Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Ow! Damn it, Simon, I thought you said this wasn't a damned mine shaft! I swear the ground is going to give out any second...”

“It isn't! Ah, Angel look! Look at the markings on the wall... there were pictures and murals here once, I'm certain of it. This place existed before the breaking of the world. Here, I'm going to get a rubbing of them...”

Family sticks together. Some would say that the saying was beaten into the ground, or exploited by iron fisted nobles as a means to keep the dreamers among their children in line; but it cannot be denied that the bonds created by those you love the most can drive a person to do things they otherwise wouldn't. A good man could stoop to vile acts to save his children, an amoral or evil woman could find virtue in herself for the sake of her parents.

And siblings? No matter the era, rich or poor, healthy or ill, siblings would always, always find a way to inconvenience each other.

“Yes, that's very nice – remind me why all of us had to come here? If we hadn't had so much rain the past few weeks, I wouldn't have dared leave my territory to go skulking around in crumbling ruins in the mountains.”

The exited young man briefly makes an exasperated noise. “Lord preserve me, Rena, you'd think I'd dragged you out here by your hair. I distinctly recall you demanding I stay put until you caught up!”

A frustrated young woman flung her arms in the air. “You told me that the damn ceiling half collapsed on you last time, how was I supposed to stay at home?!”

A tall muscular brawler laughs and plants a hand on both their shoulders, nearly sending the bickering pair face first into the stone and dirt floor. “Don't be so glum, Renata! Are we supposed to believe you weren't having fun in this little journey we're making? Remind me, which of us was laughing like a child while wrangling those mountain lions?”

“...That was Michael.” The young woman says, looking about shiftily.

“And you!” Another young man sputters in protest.

“Can I please have the rubbings, somebody?!” The excited young man asks plaintively. “I know I handed off my bag to one of you a minute ago!” His snickering neighbor ducks between their squabbling siblings and passes it to him. “Ah, Ren, my one and only friend, you've come to my rescue.”

“HEY!” Multiple voices protest.

Sothis had known this quite well, having raised a large and rambunctious family for a long time before she was forced into a deep sleep. She'd often mediated between childish squabbles and somewhat more intense arguments, and she'd gleefully written a few pamphlets on parenting. Nevertheless, while basic principals and tricks were useful to keep in mind, each family dynamic is slightly different from the next – blood or found.

Some families who preached about familial loyalty were the first to abandon each other while the families that chose each other remained at each other's side to the death. Sometimes impressionable ones were sucked in by the promise of found family only to be betrayed. However, some planned for the worst that might happened.

Sothis was one of those people, and being a goddess, she had some 'in case of disaster' measures that were, perhaps, a little over the top by most people's estimation.

“How much longer do you need down here, Simon? Angel?” One of the more slender of the young men is eyeing the 'ceiling' with naked distrust. “I swear, if we all die in an avalanche over some old runes, I'm going to hold it over you wherever we end up indefinitely.”

“Old runes?! Julius, you're killing me. This was possibly part of the first civilization; if we want any hope of achieving Ronan's dream, this kind of information could be crucial.”

The sound of some debris falling down nearby causes the whole group to tense up. The one nearest to the disturbance tenses up faintly; her hand slowly drops to her side where her lance is braced. She waits a few seconds, head tilted like a fox hunting in the tall grass. A small voice whispers 'phew' a second later, and she launches herself at him like a javelin and-

“Ow ow ow ow! Not my hair, that hurts!” A very young sounding child yips as he's hauled into the main room. “Hey!”

The young woman takes on good look at him, then drops him like she'd just been scalded. “What the-?” Briefly she's mortified, before she shakes him hard by the shoulder, motherly instincts kicking in instantly. “Hellfire and damnation, boy, I almost skewered you! What the hell were you thinking creeping up on a pack of armed travelers like that?!”

“Grk! Because – this – was – one – of – my – family's – houses-!”

One of the Goddess's many titles was The Beginning, but Fodlan had forgotten over time both the title itself and the meaning it possessed. One of the powers within her dominion was time, and in the darkest hours she had observed before the apocalypse, she had prepared one contingency in case she wouldn't be able to heal the damage that was done.

However, she won and she did, and then she fell asleep. And her children, with so much on their plate, rather forgot about that backdoor she had created.

“Your family's house?”

“Yeah! Those were probably protective runes grandma wrote up...I can turn them on, if you'd like.” The boy tried something, then laughs. “Whoops. I might need a little help.”

“Say no more.”

“Siiiiimon....”

“Ren I don't need to hear that from you, Mister 'Let's go raid a den of demonic beasts, what could possibly go wrong?'”

“Hey, that's not a fair description and you know it – WHOAFUCKGEEZ!”

So some passersby could be forgiven for activating it by accident. Since it hadn't been a tomb in times gone by, the house had lacked any warnings to deter eager scholars, confused children, or idiots. Depending on who you asked, the group had consisted of two or all off those designations.

Byleth walked across the soft grass outside of the monastery of Garreg Mach, watching the sky. “Lorenz, are you in control of the wyvern now?” She called up toward the small cluster of three wyverns and two pegasi directly above her. They're a ways off the ground, but not in proper 'clearing the towers' flight – which was good, because one of the wyverns had taken umbrage at Lorenz's sulky complaints about its smell, bit into the reigns he was holding, and took off into the sky in the few seconds she'd had her back turned. Claude, Hilda and Marianne had immediately rushed after him, while Hannah was forced to abandon her instructing of Ignatz to assist them.

Her fellow mercenary Hannah wouldn't allow anyone to fall, but there's still a painful twinge of something in her chest as she observes the still-slightly-frantic energy in the air.

“O-Of course, my dear professor!” Lorenz's not at all high-pitched response drifts down to her moments later. Byleth exhales deeply, her shoulders relaxing while Leonie, Raphael and Lysithea all make various noises of relief. “This wild, petulant beast cannot hope to supersede the will of a noble – GAH!” The wyvern jerked its head violently, causing him to fall forward against its neck. “Stop it stop it stop it!”

“You'd be getting along better with him if you'd quit insulting him, you know!” Claude's sarcasm was a little more pronounced than usual; Byleth ponders his tone and figures it slots nicely between playful mockery and genuine annoyance. She could see her house leader's wyvern banking closely to the side of its irritated companion, the brunette attempting to use his magnetic bond with the creatures to soothe it.

“I will show it some respect when it accords me the same!” Lorenz responded with the haughty indigence that often characterized their back and forths. This quickly dissolved into a shriek of alarm as the irate wyvern bucks violently again, forcing Hannah to crack the reigns, and then to make a fairly perilous jump from her pegasus's back to land behind him and grab the reigns.

Byleth couldn't see from her angle right below them, but she's fairly certain Hannah just smacked Lorenz upside the head. “What part of 'show the wyvern respect' is so difficult for you to comprehend, Gloucester brat?!” The older mercenary bellows. “Why do you think you ended up in this position to begin with?!”

“...He's gonna die, isn't he?” Lysithea asked drolly. Byleth can't tell if she's genuinely resigned to the notion or just trusted that her professor won't let it happen.

“This is what he gets for trying to one-up Claude at everything,” Byleth deadpanned. A bubbly feeling that her ever present companion ghost had called 'exasperation' rises in her chest again. “I warned him that wyverns are vastly different beings than horses... I'm swapping out your and his chores wheels for ignoring me.”

The white haired girl almost sulks at that, amusingly enough. “Professor, I'm perfectly capable of doing weeding for a couple of hours. Why is he taking over my chore wheel?”

“Because Mr 'I don't want to do chores that stink' is hard to chastise otherwise.” Byleth responds, her mild tone not wavering in the slightest. For some reason, this makes both Leonie and Raphael both cough or try to muffle a fit of giggles. “What else I've tried seems to bounce right off his seemingly impenetrable ego.”

“Including the fact he could have fallen to his death at any point?”

“So it seems.”

Leonie coughs and shakes her head. “I really don't get it.” She says, tilting her head and watching as Hannah and Claude guide the cranky wyvern down. “Is that a noble thing? Does the fear of death only inflict itself on villagers and peasants?”

Byleth couldn't help but snort, sorting through many, many memories to the contrary. “I assure you it affects them too. For some types, they just take longer than most to register that imminent death is actually staring them in the face.”

Marianne, Hilda and Ignatz all came in for an easy landing; the green-haired painter looks dramatically pale, either frightened by what had nearly struck Lorenz or altitude sickness mixed with a fear caused by heights. Byleth snapped her fingers and pointedly gestured for him to come; Ignatz winced and stumbles toward her. No doubt expecting to be scolded.

His eyes widened when instead, Byleth drew a small jar of ginger pieces out of her pocket and removed one. “Here.” She instructs, taking his hand and placing two chunks in his hand. “This will help settle your stomach a little. Take your time chewing.”

Ignatz blinked rapidly at her for a second before his expression brightens. “Thank you, Professor.” he says in relief before doing as she instructed.

Byleth felt a slight upward twitch in her lips, in time with the increasingly familiar odd squeeze in her chest. “Would either of you like some?” She asks the girls who'd just landed mildly.

“Nah, we're alright.” Hilda said proudly, wrapping her arm around Marianne's shoulder. “We've gone on flights before when our dads were meeting for business stuff; we're old hands at this."

“T-Thank you for your concern.” Marianne mumbled, ducking her head like she wished that Byleth would scold her for something. The former mercenary's heart twinges at the sight. “But I'm feeling just fine.”

Byleth reluctantly nodded in acceptance; she'll build enough of a rapport with the blue-haired girl to find the source of her sorrow if it's the last thing she does at the monastery. But she couldn't pursue that now; she walked past the girls, pocketing the ginger. Because while part of her wanted to reassure this last individual, she's quite cross at him right now.

Claude landed elegantly a few moments before Lorenz and Hannah do; he slides from the back of his mount and rubs the curve of the wyvern's neck, cooing something that makes the proud flyer thrash its tail like an excited puppy. Then the aggrieved one dropped to the earth with a thud and a sour noise. Lorenz...more or less melted off its back, slithering down to the grass in a pitiful puddle while a scowling Hannah hopped off and whistled her pegasus down.

“You are damned lucky that Reigan is as capable with wyverns as he is.” Hannah growled irritably as Byleth strode up to the three. “You do understand you could have died a very ignominious death due to your lack of respect there, do you? Or did you think your crest would save you?”

“That...is not the power of the Gloucester inheritance...” Lorenz wheezed miserably as Byleth came to a stop in front of him and knelt down so he could read what little expression she had. The young noble looked upward and choked slightly at whatever he read in her eyes. “P-Professor.”

“Lorenz.” Her voice was flat, but there was a low rumble to it that made him cut himself off meekly. “What did I say about wyverns at the beginning of this impromptu flying lesson? Something I emphasized as very, very important?”

Lorenz swallowed hard. “That...they were very proud creatures?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “And?”

“And...that, they would not brook a rider who did not show them respect in turn? Who they would try to overpower in dominance displays more dangerous to said rider than themselves?”

“Yes.” She calmly lifted his chin with two fingers so he couldn't avoid her gaze as he was frantically trying to. “So you were listening. Am I to take it then that, in your rush to show up your classmate in a task that you had never attempted before, you chose to deliberately ignore my instructions?”

Lorenz paled and vehemently shakes his head. “N-No, I did not intend – I did not brush them off, I swear to you-” Byleth simply stares him down as he rambles, trying to come up with excuses/explanations before weakly petering off. “I-I'm terribly sorry.”

“You're lucky.” Byleth said with a slight shake of her head. “Lucky to be alive. And lucky that I'm more pleased that you're still alive than I am livid – as much as I am capable of – that you recklessly endangered yourself. So. You will be doing the weeding around the monastery for the next two months, and you will clean the stables for the horses and the wyverns. Raphael may assist you with the latter. Am I understood?”

Lorenz looked like he wanted to protest, but hung his head in acceptance after only a few seconds. “As you say, Professor.” He said somewhat despairingly, but without any whining. Byleth took him by the hand and pulled him to his feet.

Claude was grinning, but Byleth wasn't fooled; she could see the relief in his eyes that he hid behind the 'I told you so' that he slung easily at the purple-haired noble, the way he relaxed ever so slightly once he was safe on the ground. “You did very well taking charge there, Claude” she informed him as she strokes the aggrieved wyvern's horns, beginning to calm it.

“Eh, I was already up there.” He said arily.

Hannah snorted in response. “Bah. There are some wyvern tamers who aren't willing to go up to one trying to divest itself of a rider to calm it down; you are talented.”

Claude chuckled; he's certainly pleased, but Byleth swore that for a moment she could see his eyes gleam with a more genuine, perhaps even childlike happiness. Ever since he'd warned her that he was a schemer – well, also because he just interested her in a way she couldn't explain – she'd dedicated herself to carefully learning his expressions and the microisms thereof. She hoped it would help her understand him better soon.

Then she heard a roar.

It was no sound she could put a name too – not even the largest of wyverns had a cry that deep, thundering and loud; even though it came from something of a distance, it still sent a thrill down her spine. The wyverns all squawk in shock and alarm and to her shock, they all pressed their bellies to the ground. The proud creatures only did that when they faced and overwhelming enemy...

Byleth turned around. She heard Hilda and Ignatz shriek in shock and a whole lot of yelling from the other staff of Garreg Mach who were assisting with the Sky Watch. She's relatively certain that if she had been holding anything, she would have dropped it right on her foot.

Streaking across the sky is a dragon.

Although she's never seen one before, Byleth knew deep in her heart that's what it is. It's slender, almost like a ribbon of light green and blue and red rippling in the wind; curving one way than the other in an awkward but purposeful pattern. It had many wings, smaller than the ones described in fairy tales and fables but more numerous – somehow she can see that from even here. After a few seconds of shocked staring, she registered that yes, it is flying directly toward the monastery. It wasn't immediately obvious with the zigzag pattern it was flying...

The dragon called out again. Somehow Byleth thought that it sounded...annoyed?

That cry... Sothis whispered in her mind. Byleth jolted – the impetuous ghost often slept through the lessons of the day, unless she felt like amusing herself listening in on the class's banter. That voice...why do I feel as if I should know that voice...?

“Holy shit...” Claude whispered, materializing as if out of nowhere on her side. More likely she was too busy staring to notice. “Teach, is that...?!” There's stunned disbelief in his voice, yes, but just as strong was a vibrating excitement.

Byleth could only nod, watching the dragon come ever closer to them. The great creature uttered a shriek that...definitely sounded petulant and somewhat tired, and suddenly he was somewhat gracelessly circling down toward the ground.

Aaaaand suddenly Claude took off down the grass toward the place the magnificent creature intended to land. “What-? Dammit Claude!” Byelth protested – rather uselessly, she knew – and immediately took off after him. “Stay there!” She yelled over her shoulder, praying that the rest of her students had the sense to stay put.

The ribbon like dragon circled down and down toward the grass at the front gates. As Claude and belatedly Byleth herself approached, the being landed somewhat gracelessly on the grass and promptly spilled...two, four, seven, nine...eleven?... figures off of its back. It did so none too gently either, judging by the torrent of swearing that reaches her as she grabs Claude by the sleeve and stopped him at the nearest hill.

“Fuckin sonnova – Griffith, get your heel out of my gut please!” A furious young female voice demanded; Byleth followed it to a girl with dark blue hair in the grass. There's a spear strapped to her back, and she's angrily shoving at a red haired male who's fallen partially on top of her. She's dressed in tattered leather and fur like a mercenary.

“Charming as ever, Rena...ow, gently on my stomach, please...” The redhead groaned, rolling away from her and briefly curling up in a ball. He's dressed similarly to 'Rena', though he favors red to her dark blue. “Why couldn't we have a gentler landing...?”

“Oh, cut me a break you big jerks!” The... dragon(?!) barked in response, shaking his head. “I've never carried this many people at once; and you're all about as heavy as you are grumpy!”

“Wh – was that a shot at my weight?” A guy on the other side sputtered in disbelieving protest. “How is that fair?! I'm easily the skinniest of us!”

“No, that's Julius, Ren, we all agreed on that. You're too muscular.” A boisterous laugh cut across him. A huge young man hopped to his feet, brushing off his heavy coat and armor. “Apologies for the discomfort, little Lian; though as you yourself noted, this was the fastest route.”

“Mhrghrgr...remind me to never make suggestions ever again.” The dragon whined. And then he glowed gold. No – he shined, and then he began to shrink(?!) down. His long dragon form vanished in a shimmer of light, transforming into... into a young boy. He's dressed in various shades of green, messy hair who's shade was somewhere between gold and a light green. He doesn't seem to be wearing shoes.

Another one of the passengers rocks right to her feet; the sunlight catches in her golden hair. She hurried over to him and gave him her hand, helping him stand up. “Are you well? No worse for wear for having to carry us this far?” She asked in a voice that was practical, yet carried a tangible note of concern. “I'd loathe to have you out of action after the power you've shown.”

“I'm fine! But even if I wasn't, there's no one to fight here!” Lian(?) responded dramatically, putting his hands on his hips. “The monastery is grandmother's sacred place. Everyone is welcome to take refuge here.”

“Even warlords?” Griffith asked a little cynically, getting to his feet. He's tall and broad shouldered and has spiky red hair that reminds Byleth of Sylvain. He also has a lance, though he's put it away, he doesn't seem wholly comfortable not holding it.

Lian pivoted to face him and put his hands on his hips. “So long as you cause no harm to the people within? Yes. Have you even been listening to me?” He half asked, half complained.

The golden-haired girl patted Lian on the head, which makes him look both pleased and embarrassed at the same time. “Maurice, are you okay?” She asked, glancing at one of the figures who's yet to rise from the grass. “The grass can't be that comfortable.”

“...Gonna puke...” Another voice responded miserably. He at least sounds a little younger than the others.

Byleth slowly turned and looked at Claude. The brunette was vibrating in place, his green eyes practically glowing; she instinctively grabbed him by the wrist to hold him back from just barreling down the hill and interrogating the new arrivals. “What?” He protested with an annoyingly cute pout. “Somebody has to be the welcome wagon, why not us?”

“Let's approach with a little caution, huh?” She responds mildly. Then she walked down the hill and began to make her way to the group.

Lian had wandered over to the guy in the grass – who has light blue hair that catches the light of day, making Byleth briefly wonder how Marianne had gotten over there – and was offering him a flask of something. The others have all gotten to their feet and were seemingly universally gawking up at Garreg Mach.

“Holy shit... it looks like the towers touch the sky.” One guy stammered when Byleth and Claude came into earshot. He has long golden hair tied back in a low ponytail, and is dressed in dark blues. “I... it's so beautiful. This is the goddess's home?”

“How did we never know about this place?” The girl with dark blue hair demanded. “Thousands of people could live in there. The trees and the water...the high walls are perfect for defenses...the goddess's home... You'd think news that this place still stood would trickle over to us eventually!”

Byleth came to a stop a few yards away and took a deep breath. But before she could try and gain their attention, the massive gates of Garreg Mach all but flew open. Rhea rushed out, accompanied not by guards or priests to scrutinize the dragon (human child?) that had flown up to the heart of Fodlan but just Seteth. She charged down the stairs with none of her usual serenity or composure, and called out to the group.

Most of them look confused, but Lian visibly lit up. He scrambled away from the others and happily called out “Auntie!” in return. “Auntie! Uncle!”

Byleth exchanged a startled, wide-eyed look with Claude. What in the world?

Rhea bolted down the stairs and met Lian at the foot, kneeling and embracing him tightly. Seteth, meanwhile, skidded to a halt and stared at the bemused group of young adults first with disbelief, then shock, and finally naked horror. “You...? How can you be here?!”

“I'm sorry?” The young man with long blonde hair asked awkwardly. Then he gives his companions side-eye and muttered. “Okay, which one of you knows him?”

“I didn't do anything!” The blue haired girl protests.

Byleth took a step closer and froze. The blonde-haired young man has an incredibly familiar face... she hadn't noticed in the first few seconds, but when he glanced her way, she saw him in much clearer definition. His face is handsome but a slightly delicate looking, although weathered by the elements; he has elegant cheekbones broad shoulders, blue eyes equally curious and wary. His hair is much longer, but its wild and wavy, and if she imagined him with shorter hair...

He looked almost identical to Dimitri. He was a Blayddid.

“You shouldn't be here,” Seteth said in disbelief. “You should all be dead.”

Chapter Text

Ren paused mid step on a whim and pivoted on one foot. Usually, snickering at the sight of his brother gaping like a beached fish at anything (but particularly a certain person they met a little while ago) required no effort whatsoever; the situation being what it is though, he has to put it on slightly. “Michael, if you look any more like a guileless sparrow for much longer, you're going to be carried off by a hawk.” He said in a sing song voice.

The blonde jerked like he was electrocuted (Ren knew what that looked like from experience – anyone who knew anything about them threw whatever magic they could muster at Michael and Achilles) and fixed him with an indignant glare. “Ren!”

“What?” He made the most innocent face he could muster.

Michael gave him a warning glare before resuming walking, glancing over his shoulder at the massive window he'd been arrested at the sight of. Ren didn't blame him for all he wouldn't admit it out loud. The window was made up of glass with a stunning rainbow of colors, somehow tinted red and blue and green and made up of so many tiny fragments, all of which formed a picture of a woman in robes and a dragon flying overhead. He'd never seen anything like it.

But they could gawk at the ridiculously massive, beautiful, stunning fortress church that they'd been ordered into later. This...whatever-it-is is that they're suddenly in the middle of has to take priority. Ren cast a glance at Julius and nodded slightly to himself when he saw the joke had caused his brother to relax his grip on his sword just so.

Ren didn't consider himself 'the observant one' or 'the smart one' of Ronan's warriors. Everyone had to be sharp, had been sharp since the day that he met them – they couldn't afford not to be. Achilles was the closest one among them to being the 'all muscle no brains' kind of fighter, and he used that to his advantage all the time. Thinking about the time the big lug had tricked that northwestern warlord into believing he could be bought with the promise of battle, wine and slave women and lead the rest of them directly into the slaver's fortress would never fail to make him smirk.

With all that being said though, Ren prided himself on being Ronan's spy. He could read people's expressions like an open book, mine their interactions with other people for puzzle pieces of the bigger picture, and suss out fear and dissatisfaction hidden beneath a desperate mask of obedience – he'd had to. It was a personal talent; not to say his siblings weren't sharp, but none of them had chosen to hone their observations to the finest of edges.

“She's going to try and kill us.” Renata muttered to him, eyeing the back of Lian's 'auntie' with a dark glower. The boy dragon was oblivious to the atmosphere, likely out of relief because he clearly knows some things they don't, clamped onto the stately woman's arm and chattering at her despite her repeatedly shushing him mid sentence. “Any second now...”

Ren patted her on the head soothingly, watching the green-haired man to see if he'd picked up on her words. “Close, but no cigar Rena.” He said chidingly. “Also, she's right there. Shhhh.”

Renata swatted him hard on the arm, but reluctantly fell silent. Her eyes wander around the vast internal structure of the Goddess's monastery, too stubborn to be openly in awe like Michael but unable to fully suppress her honest emotion.

No need to let her know that we're on to her, Ren thought. Because yes, he saw what Renata saw – this lady, 'Archbishop Rhea', wants the eleven of them here about as much as she wants the plague. Maybe even less than that. The only thing that had matched the sheer disbelief in her and 'Seteth''s faces when they took them in was anger, alarm, and a third emotion that was too shadowed by the others for him to parse out before all those emotions vanished beneath a mask as smooth as glassed sand.

If it weren't for how completely lost they were and the bewildering situation they've found themselves in, Ren would have erred on the side of caution and encouraged the others to beat a fast retreat for the moment. Slip away, lay low and try to get information about the area and its people; nothing he hadn't done a thousand times before.

However, the face of the continent itself had completely transformed right under their feet from the moment Lian and Simon activated the runes in that crumbling home in the mountains. Literally. They had stumbled out of a magical explosion that Ren didn't have a prayer of trying to describe the experience thereof unharmed and found themselves staring down at a fully fledged well built village at the foot of the mountain that had most certainly not been there when they entered the ruins hours earlier, and that had just been the start.

Going into the village had done nothing for them. Accusations and suspicions of them being bandits, Ren could live with; they were a fact of life and Ronan was having their unified colors for the future designed. The villagers asking what their business was in Faerghus territory – because apparently the north had an agreed-upon name now and was the home of a unified kingdom in the time it had taken them to climb halfway up and down the mountain – that needed an explanation.

And nothing the villagers said made sense. When the questions he and the others asked didn't earn themselves wary looks, sarcastic inquiries if they were from the Empire (what Empire?!) and confused annoyance as if they were being asked which direction the sun rose in the morning, Ren heard casual chatter in the village square that he couldn't make heads or tails out of.

Where exactly is Duscur supposed to be, anyway?

It had been Lian's idea to come to the monastery, and he'd pushed the notion as their best solution until they gave in. It wasn't as if they'd had any other ideas, and the sheer nervousness and anxiety the boy-dragon emitted when he realized the runes hadn't done what he'd thought they had convinced Ren he hadn't done – whatever-it-was – on purpose.

Also he's a dragon. Because what the fuck.

Ren shook his head. Stay in the present, genius, he scolds himself.

“Where is everyone?” Lian asked a little plaintively. He looked down the halls and around every long hallway as if searching for someone who should be there, but isn't. Ren looked askance at Seteth; the man's jaw tightens at the question.

Rhea patted the boy on the head as she turned up toward the stairwell. “Not now, Lian; I promise, I'll explain in a little.” She said.

She doesn't want to tell you jack shit, Ren mused silently. She had a damn good calm mask, he'll give her that; he's hesitant to compare her to Ronan (no one can compare to father) but she's projecting a sort of motherly calm that's quieting Lian's endless questions without giving him a single real answer to any of them. Lian nodded in acceptance and leans against her arm.

“Hey Mike,” Angel's soft, curious sly voice floated behind him as he started to climb the tower. Achilles was leading from the front, as ever, with Ren right behind him to assess the situation. “Doesn't Seteth look familiar?”

“What do you mean?” Michael asked distractedly. Ren was pretty sure he would still be walking in small circles in the front yard of the monastery, staring in awe at the monastery's towers and wandering into the various shops, if Rhea hadn't politely ordered them to follow her.

“...You have to ask?” Simon inquired while Ren coughed 'angel' into his hand meaningfully.

He couldn't see Michael's expression, but he's certain that if the blonde could just reach up and hit him, he would. “I swear, I'm going to bury you all in a shallow grave some day.” He grumbled in a dire tone. “I noticed, yes, how could I not? ...But green hair isn't that rare, is it?”

Seteth twisted back and stared at them with a look that feels like burning hot pokers being jammed into Ren's chest. He nudged Angel in the shin immediately to make her stop talking; that was the expression of a man who's trying to decide which of your organs he's going to cut out first. Why the hell is green hair triggering to you?

Angel winced and quickly jumped to a different conversational topic. “You need not be so flustered about him, Mike.” She said chidingly, her voice warm. “Don't let Ren get under your skin so much; we all hope you'll see him again.”

Michael mumbled something Ren couldn't make out.

“Who are we talking about?” Lian asked with childlike cluelessness.

“Eh, tell you later.” Ren responded, ignoring the way Seteth's intensifying stare seemed like it was trying to be a silent cast fire spell. Well, doesn't that say quite a bit? “Assuming Michael doesn't drop me in the lake first.”

“Don't tempt me.”

“Boys, boys,” Elizabeth interrupted with deep exasperation. “I'm only going to say this once. Behave.”

The warning sent a familiar shiver down Ren's spine, because he likes to think that he isn't a fool. “Yes Beth,” he and Michael responded in perfect unison. Lian snickered merrily into his hand, and Ren dramatically pouted at him for effect.

Archbishop Rhea lead them up out of the stairs to the highest floor of the monastery. Ren was deeply tempted to walk over to a window and look out across the world; he's relatively certain this is the biggest fortress he'd ever been inside of. But the woman hasn't slowed down, pointedly leading them into a large chamber. Maurice muttered to himself as he clambered up the stairs and walked over to him.

“That's a trap,” the fifteen year old said bluntly, staring at the room with naked distrust. Ren watched the slender blue haired boy draw himself up to his full height – he was quite tall for his age – while twisting the hilt of one of his daggers. “She wants us dead.”

“I don't know if I'd go that far,” Ren responded, tilting his head to the side. “She's angry about something, for sure, though I'd be damned if I could tell you what... but I think if she wanted us dead, she'd fight us herself. Not lead us on a weird tour of her absurdly beautiful eerie and defensive fortress that's full of people she's granting sanctuary.”

Maurice gave him a droll look. “When has a bunch of hostages ever stopped anyone?” He retorted.

“I have a hunch,” Ren said innocently.

Achilles chuckled and claps Maurice on the shoulder, making him wince. “We'll manage, no matter what she chooses to do.” The boisterous ax wielder promised him. “Haven't we always triumphed together?”

Maurice sighed heavily in acknowledgment and shoved his hands in his pockets, a little sulky. Ren let it slide off his back; the scarred blue haired boy was the last to join them, Ronan having brought him back from a scourge of some cult or other. He was still hesitant to put his whole trust in anything; which was exactly why Elizabeth has been trying to mother him to death.

Julius slipped over to Ren's side, leaving Renata and Michael to pair up in preparation for the potential ambush. Each of them could change up in an instant, and judging by how large the double doors they're approaching are, there will be plenty of room to maneuver. They'd done more with less.

...That just left Lian as a loose variable, and Ren grimaced. He hoped that his intuition was on point and they aren't walking into a fight; he'd rather not fight the kid (dragon)'s family in front of him. Assuming that's who those two are, and if they are, he has just a few questions for them.

The room they're lead into is beautiful and dark blue. Ren looked down at the stone beneath his feet (was it stone?) and the dark blue carpets covering them. There's one huge glass window behind the podium that Archbishop Rhea, Seteth and Lian are now standing in front of, blue and green and gold and red – how did she find glass made of so many different colors? Hell, where did she find so much glass to begin with? Glass was a commodity. Few people knew how to make it, and Ren hadn't known that glass could be colored until right this second! The carpets were also so much smoother than the rough hand-woven work that graced most floors and walls he was familiar with, the knots so small and fine he wondered how human hands could make them. (He'd have to ask Elizabeth.)

Finally, Archbishop Rhea turned and faced them, and spoke for the first time since she'd requested (demanded) they follow her.

“You must be confused,” She said simply. “The world has changed quite suddenly underneath your feet, hasn't it?”

“That's one word for it,” Julius interjected with polite sarcasm. “Unfortunately I think I spent my outward shock and confusion when the little one transformed into a dragon.” He nodded at Lian. The boy-dragon bristled slightly and grumbled 'not that little', to which Julius amusedly rolled his eyes before getting serious again. “But I'm more interested in the fact that I'm apparently supposed to be dead.”

Archbishop Rhea shakes her head and pointedly asked, “Lian told me that you were visiting a ruin when you encountered the active runes that caused the magical event. You were not aware of their significance?”

Renata snorted audibly. “You're kidding, right?” She asked flatly. “Ruins are everywhere, and Simon loves sticking his head in like he's begging some angry spirit to drop a roof on him. I stopped being able to tell them apart years ago.”

“Philistine,” Simon coughed into his hand, indignant. Renata snapped her head his way and glowered at him. “My sister never had the time to learn the words and signs of the world that existed before the breaking of the world,” he said. “It's only because I had a quite fortunate birth and circumstances in my earliest years – before my village got sacked by raiders – that I know bits of the language and the architecture enough so that I could recognize them for what they are. And even then, I didn't expect a trap.”

“It wasn't a trap, it was something grandmother made.” Lian insisted. “It must have been her Big Escape Plan – didn't she call it that, uncle?”

Seteth's brow pinched intensely; the man was clearly wracking his brain for the memory and coming up empty. Ren put his hands in his pockets.

Yes, Lian had said that his grandmother was the goddess. However, Ren had heard that before and he would believe that when he saw it because the goddess had jumped ship after the world was ruined. She was not wandering about saving tiny handfuls of people; that was the delusions of people looking for hope in the hellscape.

Hope was a mistake. Ren knew that very well.

“Big escape plan?” Jason asked skeptically.

Archbishop Rhea raised one hand for silence. Then she fixed them with a steely look that almost forces Ren's spine to straighten involuntarily. There's a cold feeling chilling him and he resisted the urge to move his hand toward his crossbow.

“According to written history,” she said calmly, “The eleven of you died a thousand years ago.”

There was a moment of perfect stunned silence as Ren ran that statement over in his mind a few times. After a few seconds, he decided to speak up. “Excuse me?” He said in a strained voice. “A-Are you kidding? How the fuck would that even be possible?”

“Do you know the names of the Goddess?” Rhea continued as if he hadn't said anything, and Ren would have taken that as a challenge if he wasn't so completely on the back foot, but he is so his mouth stayed shut. “When the Goddess Sothis spoke to the first people of this world, she was called The Beginning. She is not only the mother of all life, but had dominion over time – the power to rewind it if she so willed. When the beginning of the breaking of the world became apparent, she spent what little time she had before it struck attempting to see and reach the future. To see if the world would survive this calamity, and what she must do to ensure all life would be saved.”

Simon licked his lips, his jaw moving in silence for a moment before he found his voice. “Ah...and... how do you know this?” He asked.

Rhea fixed him with an icy serene look. “I am the Archbishop of the Church of Serios. I commune with the Goddess to ensure her voice can still reach the people of Fodlan. I know her words and her heavenly powers by heart.”

Oh. She's a priest. Right, smile and nod and keep the conversation moving, not going to touch that. “So...she could send people into the future?” Ren prodded cautiously, the absolutely fucking ridiculous question tasting like that one time they left Achilles solely in charge of dinner. “By a thousand years.”

A thousand years. The sheer weight of that number was completely indescribable. How long had Ren spent wondering how many more days he had left to live, before Ronan took him in? How many times had they all joked about dying as 'old crones' at twenty-eight fighting to maintain the kingdom that Ronan envisioned creating? Living to fifty was a pipe dream.

One thousand years? That was twenty to thirty lifetimes, assuming his internal math wasn't off. It was a little hard to string numbers together with that reality laughing in his face!

Yet Archbishop Rhea nodded sharply, completely confident with her words.

Renata's expression was a marvelous cross between the one time Jason pretended to flirt with her as a joke and when she fell off her pegasus in battle. Michael looked between Rhea, Seteth, and then back at a slack-jawed Simon as if pleading for someone to call this a joke. Simon could only shake his head in response. Elizabeth was very carefully maintaining her 'noble politeness face', but her fingers were twitching like mad, all while Angel tilted her head far to the side and wore the most magnificent dumbfounded expression. Achilles didn't seize the moment to make a joke, which went to show just how flabbergasted he was. Julius pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly pondering that all of this was a dying dream. Griffith went one step forward and slapped his hand against his forehead. Jason was looking around for any sign of a beer jug. Maurice's face had gone totally flat.

“Okay,” Griffith said flatly. “Let's say we believe you about that.” The tone of his voice screamed I can't believe I'm saying this, and if it hadn't been for that northern village, he probably wouldn't have. “Why exactly were those runes in some random house?”

“It was not something she did often, or in public.” Archbishop Rhea responded. Lian twisted his head to look at her and earned himself another 'not now, kiddo' hand on the shoulder. They were definitely related, which how that they – a thousand years in the future what the fuck – raised a whole lot of questions. Many of which weren't even dragon related! “It required incredible use of her power, and she only came to consider it in the face of the world bent rent apart.”

“Wait. She's the goddess; couldn't she stop it from happening?” Julius interrupted, eyes wide. He was the closest any of them got to being faithful to the goddess whispered about in fragmented stories and myths. The goddess who's presence was so faint it felt like a dying prayer.

Ren personally couldn't help but massively resent her for having ditched humanity with the hellscape they'd woken in and fucked off to do who knows what, but that's his personal opinion.

“She would have if she could!” Lian burst out, eyes wide. “But the people had-”

“The wheels of destruction were already in motion,” Archbishop Rhea cut across him, shooting him a look. Lian gave her a bewildered 'but why?' look while Seteth reached over and pats his shoulder. Ren forced himself to remember that little interaction for later. “Some things are willed by fate.” Like the destruction of the world? “The goddess created the runes of time, but they were her last resort. Before she sent anyone to the future to the hopes of salvation, she called upon all her power as the divine mother to attempt to heal the world of the horror that had befallen it. And in the end, she succeeded.”

Succeeded? Succeeded. Fated to occur. Is that seriously what this woman is calling the shithole he lived in? Ren swallowed down a torrent of scathing remarks and kicked Renata in the shin just in time to keep her from going off on the woman. She snapped her head toward him with a furious look and he made a placating gesture.

“She's the one who knows where we are, shhh.” He whisper-hissed. “We still need information!”

“She just said-!” Renata bit out in bitter outrage, her eyes storming.

“Yeah, noticed. Keep it together!”

His hawkish sister spit and only stilled out of deep trust in him. Ren thought back to the day he met her, how he and Michael and Angel had busied themselves tying what men of the warlords they hadn't already killed to stakes while the townspeople watched them in fearful awe; Ronan had come striding out of the large building the man had called home with a wispy eleven year old at his side, looking at the world like she was seeing it for the first time. There had been heavy iron manacles set on her wrists, and Ronan called him to pick the locks to remove them. He'd seen how the iron had dug into and sliced her skin in her attempts to escape...how she'd been dressed, and how she hated being touched for a long time before accepting them. He'd torn his own sleeves to bind her wounds, to show her that he saw her as an equal, that he would sacrifice for her. She slowly took his hand.

It had taken much longer for them to tell them herself what the man had done. They suspected, of course, but had chosen to leave it alone so not to undermine her.

Archbishop Rhea had made herself a personal enemy in that curt proclamation of fate and success; Renata held grudges like they gave her physical power.

“That is how you came here. Lian is descended from one the goddess gave her blood to,” Rhea said serenely. Lian made the quintessential Confused Child face and again started to say something only to be shushed before he could get too many words out. The child turned to them and gave them a bewildered and apologetic look, because obviously whatever he'd expected at the monastery had not included this.

'I don't understand what she's saying', he mouthed out, because they'd made enough of a positive impression on him (somehow, despite Elizabeth almost stabbing him in the face). She's acting so weird right now!

Well. Ren doesn't just sus out information for Ronan; he loved figuring things out. They were like puzzles; the little block pieces that his mother would give him to solve back in the little house that they'd call home before –

This was a puzzle, alright. A big one. Good thing I love a challenge, Ren thought resisting the urge to smile like a shark. Michael would take general command if they were separated from Ronan for a long period of time – it was something their father had decided upon a while ago, much to the blonde's shock. For Ren, that meant giving his straightforward brother, who kind of sucked at figuring out this kind of schadenfreude, everything he had.

“It was because of that he could activate the ruins and bring you to this time.” Rhea continued. “And you eleven... you are tied to fate in an inextricable way. It was no accident that you found each other.”

Griffith arched one eyebrow; he was good at infusing that with a lot of polite scorn. “How?” He asked challengingly.

Rhea regarded all of them in silence for a moment that seemed to go on forever. Ren saw a million emotions in her eyes; frustration and anger and regret and pain and hatred, directed at everything and everyone and maybe herself too, and he could tell – even if just for a moment, that she was forcing these last words out.

“Because you are destined to unite the continent of Fodlan into the Empire of Adrestia and end the times of the Anarchy forever.” She responded. Each word hit Ren like arrows jamming into his spine, like lightning crackling underneath his skin. “You are destined to create the ten families that lead the continent to decades of peace. You are the ones who created Fodlan, the ones to whom the homes and the kingdoms of this land owe their existence.”

Ren didn't believe in fate. Or...he hadn't. But when she said those words, he felt the pressure of a thousand unspoken years on his back, and for a moment?

He was pretty fucking stunned.