleth waved her hand in the air, motioning towards a student who sat at one table in the reception hall. The student stood up and made their way towards the Blue Lions. "Before I dismiss you all, there is someone that I would like to introduce to you all."

Satiana jolted in surprise, eyes widening at the familiar sight of silky white hair and vibrant pink orbs. Lysithea's blank gaze landed on her and Satiana smiled sheepishly, kneading the back of her neck with her hand.

Oh shit, I completely forgot about her.

Byleth nudged Lysithea forward. "I'm sure you guys have met before around campus. This is Lysithea and starting today, she is now officially a member of our class."

Lysithea nodded her head at the gaping crowd in front of her. "I asked for a transfer earlier this moon and the Professor accepted my request. I look forward to working with you all from now on." She bowed with the grace of a young-adult, curtseying as she spread her skirt with her hands.

"W-Wait, what?" Sylvain was the first to react to the sudden introduction. "You transferred to our class? Why?"

"I have to admit, although I was aware it was possible to switch classes, I did not expect someone to take advantage of such a system so early in the term." Dimitri's voice was laced with genuine surprise and awe. "I'm not sure why you picked our class, but as the elected leader, I would like to extend my gratitude for choosing us. I look forward to getting to know you as well, Lysithea."

"Likewise, Dimitri. I've heard a lot about your accomplishments on the battlefield. Rumors of the elite Blue Lions have even reached the ears of Claude and the others," Lysithea spoke with pride, pink orbs sparkling with delight. "To be honest, I feel guilty about Claude for ditching him so early like this, but there's someone that I must repay a debt to in the Blue Lions."

"Oh? Is that so?" Dimitri blinked. "Who would that be?"

Satiana sweated profusely underneath Lysithea's knowing gaze. She winced, noticing the underlying gleam of murderous intent hiding beneath Lysithea's plastic, yet cordial, smile.

Satiana had to admit to herself — it was all her fault Lysithea was glaring at her with such anger. She had completely forgotten about Lysithea's existence over the past few years. She had been so busy dealing with the Blue Lions and confronting Edelgard that it had slipped her mind entirely. Even before she made it to the monastery, she had thrown herself into a pile of missions and ended up missing the heap of letters from Ordelia territory the rest of the mercenary crew often bugged her about.

To put her sentiments into one sentence, she was so apologetic and also so screwed.

"Uh, hi, Lysithea," Satiana was the first to greet her, waving with a faulty smile on her face. "It's been…uh…a long time…?"

Lysithea was all sunshine and rainbows with her brilliant grin, though the slight twitch of her eyebrows spoke otherwise. "Yes, Satiana. It has been, well, over three years since we last saw each other, hasn't it?"

She emphasized the word 'three' and Satiana laughed awkwardly, sliding her foot backwards, caving under the sheer pressure the smaller girl was emanating from her spine-chilling smile. "Oh, yeah! It has totally been over three years. I, uh, missed you so much, Lysithea!" She backed away further, holding her hands innocently in the air in front of her. "We have a lot to catch up on, r-right?"

Satiana knew how ridiculous she was sounding in the moment, but fuck all, she needed to appease the tiny devil somehow.

As if Lysithea could read her mind, she practically exploded into a fuming volcano, launching herself at Satiana with her hands glowing ominously dark. "Missed me? Don't make me laugh, Satiana!" Her hand shone brighter as purple wisps of smoke started floating from her open palm. "You left me stranded for three whole years!"

"Oh, shit!" Satiana screamed as she darted off into the distance as fast as her legs could carry her, leaving a violent gust of wind and smoke behind her trail. "S-Sorry, Lysithea! Please forgive me!" Her pathetic screech echoed through the reception hall that descended into chaos the moment Lysithea released a miasma spell into the air after Satiana.

"Get back here, Satiana! I'm not done with you!" Lysithea yelled after her, scowling as she sprinted through the Blue Lions, almost running over Sylvain in the process.

Screams of horror traveled through the halls as the rest of the Blue Lions gaped at the chaos unfolding in front of them.

"Uh, what the hell just happened?" Sylvain grimaced at the two receding figures sprinting down the stairs in a blur of purple and black smoke.

"Wait, isn't Lysithea going to get in trouble for using magic on monastery grounds?" Annette winced as a particularly loud yell for help echoed down the hallway.

Another loud explosion sent the entire hall quaking and Felix facepalmed.

"Somebody stop those two idiots from destroying the monastery. I'm not getting myself involved in this stupid mess," Felix groaned.

Byleth nodded in rare approval. "Satiana had it coming. Lysithea deserves to punish her."

"P-Professor, now is not the time to just stand by and watch! We need to stop them!" Ingrid yelped as she dragged Byleth by the arm down the stairs. "Somebody go and pincer them from behind!"

"R-Right, on it!" Sylvain stammered, running down the opposite end of the reception hall.

Dimitri chuckled at the chaos. "It seems we have gained another raucous comrade to our team. I'm glad she seems to fit in very well."

Dedue's stoic poker face collapsed for a split second as he sweatdropped. "Your highness, this is hardly the time for such jokes."

Dimitri frowned in response. "Oh. I thought I was being funny for once. It seems I still have not grasped the art of humor."

Ashe shared a look with Dedue and they both sighed in exasperation. "Just how on earth did we get ourselves into this mess…"

Compared to usual, Garreg Mach became more crowded after news of Rhea's assassination spread through the monastery. The Knights of Seiros patrolled every crook and corner of the grounds, starting from as early as dawn all the way past the witching hour. Of course, the students had already grown accustomed to the increase in security around their classrooms. Soldiers roamed the academy grounds daily, after all.

But to a selective few students, this posed a problem to them. A huge problem.

"So, what now?" Hilda whispered as she hid behind a giant pillar right outside the Golden Deer's classroom in the courtyard. She tilted her head, peering out towards the open field, pastel pink orbs flickering left and right. A group of knights wandered down the hallway and she yelped in surprise when a pair of hands yanked her backwards. "Woah! Careful there. You almost knocked me down to the ground!"

Linhardt yawned, rubbing his drowsy eyes as bubbles floated into the surrounding air. "Sorry, but you were about to get us spotted with your…clumsy attempt at hiding." He stretched his arms behind his back, head bobbing up and down in a rhythmic lullaby, eyelids drooping. "Why don't we just sneak around the back towards the North Courtyard instead?"

Hilda frowned at him. "You just want to go to the library, don't you?"

Linhardt shrugged. "Where else would I go during class? There are still a few books about crests I have not had the time to finish yet. I'd love to get a bit of research done before I take my afternoon nap."

Hilda seemed to hum in thought for a moment before her pink eyes brightened up. Her lips curled up into a sly, foxy grin and she grabbed Linhardt by the shoulders, pulling him closer towards her. "Hey, Linhardt. Why don't we put your genius skills to good use? You know how to use warp, right?"

Linhardt's shoulders drooped, a small grimace appearing on his weary features. "Yes, I can cast a warp spell or two. But I try not to do it often because of how taxing it is on my physical health. The last time I used it, I ended up sleeping for three days to recover."

"Oh, well, isn't that nice?" Hilda beamed. "I want you to warp me to the library with you. That way, we can avoid the knights' watchful eyes. I get to skip class and you get to sleep in the library of all places! Wouldn't you say that's a win-win situation for you?"

Linhardt frowned. "Hilda, I can get to the second floor by myself without having to string you along. I'm afraid you'll have to ask someone else for assistance. Unless you want to join me for my research, then I suggest you try, let's see, Lysithea for help." Linhardt perked up, nodding in realization. "If I remember correctly, she has a tremendous amount of magic power lying dormant within her. If it's her, she could easily cast a few warp spells without draining herself. You wouldn't want to accidentally kill me, would you, Hilda? I'm sorry, but I have a fairly weak physical constitution."

Hilda chuckled at his response. "Oh, Linhardt. That guilt-tripping technique of yours would've worked on anyone but me. I'm a masterful liar myself."

Linhardt exhaled. "Very well, you leave me no choice. I will now go call Lysithea for you. She should still be in class, am I right? If I open these doors, both you and I will be busted. I highly doubt you want that. If so, then it would be in your best interest to let me go in peace. A few more minutes and the Knights will have made their way towards the North Courtyard, blocking my way to paradise."

Hilda continued to smile brightly at him, unperturbed by his paltry attempt to threaten her. "Linhardt, the moment you open these doors, you will also lose your precious research time to boring arguments about war tactics. So that threat of yours doesn't work on me, I'm afraid."

Linhardt's dull peacock-green irises sparkled. "Ah, but I can use warp to get myself out of here with ease. Warping one person versus two requires a different amount of magic power."

Hilda paled, cheeks growing ashen at the thought. "Okay, nevermind, Linhardt. I won't force you to use warp anymore, but at least help me hide from these soldiers! I'm quite busy lately with a new, ahem, theory I have regarding the professor's secret crest. I think she must be a secret descendant of a missing bloodline somewhere in the books. Maybe we can discuss it together?" She batted her eyes coquettishly, peering shyly through her lashes.

Linhardt narrowed his eyes, gaze searching her expression. "Hilda, why are you so desperate to seek my help? I was only half-joking earlier about snitching you off to Professor Hanneman. I still stand by my previous words. Lysithea would be of greater help to you than me. Also, I have no interests in things other than crest research and my further pursuit of scholarship. And knowing you, I believe you are not worthy enough to be my partner in such discussions. You will have to seek companionship elsewhere, I'm afraid."

"Wow, harsh as usual, Linhardt," Hilda winced. "But I can't ask Lysithea for help anymore. She transferred to the Blue Lions without warning a day ago," Hilda pouted, lips puckering in annoyance. "I can't believe she ditched us so easily like that! Even Claude has been brooding ever since."

"Hm? Lysithea transferred classes? This is the first time I've heard of this," Linhardt said with an arched brow. "Ah, perhaps that is why Edelgard has been quite…moody."

"What?" Hilda blinked. "What does Lysithea's transfer have to do with Edelgard?"

"I'm uncertain, but it seems Edelgard was looking forward to recruiting Lysithea into the Black Eagles," Linhardt commented. "Unfortunately, it seems like Lysithea turned down her offer."

"Oh?" Hilda perked up. She rubbed her chin, lips slanting upwards into a grin. "That sounds like juicy gossip to me! Tell me more about that, will you, Linhardt?"

Linhardt whisked her grip off his shoulders, taking a step back. "I'm sorry, but you will have to excuse me now. The guards are making their way towards us from behind you and—"

"GAH!" Hilda yelped, whirling around in a frenzy. She darted around like a headless chicken, hiding from view by jumping inside a bush. She covered her mouth with her hands, forcing her breathing to still. Then she waited quietly, hidden from view.

It was only when she realized the deafening silence around her that she dared poke her head out into the opening. After a sigh of relief, Hilda turned to glare at the spot beside her. "Hey, Linhardt! I don't see any guards around…here…" she trailed off as an awkward gust of freezing wind blew across the lonely courtyard.

She was there alone in the bush with no soldiers or Linhardt to be seen.

Hilda pouted, fuming inside the bush as she threw her clenched fists into the air. "Linhardt, that crafty fox! You tricked me!"

A few meters away from the screaming girl, Linhardt rounded the corner into the North Courtyard, making his way to the corridor that led to the second floor. A faint trace of a smile remained on his lips as he strolled up the staircase. By the time he reached the second floor, it was already noon, and he sighed in response to the realization. "It's almost time for my afternoon nap, but I still need to finish that book today…" he muttered to himself, head in the clouds as he made his way to the library.

"At least now I can read in peace." Linhardt smiled, reaching his hand out to open the library doors.

*Bang*

The sound of an explosion rang in his ears, and he winced. Suddenly, a blinding light of white enveloped his vision, and he covered his eyes with the sleeves of his arms. Black spots tinged the edges of his eyes when the bright light finally dissipated into thin air, leaving nothing but two familiar figures lying on the carpet in the library. One had eye-catching long white hair while the other was the complete opposite, embodying the color black with her ebony ponytail.

Linhardt blinked rapidly, getting used to the sudden contrast in lighting inside the room. A rising headache made its way up his spine and Linhardt pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning.

"When will I be able to study in peace…"

Satiana did not know what happened, but Lysithea eventually gave up on chasing her, choosing to warp them both to a different place. Although Satiana had experienced the dizziness and fatigue that came with a warp spell from Renard before, Lysithea had a far greater prowess in magic.

The moment the ground sparkled vibrantly around her, she felt a severe rush of nausea and gagged in response, biting her lips shut. Her legs floated into the air, and she could only gasp in horror as she sank into the large gaping wormhole of purple and white. She crash-landed on her back, groaning in pain when something heavy landed on her stomach, suffocating the air out of her. She coughed violently on the ground, clawing the large object off her front, letting it roll off to the side.

"What the hell…?" Satiana croaked, rubbing her temples to soothe the pounding in her head. She lifted her back off the carpet, vision still twirling in a haze. She blinked rapidly, shedding any remnants of dizziness away. "Is this…the library?"

It was then the large object rolled over towards her again, a small pair of hands launching themselves right at her neck. Lysithea grabbed her by the collar of her uniform, yanking her upwards into the air. Satiana wheezed again for the umpteenth time that morning, mouth dry and chapped from lack of moisture and air.

"I…finally…caught you!" Lysithea breathed heavily, lavender-pink irises glowing with a burning glimmer under the dimmed candlelights in the library. She scowled, shaking Satiana vigorously with her hands. "How dare you forget about me for three whole years! I was always worried about you and sent so many letters asking about you, but you never responded. Did you think I was an annoying, clingy child, undeserving of your time?!"

Satiana went starry-eyed as her world continued to spin. "N-No, of course not! I was just so busy I kind of, well, forgot about you! I'm so sorry!" She sputtered, hands grabbing Lysithea by the shoulder. "L-Let me breathe!"

"Hmph!" Lysithea pouted, grip slacking as she let Satiana free from her wrath. She crossed her arms, jerking her head off to the side, sulking. "I feel offended, Satiana. I shouldn't have wasted my time searching for you after that. It seems I'm the only one who thought there was something special about our meeting."

"Wait, no, that's not true," Satiana spoke in her raspy, drained voice. "I could never think of you as anything but my long-lost sister, Lysithea."

Lysithea eyed her with skepticism. "And what kind of sister ditches their sibling in the middle of nowhere to fend against evil mages on their own?"

"Evil mages…?" A low baritone voice echoed from behind them.

"Uh, to be fair, I left you in your own territory—" Satiana clamped her stupid mouth shut when Lysithea's hand gleamed eerily purple. "Woah, okay, calm down. We are not going down that route again. I'm way too tired for another wild-goose chase." She crawled backward in a hurry, sliding away from Lysithea with a grimace. "I know you're mad at me and it is definitely my fault for failing to catch up with you. You see, we caught wind of the dark mages' next actions and had to quickly cross borders back to Faerghus. We can't let another crest experiment happen again, right?"

"Crest experiments? Huh, I didn't know those existed…"

"I'm sure you had your reasons, Satiana," Lysithea mumbled. "Even so, I was looking forward to your correspondence. To be honest, I wanted to join you on your expedition. But I can't leave my parents alone and they told me I was still too young for such dangerous jobs."

Satiana halted mid-crawl, eyes softening. She exhaled, rustling the strands of her hair. "Look, Lysithea. I'm really sorry. I should've checked up on you earlier, but I heard news of how you were doing. Rumors in the wind and all that jazz. You were making quite a name for yourself. Even though you were still young, you got your territory back in shape after all that tragedy. To be honest, I was jealous of your accomplishments."

Lysithea's eyes widened. "Jealous? You? Of me? Why on earth would you be jealous of me? Satiana, have you ever stopped to reflect on yourself?"

"Hm? What do you mean by that?" Satiana blinked.

"Ahem," the sound of coughing fell on deaf ears as the two continued to engage in conversation.

"Well, you got me out of that hell! You saved me from those endless nights of pain and torture. And you even ventured out into the unknown with your mercenary friends, aiming to stop them from further experimentation. That's a great deal!" Lysithea yelled in delight. "I wished I could join your cause, you know that? You're only a few years older than I am, but you seemed to have accomplished so much from beyond the cage. That's why I tried so hard, because I wanted to help you. There's nothing I hate more than being treated as a sick child, after all. My parents do enough of that," she grumbled under her breath, fidgeting with her fingers.

Satiana felt herself smiling gently, heart swelling with gratitude. "Lysithea, you have no idea how much it means to me. For you to speak of me with such high regards."

Blue eyes sparkled underneath the candlelights, glowing beautifully like the day Lysithea first met her, and Lysithea teared up slightly at the sudden wave of nostalgia. Satiana could never understand her feelings. How she felt the day Satiana barged into the basement, a blood-covered angel yet a divine presence all the same. To have someone waiting for her the moment she escaped out of those cages — someone on her side who truly understood the pain she went through.

It was life changing.

Lysithea didn't know what she would've done if Satiana did not come for her that fateful evening. Perhaps she would've slaughtered all the mages herself or died trying. Maybe she would've fainted soon after from blood loss, failing to get revenge, dying like the worthless child she was.

She had failed to protect her beloved siblings, her family, her people. But Satiana gave her a second chance to atone for her weakness.

Lysithea still did not have the chance to ask about Satiana's story. She wanted to know more about the life her savior lived. That was the main reason for her letters, and it pained her to receive no response. She waited three grueling years to meet her again and Satiana, like the whirlwind she was, came like a giant blur and enlisted the Blue Lions into her small family, leaving her behind.

Really, she knew it was childish of her to feel so petty about it, but that was how much Satiana meant to Lysithea. At least she got an apology out of her, though Lysithea felt disappointed that she had to be the one to seek Satiana out in the end.

"Alright, for now, I'll forgive you," Lysithea frowned. "But leave me out of the loop again, and I'll blast a hole in your head with my magic."

Satiana laughed. "Sure, sure. I won't leave you alone again, Lysithea. I'm glad to have you on our team."

"Don't treat me like a child!" Lysithea fumed. "I meant I wanted to be treated as your equal!"

"Yeah, I know. Don't worry. I know more than anyone what you're truly capable of," Satiana snorted. "I still remember how you blew up the entire mansion. And that was three years ago. I don't want to know what sort of destruction you're capable of now."

"Oh, that? I once tried casting a giant Dark Spikes T spell at Claude just for fun and I almost split the entire plains in half—" Lysithea started, only to freeze when she finally caught sight of the extra inhabitant in the room. "Wait, since when did you get here?!"

Linhardt shook his head in exasperation from his position a few steps away from the entrance. "I was here first. You two were the ones who barged in with a warp spell." Then, he moved closer to Lysithea, rubbing his chin, peacock-green irises twinkling with curiosity. "By the way, I heard what you were talking about just now. What exactly do you mean by crest experiments?"

Satiana and Lysithea both went pale. Lysithea cast a look at Satiana. The meaning wasn't lost on either of them.

They were absolutely screwed.

"Uh, what? I think you may have misheard us!" Satiana jolted up from the ground, laughing in sloppy intervals, voice breaking down fast into a panicked, off-beat sonata. "Crest experiments? What the hell is that even supposed to be?"

"I-Indeed!" Lysithea smiled awkwardly, stumbling up on her feet. She faced Linhardt, plastic smile twitching. "Maybe you're just imagining it, Linhardt. You're very enthusiastic about crests, so maybe you were daydreaming and your secret desires seeped out into reality, making you hear illusions!"

Linhardt shot them both a look of blatant distrust. "Yes, I do have a habit of daydreaming, per se. I often end up tuning outside interference away when I'm researching. However, I am not currently engrossed in my findings, so I do not believe I misheard what you said." He crossed his arms impatiently. "I would love to have a deeper conversation with the both of you about this intriguing topic. What exactly does crest experimentation entail?"

"Nope! Screw this. We are getting out of here!" Satiana briskly stormed towards the exit, dragging Lysithea along with her when Linhardt slipped into her path, blocking her way. She halted, scowling directly at him with a fiery glare. "I know this is the first we've ever conversed, but you either move or I cut you down."

"I abhor violence," Linhardt sighed. "But you have piqued my curiosity and I'm afraid I will sleep peacefully no longer until I discover all the details of what you have mentioned. Please, I hope you will take responsibility for your slip-up."

"How about no for an answer? Sorry to disappoint you, but I don't see a reason why I should divulge my knowledge of such secrecy to someone who's a complete stranger to me," Satiana growled, forcing her way past Linhardt. She took a step out the door with Lysithea stumbling after her trail when Linhardt suddenly chuckled behind her. She halted, glancing behind her shoulder. "What exactly is so amusing, Linhardt?"

"Nothing. It's just…I happen to know a secret. A secret about Lysithea, to be more exact," Linhardt spoke.

Lysithea froze. Even Satiana couldn't help but reel over in shock, jaws dropping wide. Lysithea tugged Satiana's hand, yanking her back inside the library. Satiana hesitantly complied, plodding back towards Linhardt with a furious glower on her face. There was a violent volcano simmering underneath the surface, ready to erupt at any moment, and Linhardt knew his life would be in danger the moment he misspoke.

But as a proud scholar, there would be no higher honor than to lose one's life in the pursuit of higher knowledge.

"Linhardt, I'm warning you," Satiana spoke lowly, voice more steady than she expected despite the storm brewing inside of her. "You better keep your mouth shut about things that do not concern you. Have you never heard of this saying? Curiosity kills the cat."

The dark promise in her words made Linhardt flinch for a moment, but he quickly regained his confidence. "To be honest, I was only acting upon baseless rumors I heard. But seeing your reaction now, it seems they weren't so unfounded, after all." He straightened his back, astute eyes glinting. "If you will allow me to speak, the knowledge that you possess will completely overturn what is considered normal in Crest research."

Lysithea peered over Satiana's shoulder, scowling in distaste. "Linhardt, I don't know where you heard it from, but you must stay quiet about everything. You hear me?"

Satiana spread her arms over Lysithea, gritting her teeth in barely restrained menace. "Forget it. It'll be easier to keep his mouth shut if we just cut off that silver tongue of his—"

"I promise you, I will not divulge knowledge of your two crests to anyone. If someone else were to learn of this, I might lose you as a test subject," Linhardt spoke carelessly, unbeknownst to his impending doom.

It was like someone had flipped a switch. The moment he finished his sentence, the surrounding air crackled.

A hacking snicker escaped from Satiana's lips as her vision turned red. She nearly lost it. Eyes narrowed, breath sharp, she clamped down brutally on her fury, a savagery that simmered barely one degree off boiling. This was the second time she had lost control over her emotions lately and Satiana had no idea how to calm herself down, especially right in front of the innocent bastard who spoke such potent poison without even realizing what it meant to Lysithea and her.

"Hah! Test subject? You must really have a death wish," Satiana sneered. "We are not animals, Linhardt. We do not deserve to be placed upon a pedestal, just because we are survivors of tragic experimentation. There is nothing to be applauded or revered about having two goddamn crests that do nothing but bring us pain and suffering." She snarled, taking a step forward as her hand slithered down to the steel blade on her hips. "I gave you a chance to back off, but clearly, you do not understand human language."

"Actually, I do. However, my curiosity far exceeds my fear of you, Satiana," Linhardt stood his ground against the death reaper. "I apologize if my words have offended you. However, I am merely speaking from a scholar's perspective. The knowledge that you both possess may save countless lives from despair."

"What do you mean by that?" Satiana forced herself to speak slowly. "Let me remind you again, since you seem to be so brazen about it all. I am literally doing my best to hold back from slicing your head off. Mind your words as much as possible lest you want to join the ranks of dead scholars who accomplished nothing in their lives."

Linhardt frowned. "I will not allow you to speak of my seniors like that. There is nothing wrong with expanding one's horizons, even if it may lead to a pitfall. If there is no one who dedicates their lives to grasp further awareness of the world around them, then humanity will not develop."

Satiana scowled. "Linhardt, I am not standing here to debate with you regarding your beliefs. I am warning you, I have very little patience, especially regarding sensitive topics that you have now laid your eyes and ears upon."

"Of course." Linhardt nodded, completely indifferent to her threats. "What I mean to say is, I have a hypothesis regarding your…troubles," he phrased his sentence carefully this time. "I've dug through all my books, and there has never been a record of someone with two crests. Therefore, I can see why Lysithea's existence is sworn to secrecy. Just now, you mentioned something about crest experimentation and that only solidified my thoughts. It appears Lysithea forcibly had another crest implanted inside of her."

Satiana twitched, nimble hands dragging the blade off its sheathe.

Linhardt took a step backwards. "No need to hurry. I am about to get to my point." He exhaled lightly, shaking his head. "If what you claim about crest experimentation is true, then I believe there must be a way to remove the Crest as well."

Satiana froze, eyes widening. The dark coil of ire surrounding them slowly returned to dust as her mood immediately brightened. Lysithea practically darted out from behind Satiana's back, lips trembling in shock.

"H-Hold on. Is that true? Can I really have my Crest removed?!" Lysithea blurted out.

Linhardt smiled at her, nodding. "I do not have all the details yet, but Professor Hanneman is currently working on the same hypothesis as I am. You may not know this, but Professor Hanneman is a brilliant Crest scholar who wants to shed light on this mysterious phenomenon in order to save lives like you."

"You're not lying to me, are you?" Satiana sheathed her sword, straightening her posture. She stared directly into his unwavering eyes, feeling her heart thundering at the sudden surge of hope inside of her. "Is there truly a way to help Lysithea survive?"

Linhardt raised his brows. "Survive? Do you mean having two crests inside of her has caused some physical damage to her health?"

Satiana glanced briefly at Lysithea. She nodded in response and Satiana exhaled. "...Yes, you are correct. She doesn't have…much longer to live."

Linhardt's eyes narrowed immediately. His lips slanted down into a frown. "I see. That is certainly a problem. It seems I must ask you to accompany me to Professor Hanneman's quarters immediately. There is no time to waste. If you would divulge your story to us, perhaps we will find valuable information—"

"Stop."

Linhardt blinked. "Pardon?"

Lysithea trembled in place, eyes shut tight in pain. "Stop it. I will not allow you to view me as some…some miraculous being. This crest has been nothing but a curse to me. I don't want to be viewed as some special entity that will benefit the study of Crests in the future. The last thing I want to do is sell myself to endless experiments, even for a greater cause."

Linhardt frowned. "I said nothing about experiments."

"I don't care what you mean, Linhardt. You lack the empathy to deal with me. No matter how much you observe me, learn about me." Lysithea's voice quaked under the tyranny of her nightmares. "You can never understand my pain. What I went through to make it this far."

"Lysithea…" Satiana whispered as she patted Lysithea on the back, rubbing smooth circles on her shoulder blades. "Calm down. It'll be alright. You're not back in that cage anymore."

"I know, Satiana. You brought me out of there." Lysithea shut her eyes, balling her hands into fists. "But I'm not ready yet. To…to tell anyone about my story. Especially not to this bastard who doesn't genuinely want to help me!" Lysithea snapped. "He just wants to use me to benefit the study of Crests in the future!"

It was then her hands glowed white and purple again and Satiana leaped back in shock. "Lysithea, don't!" She screamed when the library suddenly shook at the giant wormhole, devouring Lysithea whole.

"I refuse to go back with you, Linhardt. Don't bother me again about this," Lysithea scowled before she disappeared under a radiant, bright light, warping off into the unknown distance.

Satiana stood awkwardly in the middle of the library. Linhardt slowly walked up to her and Satiana flinched, jerking her body away from his curious gaze. She huddled into the corner of the library, pressing her back against the bookshelves. "What do you want from me now?" She narrowed her eyes with suspicion.

Linhardt held his hand back and sighed. "I don't know why you two are acting so apprehensive towards me. I just wanted to lend a hand."

Satiana glanced away from him, biting her lips. "I know, Linhardt. But you have to understand. This is an extremely sensitive topic for us. It's not just some…some case study you read in your books. This is reality. We didn't suffer through tragedy and bloodshed, just so you can view us as nothing but your experiment subjects."

Linhardt crossed his arms, rubbing his chin in deep thought. "Hm, from what I heard from Professor Hanneman, you only possess one crest, not two. Yet you seem to speak of the same…trauma that Lysithea went through. Did you perhaps take part in a crest experimentation project?"

Satiana shut her eyes in response, trying her best to control her rapidly increasing heartbeat. "Linhardt, I—"

"I do not understand what you went through. But isn't that exactly why we should talk things through? Do you not want to help Lysithea?" Linhardt proposed with a knowing smile on his face. "From what I can see, you care deeply about her. I will not force you to share your story. However, anything, no matter how little, could completely change her future. I am a crest scholar, not one of those evil mages you mentioned earlier. I detest bloodshed. I don't even understand why everyone seems to kill each other so easily, especially at such a young age."

Satiana's eyelids fluttered open, but the distrust was still evident.

Linhardt pushed forward, speaking steadily. "I am trying my best to be as sincere as I can. I hope you will lend me a hand. If you wish to know more about my intentions, then let's start by spending time with each other. I assure you, I have no hidden agendas. If my crest research can save a life, then there is no greater honor for me."

She spent an entire minute analyzing him from afar. Linhardt stood patiently with a pleasant smile on his face. He held a hand out towards her.

Satiana glanced down at the hand. She didn't know whether it would be her savior or her end. Her gaze flickered up again and Linhardt nodded confidently at her.

With a sigh, she reached her hand up and placed them on top of his. "Alright. For now, I shall believe you. But first, I want to talk to Professor Hanneman about this as well."

Linhardt's smile widened. "Of course. I promise you. As a self-proclaimed crest scholar, I will not abandon you nor do anything to harm you in the name of research."

Sylvain was on a venture.

With the gigantic mess involving Gaspard territory behind his back, Sylvain thought he would finally have a moment of peace to enjoy himself again — throw himself at a few ladies around town, wander down the streets at night, drink at a few taverns or two. But then this assassination plot just had to come out of nowhere and destroy his well-earned rest. The entire monastery was in an uproar and that only meant there were fewer girls available on the market for him to feed his sweet words on.

He had no one to spend valuable time with. Felix was sparring in the training hall as usual with Ingrid, while Annette and Ashe were wandering around the monastery for clues. Satiana and Lysithea had warped off to outer space, while Dedue was stuck in the garden on watering duty. Then there was Dimitri and the professor, who disappeared somewhere for a secret rendezvous.

Really, it was just a small headcanon of his, but he had spotted Dimitri and the professor having tea together in the garden enough times to think some sort of romantic bud had grown between the two. Of course, knowing how stoic and stern the both of them were, it was probably just his imagination.

That left only one person for him to engage in a lovely conversation with.

He strolled across the bridge towards the abbey, pretending to be aimless as he glanced through the raucous fray of knights and soldiers, honey-brown eyes searching for a specific bob of gentle, sandy blonde hair. And there she was, standing in front of the statue of the Goddess, praying to the heavens above.

Sylvain plastered a winsome smile on his face, clearing his throat before he walked up to the said woman. He patted her on the shoulder, catching her attention. He threw in a wink, the usual greeting. "Hey there, Mercedes! You look divine, as always. Here for a quick pray?"

Mercedes turned around to face him with a pleasant smile of her own. "Oh, hello there, Sylvain. How did you know I was here?

Sylvain folded his arm behind his head, humming a cheery tune. "Well, it's because I've always had my eye on you, Mercedes. You're a lovely lady and—"

"Oh, I get it!" Mercedes interjected brightly, placing her fist above her palm in a moment of realization. "You're the type who always has his eyes on several women, am I right?"

Sylvain's plastic smile shattered, lips twitching violently. "Uh, well, you're not wrong. I enjoy beholding women, but that's not really the point here." He threw in a quick laugh, feigning ignorance. "You're a very special lady, Mercedes. Your beauty outshines everyone here. Not even the Goddess herself can compare to you."

"Oh my, how sweet of you," Mercedes chuckled softly. "But I think it would be quite blasphemous to consider myself on the same level as the Goddess."

Sylvain blinked. "O-Oh! I guess you're right, haha." He rubbed the back of his head, internally stretching his stumped brain for the right words to say. "But you know that's not what I really meant, Mercedes. I just wanted you to know that you truly are beautiful inside as well."

Cobalt-blue irises sparkled knowingly. "Sure, sure. I know what you mean, Sylvain."

For some reason, Sylvain had a feeling she had seen right through his shallow facade and he chuckled dryly. "Uh, what I mean is, I just wanted to make small talk with you. Things have been quite hectic lately, and I was just wondering how you were holding up." He forced himself to smile again. "I just wanted to check in with you."

"How nice of you, Sylvain," Mercedes smiled, though her lips quickly tipped down into a frown. "To be honest with you, I have a lot on my mind lately." She sighed, tilting her head to the side, placing her head into her palm. "Like what happened between Lord Lonato and the Central Church, the Western Church's scheme, and Lady Rhea's assassination. There's so much going on I'm not sure where to begin."

Sylvain frowned, mirroring her actions in a show of empathy. "Of course. I totally understand your sentiments. To think someone would harbor so much hatred towards the Church. It's shocking, really. I don't blame you for being unnerved by everything lately."

Mercedes hummed in response, bright orbs shining with such piercing clarity it made Sylvain wince for a moment. She smiled knowingly at him. "Sylvain, you do not have to pretend in front of me. I am aware of where your true allegiance lies. You aren't the most devout follower of the Church, am I right?"

Sylvain wanted nothing more than to turn back time or perhaps summon a giant meteor onto his head. He had slipped up again in front of Mercedes. He didn't know what he did wrong, but she was so sharp in that uncanny way of hers. It felt like everything he had tried to build up, his reputation as a bastard and all, would crumble into a pile of sand underneath her knowing gaze.

Really, he wasn't sure how to feel about being seen through so easily. Felix was the first, but he was completely fine with that. Satiana was the second, and it definitely unnerved him, but she never tried to probe into his background, for which he was grateful for.

Then there was Mercedes. He had no idea what she truly thought about him in that air-filled head of hers.

Sylvain breathed a laugh, shifting his weight as something cynical tried to burst forth, but he drowned it out with the sound of his own pulse. His lips curled into a half-grin instead. "Why, I do not know what you're talking about, Mercedes."

Mercedes had the same pleasant smile on her face, though there was no denying the way her eyes flashed dolefully at his response. "Of course you don't, Sylvain. But nevermind that. Please, do not mind me. I just want to have a slight moment of peace to re-gather my thoughts."

Sylvain stared at Mercedes, brows scrunching up. "You know, I've always wondered, Mercedes," he began slowly. "Why are you so devout to the Goddess?"

Mercedes blinked. "Oh, me? I actually grew up in a church."

"Ah, no wonder," Sylvain nodded in understanding. "Did you enjoy life in the church? I can imagine how heavenly life must be living near a bunch of pretty priestesses!"

Mercedes chuckled brightly. "Hm, I don't think you would enjoy such a life, Sylvain. The church was very peaceful. Hardly anything happened, and all we did was pray together in the afternoon sun. But I wanted nothing more than the tranquility that came with faith. My life before I made it to the Church was, well, full of suffering." Her cobalt-blue orbs dimmed for a split second, darkening at the edges.

Sylvain frowned. "Oh. I'm sorry to hear that, Mercedes."

Mercedes continued to smile at Sylvain, but anyone could see it was much more rigid than before. "Please, do not apologize, Sylvain. I'm sorry if I bore you with my story."

"Oh, no, you could never bore me with your story, Mercedes. In fact, I'd love to know more about you. As a friend, that is," Sylvain laughed sheepishly. "Would you care to tell me more about yourself? Please?" He pleaded warmly, honey-brown irises softening.

Mercedes hummed in thought. "Of course I don't mind, Sylvain. But I'd love to hear more about you as well. Maybe we can talk more about this over some tea?"

Sylvain excitedly launched himself into the air with a fist pump. "Hell yeah! Uh, I mean, well, of course! Ahem," he cleared his throat awkwardly, sweat dropping. "It would be my pleasure, my lady." He made a mock bow, winking at Mercedes, who responded with a chuckle.

"Oh, Sylvain. I hope you never change," Mercedes laughed.

Sylvain replied with a bright, goofy grin. "Well, if there's something I know I'm good at, it's making the ladies smile. I'm glad you're feeling better, Mercedes." Then, he wiped the plastic expression off his face, replacing it with a stern look, voice suddenly taking a serious undertone. "Mercedes, I wish you will hear me out for a moment. I know you've been in the church's care since young. I can see why these current incidents have stressed you out because of your absolute faith towards the church."

Mercedes's smile faltered. She clasped her hands together tightly in front of her. "You are right, Sylvain. I still cannot fathom why anyone would ever turn their blades towards the church. The church that I know has always accepted everyone, regardless of race, age, or status. It is like home to me."

Sylvain walked up closer to Mercedes and placed his hands lightly on her shoulder. "Then you should continue to believe so. Perhaps there really are corrupted individuals within the church. You know how it is in Fodlan. There's no end to human greed. You have to remember that the church is also a political authority figure in Fodlan — one with tremendous power and resources."

Then he smiled reassuringly. "But that doesn't mean the church is some evil entity that needs to be destroyed. Of course, there will always be rotten apples around. Perhaps some higher-ups hid Christophe's crimes on their own. It's not the whole Church's fault they couldn't prevent the incident from being warped. Your beliefs in the church need not waver to reflect our world, Mercedes. You can continue to believe in the church if that is what you wish. Besides, we can't judge an entire group by the worst of their kind, right?"

Mercedes's eyes widened in surprise. "Sylvain, I didn't know you were someone capable of making such…such profound statements."

Sylvain flushed as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, well, I just don't really enjoy talking about serious things. Politics and all that annoying jazz. I just want to live a peaceful life away from all the heavy baggage that being part of the nobility with crests brings."

Mercedes nodded in agreement, gaze wistful and forlorn. "You are right. There is nothing more that I wish for than peace and quiet."

Sylvain perked up. "Then, I guess we make a brilliant match, don't we?" He threw in another wink.

Mercedes snickered, hiding her lips behind her palms. "I guess in that sense, we do! Now, how about that tea session, Sylvain?"

Sylvain smirked. "Of course, I'll join you. No, scratch that. Please, let me join you, Mercedes. It'll be the best tea party of your life."

Mercedes smiled gratefully at him. "I'll be looking forward to it, Sylvain."

"I see…so my suspicions were not unfounded," Dimitri solemnly spoke. He clasped his hands together under his chin, eyes narrowing. "Lord Arundel. I must investigate him. To think he was involved in this incident with Lord Lonato."

Byleth took a sip from her cup of tea. "To be more exact, he only showed financial support towards the Western Church. There's no evidence that directly leads him to the incident. Of course, that includes the Tragedy of Duscur."

After their last conversation, Dimitri and Byleth made a habit of sharing their hypotheses in the garden. Disguised as a tea party, they would discuss their theories together out in the open. Last time they met, Dimitri told Byleth everything he knew about Lord Arundel, including his peculiar actions during the time of turmoil in Faerghus. Of course, he also told her everything about his true relationship with Edelgard and the existence of his foster mother.

The fact that Lord Arundel was somehow involved with the Western Church only solidified the doubts in his mind. There really was something off with his uncle. It was an understatement to say that his uncle had changed. The current Lord Arundel took unexplainable actions, devoid of morality. Surely, the past and current Lord Arundel cannot be the same person.

But then he would have to explain the presence of dark magic or some weird cloning technique. Dimitri felt a rising headache and pinched the bridge of his forehead, exhaling in exhaustion. No, he had to calm down. It's not like someone could easily replace a high-ranked noble member of the aristocratic family and simply get away with it all. This wasn't a fantasy novel — he had to ground his thoughts in reality.

"Professor, I want to graduate soon. As fast as possible," Dimitri suddenly switched topics. "Faerghus is in a state of political turmoil, and I am the only one who can stop such madness from ensuing again. If I smoothly ascend the throne, perhaps I can issue an official investigation into Lord Arundel and his actions using the evidence you have provided me with." Then he frowned. "Of course, there is still nothing that connects him directly to the Tragedy of Duscur. It truly is a shame."

Byleth closed her eyes as a small wave of guilt rushed past her. If Dimitri knew about the existence of Satiana, everything would change. Combined with the crate of crest stones lying in Fraldarius territory and Renard's witness testimony, it can implicate Lord Arundel with the Western Church's crimes, which are connected to the continuation of human crest-stone experiments. Then, with Satiana's existence, everything would lead neatly towards his implicit involvement in the Tragedy of Duscur.

But Satiana was not ready for that confrontation yet. Not with the way she already acted around Felix and Sylvain. Besides, Rodrigue had not given them the green light to involve the Prince of Faerghus. Byleth felt extremely apologetic towards the young man in front of her, but she hoped to ease some of his stress by sharing his burdens with him.

"There is no need to grow impatient, Dimitri. Justice will be served eventually. The Goddess is always on our side," Byleth found herself speaking like Seteth and she internally snorted at how ridiculous she sounded. "For now, let us focus on the assassination attempt on Lady Rhea."

Dimitri smiled tenderly at Byleth. "Of course, professor. I must say, I owe you a great deal. I had no one to talk to about my thoughts regarding the tragedy." He glanced off to the side, lips curling into a frown. "Everyone seems to tiptoe around the topic with me. I can see why, though. If possible, I wish I can never relive the past again. But it seems the dead refuse to let me free."

Byleth drummed her fingers against the table, cerulean orbs glinting at a peculiar train of thought flickering inside her head. She leaned in closer towards Dimitri, folded her hands neatly. "You speak of the dead as if they are a visible entity around you, Dimitri."

She shot a blank, not believing it to hit directly at the center of her target.

Dimitri went stony. His demeanor changed, sweat glistening like ice on his forehead. His teeth clattered loudly as he shut his eyes tightly. He hid his face behind his giant fists, biting his lips so hard the dried corners bled. "P-Professor, about that…" his breath grew uneven as he choked out his words. "I don't want anyone to know about this, but I…sometimes, I think I've gone crazy."

Byleth arched a brow. She tilted her head to the side. "How so?"

Dimitri mustered up the courage to peer through his closed eyelids, peeking at Byleth to gauge her reaction with shifty eyes. "Well, I sometimes can hear these…these whispers in my head. A few of them, I can recognize their voices. I remember them clearly. My father, the soldiers patrolling the capital, the knights that played with me when I was still a child, and then there's Glenn." He scratched the skin on his hands, hoping the pain would ground him back to reality, but to no avail. "Professor, I see them. They're watching my every move and are begging for me to bring them justice. Give them the heads of those evil bastards who dared to destroy our people. And I cannot wait any longer—"

It started off as a small bud of warmth. Smooth, silky fingers ran over his own sweaty palm, forcing him to release the grip on his own hands. They slowly pried open his fingers, revealing the small streaks of blood on his palms. He winced when her warm touch traced over the new flesh wound.

Dimitri had no idea what he was doing, but he grabbed onto those warm, gloved hands like his life depended on it. He was a drowning man, desperate for air, and she was just the right amount of buoyancy he needed. Her touch grounded him to reality, but was warm and fuzzy enough to allow him room to breathe. It was the stimulation he needed to feel the spark inside him, that burst of light that illuminated the darkness and reminded him he was whole. The thing that shut his inner cynic and the dead whispers around him, just letting him be for a while.

"Dimitri, whatever it is you hear, they are not real," Byleth spoke sternly as she rubbed circles on Dimitri's skin, hoping to soothe the tension within his pulsating muscles. "You must learn to differentiate between the voices of those who are truly around you and those that are lingering inside of you."

Byleth's gaze lacerated him to the soul and demanded nothing less than raw honesty. Dimitri gulped, sweating furiously. "But professor, I can really see and hear them. Their cries for help—"

She yanked his hands towards her with a deep frown. "Dimitri. It is impossible for one to hear the voices of the dead. You know that, don't you? Once you die, it is over. You can never hear, see, or touch them again. What remains are your memories of them. And of course, the piling of guilt and regret inside of you."

Dimitri went silent, pondering her words.

"You say that you can hear them, but those are not their voices. They are what you think they are telling you. Everything is a fabrication of your own exhausted, traumatized mind. If you want them to stop, you must learn to look deep inside yourself," Byleth continued. "Do not silence them by giving into your darkest desires. Silence them by leaving them where they should lie in peace. Step out of their realm on your own."

"But I can't do that," Dimitri refused with a shake of his head. "I cannot leave them there to…to disappear. They deserve better. They deserve to be remembered. They deserve to be revered for their sacrifice. I can't just ignore them, professor."

Byleth found her expression tightening as she stared at the weary boy in front of her. It was an exhaustion of the soul, and she didn't know how to console him properly. She was still a young greenhorn when it came to interpersonal relations. She was never good with her words and although she was confident with her skills, communication was not one of them.

But for now, she had to try. Alleviate the pain. Anything.

She didn't want to admit it, but the boy in front of her reminded her of Satiana and it caused her dead heart to waver. The more she spent time around Satiana and Dimitri, the more Byleth became, for lack of a better word, human. They carried such heavy burdens, deep regrets, and struggled like a half-dead limping beast, surviving on nothing but sheer will and resolution.

She couldn't understand them. She had nothing worth fighting for, never lost anyone dear to her, and didn't understand the responsibility that came with survival.

Byleth was simply…there. Existing. Breathing. But also so empty and so lost at the same time.

She may be the Ashen Demon, heartless and cold. But when she was around them, she found her pulse skipping. Maybe it was just her imagination because she knew more than anyone she had no heartbeat. But something about these kids propelled her to move. Take action. Protect.

"Dimitri," Byleth started again. "Letting them go doesn't mean forgetting them. You can learn to step forward without forgetting the past. I've seen one prime example of that. The past clings to her like a nasty plague. Despite that, she inches forward little by little. And I see how it changed her."

Dimitri snapped his head up, dull blue eyes flickering with recognition. "Satiana?" he whispered her name softly.

Byleth nodded. "She carries a different burden than you. Do you remember what I told you last time? If you wish to know more, you must ask her on your own. Whether she takes your hand, that is a different story. But there are some things I believe only you two can understand about each other. As fellow survivors."

"I…haven't mustered up the courage to talk to her yet. Maybe I'm the only one who noticed it, but she seems to avoid me," Dimitri muttered. "I don't want to make her uncomfortable with my presence."

Byleth released Dimitri's hands and chuckled to herself. "Dimitri, you must be the one to initiate the conversation. If not, you two can never reconcile your…differences." Byleth chose her words carefully, cerulean orbs twinkling knowingly. "Satiana can be easily frightened. Knowing her, she will never choose to befriend you first. Therefore, you should be the one to take the first step. Trust me. It will be fine. That is…" she trailed off, hesitating for a split second. "As long as those voices inside your head do not cloud your thoughts."

Dimitri smiled wryly. "Then maybe I should prolong my discussion with her. Unfortunately, I can still hear them very clearly, professor. I am sorry."

Byleth exhaled deeply. "No worries, Dimitri. Take your time." She lifted her cup of tea and took another sip, letting the soothing herbal aroma elevate her dampening mood. She placed the cup back onto its placeholder. "Now, perhaps it's time for a change of pace. Dimitri, there is something that I need to ask you."

Dimitri raised his eyebrows. "And what would that be about, professor?"

"What exactly do you plan to do after you graduate? I want to hear your thoughts. More specific details, if possible." Byleth crossed her legs, leaning her back against the chair into a comfortable position. "What are your thoughts about the current political situation in Fodlan?"

Dimitri released a small snort in surprise. He straightened his posture, lips curling into a lop-sided smile. He sighed softly, leaning against his elbow as he placed his head on his palm. "Professor, that is quite a heavy topic for a tea party."

Byleth shrugged. "To be fair, you have a tendency to prefer serious matters, Dimitri. You're not a man of humor, after all."

Dimitri chuckled in response. "That, you are correct, professor." Then he frowned. "I'm not sure where I should begin. But first off, I need to discover the truth behind the Tragedy of Duscur. I cannot move forward without putting that incident to rest behind me."

"And what do you plan to do once you find those that slaughtered your brethren?" Byleth asked dourly.

Dimitri didn't hesitate before he spoke. Not even the slightest sign of reluctance. Merciless and brutal, his powerful aura swarmed over the duo. Byleth had only seen a small glimpse of it so far, but now she realized she was facing the potent darkness fully unsheathed. His eyes glistened like polished coal, dark and shadowed. "I will kill them all. Revenge is all that the current me lives for. As the sole survivor, it is my duty to appease the souls of the dead by bringing them the heads of those evil bastards."

Byleth closed her eyes, turning away from Dimitri's sudden outburst of unimaginable hatred and loathing. She refused to show him how much his words affected her and feigned indifference with the usual blank expression on her face. "I see. If that is what you truly wish for, then I will not stop you. However, as your teacher, let me give you some advice." She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts together. "Before your duty to the dead, I wish you will become the King Faerghus needs in the present."

Dimitri paused, the menace surrounding him wavering against the light breeze sweeping through the table. He folded his hands on the table with a frown. "Professor, I understand what you are trying to tell me. It is true that Faerghus is in huge turmoil as of lately. Bandits run rampant, thievery becomes second nature, haughty nobles greedily rake in their profits. I am aware that I am the only one capable of stopping this mess in my father's stead. However, I am not worthy of such a position. Although the Kingdom needs me, I cannot proudly stand up to aversion and take control when I have not cleared all the doubts in my head about that tragedy."

Byleth had an inscrutable expression etched upon her features. It was hard to tell whether his response disappointed her, but there was no denying that look in her eyes. He had seen it countless times throughout his life from various spectators.

Pity.

Dimitri felt woeful, eyes softening. "Professor, please, do not look at me like that."

"...I can't help it, Dimitri. Sometimes, when I see you, my heart throbs. It's not a pleasant feeling." Byleth raised her hand absentmindedly to her chest. "It hurts, to be honest."

Dimitri chuckled somberly, shutting his eyes away from her shifting expressions. "I can't believe I moved you with my story. It's quite the sight to see you so blatantly unnerved like this. Though such a sour expression does not fit a person of your stature, professor. I'd rather see you smile or laugh instead. Surely, that would be a brilliant sight."

"I'm sorry," Byleth apologized. "I'll…try to smile more next time."

Dimitri hid a snort under his breath. "Professor, there's no point if you have to force yourself to feel joy. Then again, it's my fault for speaking of such grim topics." He shook his head lightly, returning to the pleasant, well-mannered facade he usually had on. "Professor, thank you for spending time with me. I really enjoy your company. Perhaps next time, I will have a…better response to your inquiries."

Byleth nodded. "Yes. I hope you take my words into consideration, Dimitri. I do not want to see you walking down a path of self-destruction."

"Of course, professor. Now, I shall take my leave. It has been a pleasure." Dimitri slid out of his seat and gave the professor a bow before he turned towards the exit of the garden.

Each step he took grew heavier, and he sank rapidly into the muddied swamp inside of him. Unfortunately for him, the light hung temptingly in front of him, yet was placed just barely out of reach. It wasn't possible for him to shed away the chains that bound him to the darkness.

At least not yet.

Chapter Text

[White Clouds]

The Goddess' Rite of Rebirth

It had been many moons since she'd last stepped into Professor Hanneman's study. Now that she was here again, her initial impression about the said man had not changed. He was a peculiar scholar, too nosy and pushy for his own good. Not to mention, he was enthusiastic about topics regarding the Goddess or the mysterious appearance of crests over the past centuries; Satiana had little to no interest in such dour concepts.

"You have done a great job leading Satiana here, Linhardt. As your teacher, I am proud of you," Hanneman spoke, hands rubbing Linhardt's shoulders.

It was probably just her imagination, but Satiana saw large, glittering petals floating out of his head as he beamed at her. There was nothing scarier than a mad experimenter, in Satiana's opinion. She shied away from his blazing gaze, choosing to focus her attention on a random piece of paper on the floor.

"Professor Hanneman, please try to calm down." Linhardt cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes. "Satiana is here to help us with our research. We are not here to press her for information nor coerce her into doing something she does not wish to."

Hanneman blinked twice before he rubbed the back of his neck. "Of course, Linhardt. I am aware of that. Besides, someone already reminded me not to mess with her, I mean, ahem!" He smoothed over his mistake with a cough. "A-Anyway, I would like to extend my utmost gratitude towards you for choosing to spend time with a boring, old scholar like me." He turned towards Satiana, who was sitting in a chair in the room's corner. "Please, take your time. I would love to hear about your story."

Satiana's gaze trailed up and down, dissecting every tick and twitch. After a full minute of silence, she glanced towards Linhardt. With a curt nod, Linhardt gave her the extra push to unseal her frozen lips. She breathed a sigh, preparing herself before she finally found her voice. "Professor Hanneman, before I tell you my story, I would like you to promise me something."

"And what would that be?" Hanneman asked.

"Swear yourself to secrecy. This…research that you and Linhardt have been engaging in. If the world realizes a body can hold two crests, I can only imagine the horrors that would occur. Greedy nobles will spend their fortune to fuel tragic experiments on their children. The importance of crests in our society will only be elevated and I'm sure no one wants that. Well, maybe the church does, but you know what I mean," Satiana spoke on auto-pilot, fingers fidgeting with the loose strands of her uniform. "Anyway, please promise me that whatever I tell you today stays only between us."

Hanneman bent down onto his knee in front of Satiana and nodded, placing his hand on top of his chest. "I swear on the name Hanneman von Essar. As a prominent figure of crestology, I will not allow my curiosity to harm the bereaved members of our crest-ridden society. Never again shall I stand aside as I see someone fall from grace because of our world's obsession with power and authority."

Satiana winced in response to Hanneman's declaration. "Woah, okay. Since when was this so serious?"

Hanneman only chuckled at her as he twirled his mustache around with his index finger. "Don't mind me, Satiana. I'm just showing you the respect you deserve." He walked back towards his desk and sat down on the chair. Folding his hands on top of the table, he smiled at Satiana. "Now, whenever you are ready, I would like to hear details about the so-called crest experimentations you have suffered through."

Linhardt stood against the wall, leaning his left shoulder on the giant bookshelf in the room. He folded his arms across his chest and listened to the following conversation.

Satiana didn't know where to start. She needed time — no, scratch that. She needed to breathe first because telling Hanneman her story meant reliving the years she spent in solitude underground, lying on the cutting table with blood pooling out of her open wounds. She hadn't even spoken a word yet and already the anxiety was soul-wrecking.

"I don't know the exact mechanics of the so-called crest experimentation. However, I can tell you what they…did to me," Satiana spoke at a grueling, slow pace. She glanced up at Hanneman for a moment, noting the way his smile was warm and inviting.

She took a deep breath and began sinking inside her memories, recalling every detail of the tragedy. "First, there are two major components to the experiment. One, the use of crest stones. Two, the blood of crest-wielders," Satiana began in a shaky voice.

"No need to rush, Satiana. We have all day." Hanneman's smile widened. "Take your time."

She swallowed, shaking her head. "Y-Yes, I know. Anyway, as you already know, crests are inherited through blood. Therefore, only those with certain bloodlines flowing through them can withstand the crest's powers." She clasped her hands, popping the veins outwards. "So…you need to partake in blood reconstruction surgery in order to live with a crest inside of you."

"Hm…" Hanneman rubbed his chin, eyes narrowing. "I see."

Satiana's eyes grew unfocused. "T-Then, in order to change your blood to fit the needs of the crest you are supposed to be implanted with, your body is cut open. I mean that literally. Like with a knife or dagger. Whatever you have at hand." She exhaled shakily, closing her eyes shut. "You risk dying from blood loss if you just shove a dagger inside someone's abdomen. So the experiment only works if they cut you open, well, very slowly. Little by little."

Her head drooped down to her fists, and she huddled in on herself, shoulders quaking under the tyranny of the nightmares plaguing her thoughts. "A-And then, they pour someone else's blood inside of you. It hurts like hell. That's an understatement, by the way. It's like…like a fire erupted inside of you."

She felt a hand tap her shoulder, and she whipped her head up. Linhardt stood in front of her, with an inscrutable expression on his face. She glanced downwards and noticed the small cup of tea he was holding in his hands. The aroma reminded her of fresh herbs and she took the cup off his hands.

She breathed, letting the sweet scent soothe her bundle of nerves.

"I vomited for days. I fainted many times, but they wouldn't stop. They'd continue performing those stupid experiments on me and my body would reject it every single time. Eventually, they gave up on the blood-surgery process altogether and skipped a whole step, shoving a crest stone inside of me." Satiana chugged down the contents, letting the warmth seep underneath her skin. It distracted her focus for a moment, giving her room to sigh. "I blacked out from the pain. I don't know what happened afterward, but from the expressions of the mages who experimented on me, it seemed like I had either vomited out the stone or cut myself open in reflex to throw the object out of my body."

Satiana placed the cup down on the table beside her.

"Of course, there were many failures. Many died in the process. Some even turned into…well…monsters. I-I don't know what happened, but they went insane and before I knew it, they had morphed into beasts. I know I sound like I'm crazy, but you have to believe me." She lifted her teary eyes up to meet Hanneman. "No one should ever have to go through such pain. Out of the hundreds and thousands of children, only two or three ever made it out alive. And even then, they didn't survive unscathed by all the pain and trauma."

She felt a lone teardrop spilling from her swelling eyes and she rubbed it away with her sleeves. "I'm sorry. That's all I know. Maybe Lysithea's experience was different. We try not to talk about it with each other."

There was a lull in the conversation, during which they all seemed to understand that no words could ever appease the feelings of the victims. Linhardt was staring at the floor, while Hanneman had his head buried into his hands. An uncomfortable miasma settled over the room as each inhabitant brooded over their thoughts.

Satiana eventually sniffed, breaking the silence. "Um, sorry. I don't know if I helped you at all—"

"No, please, no. Do not apologize for anything," Hanneman interrupted her, and she flinched at the amount of bitterness in his voice. Hanneman lifted his head up and met her watery orbs with a forlorn look of his own. "I'm sorry. What you went through. I know more than anyone how obsessed nobles can be with having a crest-born child. However, to think it went to the degree of…of such inhumane torture. I dare not fathom what you went through." Hanneman bowed his head at a sharp angle, forehead almost flat against the table. "I sincerely apologize for making you relive such painful memories. You were very brave, Satiana. I cannot thank you enough for your insight."

Satiana rubbed her eyes again with her fingers. She blinked the remnants of tears out of her eyes. "N-No, professor. I didn't do anything."

"You've done plenty enough, Satiana." Hanneman then gestured towards Linhardt with a wave of his hand. "Linhardt, I want you to gather all the books in the library that have to do with medieval medical procedures. Anything that involves blood transplants. Also, if possible, books on crest stones and their uses. I doubt Lady Rhea has given us access to them, but we can try to see what is available for now."

Linhardt nodded. "Alright, professor. I'll be back soon."

The door to the study closed behind her and Satiana jumped at the noise. She was on high alert, nerves jittery and sweat pouring down her face. She puffed a long breath of air and kneaded her palms. Wiggling her toes, Satiana attempted to release the tension inside of her.

"Satiana, I promise you, I will try my best to find a cure for Lysithea's condition. From what I heard, it seems the experiment has shortened her lifespan," Hanneman continued. "I have spent my whole life in earnest pursuit of the truth behind the phenomenon we call crests. Many lives have suffered because of its existence, while others have been destroyed because of their lack of crests. I have lived until this day to figure out how I can help such victims of our wicked world with my knowledge and prowess. You have helped me further my cause today. I must thank you again for that."

Satiana perked up at his words. "Professor Hanneman, you speak on a very personal level when you talk about the current crest-ridden state of Fodlan. Will you be able to tell me more about your experience?"

Hanneman blinked. "Hm? You mean my experience with crests?"

"I don't mean your research, by the way. I don't know how much Jeralt has told the Church, but I have lived my life far away from the influence of the rest of Fodlan."

She was suddenly reminded of Edelgard's words. That there was an enemy beyond the dark mages that slithered in the dark. Satiana had been occupied with Lord Lonato's rebellion and the exposure of her existence to Felix and Sylvain that it robbed her of the opportunity to interrogate Edelgard about her intentions. Even now, Edelgard seemed to escape from her knowing eyes and ears, always hiding away from her.

Edelgard told her to explore Fodlan for her own sake and she was right. Satiana's world was nothing more than a small well in the grand scheme of things. Her experiences had exposed her to the hidden darkness in Fodlan — the Tragedy of Duscur and the existence of those who slithered in the dark. Rodrigue was her first experience with the nobility of Fodlan, and Viscount Hyrm was the second. Both were jarring experiences; the disparity between the two was…eye-opening. Then, she had her first real confrontation with the Church through Lord Lonato's rebellion.

Altogether, it was really her first time seeing the entirety of Fodlan in a nutshell. Her experience thus far had created an image of a dark, looming shadow threatening to devour the land whole. This shadow came from all sides: the corrupted nobility, the starving poor, the secretive church. Everything was corrupted from the bottom of the pyramid to the top and Satiana finally understood what Edelgard wanted to tell her.

Exposing the existence of those who slithered in the dark would only be a small step forward in the eradication of all corruption in Fodlan. But Satiana was no…king. She was just a small pawn, trying her best to redeem herself and pay for her past sins of ignorance. She didn't know whether she wanted to play the role of a messiah.

All she wanted to do was bring some appeasement to the victims of the experiments by killing those involved, but it seemed like Edelgard had more grandiose plans.

Satiana didn't know whether she wanted to involve herself in such lofty matters. But for now, gaining more insight about Fodlan wouldn't hurt.

"Satiana, there is something that I would like to ask you," Hanneman spoke. He interlocked his fingers underneath his chin, eyes downcast. "What or who do you think is the entity that is responsible for the experiments performed on you?"

Satiana frowned. "Well, of course, it's the dark mages. I don't know what their true goals are, but they destroyed countless lives for their own greedy needs."

"I see," Hanneman responded. "So that is where you have turned your blade towards. I understand how you feel, of course. It's much easier to feel hatred towards a tangible existence than something that is much more…deep-rooted in our society."

Satiana tilted her head to the side, brows furrowing. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, if you asked Lysithea, I think she would have a different answer from you." Hanneman was smiling, but there was deep sorrow swirling in his eyes, Satiana couldn't help but feel like she had said something wrong. "I agree with you that we should hold the dark mages who performed such heinous experiments on you responsible. But will destroying them truly stop these experiments from occurring again?"

Satiana froze, blue orbs widening. "I…have never thought that far." She found herself lost, thoughts in disarray. "I was so focused on my hatred towards those bastards who killed the children and turned them into mindless puppets I never thought about anything else."

Hanneman nodded. "I do not blame you. When one is in emotional turmoil, it becomes easier for one to have tunnel vision. As your senior in life and academics, I would like to give you advice. Of course, this is just my opinion from what I have experienced in my life." He chuckled wryly. "Satiana, in my opinion, even if you eradicate the mages that destroyed your lives, there may be another group in the future who attempt to do the same things they did. Why? Because crests for some are not a luxury, but a necessity."

Satiana took another sip from the cup of tea next to her. She closed her eyes, letting Hanneman's words sink in. The warm afternoon rays of sunshine seeping through the open windows played against her features, sharpening them. "I see. You are trying to tell me it is this world's obsession with crests that have led to my…our suffering."

Hanneman reclined into his chair, blank eyes gazing far into the distance as if reliving some past nostalgia. "This world has always been…unfair towards those that do not possess crests. Since you have lived a life far from the touch of nobility and influence of the Church, you have no idea how important crests are to the rest of Fodlan." He exhaled, face growing weary and old, not with age but with emotional exhaustion. "Crests are believed to be blessings bestowed by the Goddess. They grant special powers to those who hold them, such as higher aptitude for magic, enhanced strength, and other boons that give them edges over others."

"Yes, I know that crests allow people to be stronger. That's why the mages performed experiments on us. Because they wanted to create invincible children or soldiers," Satiana hummed in thought.

Hanneman nodded. "As a result, we value highly crests in our society. Many noble houses will do anything to obtain them, whether through marriage or adoption. Of course, these nobles do everything they can to gain a crest-bearing heir, then throw away the pawns that are useless to them, such as commoners who do not share their prestige. It is also not unheard of for noble children to be disowned because they lack crests."

Satiana remembered some children back in Caldea and the training centers. There were indeed a few noble children abandoned there because their parents believed in the opportunity the mages provided for their children. She gritted her teeth, anger flaring. "I see. That is very…terrible." She was, of course, understating it all. She finally came to understand what Edelgard was perhaps trying to tell her.

That it was the existence of crests that led to her sufferings, not the dark mages. But why would Edelgard act as if the two were not two sides of the same coin? Regardless of their inherent motives, it did not change the fact that those who slithered in the dark were equally responsible for the abominable experimentations and incidents across Fodlan. They used these greedy nobles to their benefit and controlled them like puppets in order to spread the seeds of chaos in Fodlan.

So why on earth was Edelgard choosing to hide their existence away from everyone?

"I had a sister once," Hanneman steered the conversation to newer grounds. "She was a very healthy young lady. Adorable, even. I always doted on her as her brother. I took care of her, loved her like no one else."

Satiana waited, feeling there was more to come.

"But then she was sold off in an arranged marriage to some unknown noble house who wanted a crest-bearing child. She herself did not bear a crest, but most of our family members did. They wanted her blood to be blunt," Hanneman spoke, tired eyes quivering under the memories. "I begged my parents to reconsider their decision, but no one listened to me. They thought it was for her own good to be married to a well-off noble house, especially because she had little worth as a crest-less woman."

Then, his tone changed into one of warmth and kindness. "But there was one thing I was glad about. Her husband was a kind-hearted man. He loved her for all she was, not because of her precious bloodline. He took great care of her and they bore many children together, even though they were all crestless, in the end."

Satiana's gaze softened. "I see. Then she lived a happy life, I assume."

Hanneman shook his head. "I'm afraid her happiness was short-lived. I only heard about it from her husband later, but her father-in-law constantly abused her because she didn't bear a single crest for their family. In the end, she chose suicide and took all her children with her, leaving the bereaved husband to wallow in despair."

Hanneman exhaled heavily, taking off his monocles with shaky hands. He wiped the dirt off them as if trying to distract himself from the whirlwind of complicated emotions inside of him. "Her husband went mad with sorrow and ended up slaughtering his entire family…including mine. The House of Essar bloodline ends with me, who survived because I was away on a scholarly exchange in the Kingdom."

Satiana felt her stomach plummet. Hanneman's story had reminded her of something she had not paid attention to for years. She tried to squash that involuntary knot of anxiety rising up her chest, but to no avail. The revelation was heartbreaking.

She swallowed, her voice trembling with horror and shock. "P-Professor Hanneman. You said your sister's husband killed his family, correct?"

Hanneman stared at her knowingly and nodded. "Yes, he did."

It was like someone stabbed her in the heart with a flaming dagger. An undeniable noise of sorrow escaped from her lips as she choked on thin air, the sudden epiphany threatening to destroy her existence. She remembered it all — the instances of fake smiles and plastic laughs. The grim mossy-green eyes that often gleamed with such tremendous darkness underneath the moonlight. The constant physical affection he gave to her since when she was still a young child. The first time they met and the way his eyes were…dead. Lifeless. Soulless.

Is this why you wanted to die all along? Because you had no one left worth living for in this world?

"What was his name?" Satiana asked, though she already knew the damning answer waiting in front of her. But she wanted someone to confirm it for her. Make her nightmares come true. Because now, she could finally know what words to say to the man the next time she saw him.

That it was okay to think of her as his long, lost child. That she cared about him as one of her only parental figures in the world. That she was sorry for making light of his speech about making her his adopted child and turning him away for Jeralt instead.

"I believe you are well acquainted already," Hanneman spoke softly. "He asked me to hide your crest away from the Church. I still have not told anyone about it. His name is Renard. Renard von Dietrich."

"Dietrich…Renard von Dietrich…" she repeated it under her breath, searing his name into her brain.

She should've asked Renard earlier about it all, but the two of them still had this strange wall between them. They didn't like to talk about their traumas with each other because it only meant reliving them. She was thankful for the space he gave her, but now, she felt like she had been pushing him away for far too long, brushing each step he took towards her as a bland joke. The man often hid under a pile of masks, but he was slowly becoming genuine around her. Like the last time when he almost died in her arms.

He was one sappy soul but Satiana knew he meant well.

Satiana stood up from her seat, bowing deeply at Hanneman. "Professor, thank you so much for today. I have learned a lot about myself and this world, just by talking to you."

Hanneman stood up from his seat as well and swerved around his desk, avoiding the piles of paperwork scattered throughout the room. He patted her shoulder, a father-like smile on his face as he gazed at her with warmth and care. "I'm the one who wants to thank you. I see you were able to give him the peace I could never have. I've always wanted to thank him for loving Helena until the very end, but it's only right for him to hate me for being a failure as a brother. I wasn't even there for her in her last moments, engrossed in my own studies. That is why I have sworn to myself since that day on. I will use my research to benefit Fodlan and save it from the curse of crests. I swear I will save Lysithea, Satiana. No matter how long it takes, I will create a cure for her condition."

Satiana felt a small burden lifting from her shoulders. She was light-weighted, steps feathery for the first time in a very long while.

Indeed, even in this disgusting world of bloodshed and cruelty, beautiful souls still tried their best to survive. Jeralt, Rodrigue, Renard, Lysithea, Hanneman, and many others. There were people who understood her pain and tried to help her along her blood-stained path.

Yes, this crest-ridden world was at fault for most of the heinous crimes. But even then, she believed one day, all these small buds of hope will flourish and bloom. Hanneman's research, Rodrigue's attempt to change Faerghus's nobility, Lysithea and her County, Jeralt and Satiana's efforts to destroy the mages.

She wasn't alone in this world. Not anymore. She had a ton of new comrades with her. Even the Blue Lions, if she dared to hope for their hands.

Satiana exited Hanneman's room, closing the door behind him. Then she leaned against the door, exhaling with a peaceful smile on her face.

Edelgard, I wonder how the world looks in your eyes? Fodlan may be a corrupt place, but it is not hopeless by any means. Can you not see these flowers blooming even underneath the most violent rainstorms and the darkest nights?

Of course, there was no answer. Only the lonely, wind whispers surrounding her gave her a glimpse of what Edelgard's answer would've been.

The underground hand-drawn map Renard gave him was absolutely worthless — as worthless as the said man himself because Jeralt wanted nothing more than to strangle his partner for making him waste more than half a day on reaching the Abyss. He had almost fallen prey to every single trap possible: tripwires, pitfalls, crushing walls, you name it.

At least Renard wasn't lying when he told Jeralt the Abyss was an obnoxious maze to weave yourself through. Although Jeralt had to admit, Renard severely underplayed the intricate layout of the Abyss. Whoever created the place was no less than a genius.

The dimly lit tunnels, barely visible if not for the burning torches on the wall, spread down almost every direction possible. Combined with the large water passageways that crossed over every tunnel, without a guide or, in Jeralt's case, a poorly drawn map, it would be hard to find one's bearings. Every wall looked the same, each tunnel a carbon copy of their neighbor. Add in the black splotches of darkness and numerous piles of rubble blocking certain passageways and the underground passage was a nightmare to traverse.

Jeralt had no idea what time it was when he finally reached an open clearing inside the sewer passages. He found himself lost in the middle of what seemed to be a black market. At first glance, it seemed to be no different from the market on the monastery grounds. There was an armory and a food stand, nothing out of the norm. But on closer inspection, the goods being sold were all either second-hand half-broken weapons or rare, luxurious relics from who-knows-where.

Then there was the weird priest cloaked in white clothing who called himself the influencer. Perhaps he was the one who created the altar of the Pagan Goddess, but Jeralt knew better than to rely on some prayers to a statue that magically offered A-ranked weapons in return for one's faith.

Really, everything just seemed like a giant hoax.

The Abyss had earned a nasty reputation for itself and Jeralt was experiencing first-handedly what made others so afraid of the place. There was no law enforcement, no protection, nothing. It was a barren, savage land where only the strongest survived. Everyone who lurked down the corridors looked like vagabonds, thieves, old beggars, or orphans.

Jeralt knew better than to involve himself with such an untrusty crew, but he had business deep inside the Abyss. He was here with a mission in mind. Of course, he didn't actually believe he would find what he sought for deep underneath the monastery, but it was worth a try.

Renard had reminded him of a familiar existence he had buried deep underneath his memories for the past twenty years or so. Aelfric, a long-lost friend he never thought he would hear of again. Sitri seemed to enjoy making light conversation with him when Jeralt wasn't around; he'd heard her mention Aelfric's name in passing a few times. Jeralt himself did not have many opportunities to talk to the said man, but he knew Aelfric was someone who secretly worshiped his wife.

Then again, Sitri was a beautiful flower blooming alone in the midst of such a dry and desolate place. Everyone yearned to talk to her at least once in their lifetime. And it was no other than Jeralt, the Blade Breaker himself, who ended up plucking her petals, stealing her away from the garden of Eden root and all, showing her the path to a new world that ended up taking her life.

Perhaps Aelfric would hate him for failing to protect Sitri when it mattered the most. But for now, their past vendetta aside, Jeralt had more pressing matters to talk to him about. He already failed to protect his beloved wife. He can't fail his new daughter too, or what kind of man would he be?

Aelfric…if you are involved with those dark mages…

Jeralt clenched his teeth, barely restraining himself from snarling out loud. He sauntered down the paths, searching for his target. He ended up strolling past what appeared to be a classroom. Shifting the cloak forward, he hid his face underneath the shadows and briskly rushed past the door. He took a quick glance inside the room, memorizing the three figures he saw sitting on top of the half-broken desks. One man who looked like a brawler, one woman with such vibrant red hair, and another who looked like a high-class noble lady.

The man jerked his head towards the door, beast-like instincts flaring, and Jeralt darted into the shadows with near-silent steps, lying his back flat against the shadows inside the hallway. The man strode out the door with narrowed eyes. He swiveled around in place, searching for signs of intruders. Jeralt slid backward, deeper into the tunnel and clasped a hand over his nose, stifling his breath.

"Hey, Balthus. What's wrong with you?" A female voice echoed down the corridor.

"Nothing. Probably just a rat." The man named Balthus clicked his tongue once in annoyance before he retreated into the classroom, throwing himself into banter with the previous woman.

Jeralt waited for an entire minute, concealing his presence underneath the dark spots underground. He eventually released a small sigh, taking a step out from the shadows, hand shifting away from the hilt of his lance. He let his guard down, unbeknownst to the emerging blade glimmering palpably red from the torches behind him.

A hand shot out from the stygian darkness and grabbed him by the shoulder. Jeralt gasped, launching his elbow behind on pure reflex when he felt silver metal against the base of his throat. He leaned back toward the opponent and allowed himself to be hauled deeper into the shadows, barely avoiding the blade on his neck.

Fuck, I was careless…!

He grabbed the arm in front of his windpipe with both hands and ducked, pushing the arm upward with all of his strength. The opponent released a small yelp, stumbling backward at the overwhelming strength. Jeralt swept low, aiming to knock the enemy off their feet. Unfortunately for him, the opponent was light on his feet, leaping meters away from him, just out of his lance's reach.

"Who are you?" Jeralt bellowed out into the darkness, whipping his lance out from behind him. He pointed the sharp end towards the opponent, bending low. "Answer me!"

"Woah, hold on a minute." The opponent stifled a chuckle. "I think that's what I want to ask you. Who are you and what are you doing in front of the Ashen Wolves's classroom? You don't seem like a regular customer in the Abyss, judging by your clean uniform and all." The enemy took a step forward, the edges of his hair glowing purple from the dimmed lighting. Intense orchid-purple orbs pierced through the dark shades as the man emerged from the shadows, carrying a mid-length blade in his hand. He tilted his head to the side, placing his free hand on his hip in a show of confidence.

Jeralt narrowed his eyes at the man. He looked incredibly young and astonishingly feminine. If Jeralt had not heard him speak, he would've easily mistaken the man for a young woman. Then again, his gender was the least of Jeralt's problems. The way the man carried himself reminded Jeralt of Renard and, to a smaller degree, Satiana. It was obvious from the way he caught Jeralt off guard from behind. This man was used to spending his life in the shadows and was, with no doubt, a well-trained assassin.

Just his luck to face an assassin on his first day underground.

"Sorry, but I'm not in the mood for a fight," Jeralt responded in a low voice, honey-gold orbs glistening in the dark, creating an ominous atmosphere around the two of them. "There's someone that I'm looking for in the Abyss and until I find him, I cannot leave this place."

"Hm, well if you're speaking the truth, I believe I can help you." The man in front of Jeralt lowered his blade slightly, feigning friendliness, but the grip he maintained on his weapon showed otherwise. His expression remained stoic; no twitch or even a flicker of emotion that could be interpreted as being anything akin to amiability. "Who is it that you're looking for? I happen to know quite a lot of people here. No one escapes my watchful eyes."

It was impossible to read the young man. Jeralt realized he had walked right into the lion's den and escape was not an option, especially with this man on his trail. If he retreated, the young man would stalk him all the way above ground, perhaps even trace after his closest friends, keeping tabs on everything that he did in the monastery.

He couldn't endanger Satiana or his daughter. And so Jeralt chose the only option he had left.

"I'm looking for someone named Aelfric. If you know where he is, tell him that a man named Jeralt Eisner wants to discuss something of high importance with him," Jeralt bellowed, voice echoing down the empty hall. He made a show of lowering his lance, pointing the end at the ground. "If you can do that for me, I have no reason to fight against you. I'm not out for blood here."

The young man stayed silent, hawk-like gaze dissecting his intentions. There was a long silence between them before Jeralt heard metal hitting the ground. The young man stood with his blade stabbed onto the floor, lips curled up into an enchanting, smug grin. "Well, what do you know? You're quite the well-seasoned veteran, huh, old man?" The young man started laughing. "To be honest, I thought you would start hacking your way through my defenses. You have to admit. You don't look like the type with brains. More like muscles and brawl."

Jeralt rolled his eyes. "I don't care what you think of me. Just hurry up and tell me if you know where Aelfric is already."

"Now, now, there's no hurry. Don't worry. Aelfric will be back soon. He's currently busy around the border." The young man then completely walked out of the darkness, showing himself to Jeralt. "So, the infamous blade breaker, huh?"

Jeralt raised an eyebrow. "You know who I am?"

The man snorted, throwing his hands into the air. "Please, who do you think I am? I may look like a brat to you, but I'm still the second in command around here." The man then leaned his shoulder against the wall, crossing his arms around his chest, eyes twinkling. "I was being honest, you know? I was prepared to fight against you, but then you acted totally differently than I expected. You're more level-headed than what the gossips say."

Jeralt stared flatly at the young man in front of him. He flipped his lance into the air, attaching it behind his back to where it belonged. "Don't play games with me, brat. You knew who I was the moment you attacked me from behind, didn't you?" It wasn't an accusation. Jeralt now knew exactly what kind of opponent he was dealing with.

"You're right, I did." The young man suppressed a snicker. "I only pretended to, well, threaten you a bit. It's not often we get someone of such high prestige like you around here, acting like a sewer rat." He snorted, shaking his head in exasperation. "Really, next time, try not to act so conspicuously. Just stroll through the front gates. I'll even give you a tour the next time you find yourself down here."

Jeralt glowered at him. "I don't have time to waste here. I need information fast, and if Aelfric isn't here, then I'll have to take my leave for today."

"Geez, you really are in a hurry, huh?" The feminine man rolled his eyes. "Calm down for a moment. I told you, didn't I? I'm the second in command around here. Surely, I'm your best bet when it comes to information. I'll even notify you when Aelfric returns."

Jeralt scoffed. "Sorry, but I don't buy your act. What do you want from me?"

The young man looked taken aback. "Hm? What do you mean?"

Jeralt sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in irritation. "You assassins are all the same. Hiding behind a thousand layers of masks. Acting as if you're dumb when you know everything already." Jeralt narrowed his eyes. "Look, young man. I knew from the moment you snuck up behind me you didn't want to kill me. If you wanted to, I wouldn't be standing here alive right now. Yet you chose to probe my intentions, albeit knowing who I was from the beginning. You say you thought I would fight against you, but I doubt my reputation has gone completely down the gutters. I was once a part of the Knights of Seiros, after all. Which means you want something from me. "

"Indeed, I do." He shifted his attitude, a whimsical grin plastered on his handsome features. "To think you've read me that far. I have to admit, I'm impressed, sir Jeralt."

"Hah!" Jeralt grunted. "I just happen to carry around a rowdy bunch with me and a few of them have the same affinity towards the darkness as you do." Then, Jeralt stared directly into those mesmerizing, knowing orbs. "Now, tell me. What do you want from me?"

"First, let me introduce myself. The name's Yuri." He yanked his sword out of the ground, sliding it back gracefully inside the sheathe on his hips. "And I've been watching Aelfric for the same reasons you are."

Jeralt froze, eyes widening. "You're a spy? For who?"

"I wouldn't call it like that, but for now, you can think of me that way," Yuri said with a shrug. "And I won't tell you who hired me to do this, but I plan on selling out Aelfric eventually. He's a good guy. Or at least, he was until he tipped over the edge." Yuri sighed, eyes somewhat wistful, though Jeralt had no idea how genuine he was being. "Anyway, I believe I have the information that you need. You're here about his involvement with the Western Church, correct?"

Jeralt frowned. "So, you even know about that, huh?"

Yuri smirked. "What can I say? I'm a brilliant spy, though it's embarrassing to admit to myself. But enough of that. Let's get to the real business."

Yuri plopped himself down onto the ground, sitting cross-legged with a beaming smile on his face. He waved towards Jeralt, beckoning him closer. Jeralt reluctantly complied, shifting closer towards Yuri before he bent down onto his knees before the young man. Yuri leaned into Jeralt's personal space, enthralling purple irises narrowing.

"I'll get straight to the point. Your suspicions are correct. Aelfric has been smuggling out crest stones from the Central Church and has been providing them to the Western Church. Why? Because he wants to kill Lady Rhea as much as those bastards do. Their goals align and he has nothing to lose," Yuri whispered under his breath. "Now, about what you can do for me. I need your help. Or more exactly, I need you to distract Aelfric for a bit. I'll let you know when the time is right."

"And why should I do that for you?" Jeralt responded gruffly.

"Oh, you'll do it for me alright. I don't even have to convince you. Because if you don't, she's dead," Yuri spoke ominously with enough sternness in his voice Jeralt knew immediately who Yuri was talking about. If the man truly knew everything about Jeralt as he claimed to, then it was obvious Satiana was in deep danger.

Jeralt swore under his breath, clenching his fists as he trembled in fury. No matter how much he wanted to deny it, he wanted to believe in Aelfric. The man was faithful and kindhearted, though oddly obsessed at times. He was too righteous for his own good and the words of others easily corrupted that justice of his. If possible, Jeralt wanted Aelfric to prove his suspicions wrong — show that he had nothing to do with those heinous experiments on Satiana and the poor children of Caldea and Fodlan.

But if he was involved with the Western Church, who knew what he was up to behind the scenes? And of all things, he wanted to kill Rhea?

It was time for Jeralt to throw away his last ounce of respect towards the said man. No more hope. No more second chances. Aelfric was kind enough to lay off Sitri, but if he dared to reach his hands towards Jeralt's last remaining jewels, he'd have to pay with his life.

"Fucking hell. What does he need her for?" Jeralt slammed his fist into the ground.

"Something you cannot even imagine in your wildest dreams, Jeralt." Yuri was stone-faced now. Any remnants of trickery or mischief disappeared with the howling wind echoing down the cold tunnel. "If you want to save her, then you must listen to what I am about to tell you. We only have one chance at destroying his plans."

"What is he up to?" Jeralt asked, honey-golden orbs growing weary with mental exhaustion.

"Well, before that, I need you to promise me you won't, I don't know, just faint over in shock." Yuri's expression hardened as the torches flickered around them. "I'm being serious with you now, Jeralt."

Jeralt did not know what Yuri was afraid of because he was already feeling faint-hearted at the thought of Satiana being in danger and the heavy betrayal of his dear, old friend. Whatever it was Yuri had waiting for him, nothing would faze him anymore. "Just tell me already, brat."

But then again, it seemed like the Goddess loved to betray his trust lately.

Yuri took a deep breath, steeling his resolve. "Well, you better open your ears wide and listen to me because I'm only going to say this once. He wants to revive your wife. What was her name again? Sitri and—"

"What."

Yuri paused, blinking. "Oh yeah, her body is currently resting peacefully near the Abyss. Lady Rhea didn't bury her in the graveyard in the monastery—"

"What the fuck?"

"He wants to revive her using the rite of rising the Four Apostles by using my friends and your adopted daughter's blood in my stead because he believes I'm on his side right now—"

"The four what?!"

"Anyway, that's the long story short. What I need you to do is break into the middle of the ceremony and basically just destroy everything in your sight. You can do that for me, can't you?"

Jeralt launched himself at Yuri and choked the poor man by grabbing his collar, slamming him against the wall. "So, it's your fault he's going for Satiana because you just had to be the rat-bastard double spy you are—"

"Shit, of all things I just revealed to you, that's what caught your attention first?!" Yuri yelled as he coughed for air, scratching against Jeralt's hands. "What about your dead wife?!"

But Jeralt was long gone, brain short-circuiting, exploding into smithereens from an overload of information and Yuri could do nothing to stop his impending doom other than perhaps offering a more long-winded explanation to his plans and maybe a jug of cold beer to calm down the poor man's nerves.

"The Goddess's Rite of Rebirth is finally here. Let's move ahead with our plan," Dimitri said as he stood in the middle of the group as usual. The Blue Lions had gathered in the center of the Cathedral at dawn, fully armed and prepared for battle once the monastery opened itself up to the public. According to security details provided by Seteth, the Blue Lions were to be in charge of the Northeast section of the monastery. This proved to be an advantage for them since they already planned to lay siege on the Holy Mausoleum. "Let's move ahead with our plans."

"You think the other soldiers will realize what we're up to?" Annette whispered in Mercedes's ears.

Mercedes tilted her head to the side. "Hm, I don't think they'll mind as long as we're properly guarding the place. Besides, I highly doubt they'll target the graveyard or the Knights' Hall. There aren't any valuable keepsakes there."

"That is true," Ingrid spoke from beside Mercedes. "If we're to guard the North Courtyard, then there is really only one plausible place of high suspicion."

"Hmph, I don't care what we do as long as I get to fight some of those assassins sent by the Western Church," Felix snorted. "The villagers in Gaspard territory barely provided a challenge. They were nothing more than wooden dummies in the training grounds."

Satiana rolled her eyes. "You and your unstoppable blood thirst. Why can't you just hope for a peaceful encounter like everyone does?"

Sylvain laughed from the very back of the group. "Well, I don't mind if the assassins consist of cute ladies dressed in black." He twirled his lance in the air, whistling a cheery tune. "Maybe I'll even get to take them to town later for a, well, adult conversation."

"Where else would you be taking them to but a prison, Sylvain," Lysithea scoffed, shaking her head in disapproval. "If this is how the Blue Lions act all the time, I'm wondering if all those rumors about you guys were false."

Dimitri chuckled, crossing his arms. "Don't worry. It's true that we are quite a loud group of soldiers, but when it comes down to it, we work together as a well-organized team. Especially with our professor's lead, we have nothing to be afraid of." Then, his expression thinned. "But be careful. These are assassins sent by the Western Church. They are not like any of the opponents we have faced so far. We cannot afford to lose our focus."

"I agree to that," Byleth spoke up from behind Dimitri, catching everyone's attention. "We've got new orders. We can head directly to the Holy Mausoleum and ignore everything else."

"Sweet!" Sylvain snapped his finger, a bright goofy grin on his face. "Did Seteth give you permission to lead us?"

Byleth nodded in response, turning to the side to allow room for Seteth and Flayn to enter the conversation. The man approached the group with the usual stoic expression, his daughter the more light-hearted of the two.

Seteth stood off to the side, glaring at the rest of the students. "You all seem a mite too relaxed for my liking." He stared specifically at the huddle of students around Sylvain and the said man looked up to the ceiling, suddenly gaining interest in a random mural painted on top of the church.

Seteth sighed in disapproval. "We are relying on you to secure the locations that we are lacking in defense. I placed my trust in your hands and I hope you will not choose to disappoint me later. The Holy Mausoleum may not be a treasure vault, but it is a holy and sacred place to the Church. If any harm befalls the tombs lying dormant there…" Seteth trailed off, anger crackling for a split second. "You will all face severe punishment. Mark my words."

The raucous fray of chattering dampened. The students anxiously turned to each other, some with frowns and others with worried expressions. Byleth noticed the change in her student's demeanor and walked up behind Seteth, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Seteth, I promise you, nothing will happen. Please, try not to scare the students too much. As long as I am around, they have nothing to worry about. Besides, people are more prone to make mistakes when they go into battle feeling nervous."

Seteth grunted. "I certainly hope you prove your worth to me. I don't enjoy giving second chances often, professor."

Byleth nodded. "Of course, Seteth. I shall not betray your trust in me."

"May I let you in on something, Professor?" Flayn darted behind Byleth, whispering in a hushed voice. Seteth caught on to her actions but seemed to let her be. Flayn stood on her toes, leaning towards Byleth who knelt down on reflex, allowing Flayn the extra reach she needed. "My brother can be a bit…callous," she snickered under her breath. "He told me he was concerned about you and hinted that perhaps you would be better off patrolling a coffin!"

Seteth groaned, his ears tinged a rosy pink. "Flayn, that was said in jest…and in confidence. Please, just stay by my side and do not cause any trouble."

Byleth smiled at him, cerulean orbs twinkling. "Well, I am patrolling a coffin, indeed. Do not worry, Seteth. I can handle a few skeletons if you need me to."

Satiana resisted the urge to snicker and hid her mouth behind her palms. Sylvain guffawed loudly, saying fuck all to social cues and even Dedue had an indescribable expression on his face, lips twitching upwards. Dimitri coughed, sweatdropping. "Uh, professor? I think we should start patrolling the area now."

Byleth nodded. "You're right. We need time to prepare. Forgive me, Seteth, but it is time for us to excuse ourselves."

Seteth sighed in response. "Of course, you may excuse yourselves. Flayn? Please, follow me." Seteth turned to address his daughter who beamed at him.

"Then, please excuse us, everyone." She bowed gracefully before following her brother's steps. "We shall see you again after the ceremony has concluded."

As the crowd calmed after the exit of the duo, Byleth ushered her students towards their respective posts. They headed immediately towards the Holy Mausoleum, leaving their battalions to roam above ground. According to the plan, Ashe and Annette would stand outside in case they needed reinforcements later on during the battle. Dedue and Sylvain were the front tanks with Byleth hanging behind them. The rest of the students settled in the dimmed lit passageways leading down the stairs to the Holy tomb.

Most of the march was filled with deafening silence, minus a few sounds of bickering here and there from Sylvain and Felix who loved to get into arguments. Ingrid shut them up with a sharp glare and a whack to the back of their heads.

The group descended the spiral staircase leading deeper into the unknown. The number of torches scattered along the walls slowly diminished as their surroundings grew darker, shadows enveloping their path. They had no idea how long they had spent underground, but the endless tunnels took a toll on their mentality.

Sylvain was the first to break under the pressure, whining in the front lines. "Geez, why is it so dark and creepy here? I mean, I understand it's a tomb but—"

"Shh!" Ingrid whispered. "Be quiet already! What if you alerted the enemies to our presence?!"

Sylvain winced. "S-Sorry…"

It was then that Dedue halted. He spread his arm wide across the narrow staircase, preventing the others from following him. The students paused, head turning towards each other in confusion. Dedue refused to elaborate before he knelt down, brows furrowed with sharp eyes narrowed to death.

Byleth was on high alert as she drew her weapon. She leaned against the wall of the staircase, closing her eyes. "I sense a few presences roaming underneath us," her stern voice echoed down their ranks and the students followed suit, drawing their weapons and getting into their battle stances.

Lysithea was at the very back of the group when she froze. "Wait, I think we should change our plans." She squeezed her way to the front, tapping Byleth by the shoulder. "I sense the aura of black magic down there. Dedue won't fare well against mages. We should get Annette and Ashe down here instead so we can snipe at them from afar."

True to her words, streams of black fog emanated from deeper underground. The air grew heavy with tension, caping the small corridor with anxiety.

"I shall go call reinforcements and alert the other houses. I will send Annette and Ashe down here soon," Dedue informed before he pressed himself through the crowd, jogging back up the stairs.

Dimitri took charge instead, making his way to the frontline. "I know I don't fare well against magic users myself, but I am confident in my abilities to lead. Does anyone have any objections?" He glanced behind his shoulder as he readied his lance.

There were no signs of opposition. Everyone nodded in understanding.

Dimitri mirrored their actions, nodding in response before he snapped his attention down the staircase. "We'll be reaching the final staircase soon. After that, spread out evenly amongst ourselves. Lysithea, stay on the right flank and take charge against any mages that lie in our paths. Take Felix with you as well. He can support you from the back. Ingrid, I want you on the left. You have higher magic resistance than anyone of us here. You lead the charge there alongside Sylvain. Professor, Satiana, you two follow my lead and we'll break through the center of their formation. Mercedes, stay close to us and heal anyone who's hurt."

The Blue Lions needed no words. They had faced countless battles together before, even outside of mission dates. Byleth had taught them various formations as they took down monster bounties throughout the past moon. By now, the Blue Lions were an elite group of soldiers.

"Then, let's go!" Dimitri raised his voice as he sprinted down the stairs, emerging from the shadows, barging into the Holy Mausoleum.

The group followed him, descending the final staircase. They emerged in a well-lit open space. Rows and aisles of coffins were scattered throughout the large hall. A short flight of stairs led higher up the room where a larger coffin lay at the top of the altar.

As expected, as soon as they began their siege, a group of assassins and mages clad in dark cloaks scrambled towards them. "Enemy attack! Prepare for battle!" Their presumed leader, a mage in the very far back of the room screamed, launching his arm into the air in a show of leadership.

Dimitri stood in the center of the chaos, glaring at his enemies. "It seems they are after the casket of Saint Seiros. Do they intend to steal her bones?"

"Who cares what they intend to do?" Felix scowled, rushing towards the right. "Slay them all before they get to regroup themselves!"

"Wait, Felix! Don't rush in there without me," Lysithea groaned as she waddled after his steps, gathering a miasma spell in her glowing hands.

"Support him," Byleth barked out from behind, sprinting past Dimitri with her blade raised up high into the air, thirsty for blood. She launched herself at the nearest lancer and pierced him through the heart, slashing his armor off him with a clean swipe.

"On it," Mercedes said as a pure white, golden mist enveloped her palms. She released the Nosferatu spell into the air, knocking a mage off-balance as Felix chopped his head off.

Ingrid and Sylvain darted towards the left, surrounding their enemies in a pincer attack as they launched a flurry of well-aimed strikes at the brigands. From behind, Satiana supported them with her bow, sniping at the priests healing them from a few meters away. The group fell in rapid succession and the Blue Lions asserted dominance, sauntering deeper into the holy grounds.

It was then that Satiana noticed with her keen vision a familiar figure clad in dark armor. The skull-like mask summoned forth dark memories of Renard's half-limp body on the floor and their overwhelming defeat, sending shudders down her spine. She snarled under her breath, sprinting away from Ingrid and Sylvain, heading back towards the center of their formation. She slid to a halt behind Byleth who just finished slaughtering a group of swordsmen and archers.

Satiana hissed, catching Byleth's attention. Byleth raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for her to speak her mind.

"Byleth, do you see that dark knight in the center of the room? The one mounted on top of his horse," Satiana harshly whispered. "He was there at Gaspard. He's the bastard who almost killed Renard and me."

Byleth's cerulean irises gleamed darkly as she nodded in understanding. She spun around on her heels, quickly judged the battlefield, and then beckoned towards Dimitri with a quick wave of her sword.

Dimitri blinked, walking backward to Byleth with his weapon readied high in the air. "What's the matter, professor?"

"I want you to ignore that cavalier in the center of the room. Support Ingrid and Sylvain, push their ranks all the way to the back of the room, and secure a path for me to weave my way back there later. Ashe and Annette will cover for Lysithea and Felix. I'll take Satiana with me and hold that dark knight back," Byleth ordered in rapid succession.

Dimitri frowned, though he nodded in response. "Alright. I will await you at the back, professor. Please, be careful!" He yelled before he dashed towards the left of the room, sprinting up the stairs.

They didn't have a single moment to spare before the Death Knight slid off its horse with one smooth jump. Metal boots clinked against the tiles and Byleth got into her stance, holding her blade up at eye-level with both hands. Satiana circled around the Death Knight with her swords in hand, dark blue orbs analyzing each and every move her opponent made.

"So…we meet again," the dark voice reverberated down the chaotic battlefield, sending shudders down Satiana's spine and she felt her muscles snap into place, tensing up on reflex. The giant scythe moved from the top of his shoulders, trailing across him as he tilted the hilt down horizontally. He made a quick slash, sending a wide burst of purple flames out into the opening and Satiana leaped off to the side in response, the edges of her ponytail seared by the heat.

Byleth snuck in from behind the Death Knight, crouched low as she prowled across the floor with frightening speed, thrusting directly at his back. Her blow was met with a snap of his wrists, the scythe soaring backward to parry her blade. Byleth gritted her teeth as the tremendous force sent her flying back, sliding against the floor. She dug the heels of her boots into the tiles, recovering her balance when the Death Knight suddenly warped towards her with his scythe flaring purple.

Satiana gasped, voice hitching. "Byleth!" she screamed, sprinting towards the knight in a blind rage with her swords raised up high in the air.

Byleth cursed underneath her breath and quickly tilted her blade up to block the damning blow to her head when her well-tuned ears heard the sound of short breathing, something similar to a smirk or laugh. Cerulean orbs widened in damning realization and she snapped her blazing gaze towards Satiana who leaped into the air behind the Dark Knight. "Satiana, it's a trap!" she bellowed out.

"W-What?" Satiana faltered, grip wavering mid-air when his scythe began to glow ominously black. The Dark knight mumbled under his breath, chanting a quick spell before the scythe let loose a deafening explosion, poisonous fog enveloping her line of sight. "F-Fuck—" she swore as she sucked in a big gulp of air, caught unprepared. "Poison strike?!"

She didn't have time to adjust her body to the numbing poison trickling down her veins, freezing her blood cold when a powerful strike to the side threw her across the room against a nearby pillar. She crashed into the pillar, almost snapping the entire concrete in two, back screaming in pain.

Lysithea, who was making quick work of a dark mage in the right flank of the room snapped her attention towards the sound of rocks crumbling. Bright pink irises widened in horror as she spotted the familiar strands of black hair bobbing limply on top of a pile of debris. "Satiana!"

Felix froze, the sword plunging into the stomach of a brigand, head turning towards Lysithea's direction. He saw her sprinting towards the body buried underneath the pile of boulders and felt his anger flare. "That damn, idiot. How many times is she going to get herself in trouble with her recklessness?!"

Byleth stared silently as she watched Lysithea and Felix sprint towards Satiana who was barely conscious after one fatal blow. She clicked her tongue in annoyance, glaring in contempt at the Death Knight who strode up to her with his scythe in hand.

"Unfortunately, I have no interest in fighting against that one as of now. Not until she succumbs to the dark desires inside of her, like a moth to the flame, seeking nothing but bloodshed," the Death Knight rumbled as he completely turned his attention away from Satiana.

Byleth's expression thinned, cerulean orbs still burning brightly even under the dimmest of lights. "Sorry, but as long as I'm here, that won't be happening any time soon."

"A pity, then. Surely, you are not as…weak-hearted as she is. I sense a different power lying dormant within you. Show me more," the Death Knight demanded as he cast a Death R spell, hauling another explosion of dark flames towards Byleth.

Instead of dodging, Byleth snagged up a corpse resting near her feet and chucked it at the roaring row of flames. She used it as a barrier and scampered towards the Death Knight, letting the corpse blow up into smithereens behind her wake. The Death Knight seemed stunned at her choice of tactics taking a quick step back when Byleth slammed her knee right into his abdomen, ignoring his scythe.

The Death Knight regained his balance and swerved around in a circle, lifting his boots up to ram her head. Byleth ducked, following the opponent's move, spinning around him in a circle. With his back in sight, Byleth raised up her blade and gathered all her might, slashing in a wide arc, cutting open the back of the knight's armor. A string of blood followed after her blade's path, sending the Death Knight into a growling fit.

He spun around in response, baring his full ire as he slammed his forearm into her side, whacking her off into the distance with nothing but brute strength. Byleth barely managed to block the attack by sliding the shaft of her sword down, gloved hands trembling at the sheer difference in physical strength.

The Death Knight straightened its posture, chuckling lowly as he walked towards her, lifting the scythe up into the air. "That's it. Struggle more. Show me that thirst for victory…!"

He launched himself at her again, this time choosing to thrust the pointed end of the scythe at her heart like a spear. With her arm still quaking underneath the overwhelming pressure, she hopped to the side behind a pillar, letting his scythe crash against the barrier. With quick steps, she circled around the broken pillar, spotting his left side vulnerable to attack. She aimed with precision, stabbing her blade into his sides…

Only to have it counterattacked by his other free forearm, the spikes on his armor piercing into her hand. Her eyes widened as she suddenly yanked her hand back in reaction to the sharp, sudden pain. The decision to retreat almost cost her head as the Death Knight swung his scythe-gripping arm towards her. She couldn't move, both arms rendered useless from the pain and she gritted her teeth, choosing to leap back in response.

But she miscalculated the scythe's reach in her panic. The weapon soared through the sky, inching closer and closer towards her face and Byleth felt her blood run cold. Her fingers twitched, and she prepared herself to cast a divine pulse with Sothis's help, knowing that this blow would end her life.

She opened her lips to speak when suddenly, a pair of steel lances blocked the scythe's path, sending the Death Knight rebounding backward in shock. Byleth's eyes widened as two familiar figures strode into the battlefield, blocking the path between her and the Death Knight.

"Sorry for being late, professor. We have eradicated the rest of their soldiers and are prepared to support you," Dimitri spoke from in front of her.

Sylvain glanced over his shoulder and threw a flirtatious wink, ignoring the tension inside the battlefield. "Professor, you can thank me for that one later. How about a dinner date? Does that sound good to you?"

A violent gust of wind blew through them and the pillars surrounding the Death Knight split into halves, falling down to the ground in heavy, resounding thuds, burying the Death Knight from view. "Professor, backup is here!" Annette yelled, waving her hands in the air a few meters away from the entrance.

Ashe appeared behind her with his bow drawn, lime green orbs glowing. "Professor! We have secured the exit for you."

Byleth stood dumbfounded in place as her students crowded around her with their weapons drawn. Each of them looked proud at their achievements; smirks and smiles littered across their expressions. She didn't know how to describe the feeling, but Byleth felt her heart swelling up, a warm fuzzy wave of emotions sweeping over her exhausted body. A burst of air erupted from deep inside her throat and she laughed, the sound like bell-chimes to the rest of the crew.

Dimitri whirled his head around, jaw-dropping in shock. "P-Professor, did you just laugh?!"

Byleth bit down on a smile, refusing to indulge her students any further in the clinks of her stone-faced armor, choosing to speak softly instead. "I am glad you all made it here just in time."

The pile of rubble in front of them exploded as if on cue, sending debris into the air. Annette made quick work of the air-borne boulders, crushing them into pieces with her wind magic while Mercedes and Lysithea supported her with their own fire magic, bursting the rocks into powdery ashes. The Death Knight emerged from the debris, unscathed though it was obvious from the way he rumbled darkly under his breath that he was less than pleased with the result of the battle.

"I have no use for you fledglings. If you will not indulge in a battle to the death without these flying insects, then I shall take my leave for today." The Death Knight began to glow white, his armored gloves flaring as he prepared to cast a warp spell. "Until next time—"

"Hey, you son of a bastard!"

Nobody saw it coming. Not the Death Knight and certainly not any of her comrades who only managed to get her up on her feet after casting a bunch of heals and restores. She was no longer affected by the ailment, though her strength was still reduced by half from the poisonous attack.

But then again, if she wasn't being stupidly reckless at times, it wouldn't be her.

A quick whirl of black appeared behind the Death Knight, two swords impaling him right in the shoulder, catching him off-guard. Satiana twisted the hilt of her sword, sending the sound of flesh squelching into the air. The Death Knight growled out in pain, the skeleton-head mask whirling itself to meet her with blazing red eyes. The knight tried to swat her off his back, but she clung onto him like a nasty leech, sucking the life out of him as she yanked out her sword.

She kicked him in the back of his neck as she leaped off his back with a wide smirk on her face.

"That's for Renard. I'll return my personal debt the next time we meet!"

The Death Knight stumbled across the ground, blood pouring out of his open wounds. The white light around his hand threatened to burn out for a split second before he poured extra effort into the warp spell, blinding the entire room in light.

Everyone covered their eyes with their arms, hiding away from the flash. A dark rumble, similar to a sinister laugh echoed down the hallway.

"You…very well. I shall grant you the death you seek the next time we meet."

Their vision returned to normal, the blinding light stealing away the Dark Knight's existence as he warped off into the unknown distance, far away from their reach. The hall returned to a deafening silence as Satiana flicked her two swords, spraying blood across the floor in two ugly lines. She scoffed, rolling her eyes as she sheathed her sword. "Stupid knight. Why does he talk as if he's so much better than us—"

A sharp pain on her head made her yelp. She crouched down to the floor, whining as she rubbed the top of her head, feeling the growing lump on her bruised scalp. "What the hell was that for?!" she snapped her head up, glaring with teary eyes at Byleth who stood in front of her with crossed arms, cerulean orbs shining with nothing but unrestrained fury. Satiana flinched underneath the burning gaze, swallowing. "Uh, I mean, what are you doing?" she changed her words around, sheepishly smiling at the enraged mercenary.

Byleth exhaled, shaking her head in disapproval. "Do you not understand what the word reckless means?"

Satiana glanced away from the fuming demon in front of her, choosing to whistle a cheery tune instead. It was something she learned from observing Sylvain over the past few moons. If you can't beat them, pretend you did nothing wrong. Yes, that would totally work.

"Satiana!" A ball of white launched itself at her, knocking her down to the ground in with a quiet 'oomph.' Lysithea caught her by the neck, snarling right in front of her face. "You are such an idiot! Even if I cast a restore on you, the poison isn't completely gone from your system yet. If you move around like that, you'll only harm your insides!"

"Uh, yeah, I know. But I couldn't just let that bastard get away scot-free after all that hell he put me through!" Satiana protested, coughing for air.

Felix strode up in front of her, lips pressed into a white slash. "You are the greatest fool in Fodlan. What was that move even? You just latched yourself onto his back like a monkey."

Satiana blinked, shrugging. "I don't know. I just wanted to stab him in the back like how he threw me against a sharp pile of rocks back in Gaspard."

Felix slapped his hand onto his forehead, groaning in disbelief. "I don't even know where to begin. Why can't you act more…more restrained?" His voice dropped a notch, gaining an edge suddenly. It caught Satiana by surprise, the genuine concern laced in his usually scathing tone. "What are you, a lost chimpanzee? Calm your head once in a while."

"Ah yes, be calm like you of all people," Satiana scoffed. "I'm still alive and that's all that matters."

"Yes, you are alive. Miraculously, if I may," Byleth interjected, tapping her toes against the cobbled floor. She refused to budge, eyes boring right into Satiana's soul with such piercing clarity Satiana couldn't help but feel guilty again for the umpteenth time the past few moons. "I leave you alone for a minute. One minute, Satiana. And you almost threw your life away. Again," Byleth spoke bluntly in short sentences. It only proved how on edge she was after the fight against the Death Knight.

Satiana shifted her gaze to the ground, sweating buckets underneath her reprimanding gaze. "S-Sorry. I won't do it again."

Byleth breathed a sigh. "No, I don't need your apology. Or promises, even. You'll get yourself in trouble one way or the other, anyway."

Satiana felt her heart sink at the somewhat detached response. Of course, she knew she was at fault for causing so much trouble lately. Gaspard included, she had been acting independently most of the time, refusing to rely on anyone for help. Not to mention, she never told Byleth with her own mouth Felix and Sylvain knew everything about her already. Then there was Lysithea, who she kept away from Professor Hanneman's reach. All things combined, Satiana had many things to apologize for.

But first and foremost, she betrayed Byleth's trust by making her worry all the time. Just one look at the wary expression on Byleth's face was enough for her to realize how selfish she had been acting lately. At the beginning of her time in the monastery, she often visited Byleth, spilling her worries. But as the moons flew by, she spent less time with her dear elder sister, burying herself under work, searching for clues all by herself. And she ended up half-dead twice now because of her reckless actions.

She couldn't blame Byleth for being so…so done with her attitude.

She lifted her head and clenched her fists, preparing herself to face the full wrath of Byleth's anger, only to see the small remnants of sorrow lurking inside those cerulean orbs. Her heart shattered into a billion pieces, eyes watering. Her lips wobbled as the apology spilled from her parting lips. "I apologize. For always worrying you. I…I'll consult you more about my actions next time. Everything."

Byleth remained silent. The rest of the students quietly listened to the duo, giving them space. After a long pregnant pause, Byleth eventually conceded. "Alright. For now, I forgive you. It's not as if I haven't been acting on my own lately as well…" she trailed off, cerulean eyes flickering meaningfully towards Dimitri's direction. "I don't blame you. Things have been quite hectic lately. But I need to talk to you. Soon."

"…Sure."

"By the way, professor…" Dimitri's voice interrupted the conversation. He pointed his index finger at the sword in Byleth's right hand. "When did you get your hands on that?"

Byleth blinked. "Oh, this?" She lifted her right arm, allowing everyone to see the relic in her hands.

Whatever it was, it looked like a large sword of sorts. The weapon seemed to be made of an unknown substance, aging mysteriously yellow. The blade was jagged with claws protruding from the sharp edge. The guard looked heavenly like wings with the way it spread outwards to the side. Most peculiar of all was the glowing red empty hole in the center of the sword.

"Is this…an ancient relic?" Annette mused, frowning in thought.

"Professor, where did you retrieve this weapon from?" Ingrid asked.

Byleth jerked her head towards the back of the room. "There was a dark mage trying to escape when the Dark Knight warped away from the scene. I killed him while the lights still blinded everyone. This sword was lying in the open tomb and I…grabbed it."

Dimitri gaped, jaws dropping. "Y-You just stole the weapon from Saint Seiros's tomb?!"

"I didn't steal it. I borrowed it," Byleth replied flatly. "Whatever it is, it proved to be a useful weapon against the dark mage. Not to mention…" Byleth paused for a moment, chewing over her words. "It…answered my call."

"Your call?" Felix's brows scrunched up as he stared at the sword in her hands.

Byleth nodded. "I don't know what it was, but when I grabbed it, all the fatigue and pain floated away from me. My senses dulled, and all sound faded away into the distance. Before I knew it, I could see the dark mage's movement clearly, even in the blinding light. Also, it won't stop giving off heat under my command." She waved the sword around, frowning. "It's like this weapon was made for me to use."

Mercedes perked up, eyes widening. "P-Professor, perhaps that object is—"

*Bang*

"Is the intruder here?!" Catherine's bellowing voice bounced down the corpse-ridden hall. "Oh, looks like we were a step too late. The action's done already."

Byleth shifted her gaze towards Catherine then hid the sword behind her back. She sent a meaningful look in her student's direction and nodded. "Forget the sword. For now, we get out of here and let the knights do the rest. Satiana, you are heading straight to the infirmary. Again."

Satiana pouted, head drooping. "Professor Manuela is not going to let me live this down…"

Felix snorted. "Yes, perhaps we may witness the doctor strangling their patient."

Satiana shut her mouth tight, the blood draining from her face. Sylvain's guffawing laughter rang inside her ears the entire time Byleth dragged her out of the Holy Mausoleum to her impending doom. As suspected, Manuela gave her an hour-long lecture about safety in the battleground. After that, Satiana swore to herself never to get hurt again.

Chapter Text

[White Clouds]

Unshakeable Faith

"As all of you have committed a breach of faith, the archbishop will now pass judgment."

Dimitri stood behind the pillars in the audience chambers. As the leader of the Blue Lions, Rhea had given him permission to take part in the hearing regarding the captured priests from the Western Church. Although Seteth called it a hearing, it was really just an execution in disguise. Everyone knew there was no way any of the Church members would forgive the sinners. They never did throughout history, so what could be different about the folks from the Western Church?

A small pat on his shoulder turned his attention towards the newcomer. Claude strode up behind him with the usual languid smirk on his face. "Hey, Dimitri. Are you here for the hearing?" He greeted with a small wave of his hand.

"Indeed I am." Dimitri nodded stiffly. "And you? I figure you're also here for the same thing?"

Claude shrugged. "I'm not interested in watching a death penalty being given. Not my kind of thing." Then, his lips slanted downwards into a frown. "More importantly, I have a few things to discuss with your professor."

Dimitri perked up. "Hm? With the professor?"

"I'm more curious about the…sword she brought out of the Holy Mausoleum," Claude mused, rubbing his nose in thought. "I heard she got it from the tomb of Saint Seiros. That poses a lot of interesting questions, doesn't it?"

Dimitri narrowed his eyes. "What are you up to, Claude?"

Claude held his hands up in the air in a show of innocence. "Hey, man. No need to get all suspicious. I promise I'm not really planning anything behind the scenes. Well, sort of." He threw in a wink, emerald orbs gleaming underneath Dimitri's scrutinizing gaze. "But you've got to admit. It's not often we get to see an ancient relic come into play in the hands of a nameless mercenary."

Dimitri crossed his arms, frowning. "You're right. I have to admit, the professor is filled with surprises."

Claude casually threw an arm over Dimitri's shoulder, yanking him closer. "I knew you'd understand my sentiments, pal!" He laughed under his breath. Then, he leaned in towards Dimitri's ears. "Now, tell me, what do you actually think about what's happening here?"

Dimitri tensed up, feeling the heavy weight on his shoulder bogging his thoughts down. He clicked his tongue, shooting a glare to the side. "Claude, you and your interrogations…" he chewed out the words with a hint of annoyance. "You know as well as I do what I think about this execution. It's necessary, but also very…debatable."

Claude smirked. "I knew it. We're similar, my friend." He slid his arm off Dimitri's shoulder, letting the man breathe. "I have to admit. Lady Rhea has been up to some strange things lately. I heard she's been hiring Shamir to patrol the monastery for suspicious-looking men."

"You mean she knew the Western Church had their eyes on her?"

"Who knows if she knows that far? But it's pretty obvious by now Lady Rhea has a lot of enemies she wants to keep us in the dark about." Then he scoffed, smile twisted. "Really, it shows how much she actually distrusts all of us."

"I wouldn't antagonize her, Claude." Dimitri lifted his chin up, shifting his posture to face Claude. "Lady Rhea has a lot of things she does for the sake of the Church's stability. No matter how we put it, the people's faith in Saint Seiros and her religion is, well, absolute. It's been that way for centuries. We cannot afford to have the church being viewed as an abominable existence."

"Hm, is that truly what you think, Dimitri?" Claude asked, fixating his gaze upon Dimitri. "You and I both know you weren't satisfied with how the church dealt with Lord Lonato's case."

Dimitri froze, a pensive expression making its way up onto his face. Claude had hit right on the mark with his poignant question. Of course, Dimitri had his own qualms about how Rhea dealt with Christophe's assassination attempt. Of all things she could've done, she hid the truth, blaming him for assisting in the Tragedy of Duscur. To be quite blunt, the church ignored the real enemy and the political state of unrest in Fodlan. Instead, they secured their own position as an authoritative figure by turning their eyes away from everything.

Perhaps this was what Christophe and Lonato wanted to show the world — that the church did not differ from all those other aristocrats who acted for their own benefit. But Fodlan needed the Church to lead the people underneath an inclusive banner of undeniable faith. Without it, there would be more lost souls, choosing to indulge in thievery or other sinful actions to survive. If only Christophe chose a more affable method to share his concerns with the church. If only Lady Rhea apologized to Lord Lonato or talked things through with him. If only, if only…

"What would you do then, Claude?" Dimitri's voice finally found support, though it lacked his previous enthusiasm and confidence. "If you were the one in charge of the Western Church, the Central Church, or Gaspard territory…what would you do?"

Claude barked out a laughter. He doubled down, back hunching as he clasped his stomach in amusement. But Dimitri knew there was nothing funny about what he had said and Claude definitely understood his sentiments, seeing how the light did not reach his emerald irises. He wanted a genuine answer from the man next to him. As future rulers themselves, it was a question that needed to be discussed.

"Oh man, you really are a fun person to be around, huh, Dimitri?" Claude pretended to wipe away tears of laughter from the corner of his eyes. His posture slackened, a whimsical, half-lopped smirk plastering itself onto his face. "But on a more serious note, I wished I knew the right answer, Dimitri." He paused, eyes quivering for a moment under Dimitri's sharp gaze. His expression tightened. "Really, I wish I could give you an answer, Dimitri. But I don't know. Who knows what the best thing to do is? All I know is…" Claude trailed off, voice deepening. "They all made terrible mistakes. Irretrievable mistakes."

Dimitri grunted in agreement. "At least we agree on that point. If only they talked things through, Claude. If only they shared their concerns with each other without having to put up the facade of being a just and absolute ruler."

Claude exhaled, eyes forlorn as he gazed at the row of priests being dragged to the gallows. His frown sank deeper, throat clogging up with an overwhelming sense of pity and regret. He imagined in his head. A scene where Dimitri, Edelgard, and he sat together on the round-table, openly discussing Fodlan's future. He resisted the urge to snort, shaking his head wryly.

He knew better than to believe in fantasies. But sometimes, he wished the Goddess would listen to his deepest, darkest prayers. Make it come true.

"If only, Dimitri. If only…" he trailed off, wincing as he tried to shut his ears to the sound of screaming and begging from the priests. He eventually closed his eyes to it all. And even without his sight, he believed Dimitri was doing the same.

"The archbishop lives," Arundel drawled, eyes filled with disdain. "Not that I had ever placed much faith in those swine from the Western Church."

The Flame Emperor stood in front of her uncle in an open clearing a few miles away from Garreg Mach. She shared his sentiments; she too had no trust in the poor pawns of the Western Church. Besides, she could allow no one else to steal her prey away from her. Rhea's head will be torn apart from her shoulders and it can be no one other than Edelgard to do so.

"I have news, both good and bad," Edelgard spoke gravely. "The remains of Seiros were not in the tomb. However, something else was. The Sword of the Creator."

"Ah, the weapon wielded by that thief, the King of Liberation." Arundel laughed, shaking his head.

Edelgard frowned underneath her mask. "You do not look surprised at all."

Arundel continued to chuckle cryptically. "Don't mind me. I simply find it very…ironic for that weapon to be in Seiros's casket, of all places."

Edelgard did not know what had struck a chord in her uncle, but he seemed to be in a good mood despite the bad news she provided him. Indeed, her uncle must know more than what he has allowed her to.

"Regardless, we now have proof that the church has been lying to the citizens. Instead of finding the bones of Seiros, a Hero's Relic was instead found within the hidden chamber. This means the church's faith was founded on a faulty premise. They never had Seiros's remains. So what proof is there that Rhea is truly Saint Seiros's apostle and not just a fanatic dictator who believes she received the Goddess's blessing to increase her reach around Fodlan?" Edelgard contemplated, feeling a sense of accomplishment.

"You speak the truth," Arundel agreed with a nod. "If this news reaches the ears of their devout followers, Rhea will be quite troubled. How will she lie her way out of this issue, I wonder?"

"Regardless of what we do, there will still be those who blindly put their faith in her," Edelgard continued. "Putting that matter aside for the moment, there is something that you must know. The Sword of the Creator is currently in the professor's hands. I doubt it will surprise you to hear that the crest stone had already been removed from the sword when it was found."

"As expected," Arundel scoffed. "It would be foolish to keep both in the same location."

"True, but that is not important." Edelgard shook her head, expression tightening. "The professor awakened the true powers within the sword. Even without the crest stone, the sword glowed red. The professor's crest is compatible. There is no mistaking it."

"What?!" Arundel yelled. He narrowed his eyes, rubbing his chin. "That is absurd. It should be impossible for one to wield a relic without its crest stone. Not to mention, the King of Liberation's bloodline should not exist."

"There is only one other possibility, though I highly doubt it is true," Edelgard spoke up. "What if the professor had undergone the same experiments?"

"You mean the blood transplant?" Arundel raised an eyebrow. "That is impossible. Only we have the technology required to make that a reality—" He froze mid-speech, eyes widening as he reached an epiphany. "No, there is still that other option. Perhaps the crest stone is currently lying dormant inside of the new professor."

Edelgard's gloved fingers twitched. "That is quite the assumption. From what I know, there is no relation between the professor and Rhea. You are thinking too much."

"You may be right. However, we have no information regarding where that heretic hid the crest stone," Arundel continued to contemplate, frown deepening. "It appears we should hasten our plans. Too many unknown variables are at play."

"Of course. Now, as for your request, I assent. The Death Knight is at your disposal. Use him well." Edelgard crossed her arms, glaring at Arundel. "However, I will not take the blame for his failure to protect the other crest stones we kept hidden in Lord Lonato's castle."

"I understand. That was not your fault. We simply had an annoying rat disturbing our plans from the inside," Arundel scowled. "It appears I will have to tighten our security. We can't afford another damning mistake."

"Have you discovered who the intruder was?"

"Not yet. The Death Knight refused to tell me his identity. That child seems to have questionable work ethics, after all. He has no interest in our plans. He only searches for a place to die."

"I'll try to ask him again later. For now, hasten with your plan to take the sacred blood. Also, what will you do if the Central Church realizes we smuggled out some of their crest stones through that cardinal named Aelfric?" Edelgard asked, though she already knew what sort of reply he would give back.

"We shut him up, of course," Arundel spoke with finality. "Then again, it's not like his plan would've succeeded, anyway. He's just a poor soul lost in his fantasies. Pathetic, really."

Edelgard nodded. "Then it seems our discussion is over. I will return to the monastery and delve deeper into Gaspard's affairs. I have a feeling I know what may have obstructed you from obtaining the crest stones."

Arundel made a noise akin to surprise. "Oh? Is that so? Then I shall leave those matters to you."

Edelgard didn't wait for him to respond. She warped out of the forest, returning to the monastery with heavy thoughts about a certain blue-eyed individual lingering in the back of her mind.

Arundel stood alone in the middle of the open clearing. A dark sinister laugh escaped from his lips and he guffawed out loud, sending a flock of birds soaring through the skies in a hurry. His body glowed a pale white as the patches of dark skin covering him melted underneath the vibrant sun. He donned himself in a dark cloak, smirking as the wind picked up behind him.

A flash of bluish-white and another cloaked figure appeared from behind him. The sound of a wooden staff slamming against the ground made him turn towards the newcomer. "Solon, you are back. How is everything so far?"

"Good. The experiment is ready to begin. All we need is their blood," Solon said. "By the way, what will you do with that…fool?"

Thales snorted. "Feed Myson to the beasts. He is nothing more than a useless pawn now. I admit the fog was a brilliant diversion. But what use is it if he couldn't even protect the crest stones from being stolen?"

"As you wish, my lord." Solon bowed his head. "I will begin with my operation in Remire village a few moons later after we have retrieved their blood."

"Make haste with our plans. We need to bolster our forces. Since we are lacking in crest stones as of late, it appears we'll have to resort to more…desperate measures," Thales spoke ominously, baring his white teeth to the world. "Solon, which crest stones do we still have an abundance of?"

Solon arched his brow. "Crest stones, sir? Although we lost quite a few after the Gaspard incident, I believe we still have plenty to turn the rest of the children from Caldea into our private army of soldiers and beasts."

"Tell Cornelia I'll send her a few children I've been monitoring in exchange for the Gautier crest stone," Thales commanded.

Solon froze, realization dawning. "Sir, do you mean to recruit that man? If I may offer you my honest opinion, I do not believe such a reckless man could serve us well."

"Do we have any other choice? We've already lost a quarter of our potential forces because of that idiot's failure to secure the crest stones we hid in Gaspard," Thales snapped. "Besides, we're not recruiting him. We're using him as bait so the Death Knight can roam freely within the monastery. Send someone to that bastard's hideout. He's probably still hanging out with the bandit friends he made near Gautier territory. Also, send a message to Pittacus and Chilon. What have they been up to lately?"

"Last time I heard, they've already devoured the entire royal family in Caldea. That small country is in our hands. We can turn it into a barren land for our beasts and monsters to live in."

"Good. You may take your leave now," Thales commanded and with a wave of his hand, Solon warped off into the distance.

Thales clenched his fists, his ire crackling around him like tangible, dark coils. "It appears those Faerghus dogs have gained themselves a reliable ally behind the scenes. Perhaps it's time we pay the Shield of Faerghus a visit."

Unbeknownst to Thales, or his Arundel persona, his sworn enemy had also made the same decision. A few weeks later, an inevitable clash between three high-ranked officials in Fodlan would occur in the small audience hall of Garreg Mach.

Only the Goddess knew the tremendous effect this small ripple in the pre-written fate of Fodlan would cause later down the road. And it was all because one tiny girl survived this far against the tides of destiny.

But whether this change would bring salvation to Fodlan, not even the Goddess could predict.

"So, can someone tell me what the hell is going on right now?"

Satiana did not know how she got herself into this less-than-normal situation. No, scratch that. This was nothing short of pure insanity.

Last thing she remembered, she was in the infirmary for a check-up with Professor Manuela. The medic scolded her again, screaming in her ears, even resorting to yanking her ponytail in a fit of anger. She couldn't really blame the professor. Satiana could count on her fingers exactly how many times Byleth sent her to the infirmary in the past three moons. It wasn't a pretty number.

But even if she had gotten herself into another heap of trouble, she didn't think it required her to be literally chained to a bed. Not to mention, of all places those three traitors could've brought her to, it was the sleazebag's room. She didn't want to imagine the strange rumors that would soon flutter down the endless hallways of Garreg Mach. Finally, the stoic mercenary fell to the hands of the number one skirt-chaser in Fodlan.

No, she would rather die than face such a disgrace.

Satiana wiggled her toes, feeling the rope tied around her feet and ribs, preventing her from even shifting properly. She groaned, feeling her face heating from a concoction of embarrassment and frustration. "I swear to Seiros if I get out of this…this stupid bondage crap you have made me suffer through, I will wipe that nasty grin off your face, cut your head off, and hang it from the gates of Garreg Mach."

Sylvain offered her a bemused smile from his spot on the carpet, eyes lit with an inner glow of mischief. "You know you don't sound very threatening at all when you're all tied up like that. To be honest, I don't mind having you tied up in my bed like this, Satiana." He threw her a flirtatious wink, much to her horror.

Satiana gawked at the man. "This is absolutely ridiculous! Which idiot's idea was it to tie me to your bed, of all places?!" She struggled fruitlessly against the straps, whimpering in annoyance. "Also, I did not need to know you had a talent with tying ropes, Sylvain!"

Lysithea coughed into her hands from her seat in the chair. "Uh, Satiana? I did not need to know that as well. Also, this is no one's fault, but yours. The professor told us to do whatever we could to prevent you from exercising for the next week. And this was what we came up with."

Felix, who was standing with his back to the door, facepalmed. He shook his head in exasperation, sighing. "How did I get myself involved in this circus?"

Satiana snapped her head at him, glowering. "Don't you dare escape from taking responsibility! You should've stopped this maniac somehow." She gave up on struggling, choosing to sulk instead, lips puckering. "I still don't understand why I'm being tied up like this. What am I, a dog?"

Felix snorted, turning his face away from Satiana. "Like I said, a wild monkey."

"Oh, you think this is so funny, don't you?" Satiana pouted. "And here I thought you, of all people, would understand how nightmarish it is to be found in Sylvain's room, of all places."

Felix cleared his throat, avoiding her glare. "It was the professor's orders. She told us to keep watch over your movements for a week and knowing your…affinity for causing trouble, she handed us a pile of ropes."

"A pile of ropes. Fantastic," Satiana deadpanned. "I still think this is so unnecessary. I could just, I don't know, lock myself up in my room."

"The professor told us you'd just sneak out the window that way. So, here you are! Welcome to my humble abode!" Sylvain spread his arms wide with a toothy grin on his face. It only dampened Satiana's mood further.

"Okay, fine. I understand you had no choice but to follow Byleth's instructions." Satiana somehow managed to flip herself onto her side, facing the three demons in front of her. "But for the last time this evening, why the hell am I in Sylvain's room, of all places?!"

"Because my room is buried under a pile of books and I haven't cleaned it up yet," Lysithea said, lips twitching upwards uncontrollably. She coughed once, placing her fist in front of her mouth to hide the very obvious smirk making its way up onto her face. "If I manage to clean up the mess, you can move to my room tomorrow."

"Fair enough," Satiana flatly replied, blowing air out of her mouth. "Then why not Felix's room? I'd rather be there than here with this…this bastard who can't keep his pants on most of the time."

Felix sputtered at her response. "W-What?! Have you gone mad?"

"I'd love to see you in my position and not go mad, Felix," Satiana scowled. "Whatever. Can someone just untie me already? I promise not to go anywhere. Just give me some freedom, please."

Sylvain smirked. He lifted a knee up, placing his chin on top of it, eying her with delight. "Ah, I see now. So, you prefer him over me? I'm sad, Satiana. I thought I treated you fairly well the past few moons." He feigned hurt, clutching his chest with extra flair.

"What are you even on about, you dolt!" Felix stomped up towards Sylvain and whacked him in the head with the sheathe of his sword.

Lysithea ignored the two bickering in the corner and sighed as she stood up from her seat. She made her way towards Satiana and worked on the ropes tying her to the bed. "To be honest, the professor was probably joking about tying you to the bed. But then Sylvain, being the prankster he is, probably thought it would be an amusing idea to go through with. Sorry about that."

Satiana felt the rope loosening around her and she stretched her legs and arms, pushing herself up onto her elbows. She exhaled in relief. "Thanks for untying me, Lysithea."

"No problem. But please, stop getting yourself hurt again. I heard about all your past glory from the professor earlier. You need to stop being so reckless, alright?" Lysithea scolded her, pink orbs flaring with genuine concern.

Satiana's lips thinned. "I know. Sorry. I'll think things through next time."

The sound of Felix snorting caught her attention, and she turned to him. Felix had Sylvain in a tight lock by the neck. He glared into her eyes. "I doubt we can take your words at face value. Knowing you, you'll get into trouble one way or another."

Satiana winced, averting her gaze, staring at a random piece of thread on her skirt. "Uh, yeah. I also don't trust myself in that aspect. But I'll try to do better next time."

Felix grunted once in response before he released his hold on Sylvain's neck. Sylvain hunched himself into a ball on the ground, gasping for air, but everyone ignored his suffering; he deserved it.

"So, what am I supposed to do? Just sit here and do nothing?" Satiana frowned, glancing around Sylvain's room. "It's not like there's anything to do around here other than read." She reached over the bed, flipping through a random book on Sylvain's desk. Grimacing at the amount of heavy text, she threw the book back onto the desk in a hurry. "What is that atrocious thing? A book about politics?"

"Oh, that? My father gave it to me to read, but I never got through the first chapter," Sylvain said with a shrug. "Anyway, we can just sit and talk if you want. The professor just told us to keep you on bedrest for a few days."

Satiana made a face. "Talk? About what?"

"There's something I want to talk about." To everyone's surprise, it was Lysithea who initiated the conversation. She folded her legs, sitting on top of the bed beside Satiana. "I want to know what everyone thinks about…what just happened earlier."

The entire room was enveloped in deafening silence. Even Sylvain, the most talkative of the bunch, remained frozen on the floor. Felix closed his eyes, refusing to speak his mind. Satiana stared at her hands, fidgeting with her fingers.

Rhea had just finished executing the rest of the Western Church members and the Knights of Seiros were currently on their way to the Western Church to investigate everything. Of course, everyone knew it wasn't an investigation Rhea wanted. It was a purge. Tonight, an entire faction of Fodlan's religious authority would be wiped out of existence, all because of one woman's orders. It was blood-chilling.

How they all felt about it was taboo amongst the students. Nobody could fault Rhea for her ultimatum. Her life was at risk and Fodlan needed her existence to keep the people's faith in the Goddess. The Western Church was the ones at fault for deciding all on their own to wage a dogmatic war against her, even bringing innocent villagers and Lords into their selfish plans. They did not deserve redemption, especially considering they were involved in the trafficking of crest stones with those who slithered in the dark. Of course, only the four of them in the room, plus Jeralt and his crew, knew about that fact.

Still, was this the best path everyone could've taken?

Lysithea watched the three students in front of her before she sighed. "Nevermind. I guess it's too heavy of a topic." She flopped herself onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

"The church did what they had to." Felix was the first to share his opinion. "There's no point in thinking about what-ifs. Everyone involved fought for their own beliefs. Whether they were right or wrong, only the victorious can say so."

Satiana couldn't help but laugh at his answer. "That's quite morbid, Felix. So, only the winners get to decide how history is painted, huh?"

"Am I wrong?" Felix fixated his gaze on her, copper-brown irises gleaming with confidence.

Even though her heart wanted to disagree with him, she knew better than to indulge herself in such fantasies. "Of course, you're not wrong. Because we protected Lady Rhea, she can paint herself as the victim all she wants. No one will know what she did to Lord Lonato. No one will know what sort of corruption the Western Church believes she is involved with. The dead don't speak and those who are in the know will choose to lie to protect the Church's reputation. Like Catherine and Seteth. Of course, we know the truth, but it's not like we can just blab about it to other people. We'll only be putting targets on our backs."

"Faerghus has been loyal to the Church of Seiros for ages," Felix added. "After the War of the Eagle and Lion, the Church crowned King Loog and gave him the right to govern the Faerghus region. In return, they asked us to remain absolutely obedient to the Church. There is no one who would dare to oppose the church, even for legitimate reasons."

"To the rest of Fodlan, the Church is an absolute authority figure. It is only because of their existence that the three powers have remained in equilibrium till the present state," Lysithea confirmed. "Even if they know about the Church's supposed irresponsible actions, for the sake of the greater good, they'll all turn a blind eye to it."

"But if the Western Church dared to assassinate Lady Rhea, they must really be confident they'll be able to rise as the new central authority of the Church of Seiros," Sylvain commented, honey-brown orbs twinkling with realization. "Now that you mention it, Satiana, you told us earlier the Western Church was in cahoots with the Empire regarding the movement of crest stones across borders."

Satiana blinked. "Yes, that is true. What about it?"

Sylvain paused, rubbing his chin in thought. "Well, that basically means the Empire is actually planning on opposing the Central Church, right? Isn't that kind of bad? What if this breaks the status quo and we end up going to war against them?"

Felix arched an eyebrow, staring at Sylvain in disbelief. Even Lysithea facepalmed, shaking her head in exasperation. Sylvain frowned, eyes darting between the two. "What? Did I say something wrong?" He began to sweat bullets, confused.

"Sylvain, did you just realize that now?" Satiana deadpanned. "I already told you everything I knew about the Empire. They joined forces with the dark mages who committed terrible crimes on me and the children, incited this rebellion against the central church in order to diminish people's faith in the church of Seiros, stole the goddamn crest stones, and biggest of all, they killed the King of Faerghus. To be more exact, they helped the dark mages do so."

"And no one actually knows what's going on aside from us and, well, my old man," Felix barked out a burst of cynical laughter. "Even now, he's still trying to hide it all from us. Really, I cannot fathom what that old man is up to."

"Sir Rodrigue probably has plans of his own." Satiana shrugged as if it didn't concern her. "Last time I heard from Renard, your father is planning a visit to Garreg Mach soon to discuss with Lady Rhea about the crest stones."

Felix's head recoiled at her remark, eyes widening. "The old man wants to form an alliance with the Church of Seiros?"

"I mean, what else can he do?" Satiana frowned. "If he just suddenly declares war against the Empire, the church would definitely put a stop to it. They are the central authority of Fodlan, after all. Unless we manage to justify our actions, we'll only be placing ourselves in the hot seat. If so, then we need to show the church absolute proof the Empire has their eyes on usurping the Church's position."

"And hence you risked your life to obtain those crest stones hiding underneath Gaspard castle," Sylvain concluded with a grimace. "Damn. Things are really escalating fast, aren't they?"

"Do you think…the rest of the students here from the Empire know anything about this?" Lysithea quietly asked, catching everyone's attention.

"My old man refused to tell us anything. I highly doubt the rest of the Adrestian nobles would act any different. They're all too busy waging political warfare with each other to tell their children anything about their crimes," Felix snorted, rolling his eyes in contempt. "Really, these idiots are all the same. Planning rebellions on their own, involving innocents into their pursuit for power…even the Church isn't innocent in this."

"In the end, it's just like you said, Felix," Satiana said. "The winners write history. Whoever wins this…giant war over the horizon will pave the way to a new Fodlan and become the righteous savior of this land."

"Can't we do something about it?" Sylvain bit his thumb, chewing over his words, eyes glazed over with anxiety. "There's a war looming over the horizon and our parents are too busy trying to keep things undercover because…I don't know." He threw his hands into the air, scratching his scalp. "Shit, this is one hell of a situation we've got ourselves into. How are we supposed to continue living in the academy unbeknownst to all this chaos happening outside of the monastery walls?"

"Fake it till you make it, Sylvain," Satiana retorted, wandering gaze traversing the blue skies outside the window. "That's how I've lived until now. You better get used to the sinking feeling of helplessness inside of you. We're only children barely out of school and we hold no political voice unless you guys persuade your parents to wager war against the Empire."

"Is war the only option?" Lysithea voiced out meekly, sweat glistening like glacial on her pale forehead. "Do we have no other choice?"

Satiana breathed, closing her eyes. "We don't. We never did. As children, all we can do is to bear the sins of those corrupted adults out there who decided on their own to throw Fodlan into wildfire."

The conversation was over; words were useless past a certain point. No matter how much they broke a sweat, trying to come up with alternative methods to prevent further bloodshed, they knew things were completely out of their control. What could a couple of greenhorn students even do?

Fodlan's future already looked bleak without the looming threat of war. But now, the full picture of everything Satiana had sacrificed her life to discover was revealing itself to be an ugly triple-headed monster heading their way. The collapse of an empire — there was no doubt the four dominant factions of Fodlan would not escape unscathed if such a war indeed broke out.

Who would be the first to take action? The dark mages? The Empire? Or perhaps, Faerghus? What would be the most efficient course of action? Regardless, if one of them broke the status quo, it would be a world-changing checkmate. The kind of news with a tendency to sprout legs and start running laps around the neighborhood, playing its own marathon until the only subject people can focus on is the prediction of disaster and decay.

And as they sat here frozen in dread, time continued to tick on, the moons flickering by, counting down until some unknown doomsday.

"Sorry."

It was hardly louder than a whisper. The three other students barely heard her. Satiana folded her hands in her lap, head drooping low, casting a shadow over her expression. It was hard to tell what she was up to, but there was no denying the slight quiver in her voice.

"If things truly went according to plan, I would be the only one with this knowledge. You three would've been able to continue spending time carefree in the academy, making friends, leveling up your skills. Whatever it is normal kids your age should be able to do." Satiana clasped her hands together, chuckling cynically. "But then you had to walk right into misfortune's face and met me along the way. And now, I made you all bear the same guilt I have of being unable to do anything. Sometimes, I think I shouldn't have come here in the first place. I'm only a harbinger of chaos."

A long, deafening silence followed her quiet apology. She didn't move at all from her spot, boring her eyes into the white sheets, refusing to meet any of her friends in the eye. Without her knowing, the three other students in the room exchanged gazes. One filled with irritation, another with endearment, and the last ready to spit fire at her dreary face.

Satiana didn't know what it was, but a hard object slammed into the top of her head, almost knocking the air out of her. She yelped, clutching her bruised scalp, feeling a rush of déjà vu. "Hey, in case you forgot, my head still has a giant bruise from Byleth, you know?!" She snapped her head up in a flash, only to wince underneath the sheer pressure the three students were giving off as they crowded in on her. "W-What did I do now?"

Felix approached her, reaching an arm behind her shuddering stature to pick up the sheathe of the sword he hurled at her head. Then he snarled into her ears. "You never learn, do you? Are your ears just for decoration? Do you actually listen to anyone else aside from the so-called demons in your head?"

Satiana drew in a sharp intake of breath. "W-What?"

Sylvain took a different approach, throwing himself at her. She didn't know what to do when the giant man sprawled himself on her, hugging her tight into his warm embrace. Her head was spinning, mind boggled, brain short-circuiting, thoughts sent fuck-off to outer space. "S-Sylvain?!" Her voice was pathetic, a high-pitched screech like a chicken being choked by the neck. "W-What the—"

Lysithea punched Satiana's head in the exact same spot her two predecessors did, sending Satiana off into another thrumming headache. "You are officially an idiot. One with a big heart, but an idiot nevertheless!"

By now, Satiana's senses were a mess. The heavy mass of flesh in her arms squeezed the air out of her, the reddening bruise on her head made her head explode, and the ringing noise in her ears made her want to knock herself out to sleep. "O-Okay, what the hell is wrong with you all?" she squeaked out through clenched teeth.

"Do you remember what you told me before? How you hated feeling ignorant about everything? Blinded to the truth? Acting like a mindless puppet on a string?" Felix poked her right in the forehead with his index finger, harshly scolding her for the umpteenth time since they'd known each other. "But then you blabber about how you want to keep us out of the know of everything. That isn't protecting us, nor is it some stupid charity act. You know better than anyone how it feels to drown yourself in regrets and yet you're telling us it's for our own good to just live happily like brainless children, only to end up facing the full brunt of war completely unprepared?!" He barked out a laugh, but there was nothing humorous about it. "It boggles me how your mind works sometimes."

"Ah, man," Sylvain sighed right into the base of her throat, tucking his head underneath her chin as he nuzzled close to her. "You are such a sweetheart, you know that?"

The red bush of hair filled her nose with the smell of warm, fruity, bergamot, and she gagged at his words. "Uh, Sylvain? Is this really the time to be using your flirting skills?" She tried to pry the man off her, but he refused to relent his grip on her.

Sylvain chuckled, the low baritone voice reverberating in her ears from their close proximity. He trailed a hand up her back and patted her head, ruffling the strands affectionately. "You know, Satiana? You are too kindhearted for your own good."

Satiana had no idea what kind of drug Sylvain was smoking, but his words made absolutely no sense to her. Regardless, being the clueless idiot she was, she replied in the most respectful way she knew to his open show of affection. "Uh, I think that also applies to you, Sylvain."

Of course, Satiana had no idea how much those words comforted Sylvain. He knew she probably said it without knowing the full extent of everything he had gone through as a child. But he saw a small part of himself in the younger girl in front of him and he couldn't help but throw her a hug, partially because he wanted her to feel better, but more importantly, because he himself felt like he needed a hug.

Guilt is one of those emotions that feed on itself with every bite growing a little heavier. It's the worst demon to bear and nobody knew it better than Sylvain Jose Gautier, who lived under the belief his existence was worthless.

"Satiana, if you didn't meet me, I'd still be trapped in that nightmare even now. So don't even say anything about how my life would've been better if I hadn't met you," Lysithea spoke sternly, though her voice was quivering with sorrow. "Please, don't say such…such sad things. Our meeting was nothing short of a miracle and you made it possible, Satiana."

It was never Satiana's intention to make Lysithea tear up. Actually, she never expected all of them to react so emotionally to her apology. She was only being sincere with her feelings. But then again, she did have a history of self-loathing she was still recovering from.

Satiana finally understood what the three of them were trying to tell her, and she slackened against Sylvain's body, shoulders loosening as she felt herself grow weaker. "O-Oh, did I do it again?" she stammered, laughing to herself, but the sound was so hollow and lost, even to her ears. "Shit, I thought I had already stopped acting like a pathetic, blubbering fool, but I see that part of me hasn't really gone anywhere yet."

She squeezed Sylvain harder, feeling a surge of warmth as she felt him do the same. Her lips wobbled as she whispered. "I hate myself sometimes. I try not to. You even reminded me a few weeks earlier, Felix. Sorry to relapse on you all again."

Recovering from survivor's guilt was never easy, especially not when it involved more than half of her life. She had spent years wandering through an endless, violent storm that wouldn't stop roaring. Sometimes, she felt like she had finally reached the light — the most recent one being when Felix flung her out of the sinking abyss. But it wasn't as if there was a rainbow at the end of the storm or a bright light at the end of the tunnel.

Sometimes, the rainbow was just the eye of the storm, and that light was actually the eyes of an oncoming monstrous beast charging through the burning fields at her. She climbed out of the abyss, only to find herself drowning in the ocean.

And the cycle would repeat, again and again, chipping at her soul, little by little. But it didn't have to remain that way forever.

Because even the most gruesome of injuries can heal.

Satiana wasn't whole yet; by no means had she finally let go of the baggage she carried, but she was learning. She took baby steps, crawling her way out of the cloying dread. And it was hard. Even harder than trying to wrap her head around the political mess in Fodlan. It was one of the hardest things she'd ever done, but she was no longer alone.

Yes, perhaps she could finally say it with her own mouth the next time Jeralt asked her. She had friends with her. Her sins can go and fuck themselves, because why would she not deserve this?

She was a nasty, self-indulgent, sinful survivor who wanted nothing more than to rip her enemies to shreds. The anger inside of her would never disappear. It would remain forever in a small corner of her heart. But if these kids saw her for who she was and still dared to hold their hands out to her…

What could she do but reach out in return?

"I really don't deserve all of you," Satiana whispered as she crushed Sylvain under her embrace. She buried her head into his shoulders, hoping that the tears threatening to drip down her eyes would evaporate under his warmth.

Satiana didn't know who it was, but there was a pair of calloused hands holding her shoulders steady as she broke into a small sob. Another light pat on the head and the dam broke free.

"Fodlan is a giant mess and I'm caught in the epicenter of this black hole. Amazing," she choked on a particularly loud sob and nuzzled deeper into Sylvain's shoulder. "It's been years and I'm still crying like a baby. God damn it."

"There, there. Just let it go for today. You've been doing well for so long it's about time you get to relax a little, okay?" Sylvain stroked her back, his own eyes flickering shut as he sank further into her warm, damp embrace. "I wish we could just tell the higher-ups everything we know so we all wouldn't have to feel so guilty and helpless, but I guess that's just how the world works, huh?"

There was the sound of the door opening, and all heads jerked towards the entrance. Felix kicked open the door with a resounding thud, a scowl plastered on his face. If Sylvain wasn't consoling a shuddering woman in his arms right now, he would've thrown his chair at his best friend's back, because that kick definitely broke the hinges off his door.

Sylvain gaped at him. "Felix, what the hell? Do you not see that we're currently having a very touching moment?!"

"Yes, I do, and that's why I'm getting out of here. Unlike you folks who love to wallow in self-loathing and despair, I've decided to go out and train to prepare for the war. If we can't stop it from coming, then all we can do is prepare ourselves as thoroughly as we can," Felix spat out, eyes suddenly flaring with determination. "You can spend your time…hugging each other all you want. But I have better uses for my time."

He spared a glance over his shoulders, sharp eyes flickering towards the shivering mess in Sylvain's arms. Copper-brown orbs narrowed, and he burned the scene into his memory before he spun around on his heels, storming off into the distance, leaving his three friends behind.

He heard Sylvain protesting; the noise echoing down the moonlit hallways, but he pressed forward down the path, making his way back to his own bedroom. He yanked open the door and slammed it shut behind him.

Without wasting even a second, he ravaged through his desk, searching fervently for a piece of paper and an empty envelope. There was a familiar stamp with a symbol of the Fraldarius emblem lying inside his drawers. He had never used it. Not even once. His father gave it to him so that he could keep in touch with him, but Felix was never one for such familial affections. He could care less what his father was up to.

But with Satiana in play, things had taken an awry turn. She came in like a whirlwind, blew their minds away with the heavy baggage she dragged along with her, and now threatened to suffocate them under the same despair she had felt throughout her tragic life.

A part of Felix felt sympathetic towards her. Really, he did. Now that he was sinking into the quicksand himself, he wanted nothing more than to scream at the world, expose all the corruption in Fodlan and just get everything over with.

This was why he never wanted to become the heir to the dukedom. He loathed political mind games. Why couldn't everyone just settle things through the sword without having to act so secretly behind the scenes?

Felix threw a piece of paper onto his desk, plopped himself into the chair, and wrote furiously, ink flying all over the place in a raging fit. His hands were stained black by the time he finished writing the letter. He didn't even bother to give it a quick look over. Mistakes be damned. He needed to vent somewhere, and who would be a better target than the father he had given up on over the years of neglect and solitude?

The first thing he would do in the morning was send an urgent letter to the Fraldarius estate. Forget his promises with Satiana to stay still. Felix was never one to just let himself be swept along by the currents of fate. He'd swim across the current and make it to the other side, no matter how much he had to suffer to do so.

Because that was who he was: Felix Hugo Fraldarius. A straight-laced sword — blunt, honest, and sincere.

"What did those idiots say?" Felix snorted to himself as he threw his pen into the air, flinging it somewhere across the room.

Satiana's words rang in his head.

We're only children barely out of school and we hold no political voice unless you guys persuade your parents to basically wager war against the Empire.

The answer was right there in front of him. He had been holding back out of respect for Satiana and his father's plans. But now, it was clear things had escalated far beyond his comfort zone.

It was time for him to take the wheel and steer this sinking ship to a brighter horizon. If the world was going to explode anyway, he might as well as fuel the fires and make it a worthwhile one.

Forget playing it safe. If someone had to make the first move, it would be Faerghus.

"Professor, surely you jest."

"I assure you, Hanneman. I am not the most talented in the humor department."

"But nothing makes sense! It is simply impossible for you to possess this crest!"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

Linhardt paced around the room, ignoring Hanneman's flabbergasted exclamations. He fixed his gaze on Byleth, who stood in front of Hanneman's desk, ignoring the man's suffering as she stared absentmindedly out the window. Linhardt pitied his professor — really, he did. But more than that, Byleth intrigued him to no end and he couldn't help but wander around the room, feet jittering against the floor.

There were Satiana and Lysithea, who already destroyed the foundations of everything he knew about crests. Then, Byleth came walking in and blew his mind away with the crest she bore. Of all things, she possessed the Crest of Flames — a crest thought to have disappeared from this world in the millennium since the fall of Nemesis, the King of Liberation.

The professor was already a mystery — a cold-hearted, stone-faced mercenary who lived her life unaffiliated with the Church of Seiros, yet had a father who was the previous captain of the Knights of Seiros. And now she bore a long, lost crest?

Byleth Eisner was even more of an enigma now.

"This is fascinating!" Hanneman exclaimed, clapping his hands. "According to history, the King of Liberation had no descendants. Yet you possess the Crest of Flames. Not to mention, you can wield the Sword of the Creator without suffering from any setbacks. This can only mean one thing." He reached over the table, grabbing Byleth's hands, eyes sparkling. "Either we were wrong about Nemesis or you must've had the crest artificially implanted in you."

Byleth arched her eyebrow, an idle gaze trailing over Hanneman's bright features. "I apologize, but I believe you are heavily mistaken about something," she flatly responded.

Hanneman blinked, shaking his head. "No, no, no. That simply cannot be the case. I am almost certain you had a crest stone implanted inside of you."

"Again, I am sorry to say so, but you are wrong," Byleth deadpanned. "I doubt the information about Nemesis is incorrect, since the Church of Seiros has been keeping records since millenniums ago. And unfortunately, I have no recollection of having some stone thrust inside my body."

"Then how on earth do you explain the crest you possess?!" Hanneman screamed, leaning over the table until his face hung mere inches away from hers.

Byleth leaned away from him, frowning. "I don't know. Perhaps some divine intervention?" She threw in a shrug, much to his chagrin.

"Divine intervention!" Hanneman repeated, rolling his eyes. "Professor, be honest with me. There is no need to be embarrassed about anything. In case you haven't figured it out already, I have already met your younger sister, and she told me all about the crest experiments she had undergone. I am not trying to make fun of your trauma, but there is really no other explanation for the crest you possess!"

At this remark, Byleth froze. Her expression tightened, lips curling downwards into a frown. "I'm sorry. What did you just say? My sister told you about her…experiments?" She turned her head towards Linhardt, who was still fidgeting in the corner with his hands. "Why would she choose to do so?"

"Because we have offered to help cure her friend's condition," Linhardt replied, straightening his back. He folded his hands behind his back and walked over towards Byleth, peacock-green irises glancing over her with interest. "Of course, Professor Hanneman and I will keep this a tight secret between the two of us."

"I see," Byleth responded quietly, albeit reluctantly, cerulean orbs darkening. "So that is what she has been up to lately behind my back."

"Anyway, professor, now you can come out clean to us. There is no need to hide the truth any longer. If you can tell us your story about how you came to have a crest implanted inside of you, it would benefit our research to help Satiana's friend. Surely, that is what you also wish for, no?" Hanneman gripped Byleth's hands tightly, chewing over his lips. "That must be the case…right?" His voice faltered after noticing Byleth's unchanging expression.

Byleth exhaled, narrowing her eyes. She shook Hanneman's grip off with a particularly deep trench between her eyebrows. "I am being completely serious with you, Hanneman. I have no recollection of having undergone any life-threatening experiments."

Hanneman's excitement shattered, bright expression drooping. A cloud of black fog seemed to loom over his head, casting a sullen shadow over him. He hunched his back onto the table, letting his hands fall to his side. "I see. So you do not trust me," he muttered to himself.

"No, it is not that I do not trust you. I simply remember nothing regarding an experiment."

Linhardt perked up from the corner of the room. A stray thought landed inside his buzzing brain and he leaned away from the wall, rubbing his chin, eyes glancing downwards. "So, it is not that you survived through an experiment but that you remember nothing about it?"

Byleth wasn't sure what Linhardt was getting at, but there was no denying the hazy feeling lurking in her stomach. She stared down at her hands, brows creasing, slowly piecing the implications of his thoughts together. An ugly idea took root, and she shuddered with epiphany, feeling a wave of nausea rush over her.

"I believe it is time for me to retreat now," Byleth spoke through clenched teeth as she abruptly spun towards the door, heels digging into the carpet with extra force than usual. The words were spoken in an odd cadence, unlike her usual confident demeanor, and it was obvious from her sudden departure that something had gone terribly wrong.

Hanneman snapped his head up, gaping. "W-Wait, professor! I still have more questions for you!" Hanneman scrambled around the table, legs crossing over each other as he made his way towards the exit, only to be stopped by his student who spread an arm before him. Hanneman frowned, turning to Linhardt with his nose crinkled. "What is the meaning of this, Linhardt?"

"Professor Hanneman, please, calm down. There is no need to hurry." Linhardt placed his hand on Hanneman's shoulder, holding his teacher in place. "The professor needs some time to…register her thoughts. Think things through. Let's give her some space for now. In the meantime, we should start working on the hypothesis you came up with after listening to Satiana's story."

Hanneman's gaze flickered out of the doorway, the sound of footsteps growing dimmer. He turned back to Linhardt, crestfallen. "But I didn't mean to force her!"

"I know, Professor Hanneman, but we crest scholars have a habit of getting too worked up when it comes to our research. Besides…" Linhardt trailed off, smile twitching for a split second. "I think the professor has a lot of think over after our conversation today."

Hanneman stared at Linhardt, tilting his head to the side. "I don't understand what you are getting at, Linhardt."

Linhardt closed his eyes. "Neither do I, Professor Hanneman. The mere thought of my suspicions being proven true is simply…sickening."

Hanneman looked even more lost, but he decided against pushing his student for details. He had already failed spectacularly twice in a row. If he were to be dismissed by his most beloved student as well, his poor heart wouldn't be able to handle it. Eventually, he begrudgingly gave up on following Byleth's trail, choosing to drown in paperwork and books instead.

Linhardt sat quietly in the chair opposite him, knee-deep in wandering thoughts of his own.

Crest experimentation, huh?

He reclined further into the chair, sinking backward with a heavy sigh.

How cruel this world is.

Chapter Text

[White Clouds]

Blood Thinner than Water

Miklan never wanted to walk down this path.

If he had the choice, he would retreat to the comforts of his home. Of course, he didn't have any good memories in such a cold, heartless place but if he pretended to be an insignificant flea, perhaps his father would've allowed him to have a place to call home at least. Maybe begging on his knees for forgiveness would do him well. But he was far too prideful to prostrate himself in front of those bastards who dared to look down upon him since birth, simply because he didn't bear a crest.

Again, Miklan never wanted to go this far.

He hated his father and loathed his younger brother. If he had the chance to, he'd strangle that small neck, crush his brother under the freezing winter of Faerghus by locking him inside a bottomless well and leaving him to die. Maybe even spit on that stupid, smiling face, just to make himself feel better.

It wasn't his fault he turned out this way. His father was the villain and this crest-worshipping world was the side-kick. He was just a victim in the grand scheme of things.

Yes, he had to believe so.

He didn't make the choice to leave his family name behind and become a nasty, irredeemable bandit. It was the only path left open for him after being whipped, lashed, and kicked out of his house by none other than the people who gave birth to him. And his weak, pathetic, blubbering fool of a brother dared to break down into a snotty pile of tears the day he left when he was the one who wanted to tear apart the heavens above, scream to the Goddess for being so unfair with her blessings.

Disgusting.

This world was revolting, and he was hell-bent on destroying everything with his own hands. He would make them all pay for belittling his worth by using their sacred lance, prove himself the rightful heir by thrusting it into the bodies of everyone who dared act as rightful leaders of House Gautier.

It was his place to take. Only him and no one else.

Miklan was a ball of rage when he entered his base in Conand Tower. His men, who usually crowded around him like they were worshiping Seiros herself, huddled themselves into a corner opposite from the entrance.

Miklan stormed through the door, pushing past a pile of wooden chairs and half-broken tables along the way before he plopped down onto his throne, which was really just an empty barrel of ale. He tapped his feet, a permanent scowl etched on his scarred features. Then, he made a quick motion with his hands, beckoning one of his subordinates to crawl over towards him.

One thief scrambled over, bowing a deep angle in front of him. "W-What's wrong, sir?"

"Give me a mug of ale," Miklan barked with a death glare.

"Of course, sir!" The young thief sprinted off to the basement, searching for a glass of frothy alcohol.

The entire tower was silent except for the thundering taps of Miklan's restless foot. The thieves swallowed, glancing at each other with concern marred in their quivering eyes. They had spent many years alongside their boss, but they still couldn't properly navigate themselves past his mood swings. They had successfully retrieved the Lance of Ruin, but it was obvious something was still bothering their leader.

The young thief eventually appeared from the bottom of the tower, hands shivering as he wobbled across the floor. He bowed again as he held the mug of cold beer in front of Miklan at eye level.

The silence was deafening as the poor thief waited for Miklan to grab the mug from his hands. His legs shook, muscles cramping up, back aching as he remained at a ninety-degree angle. A whole minute passed before the mug was snatched off his freezing hands and the young thief lifted his head up with a tilted smile.

A splash of cold to his face and the thief blubbered, yelping in surprise.

The pale yellow liquid dribbled down his shocked features as he stared in horror at his boss. Miklan stood up from his seat and threw a quick jab at the young thief's neck, sending him flying, vision spinning as he crashed landed into a pile of empty crates, jetting splinters of wood over towards the crowd of subordinates hiding in the corner.

Miklan stomped over the wreckage, boots snapping pieces of wood into two as he loomed over the fainting thief. He snarled, slamming his heels into the poor man's stomach, sending him flailing upwards. "Fucking brat, are you making a fool of me? This beer isn't even frothy anymore!" Another giant swing to the head and he scraped the skin off the thief's head.

The sound of bones cracking vibrated down the icy walls, the rest of his subordinates shivering in fear. Miklan's rampage died out at the cost of a young, fledgling life. He scoffed, turning the corpse over with disgust as he spat into the open wounds. "Worthless scum. All of them."

He whipped his head back to the group of bandits. "Someone clean this mess up and get me a proper glass of beer. I don't care if you have to raid the nearest village. Go, now!"

The group dispersed as the members of his bandit crew jostled over each other, scrambling out of the cold, dark tower in search of quality goods. Miklan settled himself onto the same empty barrel, folding his legs as he leaned against the wall, hands behind his head.

The wall of rain outside drummed against the roof of the tower, discordant echoes blending in with the haunting howl of wind blowing in his ears. He paid it no heed. Dark umber orbs fixated on his most prized possession lying next to him on the ground: the Lance of Ruin.

The pale, bony edges coupled with the lightning motif of the well-sculpted weapon — the bane of his existence. Combined with the thundering clouds of rainstorm outside, it was like the Goddess was mocking him and his petty actions. The weapon remained deadly silent, not even the slightest buzz or glow.

He grabbed the lance by the hilt, holding it straight in front of him. His nails latched themselves onto the grip, holding on for dear life as he glared at the unresponsive stone no different from a pile of rubble in his unworthy hands. A wave of hatred, self-loathing, and bitterness swept over him and Miklan couldn't help but laugh.

He dropped the weapon onto the ground, the holy relic tainted by mud from his wet boots. He sneered at it from above, a mocking grin on his lips. "What's so good about this stick of bones, anyway?" He kicked it lightly with his foot, letting the object roll down the sloped floor.

To his surprise, the weapon continued rolling down the cobbled floor until it halted in front of a wooden cane. Miklan remained frozen in his seat, eyes boring into the newcomer dressed entirely in a black cloak.

Umber-brown orbs thinned. "Who the fuck are you?" Miklan spat. "And how the hell did you get in here?"

A low chuckle escaped from underneath the veiled man. The cloaked figure stepped forward, using his cane to probe the Lance of Ruin, letting it roll back to its new owner. Miklan reached down to grab the weapon and in a flash, he swung wide, ripping the cloak off the stranger's head, exposing ghostly white skin and a face aged with wrinkles and bloodshot veins.

"Old geezer, I don't know who the hell you are, but this isn't some sacred sanctuary for you to pray in. Leave before I bust your head open," Miklan threatened, standing up on his feet. He helped the lance near the old man's neck. "Don't let me warn you twice. Leave, now."

The old man lightly batted the lance away from his face with a confident smirk. "Do not be so impatient, young man. I have come here with an offer most appealing to you."

Miklan glared at the crafty old man, snarling. "Whatever scam you're selling, I'm not buying any. Get away." He shooed him off with his armored hands, but the old man only took a small step back.

"Patience, young man. My name is Solon and I am here to inform you I can give you what you desire most in this world," Solon greeted with a curt bow. He tapped the cane on the floor, smirking wide at Miklan's dumbfounded face. "I assure you, I may be a talented swindler and master of disguises, but I am here to offer you an…alliance, of sorts."

"Alliance," Miklan repeated, eying the old man with nothing but distrust. "I don't know what fool blabbed his mouth, but you can do nothing for me. This is your last warning, old man. Scram."

Solon backed away, chuckling darkly. "My, my. You are as impatient as my lord warned. Then forgive me for taking more desperate measures."

Miklan didn't know what hit him, but after a loud crack of lightning, a blur of vivid purple light launched itself right into his face. He breathed in the toxic fume, feeling every muscle in his body crunch up as he fell onto his knees gasping for air. "What the fuck did you do to me, you old crafty fox?!"

The purple aura coiled around him like a serpent, tying his limbs up with dark magic, preventing him from moving.

Solon tapped his cane once more, earning Miklan's undivided attention. "Now that you are more willing to listen to me, I would like to offer you something you cannot refuse." Solon's dark eyes gained an eerily purple luminescence, his grin pure shark. "As I said, I can give you what you most desire. What I mean is…if you wish to possess the Crest of Gautier, I can do that for you."

Miklan's first reaction was to snort. His body convulsed as he guffawed, jerking his chin up into the sky, tears of laughter spilling from his dull orbs. "You make a funny joke, old man. Who knew you had a sense of humor in you?" His laugh warped into a mocking snigger. "I thought you were going to say something more believable, but this? Hah! You must take me for a fool. If it was so easy to have that god-forsaken crest, I would've done so long ago!" He raised his voice higher, yelling at Solon with hatred fueling his anger.

Solon didn't budge from his spot, staring down at the writhing man with interest. "Hm, I see. Then, perhaps a demonstration is necessary." Solon reached inside his cloak, hands searching for a specific object. He pulled out a glowing red stone, turning the front towards Miklan whose eyes widened as he recognized the symbol engraved onto the surface.

"T-That…that's impossible!" Miklan screeched. He jerked his head to the lance in his hands. Fumbling with the weapon, he lifted the lance into the air, eyes boring into the spherical orb in the center. There it was, the damn symbol of the Gautier Crest, staring back at him. "That stone of yours must be a fake. I have the real one with me here!"

Solon scoffed. "Of course, the one attached to the Lance of Ruin you possess is real. The one I have is only a replica. However, as you can see, I can create artificial crest stones." Solon mumbled a spell under his breath, incomprehensible words echoing through the dark hall as the symbol engraved onto the stone in his hands floated into the air. The Crest of Gautier glowed a wintry purple in Solon's hands, much to Miklan's dismay.

"Y-You…what kind of magic is this?!" Miklan struggled against the chains of magic around him, growling. "I cannot believe it!"

Solon bent down to eye-level with Miklan, dark eyes flashing. "You do not need to believe me. But even if you do not, like a moth to the flame, you will jump at this opportunity. Because it is all you have ever desired."

Sweat glistened on Miklan's forehead like icy glacial. He swallowed, hands trembling. "You…can give me it? The accursed crest?"

Solon cackled. "Indeed, I can. I will implant this crest stone inside of you. That will allow you to wield the Lance of Ruin like the true inheritor. However, there is still one last ingredient missing."

"What is it? Tell me! My band of thieves will find it without fail!" Miklan raised his voice hysterically, eyes whirling with madness, lips curling up into a wicked grin. "Hah! Finally, I can finish those bastards for good!"

Solon leaned closer to Miklan, whispering in a hushed voice next to his ears. Each and every syllable Solon spoke was no different from the most potent of poisons, but Miklan did not know he was making a deal with the devil himself.

He was too desperate and pitiful to think otherwise.

"All you have to do is get me the blood of someone who possesses the Gautier Crest. You have two choices, young man. Pick your favorite. I shall await good news from you."

The world around them melted and swirled, blending everything into a purple vortex. Solon stepped inside, disappearing into the void as a flash of light blinded Miklan's eyes. By the time he opened his eyes, the magic chains around him had dissipated into thin air. Nothing remained of the mysterious old man. It was like everything was just an illusion — some sort of self-indulgent dream he had spun up.

But the pain remained where the bindings used to be. Miklan stood up on his feet, the Lance of Ruin in hand. He stared at the abominable stone in the center, baring his fangs.

His demonic laughter mingled in with the cracking thunderstorm outside, the streaks of light casting a dark, beast-like shadow behind him.

"Just you wait, brother. I will take everything back from you, leaving nothing but bone and ashes. Mark my words."

"So, it has come down to this…"

Dimitri sat at his desk, chin on his folded hands, sharp blue orbs narrowed to death. Ingrid stood behind him next to Dedue, both looking grim. Felix leaned against the wall next to them, eyes shut tight.

Satiana lingered behind the group, darting her head back and forth between each individual. She placed her hands on her hips, frowning at the tensed air permeating the group. "Why's everyone looking like they're at a funeral so early in the morning?" She waved her hand around in the air, brushing imaginary dark swirls of tension away from her face with a grimace. "Did something happen while I was at the infirmary for a check-up?"

Ingrid stared at her, eyes dazed. "I'm sorry, Satiana. The professor just briefed us about our next mission for this moon."

Satiana blinked. "Oh? But why the dark mood?"

Ingrid glanced away from Satiana. She fixated her gaze outside the window, refusing to answer the question. Clutching her arm with one hand, she sighed, shoulders drooping.

Her actions only made Satiana tilt her head to the side with a frown. "Uh, guys? Seriously, what's wrong? I was joking when I said this was like a funeral, but did someone really die or what?"

Dimitri spun in his seat, turning to address Satiana with a tired smile. "Pardon me for the late explanation. Our mission for this moon is to eradicate a few bandits roaming in Kingdom territory."

"Okay, that doesn't sound so different from our first task in Zanado." Satiana crossed her arms over her chest. "So why, well, this?" She twirled her index finger in lieu of more words.

Dimitri hesitated, biting his lips as the words refused to escape from his mouth. He interlaced his hands together on his lap, eyes boring down at his own fist.

Satiana glanced at Dedue, who also turned away from her. Her eyebrows twitched, and she switched tactics. She headed over towards Felix and poked him right in the shoulder, glaring at him. "You. Tell me what's going on."

Felix spared her a quick glance, opening one of his eyes before he shut them again.

Satiana groaned as she yanked her hair in frustration. "Can someone just tell me what's going on already?!" She whirled around, spreading her arms wide in dismay. "This atmosphere is suffocating as hell and I can't do anything about it if I don't know what's on your mind!"

Dimitri coughed into his fist. "I apologize. It's just hard to put it into words." Blue orbs flittered to the side again, much to Satiana's frustration. "As I said, the mission will occur in Kingdom territory. To be more specific, it has to do with Gautier territory."

"Gautier territory? Isn't that way up north?" Satiana tapped her feet impatiently as she waited for Dimitri to continue.

Except he didn't. He clammed up again, hands shivering.

Fucking hell.

Satiana scowled. "Okay, fine, I guess I'm not welcome. Whatever. So we just need to kill a bunch of bandits, right? Easy enough." She rolled her eyes before she trod towards the exit of the classroom. "I still don't understand what's going on…" she mumbled as she kicked a random pebble along the way, rearing around the corner.

She barely made it out of the courtyard before a hand yanked her back by the shoulders. She was caught unprepared and yelped, feeling her feet stumble as gravity took hold. Her back collided against a solid chest, and she spun around to meet the intruder with a nasty glare. "What the hell was that for?"

Felix winced, a permanent scowl etched on his face. "You're being way too loud!"

Satiana swatted his hand away from her shoulder and took a step back, lips puckering outward. "It's not like I want to be loud, but everyone's just trying to keep me out of the loop and I don't understand what I'm doing wrong."

Felix let loose a weighty sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "You did nothing wrong. Everyone's just…sensitive."

"Ah, yes, sensitive," Satiana imitated, blowing air up at her bangs in frustration. "I'm not blind, Felix. I can see that," she deadpanned. "But I need an explanation why everyone is so tense."

"Like the boar said, this mission concerns Gautier territory," Felix spoke gravely. "Do you still not understand what that means?" He stared at her in disbelief. "So you really lost all your brain cells after that concussion."

Her eyes flashed predictably. "Screw you, Felix."

Felix ignored her rude retort, clicking his tongue. "It's Sylvain's home," he gave in, glaring at the floor. "Gautier territory is where Sylvain lives and, if things go according to plan, he will become the next Margrave."

Satiana froze. "Oh shit, right. I forgot."

Felix snorted. "Yes, you did."

"But that still doesn't explain everything." Satiana cocked her head to the side in inquiry. "There's nothing wrong with having bandits in one's territory. Hell, Fodlan has always been a dangerous place. Thieves run rampant all year long."

"You're right. It's not the bandits themselves that are troubling," Felix said, baritone voice sinking deeper. "It's their leader's presence that is throwing everyone off."

"Their leader?" Satiana mused, rubbing her nose. "Who is it? Is he some infamous thief?"

There was a heavy silence between them as Felix chose his words carefully. "He is infamous, but not for the reason you think," he started, copper-brown orbs quivering. "He's well-known throughout Gautier territory because he used to be a noble. A disowned son of a high prestige house, to be exact."

"A disowned son?" Satiana narrowed her eyes. "So he's trying to take revenge against the family who threw him away?"

Felix remained silent this time, returning to the stone-cold facade.

Satiana continued to drown in her thoughts. "Hm, so he used to be a noble, huh? But that's strange. There aren't that many noble houses in Gautier territory," she blabbered under her breath, forehead creasing further. "Most of them are minor lords and the one who rules them all is Margrave Gautier, Sylvain's father—"

Her jaw snapped shut with an audible click. She floundered inside, not knowing what to do with the newfound knowledge prickling her conscience. She stared at Felix, horror dawning, pleading for help with her eyes, hoping that he would tell her it was all just a sick joke.

But Felix was always dead serious. He had no sense of humor and Satiana knew that better than anyone else.

"Fuck." The profanity escaped from her lips, breathy and hollow. "Fucking hell." She clutched her head, hands trembling. "Why is this happening to us? Only a single moon has passed since we finished that vendetta with Ashe and his adoptive father. Just…why?!" she raised her voice, realizing the damning fact the Blue Lions would have to deal with.

They were being ordered to kill their friend's brother. No wonder everyone looked like they were half-dead inside the classroom.

She gritted her teeth, temper flaring, dark blue orbs burning at the edges. "Goddamn it all," she scowled, stomping her feet against the cobbled tiles. "Even Ashe still hasn't recovered yet and now we have to deal with this?!"

"There's nothing we can do," Felix's voice remained steadier than he thought it would. "It might be hard for that idiot, but we have to kill him."

"What?!" Satiana whipped her head to meet Felix's steely gaze. "Are you seriously saying that, Felix? We already killed Ashe's dad and now we have to kill Sylvain's brother!"

"Yes, we do," Felix mumbled. He clenched his fists, glaring at his own hands. "If you or that idiot won't, then I'll kill that bastard myself."

Satiana jerked her head back, a dazed look flashing over her face. Her brows drew together as she observed Felix in silence.

Knowing him, Felix always seemed to have more to say than others, especially when it involved the act of killing. He used to sneer at her assassin roots, even calling her akin to a blood-thirsty beast the first time they argued with each other. But now, he wasn't even batting an eye at the thought of killing Sylvain's brother. No, he was absolutely livid, trembling with anger, and was that a hint of anticipation she saw flickering in her eyes?

Something was wrong. Dimitri and everyone's actions aside, even Felix was acting strange compared to usual, and he was the most consistent person Satiana knew. If the thought of eliminating Sylvain's brother made him this excited, she didn't want to know what he would do on the battlefield.

Satiana took a step forward, dissecting Felix's demeanor with her vision, a permanent frown etched onto her face. She held a fist to her chest, worry filling every inch of her darkening blue orbs. "Felix? What's wrong? You're not acting like your usual self."

Felix released the death grip he had on his palms, unfolding his fist. He refused to meet her gaze, shifting sideways. "You're imagining it."

"No, I'm not," Satiana said, taking another step forward, almost invading his personal space. She stuck her face up at him, staring unflinchingly. "It's not like you to be so worked up like this. What's going on here?"

Felix leaned away from her face, scowling. "Get away from me."

But when it came to stubbornness, Satiana wouldn't lose to anyone. Even the most unmoving boulder in all of Fodlan. "Not until you tell me what's wrong with you." She pushed further, taking another step forward.

He slid back, eyes darting off to the side. "I told you, it's nothing!" He yelled as he scraped a hand through his hair. "Just forget I said anything."

"Mhm, because I can totally just pretend I heard nothing." Satiana rolled her eyes, taking a step back after realizing her tactic wasn't working.

Felix's shoulders drooped at her retreat, a sigh of relief escaping from his lips. He bounced his leg, threading his fingers through his unkempt bangs. "Look, just go check up on that idiot, will you?" He sounded weak — much weaker than she ever heard him. He was almost pleading at her with his drooping gaze, voice hoarse and dry.

She didn't like the look on his face and definitely not the shaky demeanor he was emitting. Felix was never one to be distraught. He always had this air of confidence and brazenness. But now, the man standing in front of her was reduced to a mere shadow of himself.

Satiana's concern multiplied tenfold, his anxious behavior now mirroring her own as she bit her lips. "Felix, you really don't look well."

"I can imagine so," Felix replied flatly.

Satiana exhaled, rubbing her arm. "Fine," she yielded after a minute of silent confrontation, though the frown was still on her face. "I won't bug you anymore, but take my concerns seriously. I know something's bothering you. It doesn't have to be me. Go talk to someone about it, okay?"

Felix didn't reply, only giving her a curt nod. He grunted as he briskly brushed past her shoulders, hands tucked inside the pockets of his pants. He disappeared around the corner, leaving Satiana to wallow in the sinking feeling inside her stomach.

His arms struggled against the claim of icy waters. He refused to let go, flailing against the freezing, rushing waves. The pressing down of lungs that suddenly needed to breathe more than ever. The confusion and disorientation of shattered light, murky and filled with floating specks. His snot melted in with the muddied water creeping up his nostrils, fat blobs of tears disintegrating into the bubbles.

He still remembered how he got there.

It started off on a normal day in Gautier territory. His brother asked to accompany him up the mountainside for a walk. It was the first time Miklan ever invited him anywhere. His young, pure heart yearned for his brother's love, and he genuinely believed he would receive it.

Miklan had a kind smile on his face — one Sylvain thought fit him quite nicely. It wasn't a toothy, childish grin. It was simply…endearing. He looked softer with a smile on his face. His face wasn't marred with the scar that sectioned his face back then.

Sylvain loved his brother. No matter what lies he told himself to sleep at night, he would always reach the same conclusion. Even if he had to face that signature irritable glare and look of disgust, Sylvain would smile warmly at his big brother. Even after a whip or a kick to the stomach, he would continue to bounce after his brother's trail.

Because Sylvain Jose Gautier was incapable of hating anyone but himself.

When they reached the deep, mossy well in the forest, Sylvain jumped onto the edge, peering into the darkness below. He laughed at Miklan for taking him to such a secluded and dreary place for their first outing together. He made fun of his brother, cheeks flaring red underneath the cold winter of Faerghus, but also from an overwhelming surge of anticipation.

Miklan walked up to him, smile warping into a full-blown grin. But there was nothing kind about his gaze. Not anymore.

His world tumbled upside down, fragile body flailing in the air as a strong shove plunged him into the never-ending darkness below. He remembered reaching his hand out for his dear brother, scream barely registering in his buzzing ears, eyes swelling with tears.

Even with his blurred vision, he could still glimpse the empty spot above the edge of the well and his brother's receding back. The red strands of hair vibrantly shone against the snow, the heavy contrast a burning memory in Sylvain's mind.

They shared the same color of red, whether it was hair or blood. But their hearts did not beat the same shade.

His cry for help ricocheted off the walls of the well, drowned out by the winter storm above as he sank into the water.

And in his dreams, Sylvain continued to sink. A heavy anchor was tied to his ankles, always dragging him down into oblivion. He could never breathe underwater, but years spent reliving his nightmare made him immune to the descent. He would continue to float, struggling against the tide, but never making it to the surface.

The light was always out of reach.

Only the darkness welcomed him.

There was a distant echo ringing in his ears. Sylvain opened his eyes. He reached towards the blinding light above the murky water. Bubbles fluttered out of his gaping lips. He gasped for air, yearning to breathe.

The light was so close, yet so far.

The voice grew louder and the world around him shook. The well shattered, breaking into a gazillion shards. The water drowning him evaporated into thin air, leaving him stranded in a lonely world — a pure white, endless sea of emptiness.

He woke up to the sound of desperate pleading. The sound of being loved and cared for.

It wasn't his brother's voice.

"Oh my god, you're finally awake!"

Sylvain rubbed his post-sleep eyes, yawning as he stretched his arms above his head. He wiggled the blankets off with a few shakes of his leg. The blanket slid off the bed, landing on the carpet below. He blinked away the remnants of sleep, staring blankly at the black-haired girl in front of him.

He grinned. "Oh! Good morning, Satiana. What brings you to my humble abode today? Did you not get enough of sleeping in my bed because I would be happy to have you back in my embrace—"

He wasn't sure what compelled her to do so, but Satiana threw herself at him, suffocating him under her warm hug. She squeezed him, digging her head into the crook of his neck.

Sylvain's brain short-circuited. His mind could not catch up with the sheer incredulity of the event unfolding in front of his eyes. He tried to lift his back up from the bed, but Satiana moved her leg over him, locking him into position.

Sylvain didn't know how to react to her behavior and settled on trusting his instincts. He weaved his hand through her ponytail, patting her back with the other hand. "Uh, Satiana? What's wrong?"

She sniffed once and Sylvain broke a sweat, panic settling inside of him. He yanked her off him with sturdy arms, holding her by the shoulder. He finally glimpsed at her expression and holy hell, did she look terrible.

Satiana's eyes were red in the corners, as if she had been crying for hours. Her mouth quivered, brows creasing deep with worry. The dark blue orbs were dull, barely giving off any shine against the bright rays of the sun outside his window.

He frowned. "Okay, seriously, what's wrong?"

Satiana gripped her hand tightly, lips wobbling as she tried to speak. "You weren't breathing."

Sylvain blinked. "What?"

"I said you weren't breathing."

"That makes no sense. I'm alive and breathing right now."

"Yes, but just now, you weren't."

"Oh. Well, this is awkward."

Satiana went silent. Sylvain released his grip on her shoulders and scratched his cheek awkwardly, glancing away from her. A momentary peace enveloped the two, the sound of birds chirping outside in the afternoon sun barely keeping Sylvain's sanity intact.

It was the usual for him. Waking up from a nightmare. Reliving his memories. Most of the girls he brought back to his room knew about this habit of his. Sylvain always brushed it off as a unique bodily function; he joked about it all the time with the girls in town, saying that he would jerk awake at random times during the night because his body was signaling him to relieve his pent-up stress.

But he wouldn't use that old excuse on Satiana. Not her. She deserved better than his stupid lies and smiley facade.

"So, how do I explain this?" Sylvain trailed off into a laugh at the end, sweat dripping down his forehead. "I get these nightmares often. You don't have to worry about me. I'm used to it now. Nothing dangerous."

Satiana didn't move from her spot on Sylvain's bed. She refused to budge, tired eyes boring into Sylvain's soul. He drowned in them, the reflection of his own weary face inside those blue orbs — a mirror.

His eyes twitched, and he leaned against the wall next to him, sighing. He rustled the unkempt strands of his sticky hair; the action distracting him from more morbid thoughts filling his hollow self.

"You shouldn't get used to it, Sylvain. It's never good for you."

Sylvain's lips curved up into a wry smile. "Of course you would know, huh?"

Satiana rubbed her hands, frowning. "I don't dare to assume what you're going through, but I have my share of traumatic experiences. Although I don't think my body actually stops breathing because of them."

"Good for you. You're getting better, Satiana." He reached his hand over towards her and patted her head, transferring every bit of warmth remaining in his body to her. Nimble fingers folded a strand of hair behind her ears. He smiled affectionately at her. "Geez, what's with that look on your face? You look much better when you smile, you know that?"

Satiana placed her hand on his, dragging it down into her lap. "Sylvain, I don't need your fake smiles and comfort. Even without them, just you being there for me is more than enough."

Sylvain's smile faltered for a split second, honey-brown irises gaining a golden gleam. "Since when did I worm my way into your heart, hm?"

"You know that's not what I mean, Sylvain." Satiana rolled her eyes, exhaling in exasperation. "I'm glad you're there for me, especially when I argue with Felix. You just know best how to comfort someone who's feeling down."

"Well, what can I say? That's what I do best." Sylvain flashed her a wink, but his smile was growing thinner after every passing second.

"Sylvain, you don't need to force yourself to smile all the time. I broke down in front of you twice, but you won't allow yourself to do the same to me. That's kind of unfair."

Sylvain laughed, the sound breathy in both of their ears. "Hey, I still have an image to keep, you know?"

"I know, but I don't like it."

Sylvain shrugged. "Well, you do you."

Satiana closed her eyes. "Fine. Have it your way. You don't need to tell me anything. Just know that Felix was the one who sent me here."

Sylvain leaned away from the wall, brows arching high. "Felix? Why would he do that?"

"Because our next mission involves your family and Felix is worried about you, but being the nasty, dishonest man he is, he sent me here instead."

Sylvain snorted, plopping himself back down onto the bed. "That sounds like him alright." He folded his hand behind his head, crossing his legs on the bed. "So, what did he do this time?"

Satiana peered down at him with something akin to surprise registering in her eyes. "You know who I'm talking about?"

Sylvain glanced off to the side, an obvious frown now on his face. "If there's someone causing trouble in my family aside from me, it can only be my brother."

"And you're…okay with that?" Satiana chewed over her words, nose crinkling.

Sylvain closed his eyes and sighed, chest heaving up and down rhythmically. "Yes, he deserves every punishment possible. He's beyond saving."

Satiana crossed her arms, eyes flashing knowingly. "You're lying."

Sylvain snapped his eyes open and smirked at her, but nothing about him seemed gloating. "You and your oh-so-holy insight."

"I may not have known you long, but I know you're not capable of hating someone from the bottom of your heart," Satiana said, eyes narrowing. "I don't know what went wrong between you and your brother, but I hope you don't have any lingering regrets like with Ashe and Lord Lonato."

"Regrets, huh?" Sylvain mumbled. He scoffed, a cynical sound escaping from his lips. "We've long crossed over that border. He and I can never see eye to eye. It's impossible."

"How do you know that? I don't want to scratch your ego, but you kind of have a talent for words, Sylvain. Why not use that tongue of yours to convince your brother otherwise?" Satiana suggested. "Talk it over with him once. If it's for you, I'll risk getting scolded by Byleth again. Maybe I can take you to your brother's hideout now—"

"Never."

It was only one word of refusal, but he spat it out so harshly with such finality Satiana jerked her head back in surprise. It was only for a split second, but there was the same bite behind his remark as Felix had earlier. His usual sunny brown orbs were icy cold, dark like polished coal, and it shook her to the core.

She didn't like this look on his face. Sylvain just wasn't…suitable for such hatred and bitterness.

"...Why?" Her curiosity took over and Satiana blurted out the question she longed to receive an answer to — the answer Felix refused to give her.

Sylvain's blank eyes met her quivering gaze. "Because he'll try to kill me, just like the past hundred times."

Her mind went white. There were so many words she had prepared in her head to convince him otherwise. She thought Sylvain was being stubborn because he was afraid to confront his brother. She thought maybe they clashed a few times, argued over some things, and fought often as children. Maybe he just didn't know what to say to his brother to make up for their fights.

It all clicked into place, the nightmares he survived through. How his body forgot to breathe. Her heart sank, shattered into a million irreparable pieces. The afternoon breeze brushed at Satiana's face through the slightly open window and she wished the wind could blow it all away. The aching hurt, the band too tight about her chest.

"Oh, Sylvain," was all she said after a pregnant pause.

There were no words of comfort she could give him. This wasn't the kind of pain she could help him brush away. This was something more…personal. A deep wrench inside his soul that will never go away, even if the passage of time worked its magic. The memory will always remain, like a nasty scar. And looking at his own reflection in the mirror would only remind him daily of his own flaws.

His failure to be loved by his one and only brother.

Sylvain's hand twitched in her lap, their fingers interlacing. Sylvain tugged her forward, a forlorn smile on his face. "Didn't I tell you, Satiana? You look much better with a smile on. Not with tears in your eyes."

Indeed, she felt the familiar sting of water in her eyes. But she didn't mind it this time. She wasn't shedding tears for herself, but for someone else for the first time in her life. "I thought I told you to stop it with the flirting, Sylvain. Now isn't the time for that," she scolded, nose reddening.

Sylvain rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, whatever you say. Also, I'm not flirting with you. If I was being serious, you would cry for me because of a totally different reason."

Satiana whacked him in the head, the suggestive innuendo making her scowl in distaste. "You are seriously the worst man in all of Garreg Mach." She paused, frowning instead. "Actually, forget that. You're a good person, Sylvain. But you suck sometimes."

Sylvain laughed out loud this time, the sound light and feathery. "Don't worry. I know that better than anyone else."

Satiana glared at him. "You told me to stop it with the cynical thoughts so I can tell you to do the same. Stop it, Sylvain."

A lop-sided, nonchalant grin made its way up onto his handsome features. "Yes, sister. Your brother will always heed your command."

At this remark, Satiana blanched, gagging. "Oh my god, I do not want a brother like you, Sylvain."

Sylvain shrugged. "But I want a sister like you. Cute, honest, and emotional. Felix used to hit me for this, but I consider him like my younger brother, too."

"Yes, I can imagine him trying to cut off your head for saying so," Satiana deadpanned.

The conversation lapsed into a lull. Satiana stared out the window, eyes lazily traversing the blue skies above. Sylvain breathed, a shadow of a smile on his face as he glanced over her form, glowing almost tangibly golden.

There was a reason he had grown to enjoy her company. She never pushed him to speak his mind. Even if she knew he was lying right through his teeth, she didn't force him to undo his mask, simply throwing a few scoldings here and there.

This was what he liked most about her. It was the same quality that drew him to befriend Felix and treat him like a younger brother. Felix would kill him if he ever mentioned this, but Sylvain truly believed Felix and Satiana were two peas from the same pod. They were both a ball of raging emotions inside, beasts with the sword, and yet so kind. They gave him space to breathe — like oxygen — in this cruel, judgmental world that tried to suffocate him with every move he made.

They cared for him despite knowing his ugly, hidden side. He could never say it properly, even with his talented flowery tongue, how much he appreciated their existence. Satiana came much later than Felix, but he considered her a close friend of his, someone he might one day let slip inside the cracks of the foundation of his life that were shattered by the ever-present self-hatred inside of him.

If there was someone who knew how he felt, it would be her, and vice versa.

"He's hated me ever since I was born," he found his tongue loosening, the words slipping out of him.

Satiana remained silent, but acknowledged his presence with a quiet hum.

"Miklan was the heir to our house before I came around. I was born with the Crest of Gautier. He wasn't. After that day, my parents treated me as if I was king of the world. They neglected him, pushed him to the side, and placed me on a pedestal instead of him. I stole everything from him, simply because I was born. It's not hard to imagine why he grew to loathe me to the point of wanting to kill me."

Satiana shifted on the bed, turning to face his brooding expression.

"I know it's not really my fault. Even so, it hurts." Sylvain flipped to his side on the bed, facing the wall. "Every time he punched me, kicked me, tried to harm me, I wouldn't resist. Because I still loved him. He's my family, no matter what he does."

His shoulders quivered, voice breaking at the edges. He swallowed once, breathing shakily. "My parents don't love me for who I am. They just see me for my crest. My one and only brother hates me enough to try to kill me. And all the girls in Fodlan want to marry me so they can elevate their status. Sometimes, I wonder who or what I'm even alive for."

Satiana reached her hand over towards his shuddering frame and rubbed soothing circles on his back.

"I hate them all. But I also love my family. So I chose to hate myself instead. For being born lucky, even though my life has been hell because of this goddamn crest." Sylvain paused, voice lowering as he muttered under his breath. "If only this world was ridden of this stupid crest system."

Satiana froze. She drew her hand back, clutching it in front of her chest.

There it was again, the notion of crests being the greatest evil of the world. Edelgard, Lysithea, and now even Sylvain himself had made it clear to her. The presence of crests made up the hierarchy of their society — the corrupted pyramid that destroyed the lives of both those who possessed riches and those who were deprived of opportunities.

And indeed, it was the Church of Seiros that allowed this system of valuing crests to sustain itself. Because Fodlan's history was intricately woven in with the Goddess and her children's actions to save the world from evil. No one could go against them, for it would be the same as pointing one's sword in the direction of the Goddess who saved the land.

She had already witnessed one of this system's greatest failure with Lord Lonato. She had already survived through one such hell herself. But a part of Satiana could not will herself to antagonize the Church.

"Do you think that eradicating this world of crests will bring the peace you yearn for?" Satiana asked.

Sylvain flipped back towards her, frowning. "What's with that loaded question?"

Satiana's expression thinned. "I just…I've heard many people say that. How crests destroyed their lives. I mean, I'm a victim of this so-called crest-ridden society myself." She clutched the front of her shirt. "But sometimes, I feel like it's not the crests themselves that caused us to suffer. True, this hierarchy of crest-bearers having their status elevated is kind of dumb because people should be judged by their skills and talent, not because of some inherited factor."

Blue eyes narrowed, a scowl making its way up onto her face. "But in the end, isn't it human greed that lends itself to such tragedy? Yes, the crests are a large part of it, but who's to say people don't inherently try to step on others, anyway?"

Sylvain stared at her, dumbfounded. "Wow, that was way too philosophical for my liking." A grimace emerged on his features. "How did my heartfelt confession lead to such a heavy topic of discussion?"

"Sorry, it's nothing. I just have a lot of things on my mind lately." Satiana pulled one knee up, resting her chin on top, sighing. "Sylvain, this is going to sound idiotic, but one day, I hope you realize that even in this so-called disgusting world, there are people who make it worthwhile to live in." She spared him a glance. "Like how you are to me."

Honey-brown orbs widened, the golden light dancing within them. "That is probably the sweetest thing I've ever heard in my whole life, Satiana."

She huffed, lips pursing. "I'm being serious, Sylvain. My whole life has changed after meeting you and Felix. Also the rest of the Blue Lions. My time here has been very fulfilling and…eye-opening. I still have a lot to learn alongside you guys, whether it's about this world or myself."

She tilted her head, plastering her cheek against her knee, closing her eyes. "If I can learn to forgive myself, then so can you. No matter what you tell yourself, please believe that it isn't your fault for being born into this world. Your existence matters."

Sylvain didn't reply. He closed his eyes as well, mirroring her actions, drowning in the warmth of sunshine and her kind words. He exhaled, the sinking feeling inside his stomach dissipating. A soft smile made its way up onto his face.

"Satiana?"

"Hm?"

"...I'm glad I met you too, sis."

"Shut it, Sylvain."

"I'm sorry. What did you just say?"

Felix was always a man of combative nature. Combined with his often rude tongue, he had found himself in a static confrontation with almost everyone on campus before. But even he knew better than to lash out against a professor — especially the one in charge of his class. He could never beat her in combat, at least not yet, and he didn't want to rile her up on purpose.

But this didn't concern him. It concerned his friends. Two of them, if he was being honest with himself.

Byleth folded her arms across her chest, jerking her chin up in the air as she peered down at Felix's raging form. "As I said, I am not bringing Sylvain or Satiana along on this excursion. That decision is final." The words flew out of her mouth, hard and authoritative. "The bandit's leader is his blood and flesh. After what happened with Ashe, I refuse to inflict the same sort of position on Sylvain."

Felix laughed out loud at her remark, but there was nothing humorous about it. He was livid, fangs baring as a nasty sneer made its way up onto his twitching face. "That isn't for you to decide, professor. Sylvain is the one who gets to choose whether he wants to join this mission."

"I'm afraid you're wrong there, Felix. I am the one in charge of you all and with his best interest in mind, I believe he should sit out of this mission." Byleth remained unfazed under Felix's scrutinizing glare.

The rest of the Blue Lions stood awkwardly to the side of the entrance hall. Annette and Mercedes were huddled up in the corner, afraid of the escalating conflict between the two in a stand-off in the center of the room. Ashe had a conflicted expression on his face as he stood beside the stone-faced Dedue. Ingrid held Felix back by the shoulder with a frown, while Dimitri stepped up between the two of them with his hands spread out.

"Alright, let's calm down for a moment, shall we?" Dimitri frowned. "I understand both of your opinions. But the professor speaks the truth when she says it is in Sylvain's best interest to—"

"Hah!" Felix shook Ingrid's grip off his shoulders, snarling. "Stop talking nonsense, boar. The only person who can decide what to do after this is that dolt himself. He's already had enough of people controlling him because they think they know what's best for him. Piss off."

Dimitri's brows twitched violently. Felix was his best friend and that fact would never change, but even he did not possess an extensive well of patience. Dimitri sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Felix, just calm down. Please. I know you're angry for his sake, but listen to reason for once."