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Chapter Text

The doors to the Blue Lion’s classroom abruptly opened, and all chatter was immediately silenced as the massive brigand with ash white skin and red tattoos marched inside. A deafening silence soon took its place, save for the heavy footsteps that echoed through the chamber.

As he walked down the center pathway, Kratos kept his eyes fixated forward- seemingly unaware of the stares from those brave enough to do so. Other students, however, sat awkwardly in their seats as they pretended to be more interested in either something on their desk or elsewhere in the room. Dangling from his hip, Mimir surveyed each student they passed as Kratos walked to the front of the room. Out of the few who were brave enough to look upon the seasoned warrior, even fewer could bring themselves to make eye contact with the glowing gold eyes of the reanimated head.

It wasn’t until he finally reached his own desk at the front of the classroom when Kratos turned around and gazed down upon the students- His students, rather. 

 After giving one last glimpse to the young boys and girls, most of whom had all but avoided his gaze at this point, Kratos turned around so that his back was facing them and reached for Mimir’s head. He lifted him up so that the two were at eye-level, and Kratos could see that his friend and counsel could not contain the excited expression on his face as he spoke. “Well, brother,” Mimir said in a low voice. “I think it’s about time that we introduce ourselves. However…” His eyes flicked between Kratos and the students. “These lads seem to be a bit on edge at the moment. So, how about I help them feel more at ease first before you hit them with the heavy stuff, aye?”

The brigand did not speak, but let out a low grunt in agreement as Kratos turned back around with Mimir still in his hand. He steps over to the front of his desk and gingerly places Mimir down at the ledge so that he could see everyone sitting down before him. 

There was a short pause as Kratos heard him say under his breath, “Ahh, I had always hoped that I could do something like this one day,” then finally addressed the classroom directly. “Ahem. Good morning, children.” He greeted them pleasantly.

Several students managed to return the gesture, though feebly as most of them could barely manage to look at his direction. This, however, did not discourage Mimir. “Right then. I suppose that introductions are in order. But first, there is a bit of- shall we say- ice that is in dire need of breaking before we can move forward, so let’s start with the most obvious. Yes, I am a talking severed head with glowing yellow eyes with horns coming out of me broo. You can gawk, you can stare, you can do anything that helps you accept the reality that this is who will help oversee your education. Because the sooner you can do that, then the quicker and easier it will be for you to focus on your tasks.

“As for the charming fellow standing next to me-” Kratos let out an unamused grumble. “Don’t let his intimidating looks fool ya. Like every other professor here, he is here to instruct and guide you throughout your time here at Garreg Mach. And if it is of any comfort, you’ll be pleased to know that the Archbishop herself believes that we are one of- if not the best candidates of ensuring that you are properly prepared for whatever responsibilities you may take on in the future. Am I clear on everything so far?”

“Yes, sir.” The entire classroom said this time in unison. 

“Ah, excellent! Off to a great start already. Very good indeed. Now then, on with the proper introductions. My name, for most of you who are not already aware, is Mimir, the smartest man alive. However, while you are students on this campus, you will refer to me as Professor Mimir. Or just Professor will suffice. Some of you may come from noble lineage, but as long as you remain to be our responsibility in regards to both your training and safety, you will expected to do exactly as your told, no questions asked. And speaking of which, it is obvious that this job should only entail one professor. However, because I lack the proper bodily autonomy, as you can clearly see…”

Mimir gestured toward the towering man next to him with his eyes, “This here, is Kratos. He and I will be sharing the duties as professors here at the monastery. Though, admittedly, he’s not quite on board with being referred to as 'professor,' so I recommend that you simply refer to him as ‘sir . ’" One side of his lips pulled up into a smirk. “For now, at least.” Kratos responded with another disapproving grunt.

“With all of that said, I shall now explain how all of this is going to work between Kratos and I. Since you are all here to learn as much as you can when it comes to leadership- whether it be out of obligation or for your own volition- the first lesson we shall soon cover is understanding the difference between someone who can lead in diplomacy, and one that can lead in battle. I shall teach you everything you need to know about the former, and Kratos here will do the same for the latter. However, instead of having me explain it to you, I think it’s best that I let Kratos take it from here. But heed these words, children. Kratos may be a man of few words, but he’s had lifetimes of experiences that you could only dream of having. So any advice he offers you is something that would be best serviceable when taken to heart.”

Mimir then lowered his voice. “The floor’s yours, Brother. Try not to scare the wee lads too much, aye?”

Mimir was answered with yet another grunt from the god of war, and Kratos stepped forward so as to address every student in the room. When he spoke, his voice was low, but the heaviness of it was what had allowed it to reverberate throughout the room; making it impossible for anyone to not be able to hear him.

"In the realm of leadership, one must understand the responsibility it encompasses when it comes to war and diplomacy. Each approach demands respect, but the true art lies in knowing when to employ them. Under our guidance, you shall learn to do both. But know this: The greatest leaders understand the value of avoiding war. Skill in diplomacy preserves strength and resources. While the skills in battle are knowing how to prevent unnecessary bloodshed.” 

He pauses to allow everything he'd just said sink into the minds of his students before continuing. "Success is in your hands. I cannot guarantee it. What I can guarantee, however, is that under our guidance, you will learn both paths. Follow my instructions. Do as you are told. Your future as a leader depends on your choices. But for now, your choice is to obey.” Kratos’ deathly gaze wanders from one student to the other. “Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir!” The entire class exclaimed in unison.

From behind him, Mimir gave off a reassuring chuckle. “Ah, thank you, Kratos, for that aspiring speech of yours.”

Kratos stepped aside. “Hmph.”

“Well, in any case, how about we have the rest of you lot introduce yourselves as we take roll calls?”

Chapter Text

“Really?!” The young peasant woman squealed excitedly under her breath. “You’d do that for me?!”

“Of course, baby.” Sylvain said in a hushed voice, smiling and winking at her. “And, in return, You and I can just go out for a hot cup of tea down by the lake- and talk about our future together.”

Hearing this caused the woman to squeal once again in delight. “Oh, thank you so much, Sir Gautier! When I first heard the rumors, I wasn’t sure if I should even talk to you, but I would really appreciate the help!” From the street corner lit by a single lamp, she takes a bow before turning around and running off into the darkness of the night towards her farmhouse.

Sylvain sighs as he laces his fingers behind his head. “Welp, there goes another one. Perhaps I’ll try the girl down by the tavern instead. At least she seems-”

“What do you think you are doing?” A familiar, and unmistakable voice spoke up directly behind him. The heir to the Gautier house had nearly jumped out of his skin as he turned to see the massive white brigand towering over him, whose gaze bore into him like a pair of daggers as he waited for Sylvain’s response.

“Oh shi- Professor Kratos, er, I mean, sir!” Sylvain tried his best to remain as stoic as possible, but his tongue failed him as he quickly tried to come up with an excuse for the situation he now found himself in. “I didn’t see you there! What- ah, um, what are you doing here?”

“That is for me to ask, and for you to answer.” Kratos said, immediately diminishing any attempt by Guatier to try and deflect the question. He takes a step towards the young man.  “You are out here past curfew without permission and without my knowledge.” Sylvain couldn’t help but stand rigid in fear as his mind went totally blank. “Speak! What are you doing out here this late?”

This was enough to prod Sylvain out of his stupor, and he began to speak without even realizing what he was saying. “Oh! Uh, nothing! I- I mean, there was a girl, and- and- and- she needed help because her barn was overrun with mice, and I- I just offered to lend her my assistance is all! I swear!”

Kratos, intrigued, tilted his head. “You… swear?”

“Y-yes! By the Goddess’ name that is what I’m out here for!” 

There was a pause as the Ghost of Sparta continued to stare down the boy, as though he were deciding on what to do next. Sylvain was absolutely certain that he was about to get dragged back to the monastery by the scruff of his shirt, followed by who-knows-what that the brigand might do to discipline him.

“Very well.” Kratos concluded. “We will help her.”

The redhead was dumbfounded. “I- I’m sorry?”

“You said that you would help this woman with her rodent problem. Therefore, I will make sure that you are good on your word.”

Sylvain sighs in relief. “Oh, well, great! I’ll go ahead on back to the monastery and get some proper rest, and I’ll be here first thing after class has-”

“You will do it now. ” Kratos said bluntly.

“Huh?”

“You are out here past curfew. You have disobeyed the rules. However, since you are evidently here for a selfless task, I am willing to let this go. After all…” He leaned down closely to the noble, whose nerve-wracked gaze was now eye-level with him. “You are not lying to me, are you?”

Though this was not a threat of any sort, the contempt in the brigand’s voice was enough to cause Sylvain to abandon any and all thoughts of trying to deceive the hardened warrior and shook his head vigorously. “N-No! Of course not!”

Satisfied, Kratos nodded once and stood up straight. “Very good. Now then, let us begin.” He placed a massive heavy hand over the boy’s shoulder. “We have a long night ahead of us.”

x-x-x

It was lunchtime at the Garreg Mach Monastery, and Kratos sat alone in his staff quarters as he enjoyed the peace and quiet with the stew he brought with him from the mess hall. Next to him on his desk, Mimir poured through the materials of the book propped in front of him, using one of the utensils in his mouth to flip from one page to the next.

“I must say, Brother,” the head commented as he set the fork down to allow his mouth a rest. “The history of these lands are… shall we say, insightful.”

Kratos swallowed his food, but did not look up from his bowl as he dipped his spoon for another mouthful. “In what way?”

“Well, for starters, it says here that civilization began when a so-called ‘progenitor god’ fell from the stars and crashed into the land of Fodlan some twelve-hundred years ago. She apparently had changed her form so that she could resemble that of a human, and gave her own blood so that she could birth her own children- who’ve become known as the Nabateans.” 

“Hm.”

“Then, the progenitor god and the Nabateans began to share their teachings amongst the human population, and graced the world with her presence by offering salvation to the believers. However, mankind became arrogant; and began to wage war with themselves and began to challenge the very Goddess herself.”

“That is hardly surprising.”

“Indeed! As a result, a man by the name of Nemesis- the Fell King- and ten other elite soldiers were given the sacred blood and a powerful weapon who would go on to partake in the War of Heroes on behalf of the Goddess herself. This sacred blood would be later be known as ‘Crests’ of which have been passed down from one generation to the next.”

“I see.”

“You know where I’m getting at with this, right Brother?”

“I do.”

Mimir huffs. “It seems that this entirely bloody hierarchy system is based on nothing but a bunch of-” He was interrupted when a sudden pounding came upon the door, causing Kratos to pause as he was about to take another bite of his food. He eyed the door for a moment before looking at Mimir, who made a gesture with his face as if to emphasize a shrug. “Well,” He said in annoyance. “I reckon that there’s only one person in this entire monastery that would have the gall to come knocking on our door like that.” Kratos, already knowing whom his companion was referring to, grunted with irritation before he stood from his chair and opened the door.

Seteth stood rather restlessly on the other side with his hands clasped behind his back. His expression contained that of absolute exasperation, but he maintained a calm and collected demeanor as he gazed up at the tall man whose meal he interrupted. “Professor Kratos,” He greeted stiltedly before looking past him to the severed head on his desk. “And Professor Mimir. I apologize for the disruption, but might I have a moment of your time? This will not take long.”

“Ah, Master Seteth,” Mimir welcomed the green-haired individual warmly, though there was a hint of distaste that was not lost on him. “Of course, please, come on in.” Kratos stepped aside to allow Seteth to walk stiffly into the room and closed the door behind him.

Seteth took a deep breath, and both Mimir and Kratos were silent as they waited patiently to hear what the priest had to say. "I had been recently informed that during a mounted maneuver exercise, one of your students, Sylvain Jose Gautier, fell asleep while atop his horse. As a result, he fell off his mount, sustaining two cracked ribs. Fortunately, our healers swiftly attended to him, and aside from the rib injuries, he suffered no other harm." He glared at Kratos. “ However, after speaking with Gauteir myself, I have learned that you have evidently kept him up throughout the entire night, though he would not say why you’ve done so in the first place. Now, if I may ask, are these accusations true , Professor Kratos?”

“Yes.” The brigand said simply.

“May I ask why?”

“He was out past curfew. He said he needed to help someone. And so, I let him help.”

The priest looked as though he was certain that the god of war was pulling a jest. However, after realizing that the ashen skinned man was absolutely serious, Seteth straightened himself up back into a proper posture and cleared his throat.

“Ahem, Professor Kratos, you are aware that any infraction of the guidelines perpetrated by the students here at Garreg Mach are to be reported directly to my office, yes?”

“I am.”

“So then… why didn’t you?”

“There was no need. He was under my supervision”

Seteth was dumbfounded. “Master Kratos…” He said in a low tone, his professional persona slipping as he spoke. “I don’t know what you even deem to be acceptable around here, but you are not the arbiter of what is and isn’t necessary when it comes to disciplining the youth here. You represent the monastery’s very reputation, and if the head of the Gautier House caught wind of this, then he would-”

“He would agree with Kratos.” Mimir interrupted him.

Seteth’s eyes snapped towards the head. “I’m sorry?”

“I said,” he repeated, his gaze narrowing. “He would agree with how Kratos had handled it.”

“And what makes you so certain? You haven’t even met one of them aside from the one you’ve sent to the infirmary.”

“What, the Gautiers? Aye, true, but at least I’ve read enough about them to understand how their line of thinking works. Because that Crest System you lot seem to be obsessed with, along with their history is enough to tell me exactly what his da would do in Kratos’ shoes. Very proud, that family is, considering they outcasted the wee lad’s older brother for not having a Crest himself.”

Seteth tilted his head, intrigued. “I see that you have learned quite a bit about our history and culture, despite the fact you’ve supposedly only arrived in these lands just a few days ago. And yet, I fail to see what that has to do with matter at hand.”

Kratos interjected, "What's important is our agreement that, as long as I'm here, I'll take the necessary steps to properly prepare these children for their future. If he's meant to lead soldiers, he must grasp the repercussions of squandering his energy on trivial matters. A mere reprimand will not suffice. If left unchecked, it could one day lead to the ruination of his House’s reputation. Or worse, he could lead his armies to ruin if he himself isn't adequately prepared for the challenges they may encounter.”

Silence filled the room. It was evident that Seteth was not happy in the slightest, as he could not offer any disciplinary action of his own against the Ghost of Sparta, even if he happened to be exactly right about what he’d just said. 

“Know this, Master Kratos. Besides Lady Rhea, there is no other person in this monastery that would like to see you returned to your homeworld as much as I do. As long as you remain committed to the agreement, we shall do everything within our power to make that happen; so I would strongly recommend against any further… agitations in the near future. And just you remember: it would be best for all of us that you don’t meddle in our affairs any more than what the Archbishop has already allowed.” With that said, Seteth swiftly made his exit and nearly slammed the door behind him. Both men watched the priest go, and continued to listen to the echoing footsteps as they faded further and further away.

“Well now,” Mimir spoke up in a sarcastically optimistic voice. “Seems like we’re making some good company during our stay here.”

Kratos grunts in agreement before finally returning to his meal.

“By the way, Brother, any chance you’ve changed your mind on playing that lyre?”

“No.”

Chapter Text

“Professor Kratos- er, I mean Sir!” Upon hearing Dimitri's call from the Reception Hall, Kratos turned to find the young man, along with the rest of the Blue Lions, all hurrying towards the brigand with bright smiles on their faces. 

“Ah! Hello there lads and lasses!” Mimir greeted the children from Kratos’ hip with a warm smile. “I see that you’re all basking in the spoils of war from the recent mock battle!”

“Of course!” Dimitri agreed enthusiastically. “Although, to be completely honest, this victory would not have been possible without either of you. Professor Mimir, with your superb tactics and Sir Kratos’ leadership, our opponents never stood a chance!”

“Aye, that may be true. However, you lot are the ones who deserve all of the glory. Kratos and I merely stood on the sidelines, and you were the ones who put in the effort to make that happen.”

Kratos spoke up, “You have all performed exceptionally well today. But do not let this victory lead you to complacency. While each of you has demonstrated commendable effort, there is still ample room for learning, both in victory and defeat."

“Ah, you hear that, children? Savor the praise while you can, because with Kratos, those will be few and far between from now on.”

“And we shall accept it with absolute gratitude.” The prince said with a smile and a sincere bow. “In any case, Sir Kratos and Professor Mimir, we were all hoping we could share a meal together. You know, as a class. It could serve as a victory celebration and a post-battle analysis. What do you think?”

The brigand was silent for a moment. “You want me to… join you?” 

Sylvain spoke up. “Come now, Sir Kratos! We can’t celebrate without our key to victory present!” 

“That’s rich coming from the one he smoked last week.” Felix sneered.

“Hey, come on, Felix! Even I know when to give credit where credit’s due.”

“He’s right!” Annette chirped up, “We were only able to win thanks to both of our professors!” 

Felix gave a wry smile while looking over at Dimitri. “Yes. Compared with that boar who knows nothing but frontal attacks, your tactics were unmatched.”

Ingrid scowled at the blue-haired swordsman. “Felix! You really ought to stop picking fights with His Highness.”

“Don’t worry, Ingrid. I encourage all to speak freely. And I must agree with everything Sir Kratos has told us. I still have much to learn.”

“Oh, sure, but today was exhausting!” Mercedes, the oldest of the class, reflected. “I’m so hungry I can barely stand…”

“To be honest, so am I.” Ashe the archer complied. “Let’s head to the dining hall. Together.”

Everybody broke up and began to make their way towards the dining hall, except for Dimitri, who stayed behind to have a final word with the other two men. “Sir Kratos, and Professor Mimir. I’m sorry to intrude, but despite the compliments, you don’t seem to be very proud of our accomplishments today.”

“I do not know what you are referring to.” Kratos stated bluntly. “Elaborate.” 

For the first time since he’d first met the boy, Kratos watched as the crown prince of Faerghus flustered slightly as he said, “Well, it’s as I’ve said. To the rest of us, today was an absolute success, but... you don’t seem to share in our satisfaction.”

“I am satisfied.”

Had it been anyone but Dimitri, the conversation would have ended right then and there for whomever had the guts to confront Kratos in this line of questioning. And yet, the blonde stood firm as he pushed forward. “Your eyes tell a different story. It’s as though you’ve already seen something like this countless times, and that it doesn’t seem to matter to you anymore.”

“Let me stop you right there, Your Highness.” Mimir interjected. “Kratos, if I may?”

The ashen warrior responded immediately by bringing Mimir’s head to be eye-level with Dimitri’s. “Listen lad, Kratos here may not show it often- if not ever, but I am absolutely certain that I speak for both us when I say how proud we are so far. The thing is, when you’ve been around the block as much as my friend here has, you’ll start to know what it feels like to see both success and failure. There's a depth to experience that goes beyond expressions, and Kratos carries that with him no matter where he goes. It's a different kind of satisfaction that comes with wisdom; one that you yourself will come to experience one day as you get older."

“I understand.” Said the prince, nodding. “It’s just that… well, to be completely honest, I believe I too speak for the rest of the Lions when I say it doesn’t matter who you are or where you came from. To us, what’s important is that we’d like nothing more than to share our happiness with you. Both of you, to be more specific. Joy can be so fleeting, as I’m sure you are aware. And since we’re all in this together… I hope you’d consent to that. You and Professor Kratos.”

“Ah, lad.” Mimir said with absolute sincerity. “That’s very kind of you to say, and I’ve no doubt in my mind that your kin feels the same way. You’ve got good friends in your company, Your Highness. And we’d be honored to join you alongside them. Right, Kratos?”

“Hmm.”

Dimitri smiled brilliantly. “Thank you, Sir Kratos! In any case, late us enjoy the fruits of our labors!”

x-x-x

“Your work with the students is beyond anything I’ve ever imagined.” Rhea told Kratos from within the Audience Chamber. "You have clearly demonstrated your capabilities as an effective leader. I hope you were able to use the occasion to bond with the students."

“Why, thank you very much, my lady.” Mimir said politely. “And aye, I’m sure you’ve had your initial worries when we started, but the children themselves seem to be quite adept under Kratos’ guidance.”

The Archbishop smiles. “I am so happy to hear it. Nothing would please me more than if you used this coming year to grow closer still.”

“Yes, well, that is, assuming we are not kept here for longer than what is necessary, correct?”

"You may lay those concerns to rest, Professor. I have no intention of withholding any information that you or Master Kratos may require to facilitate your return to your homeworld. I did swear upon the Goddess, after all.”

“Ah, well, that’s good to hear, I guess.”

Kratos did not bother trying to hold back a dissatisfied grunt.

From the Archbishop’s left side, Seteth spoke. “Of course, the mock battle was mere practice; as I’m quite  certain you were already aware.”

“Hmph.” The brigand simply replied.

“The real fight is the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, which will take place during the Wyvern Moon. You are expected to properly train your students so as to not humiliate the academy during the long-held tradition that is the coming battle.”

“A large-scale battle between the three houses, you say?” Mimir said with intrigue. “Sounds an awful like some other traditions that I used to be rather fond of.” He pauses. “Only, I’m assuming that beheading is completely off the table in that regard, right?”

This statement causes in Seteth to scowl, even if he knew the talking head was jesting. Rhea, however, chuckles. “As for today, I have called you here to tell you of your mission for the month ahead.”

“I am ready to receive it.” Kratos responded.

“Your class is to dispose of some bandits causing trouble nearby.”

Mimir hummed. “Teaching the wee lads to be accustomed to killing already, I see?”

“Those affiliated with Garreg Mach Monastery have a moral obligation to help those in need, regardless of social standing.” The priest said sternly. “Students are no exception. Each month, before the newly birthed moon departs, each house of students must complete their assigned mission. You shall work to complete the task at hand alongside your students and report back to the Archbishop before the deadline. Is that understood?” He narrows his eyes on Mimir. “Because after all, this is the job we’ve hired you to perform, no?”

“Aye,” the Norse god said quietly. “It is.”

“Good. I will soon provide you with the necessary details for your first mission. If I told you now, I expect you would only forget, and I despise repeating myself.”

Mimir opened up his mouth to come out with his own retort, but Kratos spoke up before he could get the chance. “Thank you. I shall inform the children of the coming task. We will take our leave.” 

As Kratos turned to walk towards the main stairs, Mimir waited until they were well out of earshot before he mimicked what Seteth had said in his own voice, “‘ If I told you now, I expect you would only forget.’ Pompous twat, did he himself forget that he was talking to the smartest man alive?”

Chapter Text

It was late in the evening when Kratos had finally arrived back to his dorm. He closed the door, locking it behind him and began getting ready for bed when Mimir spoke up from his desk. “Brother, before we turn it in for the night, I think there are some things we need to discuss.”

“Hrmm.” Kratos nodded as he sat on his bed.

“You’ve noticed it too, didn’t ya?” Mimir spoke in a low voice. “About the Archbishop.”

"I have. She seems to possess more knowledge beyond what she reveals."

“I concur. Despite her looks, Lady Rhea appears to have been around far longer than your average man.” He thinks for a moment. “Do you think that she knows that we’re already aware of her facade? Hers and Seteth’s?”

“I would not put it past them if they did.”

“Aye, fair enough. At this point, both sides seem to be aware each other’s true nature, but that’s not the reason I chose to bring that up.”

“Then what is it?”

“Well, for starters, I think you and I can both agree that there is something else going on within the monastery that is connected to the Archbishop. You remember that other professor, don’t you? The one who led the Golden Deers during the mock battle?”

“The mercenary.”

“That’s right! The child of the leader of sellswords.”

“What of her?”

“You haven’t noticed? Lady Rhea seemed to have taken a deep interest in the young woman ever since they’d arrived here around the same time we did. According to what we know so far, her father Jeralt was a famous captain among the Knights of Seiros, but disappeared after a fire broke out at the Grand Chapel some twenty agos, and hadn’t been heard from until a couple of weeks ago. Jeralt himself stated that she was born shortly after his disappearance, so I find it odd that the Archbishop would be in such a hurry to hire someone she’d supposedly never met before.”

“You think that the mercenary leader had a reason to lie to the Archbishop?” Kratos asked.

“Truthfully, brother, it’s a little early for me to jump to conclusions, but I hypothesize that both Jeralt and Lady Rhea are playing some kind of game that nobody else has been clued in on.” Mimir pursed his lips. “Basically, what I’m saying, Brother, is that there is another layer to the situation that we’ve yet to understand.”

Kratos nodded. “If that is the case, then it is best that we do not interfere.”

“For the meantime, aye. You’re right. It’s best that we keep our nose clean and refrain from taking any sort of action until we know what we’re dealing with.” Mimir’s tone becomes more serious. “And speaking of which, were you able to confirm your suspicions about His Highness?”

“I have.” Said Kratos, who didn’t seem at all too happy about the conclusion he’d reached. “It is as I’ve feared. The darkness in his eyes… He craves vengaence.”

The head was silent as he took in Kratos’ answer. “Oh dear. That doesn’t sound promising at all. Though, that is to be expected. When I looked into his background, there could only be one possible outcome from such a tragic event for someone that young.” More silence. “You reckon there is anything we could do about it, Brother?”

Kratos shook his head. “No. Not yet. When an animal is in great pain, it becomes wild; and lash out at anyone and anything it can find when provoked.”

“And yet, young Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd appears to be holding it back with every fibre of his being during every waking moment.” He sighs heavily. “The poor soul. I can only imagine how he will control himself have when we head out confront those bandits.”

“Whatever happens, I will be there.” The brigand affirmed. “If my monster can be controlled, then so can his.” 

Mimir offered him a small smile. “I don’t doubt it, Brother. I’m sure he’ll be in good hands while you’re around. But at the same time, we should also be watching out for the rest of the lads. I’d hate to have to return here knowing we let one of the children perish on our hands; which is why we must do everything we can to-”

He was interrupted when Kratos suddenly raised a hand for silence, "Hush." They both turned their eyes to the dorm door, and a brief silence followed. Then, realizing they'd been caught, pair of feet could be heard scampering away. This in turn caused Mimir to raise a brow. “Well, seems like someone else is interested in hearing what we had to say.” He looks back over at Kratos. “Think we should try and see who that was?”

Kratos shook his head. “They are already long gone by now.”

This caused a sigh from Mimir. “Aye, but I think it’s best we be more careful about when and where to have these discussions in the future.”

“Agreed.”

x-x-x

Both Byleth and Kratos entered Seteth’s office, with each of their House Leaders following closely behind them. The priest crossed his arms as he examined the three professors, as well as Dimitri and Claude, who now stood before and cleared his throat.

“Thank you all for coming.” He told them flatly. “As you’ve already been notified, your mission is to subdue some bandits. Our students have been learning about combat through study, but this is a precious opportunity to provide them with practical experience. This will be a joint effort between both of your classes. The knights will support your mission and are prepared to offer their assistance if necessary.” He uncrosses his arms with a deadly serious tone. “In short, this is no mock battle. You must be prepared for anything. You will receive a message from the knights when it is time to depart. Until then, use your time wisely.” 

“Aye, you can say that again.” Mimir said under his breath.

Dimitri looks up at Kratos. “This will be our first true battle together. I am looking forward to fighting alongside you, Sir Kratos.”

Claude scoffs, however, looking at his own professor. “More bandits? Not very original, Teach.”

“You have dealt with this problem before?” Kratos asked the darker skinned boy. 

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say we ‘dealt’ with them, but Teach here actually helped us route some of them out of the village when it was under attack.”

“An attack which you brought to them during your ‘tactical retreat.’” Dimitri said offhandedly.

“Hold on a second,” Mimir chimed in. “You’re saying that the bandits were after you lot specifically?”

“Yup, pretty much.” Claude answered lackadaisically. “You know how it goes: Nobles are on the road, some groups see it as an opportunity to squeeze a ransom out of you, and the rest of the story becomes self-evident.” His gaze bounces between Kratos and Byleth. “But, with you two here with us, at least things won’t be boring… In fact, it may make it more interesting.”

“Well,” Said Mimir, “You seem awfully casual for someone your age when it comes to this sort of… activities.”

“It gets easier when you can just shoot them from a distance.” Byleth’s student shrugged. “With that said, I take my leave to make final preparations. See you later, Teach.” He takes a moment to give a short bow and follows Seteth out the way they came from.

Mimir snorts. “Quite the eccentric fellow, isn’t he?” 

“I should be going as well,” said Dimitri politely as he bowed to Kratos. “While we still have time before our departure, I would like to use this opportunity to prepare as best we can.”

“Do what you must.”

“Of course. Now, if you will excuse me…”

x-x-x

“I must say,” Sothis commented as she hovered over Byleth’s bed. “That brigand; the one with the red tattoos? He seems oddly… how should I put it?”

“Dangerous?” The Golden Deer professor finished for her. “Scary?”

The younger looking woman shook her head. “No- well, yes, but more in a controlled way. However, ‘common’ certainly isn’t the word I’d use to describe him.”

Byleth thought for a moment. “The Archbishop mentioned that he wasn’t from this world.”

“Correct. And he was absolutely ruthless in his tactics when he led his students against yours. I can only imagine what would have happened if the professors were allowed to actively participate in the mock battle.”

“Were you worried?” The woman asked, tilting her head. “I could have at least tested his skills and rewind time just a little bit just to figure out his-”

“That’s not what I’m saying! And besides, you shouldn’t just go around rewinding events whenever you please. My power isn’t limitless, you know.” She huffs. “In any case, at least we’ll get a chance to see him in action when we join him to take down those bandits. But you need to be careful, because I’m telling you: he is no ordinary man, and there is a stench surrounding him that I can’t quite put my finger on. So don’t underestimate him, and let’s hope that he’s on our side.”

“And what side is that, exactly?”

“Preferably? The one that doesn’t end with a lot of dead bodies.”

Chapter Text

Every student from the House of the Blue Lions gathered in the far corner of the mess hall, where a table was pulled from one the four continuous rows so as to allow them a little more privacy. At the head of the table sat Dimitri, with Felix at the other end. To the left of His Highness sat Annette, Mercedes, and Dedue, while Sylvain, Ashe, and Ingrid occupied the right side.

“Right then,” Said the prince in a formal manner. “Now that we’re all here, we can commence with our first un-official Blue Lion’s student assembly. And with that said, I would like to ask: How is everyone feeling about the coming mission tomorrow?” He looks to red headed boy. “Sylvain?”

“Oh, I’m good, don’t you worry.” Sylvain stretched out his arms before lacing his hands behind his head. “To be honest, bandits are the least of my worries, though I don’t think any new scars on this face would be particularly charming to the ladies.”

Felix snorts. “And here I thought you’d finally learned your lesson.”

“Hey, I learned my lesson about sneaking out, not about being charming.” He said with a wink, which earned him a few chuckles from the rest of the Lions. “And man, that Kratos has been really pushing us to our limits, but I can tell that the training he's giving us is already paying off.”

Dimitri nods in agreement. “He really has, but for good reason. And I also believe that a warrior of his caliber would only expect the absolute best from us.” He looks over to his right. “What about you, Ashe?”

The gray haired archer nodded enthusiastically. “I’m ready as I’ll ever be. Sir Kratos has taught me a few new techniques, so I’m excited for the chance to try them out in a real fight.” He smiles brilliantly. “His unparalleled insight with the bow goes far beyond anything I would’ve expected from other professors here at the monastery.”

“I agree with Ashe,” Said Ingrid next to him. “His instructions on the lance were very eye-opening. So far, our professor has shown himself to be a master of all manners in weaponry. Well, all except for magic, anyways.”

Anette spoke up excitedly. “Oh, get this! Professor Mimir? He's apparently already figured out how our magic works! A couple of days ago, I was struggling to learn a basic performance-enhancing spell, but with a few questions and instructions, he was able to help me master it!”

“That’s wonderful, Annie!” Mercedes congratulated her. “As it so happens, he also helped me better understand some basic human anatomy to make my healing magic more effective. Goddess pardon me for asking, but how does a severed head seem to have a better understanding of our own magic than we do?”

“It’s funny you mention that,” Her best friend said. “I actually did ask him, and his response was…” Annette changes her in order to try and mimic Mimir’s voice. “‘Why, it’s quite simple, my lady. Every magic system has a foundation, you see, and once you understand how that foundation is built, then the rest comes rather swiftly- just like asking me Nan what she wants for supper.’” Her attempt at imitating Mimir caused another round of laughs. “It’s strange, isn’t it? That he doesn't even need a body to teach magic?”

“It would seem…” The tall, stoic and brawn Dedue spoke. “That the Archbishop has hired two men that are clearly overqualified for the job they were hired for.”

“For once, I agree with the boar’s lapdog.” Felix commented. “Realistically, he should be out there leading armies and conquering wherever he pleases; and not subjecting himself to being another cog in some worthless cult.”

“Felix!” The blonde lancer snapped at him.

The swordsman scoffed. “You know I’m right, Ingrid. If Rhea was smart, she’d have him dealing with the Almyrans at Fodlan’s Throat, or just acting as her own personal enforcer. But instead, he’s stuck here with us.”

“And yet, you seem to be the one benefitting the most from his teachings.” Dimitri countered. “Are you saying you would give that up if it meant Sir Kratos would go on to wage war?”

“You can call it whatever you like, boar.” Felix sneered. “Just because I’m happy to be learning from the best, that doesn’t mean I also don’t smell rot in the air. There is something else going on here.”

“Are you sure you're not mistaking that rot for your attitude?” Sylvian jokes, and he receives a deep scowl as an answer.

x-x-x

"We've tracked the bandits here," the knight captain informed Kratos, placing a finger on the map. "And we managed to chase them all the way to the crevice of Zanado, the Red Canyon, here." He taps his finger to emphasize the point of interest.

From within the staff lounge, both Byleth and Kratos inspected the map, while Mimir's head rested on the side of the table to also get a look at it. “How long have they been there?” Kratos asked.

“For two days. They think they've given us the slip, but our scouts have been keeping tabs on them.”

“And how is their morale?”

“Hard to say. Though, with how far we've been pursuing them, I would imagine that they'll get tired of running very soon at some point.”

“Which ought to be good for us,” said Mimir. “With their spirits low and fatigue setting in, they won't be near as dangerous for the children to handle.”

“When you confront the bandits, you will come in from this direction.” The captain directs them towards one side of the ruins. “Each group will take a separate pathway towards the courtyard where their main camp is located. This will force the bandits to essentially fight a two-front battle.”

Byleth looked up from the map to the captain. “And what if they surrender? Do we take prisoners?”

“We do, but the safety of the students must always be first priority. If an enemy wishes to turn themselves in, then my troops will step in to ensure they enact a total surrender. It will be your responsibility to ensure that they are focused on the battle at hand, and nothing else.”

“And if the bandits decide to run, where can they go?”

“Well, behind their camp, there is a small cavity in the wall that would allow them the chance to escape if they act quickly enough. However, the knights will be sealing off that exit before the engagement begins.”

Kratos scowled. “You wish to cut off their only escape route?”

The knight frowned at the man. “Is there a problem with not allowing criminals to evade judgment?”

“No,” Mimir chimed in. “Not unless you want the bandits to become desperate and fight like wild animals.”

“If you cut off the only means of escape,” Kratos elaborated, “their sole focus will be on fighting to survive. The will to live will overcome any rational thoughts, and they will see the children as an easier obstacle. That is something I will not allow if it can be avoided.”

“Plus, we're not saying to just let them go,” the professor of the Golden Deer added, taking Kratos and Mimir's side. “Only that you don't cause any unnecessary complications. At the very least, make sure they are not aware of your presence there until it's too late for them to turn back and make a stand.” She looks over at Kratos, who gives her an approving grunt and a nod.

Having been outvoted three to one, the captain gave each of the professors an annoyed look before caving. “Very well, we shall do it your way. But understand this: if they decide to turn tail and run the moment they see you, then we'll have no choice but to preemptively block their exit route.”

“Those terms are acceptable.” Kratos compromised, with Byleth nodding in agreement.

“Very well, then. I shall confer with my troops about the plans for tomorrow. Ensure that your classes are prepared and ready to go first thing before sunrise.”

Chapter Text

“ We will initiate our attack here with the Golden Deer as a single unit,” Kratos explained as he drew his finger in the dirt. All of the Blue Lions knelt in a circle around the makeshift map that their professor made in the ground for them to see. “Once the landing is ours, we will break off from the main group and attack from the left passage toward the courtyard.”

He looks up at his students. “Gautier, Molinaro, and Blaiddyd; you three will act as the primary vanguard. Whatever happens, you will hold your ground until I issue further instructions, regardless of the circumstances. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir!” The three boys said in unison.

Then to Ingrid. “Galatea; you will assist me from behind and cover their flank from enemy archers. If anyone from the front falls out of formation, you will be there to take their place. In the meantime, Ubert will be the one to provide cover fire.”

The blonde nodded dutifully. “Of course.”

“I'll do my best!” Ashe added.

"Dominic: your enhancement spell will be invaluable in a pinch, but it must be timed and used properly. Do not intend to cast it without my orders, unless it is necessary. I trust that you will know who and when to deploy it if such a scenario were to occur.”

“I won't disappoint you, Sir Kratos!” Annette replied enthusiastically.

“And Martritz: you will remain by one of the knights following our lead. Ensure that you do not needlessly expose yourself to enemy fire. If there is a wounded ally, do not immediately come to their aid without someone to provide protection. These men do not care if you are non-combatant; the moment they are given the opportunity, you will become a target.”

“I understand.” Mercedes bowed her head in compliance. Kratos let out a satisfied grunt before standing back upright, and the rest followed suit.

“And what about me?” Asked Felix impatiently as he crossed his arms.

“You,” said Kratos as he drew the pole carrying the Blue Lion's banner from the ground and held it out to the swordsman, “Will be our standard bearer.”

Felix’s eyes narrowed at the banner pole in the brigand’s hand before looking back up at Kratos with a mixture of contempt and confusion. “...this is a joke, right?”

From his hip, Mimir could see Kratos' grip on the pole tighten and decided to intervene. “I don't think that anyone here's having a laugh, lad.” 

“So then, why am I not on the frontline? I'm a soldier, you've seen me fight! Why the hell am I the one responsible for carrying the colors?”

“Do not mistake this for your lack of skills in battle.” Kratos asserted, stepping closer to the young man until he was practically towering directly over him. “Every warrior who fights under this banner rallies to you, for it is more than just a piece of cloth. It represents the strength of one's company. When our enemies see it, they will stop at nothing to seize what it represents. This role is paramount on the battlefield, and no other holds greater significance. Therefore, you shall guard the pride of both your fellow students and your nation- even with your life, if necessary.”

Felix’s expression darkened. “‘ Pride’ is one of the last things I'd ever consider fighting for.” He spat.

"And that is precisely why you will bear it," the brigand told him, his patience wearing thin. "But if that is your wish, then I will personally escort you back the way we came. And then, you can have the privilege of explaining to the Archbishop why you chose to let your class face this battle alone.”

The air surrounding the Blue Lions suddenly became thick, and the rest of the students began to shift around uncomfortably. Felix, in contrast, stood rigidly as he stared back up at the brigand with seemingly unwavering eyes. Eventually, however, he looks around at his fellow students; particularly at Annette and Mercedes. Their expressions were a mixture of worry and anticipation of what might happen next, and seeing this caused the swordsman to finally relent.

“ Fine. ” He snarled under his breath before snatching the standard from Kratos' hands.

Normally, this type of behavior would've led to even harsher blocking from the otherworldly warrior, and instead, Kratos nodded in satisfaction as he turned to the main group. “Are we ready to engage?”

Madek, the captain of the knights tasked with assisting both classes, nodded. “I just spoke with my scout. The rest of my troops are in place and are waiting for us to begin the assault.”

“Very good.” Then to his students, “Blue Lions, prepare for battle!”

x-x-x

The bandits didn’t even know they were under attack until the arrows had started flying. Two found their marks, and their targets swiftly dropped. Another arrow impaled itself in one of the brigands' thighs, while the fourth missed, bouncing harmlessly off the ground. The sound of one of the men screaming as he fell and grabbed at his leg was what alerted the rest of the camp. The bandits hurriedly scrambled to their as they watched a company of soldiers hurrying towards the bridge leading the landing. 

One of the men turned to the other and yelled, “Sound the alarm! We’re under attack!”

Meanwhile, Kostas was in his tent when he heard the horn blasting through the air, and he hurried outside to see what the commotion was about. “What is it? What’s happening?”

“The knights are here, sir!” Said one of his lackeys, his eyes wide with fear. “They just came in from the south entrance!”

Kostas was agape. “The knights chased us all the way out here?!”

The thief nodded vigorously. “Chief, let’s get out of here! There’s no way we can win against them!”

The younger man could see a vein swell in his leader’s temple as his mouth twisted in anger and grabbed him by the collar. “Shut your dumb mouth!” He screamed into his face. “Where would we go at this point? You can’t be a thief if you fear death!” He emphasized this by shoving his subordinate away towards the source of the fighting. “If we die, then we’ll at least take most of them down with us! Now get moving!”

x-x-x

The bandits didn’t even get the chance to form up and block the bridge as Kratos and Byleth led their respective squads across it. A couple of them even dared to try and confront the mercenary and the brigand as they reached the other side, but were quickly dispatched with a swift swipe of the blade and the butt of an axe to the head.

“Give them another volley!” Kratos bellowed, loud enough for the archers to hear, and the bandits were once again pelted with arrows. “Blue Lions, on me!” The students of his class immediately rallied to the standard that Felix carried, and they made their formation on Kratos as they prepared to take on the rest of the thieves on the landing. They charged forward while mowing down any poor soul brave enough to challenge the wall of shields and spears on their own, meanwhile, Byleth led her remaining students on their right flank to provide further pressure on the bandits attempting to hold the landing. But soon enough, the remaining thieves were in full retreat as they ran down the stone stairs leading to the main courtyard.

“The landing is ours!” Said Kratos to his students. “Everyone, stay in formation and follow me!” 

As he led his team towards the left passage, Kostas was enraged to see a group of teenagers being led by adults against him. “Sending those brats instead of the knights means they’ve underestimated me!” He snarled, gripping his fist. Then, to his lackey, “You two! Get up there and start pelting those noble brats! Let’s see how they handle being shot at from above!”

Once the Blue Lions had secured the base of the stairs leading to the courtyard, Kratos and his students wasted no time getting back into proper formation before marching forward, with shields and spears at the ready and the knights following closely behind them. Just ahead of them, a massive brigand who was only just a head shorter than Kratos began to rally his men, and the bandits began to charge toward the Blue Lions.

“Blue Lions, halt!” Kratos commanded, and the students immediately obeyed. “Phalanx!” In anticipation of the running bodies heading straight at them, the God of War stepped into the front formation to strengthen the vanguard. “Get ready!”

All of the men dug in their heels, and the wave of bandits came crashing down on them. However, thanks to their training as well as the reinforcements from their teacher, the line held firm. However, Sylvain could be seen struggling to hold his ground, and Kratos acted swiftly. “Dominic, on my command, focus your spell on Gautier!”

“Yes sir!” She shouted back.

“Hold…” Their professor said as Sylvain slowly began to lose ground. “ Hold…” From the other side, the giant bandit could be seen sneering as he noticed the formation beginning to break, and right at the last moment, Kratos bellowed, “ADVANCE!”

At this command, several things happened at once. First, the students in the vanguard opened up the gaps in their shields just enough to allow their spears through, and cries could be heard from the enemy side as steal penetrated flesh. Second, Annette tethered her enhancement spell to Gautier, who felt a sudden surge in physical prowess. Third, Sylvain, Dedue, and Dimitri suddenly surged forward and began to overrun the lump of bodies pressed up against them, and the bandit’s offensive quickly crumbled.

Realizing they were about to be run over and disposed of, the large thief raised an arm with an axe in hand in an attempt to swing over the wall of shields and into anyone he could find. However, Sylvain saw the opportunity he was given launched his spear forward, and hit his mark, causing the bandit to let out a gurgling sound before tumbling over the side and down the side of the mountain.

“Move forward!” Kratos commanded, and the Blue Lions continued down the path. However, they’d only gotten an extra couple of steps in before an arrow came whizzing down and impaled itself on Dimitri’s shoulder. The prince let out a cry that made him sound more alarmed than injured, and he dropped his shield as he fell backward. Kratos reacted immediately by grabbing the boy by his good arm and immediately brought up his shield for protection.

“Your Highness!” Dedue shouted in worry as he looked back towards the prince. 

“Do not worry about him!” Kratos yelled back at him. “Focus on your job!” Then back at the Mercedes who stood with the knights. “We have a man down! Galatea, take his place. Ubert, take out the-”

“I’m on it!” Ashe called out as he notched an arrow. At the top of the wall that hugged their left side, and archer could be seen bouncing in and out of view as he waited for his opportunity to take another shot at the students below. But once he stood up again to get another clear shot, Ashe was ready for him and preemptively fired to where the bandit would be standing. His skills and foresight proved true, and the thief was met with an arrow to the chest, causing his seizing body to flop over the edge with blood trickling from his gaping mouth.

“Good shot, lad!” Mimir told him.

“Thank you, sir!”

“Keep moving!” The white brigand instructed them. “We need to get off this chokepoint, or we will continue to be exposed to enemy fire!” Once they’d finally made it to the end of the passage, with Mercedes left behind to tend to a wounded Dimitri, the Blue Lions came face-to-face with the remaining bandits on a courtyard that was way too wide for their current formation to be effective. However, anticipating this, Kratos gives them the command that they’ve all been waiting for. “Take them!” The remaining Blue Lions let out a bellowing roar before breaking apart to charge the remaining thieves. Kratos turned to see Felix continuing to hold on to the standard next to him, who waited with narrowed and impatient eyes. “Have at them.”

The blue-haired swordsman smirked. “Finally,” he says before tossing the colors over to Kratos and drawing his sword. 

Kratos watched as his students utilized their month’s worth of training to overpower the remaining bandits. From the other side, things were going equally as bad for the ruffians, and those with the remaining sense had decided to retreat towards the crevice that led out of the canyon where the rest of the knights were waiting. Meanwhile, Kostas turned and hurled curses and insults at the fleeing men before ultimately turning around and facing the incoming soldiers. 

“On your right, Brother!” Kratos reacted to Mimir’s warning to see another large ruffian heading towards Ingrid with her back faced towards him while dueling another bandit. The God of War wasted no time in charging the man before bringing up his axe and severing the bandit’s hand from his wrist. The ruffian howled and fell to his as he gripped the empty stump of his wrist, falling to his knees.

“Well, guess he won’t continue to fight after that one,” Mimir commented.

Kratos was about to make a sound in agreement before suddenly his entire world went into a dark shade of blue. His bodily suddenly became rigid, and Kratos could feel himself moving against his will as he watched his previous actions moving in reverse until he suddenly found himself standing exactly where he was just a moment before everything returned to normal.

“On your right, Brother!”

“What?” Kratos said out loud, as though he were still processing everything that happened. Eventually, he looked back at Ingrid. The bandit’s hand he’d previously severed was now perfectly intact, and due to his confusion, he’d had lost precious time that he could’ve used to close the gap and intercept the attacker. Regardless, Kratos made a beeline towards his student, despite realizing that he was too late to do anything about it. 

However, before the ruffian could deal the killing blow, an arrow suddenly pierced him through the neck, killing him instantly. Kratos turned to see where the arrow had come from, and he could see Claude standing atop the ledge of the landing they’d previously taken with his bow in hand. Upon seeing that Kratos had noticed the shot, the Golden Deer House Leader smirked and gave him a playful salute before focusing back on the battle at hand.

“Brother, is everything alright?” Mimir asked in concern. 

Kratos gruffed and shook his head. “Yes. But we will talk later.”

“Aye, we sure will. That’s the first time I’d ever seen you act like that in the middle of battle.”

Kratos wanted to snarl at the head before returning his focus to the rest of his students. “Enough. We must finish this before anyone else gets hurt."

Chapter Text

With the death of Kostas at the hands of Professor Byleth, the remaining thieves had wasted no time in throwing their arms down in surrender after witnessing their leader’s defeat. Kratos observed as the Knights of Seiros swiftly flooded the courtyard to apprehend them. Ensuring Dimitri and the rest of the Blue Lions had sustained no serious injury, the Ghost of Sparta then withdrew from the commotion, making his way toward a cliff overlooking the canyon. Making sure there was no one else around to listen in on their conversation, Kratos lifted Mimir’s head from his hip so that the two were at eye level with one another. 

“Did something happen, Brother?” The Norse god asked his friend with genuine concern. “Because that was the first time I’d ever seen you hesitate in the middle of a battle." He paused for a moment before adding cautiously, “ And it almost cost the life of one of our own.”

Kratos thought for a moment. “I…” He wanted to say but then stopped. How could he possibly describe what had just happened that Mimir wasn’t even aware of?

“Try not to think about it too much, Brother. Just explain what happened, and we’ll both figure out the rest from there.”

The brigand remained silent for a moment before speaking, “I came to Galatea’s aid immediately after you called out the thief to me. I neutralized him, but then everything… stopped.”

“Stopped?” Mimir repeated back. “As in, you were frozen in time?”

Kratos nodded. “Yes. I felt a guiding force dictating my action until I was suddenly back to where I was just a moment before, and everything that had happened began to repeat itself. It was as though I was…”

“Like you were going back in time.” Mimir finished for him, his eyes widening a little. "And against your will, no less."

“Yes, that is… precisely what it felt like. You noticed it as well?”

The head let out a deep breath. “Truth be told, Brother… around that same time, I felt as though I was having a serious case of deja vu. But not to the same extent as you described it. But whatever that was, we need to move forward with extreme caution until we can figure out the cause of it. Since we’re apparently in a place where Draupnir’s magic doesn’t work and the axe and blades are unable to find you, we can’t take any unnecessary risks with the children.” Both men went silent as they turned their gaze out over the cliff that overlooked the rest of the ruins. “...So, this is Zanado. The Red Canyon.”

Kratos looked back at his friend. “Is something the matter?”

“Hardly. Only that this is the place where the canyon got its nickname.”

“Elaborate.”

“Oh, right. I keep forgetting that you’re not one for studying history.” This reply from Mimir caused Kratos to grumble in annoyance. “Anyways, you remember the Nabateans that I mentioned before? Well, as it turns out, this was where the goddess had crash-landed, and it is also where she and her children made their new home here in Fodlan. But apparently, legend has that when a certain faction of the humans rebelled, they came in and slaughtered all of Zanado’s inhabitants, covering the canyon floor in their blood.”

“I see.” The ashen warrior thought for a moment. “The War of Heroes… what exactly happened?”

“Well, the details are a bit sparse. From what I read, Nemesis, the Fell King, became drunk with power after having defeated the armies who took arms against the goddess. But because he was gifted the blood of the progenitor god- and subsequently possessing strength that trumped over all 10 elites combined-  they were forced to ally with Seiros to combat this new threat.”

“Seiros… as in, the Church of Seiros?”

“Aye. She showed up one day in the Enbarr region some forty years before the founding of the Adrestian Empire, claiming to have been given a “gift to guide the lost,” and began performing miracles to inspire those around her. Eventually, with her leadership, she and the Four Saints would participate in the Battle of Tailtean where Nemesis would ultimately be slain by Seiros’ hands. Soon after, the Church of Seiros was founded in honor of her deeds.” He pauses before finishing, “At least, that’s what they say to have happened.”

“Hmm.” The spartan responded thoughtfully.

“Oh, by the way, look on over to your left there.” Mimir gestured with his eyes. “You see her?” Kratos followed his line of sight, and he could see Byleth standing on a lower level of the ruins about fifty yards away from them. She too was gazing out into the open canyon, however, Kratos noticed that there was something odd with her movement. 

For a moment, she tilted her head to the side with a hand to her chin, as though she was lost in thought. Then suddenly, her head snapped up in attention as though something had startled her before eventually relaxing. Both Kratos and Mimir watched as she remained stoic, until eventually, her body language changed as though she responding to a casual discussion.

“Seems like someone is having a bit of a silent conversation with themselves,” Mimir commented. Kratos does not respond, instead opting to continue watching the woman before he can hear footsteps behind him.

“Erm, excuse me, Kratos, sir?” The Ghost of Sparta turned to find Prince Dimitri approaching, his left arm and shoulder bandaged and wrapped into a sling.

“Ah, hello there, Your Highness!” Mimir greeted him. “How’s the wound in your shoulder treating you? Nothing severe, I hope.”

Dimitri shook his head with a small smile. “It’s fine, thank you. Mercedes says the arrow missed an artery, so she was able to treat it without much issue before the knights came to our aid.”

“That’s good to hear. Though, you were still lucky to have received an injury like that there rather than anywhere else.”

“I appreciate your concern, Professor Mimir, but really. I’m fine. I just came here to inform you that we will be leaving for the monastery soon. Everyone here is ready to leave when you are.” While Mimir and Dimitri were talking, Kratos turned his head back to where the Golden Deer Professor had been standing, only to realize that she’d already disappeared. “Erm, Sir Kratos?”

The brigand was silent for a moment before he finally replied, though he did not take his eyes off the spot where he was looking. “Yes,” he said, finally returning his attention to the house leader. “Let us be on our way.” 

x-x-x

It was mid-afternoon when Kratos and the company entered through the front gates of Garreg Mach. Once on monastery grounds, the Knights of Seiros separated from the two classes to escort the remaining prisoners for judgment, while the rest of the group headed toward the school's armory to return the equipment issued for the day. Kratos, Byleth, and their respective house leaders diverged from the others, making their way to the Main Hall to report to the Archbishop.

“We’re finally back,” Said Dimitri with a heavy sigh. He turns to Kratos, “With all due respect, Sir Kratos, I think I’ll go ahead and allow you to report to Lady Rhea while I head on over to the infirmary. I’m sorry, I hope that you understand…”

“There is no need to apologize, Your Highness,” Mimir assured him from Kratos’ hip. “Things rarely happen the way you want out on the battlefield, and these things are bound to happen at some point. We’ll sort the rest of it out while you get that shoulder thoroughly looked at. There’s no shame in looking out for yourself from time to time.”

“I appreciate that, Professor,” The crown prince bowed respectfully as best he could without the soreness in his injured arm. 

“You should consider yourself lucky, Your Highness,” Claude spoke up beside him. “Had it been anyone else who was more competent with a bow, we might be having a very different conversation right now.”

“A conversation about what exactly?”

Everyone turned to see Edelgard, the House Leader of the Black Eagles, and her professor walking past the group toward the exit. However, upon seeing Dimitri and his bandaged arm, she stopped dead in her tracks. “Oh, Dimitri. I assume you’ve just returned from your mission?”

The prince stifled a chuckle. “How could you tell?”

“Call it a hunch.” The young noblewoman answered.

Hearing this caused the blonde-haired boy to laugh. “And I’m guessing the Black Eagles have a mission to see to as well? Remember- on the real battlefield, one can never tell what’s to come. You can never dismiss the possibility of the worst-case scenario.”

“I appreciate your concern, Dimitri,” Edelgard dismissed him. “But you don’t need to repeat what Professor Mimir had just said back to me. If you doubt my abilities, then your lack of insight is disappointing.”

The Blue Lion’s House leader flustered. “That’s… not what I meant. If I’ve offended you, then I hope you’ll accept my apology.”

"Don't worry about it," she half-assured him, then turned to Manuela. "Professor, we must hurry. Everyone is waiting for us," before leaving without another word.

As Edelgard walked away, Manuela let out a dramatic sigh. “I suppose I’ll be off too. Try not to let her get to you, Dimitri. I promise, there’s no need for concern.” The songstress then looked up at Kratos and winked. “And, when I return, I’ll look forward to hearing about your heroic endeavors from today’s mission, Professor Kratos.” She says to him before giving him a playful smack against his beefy arm.

Witnessing this caused Claude’s eyes to widen a little at the sudden open flirtation from Manuela, and Dimitri covered his mouth with his good hand in a desperate attempt to stifle another laughter. Byleth, however, continued to stare blankly after Edelgard as she hurried down the stairs with her professor following close behind.

“Well, alright then,” Mimir spoke up to break up the awkward atmosphere. “Let’s not keep the Archbishop waiting any longer, shall we?”

Chapter Text

Three days had passed since the Blue Lions returned from their first mission together. After allowing his students the time they needed to rest and recover, one of the first things Kratos did was take them out to the training grounds to ease them back into their usual rigorous training routine. This also allowed Dimitri to fully recover from his wound and join in lance drills alongside Sylvain, Ingrid, and their professor. Meanwhile, Mimir’s head sat on a stool, overseeing Mercedes' instructions with a practice bow, using Ashe as an example to demonstrate the proper techniques. Finally, Felix, Dedue, and Annette engaged in basic upper-body exercises, using a weighted version of a sword and axe for their swings, while Annette mimicked Dedue’s movements with a regular training axe.

“Remember,” Mimir told Mercedes. “Maintain a firm grip on the bowstring, and keep your stance steady. You want to draw the string smoothly, take a breath, and release; all in one fluid motion. If you need another demonstration, you need only to ask.”

The priestess nodded. With a determined expression, Mercedes raised the bow and notched another arrow. Following his instructions, she pulled back the string, took a breath, and released the arrow. Unlike previous attempts that either completely missed the target or hit the ground, this shot flew straight and true before hitting the outer rim of the target.

“Well done, lass!” Mimir congratulated her, followed by a small clap from Ashe. “See? I always knew you had it in you.”

“Thank you, Professor.” Mercedes smiled brilliantly and bowed. “I apologize; I don’t know why I was so adamant about picking up a weapon earlier. I mean, I know why I didn’t want to , but I was more concerned about hurting someone by accident if I were to even touch one of them.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for, Mercedes,” Mimir told her. “And I understand where you’re coming from. Violence is the last thing any of us would have to resort to, but it’s also important to know how to defend yourself if such a situation were to arise. Especially where being a medic is concerned.”

Mercedes nodded. “I understand,” She cocks her head curiously. “Also, if I may ask, Professor Mimir… Why have me use a bow of all things?”

“Well, consider it a calculated experiment from the smartest man alive.” The head answered playfully. “Because something tells me that there’s a latent talent somewhere that’s just waiting to be uncovered.”

While listening in on their conversation, Annette was sweating up a storm as her strokes with the axe became more heavy and sloppy. “And I…” She struggled to say in between breaths. “Certainly hope that he’s… right about… this one too.” The mage’s training axe fell to the ground as her arms finally gave out. “Professor Mimir?” Annette panted heavily, “Does more arm muscles also mean stronger magic? Because I don’t think being unable to lift my arms is going to help me much in that regard…” 

“You just focus on doing what you’re told and leave the rest of it to me,” Mimir informed her. “Because if I was going to waste your time, then I’d be letting Kratos take control of your training rather than meself.”

“Please don’t,” Annette muttered under her breath, and she could hear Kratos letting out an unamused grunt.

“That is enough for now,” The brigand told his three proteges; two of whom immediately leaned on their spear for support.

“I gotta say,” Sylvain huffed while wiping his brow. “You sure know how to run us ragged, Professor Kratos- I mean, Sir.”

“Agreed,” said Ingrid. “I’m excited to see how this will pay off when I eventually pass the trial to become a Pegasus Knight.”

Dimitri, who besides Kratos did not seem tired out by the exercise routine, added, “Well, this is the reason why we were able to crush our opponents so easily a few days ago. And to be honest, I wouldn’t mind continuing this for another hour or so.”

“Easy for you to say, boar.” Felix cringed as the tip of his sword fell to the floor. “If it weren’t for the blisters, I’d take you up on that offer.”

“Suuuuuure you do, Felix.” Sylvain teased him. “And my dad says I’ll receive his entire fortune and take over House Gautier first thing tomorrow.”

“I wouldn’t get too overzealous with those hands of yours,” Mimir informed the swordsman. “Because you and Gautier will need them for the seminar for Reason tomorrow.”

Felix narrows his eyes at the head. “The hell do we need to study Reason for?”

Kratos shuts him down. “He says you will attend the seminar, and you will be expected to do so. End of story.” It was at this point when the Ghost of Sparta was about to order everyone to return to their training when a feminine voice called out. 

“Excuse me, Professor Kratos?” Everyone turned to see one of the Knights of Seiros standing at the entrance to the training ground, accompanied by two soldiers. “Please pardon our interruption, but the Archbishop has requested that one of your students- Ashe Ubert- be immediately escorted to My Lady’s audience chamber.” All eyes suddenly turned on Ashe, whose expression was a mix of shock and confusion.

“Lady Rhea… wishes to see me?” He asked unsteadily. 

“Unfortunately, I cannot divulge any more information than what is already given.” The knight said coldly. “Please, leave all of your gear behind and follow us.”

The room went silent as everyone, especially Ashe, tried to process what exactly was happening. Eventually, left with no other choice, the gray-haired archer complied and set down his bow and quiver against Mimir’s stool. He made his way across the courtyard until Kratos suddenly came in and stood between him and the soldiers.

“What does the Archbishop want with him?” Kratos asked, though his tone made it sound more like a demand than a question.

“That is not your concern, Professor Kratos.” The knight stood her ground. 

From the perspective of the students, the Ghost of Sparta seemed to be sizing the woman up before making his reply. “I will go with him.”

“That will not be necessary. Rest assured, we will have your student returned to you before-”

“Any matter regarding my students is my concern,” Kratos told her, stepping up closer to the knight, and a bead of sweat could be seen crossing over her brow. “As I have said, I will accompany him to see the Archbishop. Because after all, she did not say that I could not escort him myself, did she?”

Both subordinates glanced at their superior, unsure of what to say or do, lacking any clear course of action on the man challenging her authority. However, despite the signs of intimidation that radiated from her, the knight kept a cool expression and nodded. “Very well. You shall accompany us to the audience chamber; but if the Archbishop does not deem you permission to enter, then I will be forced to enforce that order. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” Kratos said simply as he placed a reassuring hand on Ashe’s shoulder. “Come. Let us not keep her waiting.”

x-x-x

They’d just reached the top of the main stairs, and Kratos could already see Rhea and Seteth waiting for them at the end of the long hallway. It didn’t take the Archbishop’s right hand long to notice Kratos accompanying the group, and a scowl drew across the priest’s face in displeasure. Once they got closer, however, Kratos noticed a third individual- a woman with blonde hair and dressed in pristine white armor- standing next to the Archbishop in the audience chamber.

“Lady Rhea,” the knight said with a bow. “I have brought the student Ashe Ubert as requested. However, his professor has insisted that he-”

"Master Kratos," Seteth said in a here-we-go manner, yet still maintained a professional demeanor despite the situation. "It would be dishonest of me to say I had not expected this. But either way, I don't recall sending you a summons as well."

Kratos grunted. “I am here because his well-being is my priority. And your servant’s answers to my questions were… dissatisfying.”

Seteth pinched his nose with great frustration. “I can understand your concern, Master Kratos, but there are procedures here that must be enforced if we are to ensure our-”

“That is enough, Seteth,” Rhea told the man gently, yet sternly. “As Sir Kratos has already stated, he only wishes to be reassured of the safety of his student.” Then to Kratos. “And I believe that there is nothing more commendable than that as a professor here at Garreg Mach.” If the white brigand was even the slightest bit flattered by her words, he did not show it. 

“Regardless, Professor Kratos.” The Archbishop said placatingly. “I’m afraid that we must speak young Ashe in private. As much as I would love to have you join us, there is a very serious matter that must be discussed in confidence. And if it is of any consolation, I swear upon the Goddess that no action shall be taken against him before or after he is returned to your custody. Is that good enough for you?”

Ashe suddenly stepped forward and turned to his professor. “Professor Kratos, I’ll be fine. Really.” He insisted. “I know that I’ve done nothing wrong, and I know in my heart that Lady Rhea’s oath is as good and pure as the Goddess herself.”

From Seteth’s perspective, this was the first time he’d ever seen the Ghost of Sparta’s expression look like that of genuine surprise. Meanwhile, the blonde woman beside Rhea nodded her head in appreciation at the boy’s words, and hearing him speak up for himself was what finally gave Kratos the reassurance he needed.

“Very well. I shall remain here until you are ready to leave.”

“Thank you, Sir Kratos.” Ashe smiled. “I’m sure this won’t take long.” He then turned to the trio as Seteth waved an impatient hand toward the advisory room.

“Excellent. Now then, let us get started. We have much to discuss.” All four individuals, including the white-clad soldier, made their way into the private room. Ashe had just enough time to turn around and wave one last time to Kratos before the door shut behind him, leaving a vaguely concerned Spartan alone within the audience chamber.

Chapter Text

Nearly an hour had passed since Ashe had disappeared into the advisory room with Seteth and Rhea, and Kratos was already starting to become restless. The Spartan, who was always used to action and constant movement, found the waiting game to be particularly irksome. He paced back and forth in the audience chamber, his expression stern and impatient. Glancing at the door, he contemplated whether he should intervene and demand answers until a familiar voice called out to him.

“Kratos!” The brigand turned to see Dimitri hurrying down the hallway as he carried Mimir’s head with him until they were close enough to speak quietly. “What is going on, Brother?” The Norse god asked in a hushed voice. “We’ve been awaiting your return, but the children were getting more worried with every passing minute. Is the lad alright?"

Kratos gave Mimir a curt nod, gesturing toward the advisory room. “Yes. Ubert is in there with the Archbishop. She has requested that she speak with him privately.” 

“What on Earth for?”

“I do not know. She said it was an urgent matter.”

Mimir then directed his attention to Dimitri. “What about you, Your Highness? Do you have any ideas for what this might be about?”

Dimitri shook his head. “No, Professor. Ashe is one of the most genuine and honest people I’ve ever known. I mean, I know that he was initially a thief after his parents had passed away before Lord Lonato took him and his siblings in, but none of that was even under the church’s jurisdiction. However, there was one-”

Before he could finish, the conversation was abruptly interrupted as the doors to the advisory room swung open. Kratos, Dimitri, and Mimir observed as the blonde woman emerged, holding the door open for Ashe as the archer came out looking vastly different from the last time Kratos had seen him. Instead of standing tall, proud, and with his shoulders back, Ashe was now slumped forward in defeat, his head hanging low. 

All three noticed this change almost immediately, and Kratos was the first to speak up. “Ashe…” He said uncertainly to the teenager. “Are you alright?”

The archer’s head suddenly snapped up toward his professor. His eyes, once bright and resolute, were tinged with red and inner turmoil, as though he were on the verge of an emotional collapse. “I…” He croaked out and continued to stare at the Spartan with a helpless expression before suddenly turning away. “I-I’m sorry. Please, I... I need some time alone.” He then turned away and started hurrying down the hall before Kratos could even have the chance to respond.

“Wait, lad,” Mimir called out worriedly to him. “Where are you going?” Ashe made no indication of having heard his professor and continued toward the stairs without so much as a glance backward. "What in the bloody hell was that all about?”

Kratos was about to give chase before Seteth’s voice spoke out to him, “Excuse me, Master Kratos?”

The Ghost of Sparta had the sudden urge to completely ignore the priest’s call for his attention, but with a deeply exasperated grumble, he turned to see what the Archbishop’s second-in-command wanted. “What is it?” He asked, not bothering to hide his disdain for the man.

“The Archbishop would like to have a word with both you and Professor Mimir,” Seteth said from the other side of the doorframe. “This is pertinent to you and your classes’ mission for this month, as well as the matter we’ve just discussed with your student- and now would be much appreciated.”

Kratos looked one last time down the hall just in time to see Ashe disappear out of sight, and in that moment, he made the split-second decision to grab Mimir’s head from Dimitri’s hand. “Go after him,” he instructed his House Leader. “And do not let him out of your sight. Ensure that he does not do anything reckless. If something happens, I wish to be notified immediately.”

The prince nodded dutifully. “Yes, Sir Kratos,” before wheeling around and fast-tracking after his fellow student.

Seteth nodded in satisfaction. “There is no need for concern, Master Kratos. Lady Rhea will inform you of everything you need to know regarding Master Ubert’s situation. In the meantime, I’m sure we would all like to expedite this matter so that you may return to your duties and reunite with your students.” 

“I swear,” Mimir muttered under his breath to his friend. “If I have to listen to this twat’s chinwagging any longer, I might actually ask you to finish the job.”

He received a low grumble from Kratos as the brigand stepped past the blonde soldier, who continued to hold the door open for him and entered the advisory room. Upon entering, Kratos noticed Rhea comfortably seated on one of the two couches flanking a coffee table positioned between them, and Seteth quickly joined her as he sat on the opposite end of her. After closing the door behind her, the unknown woman walked past both professors and seated herself on the last open piece of furniture. She sprawled out on the couch, arms casually resting over the arm and back while propping one leg over the other.

“Master Kratos,” The Archbishop greeted the man for the second time that day. “And Professor Mimir. Please, have a seat.” She gestured to the empty spot next to the white-armored knight. After a moment’s pause, Kratos placed Mimir on the corner of the table with his head facing all three of the monastery inhabitants before slowly allowing himself to sit down stiffly on the couch. “Thank you, Sir Kratos.” She smiled politely. “Now, before we continue any further, I would like to ask: Are there any concerns that you would like to get off your chest? Are there any issues here at Garreg Mach that you would like to bring to my attention? Because from what I have gathered, you and Master Seteth seem to be at constant odds with one another, as well as with some of the staff, and I would like to better understand the cause for all of this... friction between us.”

Kratos and Mimir exchanged looks for a moment before the Ghost of Sparta answered. “I am afraid you are mistaken.”

“Oh?” Rhea tilted her head curiously. “About what exactly?”

Kratos leaned back in his seat, his expression stern but not hostile. “I am here to fulfill my duties as a professor. Nothing more, and nothing less. My purpose is to guide and protect my students to the best of my ability. Any conflict that arises between myself and others is a result of the different approaches we have toward achieving that goal. It is not personal, and I harbor no ill will towards anyone at this monastery. I simply wish to understand what transpired between Ubert and the Church that has left him in such a broken state.”

“And you think that excuses your past behavior?” Seteth inquired.

Kratos eyed the priest. “I do not regret my actions if that is what you infer. I do not ask that I be forgiven for my transgressions; only that you see why I feel obligated to take such measures.”

“Even if it means breaking off our deal? Even if it means the very real possibility of being stuck here forever?"

Kratos paused. “Even if I were to never return, I will still find solace in the fact that I have done everything I could for my homeland. Because with or without me, my memory will continue to spread hope to those who believe in it.”

The Archbishop raised an eyebrow. “You mean to say that even if you were to remain here, you still plan to kindle this... Hope, wherever you go?”

“That is correct.” The Ghost of Sparta nodded.

“And tell me, Kratos…” Rhea’s eyes narrowed, as if to challenge him, as she leaned toward him. “What kind of ‘hope’ do you intend to inspire in others?”

Before the brigand could make his reply, Seteth interjected with a forced cough. “Ahem, Lady Rhea, I am afraid we may have deviated from the topic at hand.”

The green-haired woman blinked as though she’d suddenly remembered what they were here for. Her calm and collected expression returned in an instant, and she straightened up in her seat. “Yes, you are correct, Seteth.” She gave an appreciative nod to the priest before focusing back on the Spartan and his severed head. “Professor Kratos, and Professor Mimir. We have received reports that Lord Lonato has rallied troops against the Holy Church of Seiros.”

“Lonato, you say?” Mimir spoke up for the first time since they’d entered the room. “You mean the same minor lord of the Kingdom of Faerghus?”

“Indeed. He has been showing hostility toward the church for some time now.”

“Hold on,” The head said as his brain tried to hammer out the bits of information he was just given. “If Lord Lonato is openly challenging the Church of Seiros, then what does this have to do with wee Ashe-” Mimir’s tongue stopped in its tracks. “Oh.” Mimir’s eyes furrowed. “You were interrogating the young lad.” He told them in an accusatory manner, with a sliver of anger in his voice.

Seteth waved off the allegations. “We needed to ensure that the boy had no knowledge of or involvement in his adopted father's rebellion. It was a necessary precaution to safeguard the monastery and its inhabitants.”

“And yet you neglected to tell us about it because... why exactly?”

Seteth set his jaw. “It was on a need-to-know basis, and, put simply, you did not need to know about it until now.”

Mimir spat. “Ptuh. And here I thought we were the ones being difficult.”

Kratos, with a stern expression, directed his attention to Rhea. “What exactly is Lonato planning?”

“Lonato's rebellion is not a secret, Professor Kratos,” she responded. “He seeks to oppose the Church's authority and challenge the order we have established. In response, we have decided to deploy the Knights of Seiros, including your house, to handle the situation.”

“A vanguard unit from the Knights is already on its way to his stronghold, Castle Gaspard.” Seteth included. “Lord Lonato’s army is nothing compared to the knights. It is quite possible the rebellion has already been suppressed.”

The Norse god was flabbergasted. “Then what in the bloody hell was all this about?!” He ranted. “Coming in, forcing the wee lad to feel as though he’s about to be sent to the gallows, and then causing up a fuss just because Kratos wanted to make sure that it wouldn’t even happen-”

“Mimir.” Kratos cut in, causing the head to immediately bite back his tongue.

“Aye, sorry about that, Brother.” He said ruefully.

Rhea continued for Seteth, “Even still, I would like for your class to travel with the knights’ rear guard to deal with the aftermath.”

“We do not expect you will have cause to battle,” her right hand assured them. “But be prepared for the worst.”

The Archbishop then gestured to the woman right next to Kratos, who immediately stood up to be recognized. “This is Catherine. She will be leading the knights whom you will be accompanying."

“Nice to meet you, Sir Kratos.” The woman named Catherine smiled brilliantly at the man. “We’ve heard quite a lot about you.” She held out her hand to him to shake it. “If you need anything, just ask.” Neither man said anything in response, and Kratos simply looked down at the hand that was offered to him. Upon realizing he was going to leave her hanging, Catherine nodded politely and withdrew it. “Okay, fair enough. Guess we’re not quite on that level yet,” she said before sitting back down.

“She is one of our bravest knights, and that is no small feat,” Rhea informed them. “Only an exceptional few have what it takes to join the Knights of Seiros.” She added, “This mission should also prove useful in demonstrating to the students how foolish it would be to turn their blades on the church. Pointing a sword at the Holy Church of Seiros is akin to pointing a sword at the goddess herself.”

This time, it was Mimir’s turn to grumble in dismay.

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe it,” Mimir muttered out loud from Kratos’ hip as the brigand marched down the stairs. “I just can’t. Bloody. Believe it. ”

“Mimir,” Kratos asked his friend with mild concern. “What has gotten into you?”

“Dah, I’m sorry, Brother. I just can’t get over everything that has happened recently.”

“Our collaboration with the Archbishop is only temporary,” Kratos informed him. “But your actions have been… quite uncharacteristic of you.”

“I know, Kratos,” The head insisted. “It’s just that- I can tolerate much of the questionable standards here thanks to my time spent with Odin and King Oberon, but the fact that they dragged that innocent boy into their mess is just beyond the pale. The entire situation would have had me stomach churnin’ if I had one.” 

Kratos had just reached the bottom of the stairs before taking a left towards the stone bridge. “Is that the only reason you are this angry?”

“...Nay, it’s not only that. I’ve recently been doing a bit of digging into the nobles’ histories regarding their crests; and what I found, is that for every major good deed these houses were able to accomplish, there are five more unsavory things to follow in quick succession.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m saying that from what I've observed, the Crest System that the Church upholds has been responsible for more harm than good. You remember the little disagreement we had with Seteth a month ago, right? Regarding young Gautier’s older brother? Well, I wasn’t exaggerating for the sake of validating your points. That really is how serious the head of each House is regarding their Crests.”

Kratos listened attentively as Mimir continued to vent his frustrations. The stone bridge stretched ahead of them, leading to the main Cathedral as the Spartan hurried his way across.

“I’ve been trying to wrap my head around this Crest business,” Mimir grumbled, “and I’m finding it increasingly difficult to accept. These crests were supposed to be blessings from the Goddess, symbols of her divine favor. But in reality, they've become tools for power, manipulation, and discrimination.”

“I understand why that upsets you.”

“And does it not upset you as well?” Asked Mimir.

“Of course it does. But we will continue this discussion another time.”

“Aye, fair enough. By the way, where are we going exactly?”

“To the Cathedral.”

“To try and find Ashe, I assume?” Mimir was answered with a confirming grunt. “What makes you think he’ll be there specifically?” This time, he was not provided an answer.

From nearby, a hooded figure in church clothing watched as the men left before turning to leave in the opposite direction.

x-x-x

Kratos pushed open the doors of the cathedral building, and one of the first people he saw was Dimitri, leaning against one of the stone pillars closest to the door as if to hide behind it. Dimitri had his arms crossed and his gaze fixated on the many rows of empty pews. Upon hearing the doors opening behind him, the prince turned to the men and offered a slight nod.

“Sir Kratos. Professor Mimir.” He said in a low voice.

"Your Highness.” The Norse god greeted in kind. “How’s the young lad been doing?”

“Hard to say,” Dimitri shrugged before nodding to one of the pews closest to him. “When he left the chamber, he came straight here and hasn’t moved since.” 

Kratos followed his gesture and could see Ashe’s gray hair sticking out from over the bench as he bent his head down low, seemingly in prayer. “Have you tried to approach him?”

The House Leader shook his head. “I wanted to wait and see what he’d do first. Though, when I saw him walking towards the bridge, I had a strong urge to tackle him; but somehow I knew he’d never try and do something so foolish.” Dimitri couldn’t help a lighthearted snort. “After all, his faith in the Goddess is second to none.”

The Ghost of Sparta paused for a moment as though he were lost in thought. “His adoptive father- Lonato. What can you tell me about him? What has happened to cause the man to instigate such an uprising?”

Dimitri and Mimir looked at one another to see who would answer, and eventually, Mimir spoke up first. “Well, unlike the rest of their peers, the House of Gaspard is one of the very few to have held the title of Lord without themselves possessing a crest. Instead, Lord Lonato comes from a line of deeply respected leaders- and for good reason. In times when relations between the Kingdom and the Empire were shall we say, tense- the Gaspards were always the first to engage as they held the border between both nations. Even during the most undesirable circumstances, Lonato has always been described as very noble and a true gentleman. Did I get everything right, Your Highness?”

The prince nodded. “You are correct, Professor. Lord Lonato was also one of those most loyal to the Church due to the Kingdom’s strong ties with them. That was, until…” The House Leader took a moment to think about what to say next before he shook his head despondently. “Forgive me, Sir Kratos, but I don’t think I can finish that story for you.”

“Not to worry, Your Highness.” Mimir quickly covered for him, knowing exactly what the boy was implying. “Long story short, Brother, Lord Lonato’s biological son had been wrongfully accused of an assassination and was executed by the Church for it. No judge, no trial. Just a swift and gross miscarriage of justice.” He pursed his lips. “Young Ashe may have been easy to forgive the Church for the misunderstanding, but apparently, not Lonato.”

Both pairs of eyes were now on Kratos as if to inquire what they should do next, and after a moment’s deliberation, the Spartan lifted Mimir’s head from his side and handed him out to Dimitri. “Here. Head back to the classroom and inform the students that all lectures are done for the day. I will speak with the boy.”

“Aye,” Mimir concurred. “And in the meantime, Your Highness, how’s about you drop me off at the library so I can catch up a bit more on your Kindgom’s history?”

“It would be my pleasure, Professor,” Dimitri said as he took the head from Kratos’ hand and turned to leave.

x-x-x

Ashe was not aware of Kratos’ presence until he finally lifted his head from the long prayer he’d been making. At first, he’d open his eyes to see a shadow befalling him, and he looked up slowly to see the ashen-skinned warrior standing over him. Kratos’ expression remained neutral, though his eyes did give off a softer look to his intimidating stature.

“Oh! Sir Kratos,” The archer started, though his voice was coarse. “I… I did not see you there. Do you need me to return to the classroom? My apologies, I did not mean to run off the way that I-”

The Spartan lifted a placating hand to encourage him to remain seated. “No need to explain.” He spoke in a surprisingly soft voice that made even Ashe couldn’t believe Kratos possessed. “Not about that.” He then gestures to the empty space next to his student. “...May I sit here?”

Ashe’s mouth hung slightly agape but eventually managed a nod. Then slowly, as though out of fear any sudden movement might frighten the boy away, Kratos eased himself into the pew next to him. Moments passed as both teacher and student watched the Church choir rehearse their song, and the Ghost of Sparta was contemplating whether he should try and say something to the lad, or simply let his presence be enough for him. However, that decision would ultimately be decided for him as Ashe spoke up.

“There must be some mistake.” He said absentmindedly. Kratos turned his head to look at his student, however, Ashe continued to keep his gaze focused in front of him. “Lonato would never raise his arms against the Church.”

Another moment of silence passes, and this time, Kratos initiates the conversation. “Your stepfather… what was he like? Right before he sent you here.”

“I…” Ashe thought, “He told me that… no matter what happens, I should always strive to be the best man that I can be, as well as the best leader that my troops deserve. He said that he was proud of how far I’d come so far, but also that I still had a long way to go.” He shook his friend in frustration. “Why? Why didn’t he tell me about any of this? Why did he continue to harbor so much hatred for the Church and attempt to fight something he couldn’t possibly win against…”

He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder, and the archer finally looked back at Kratos, whose eyes met his with an empathetic gaze. “I cannot speak for Lonato. But if I were in his position, I would say that it was to protect you.”

Ashe took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “Then that would mean he’d been planning this for a long time. Probably since…”

Suddenly, an idea came to mind. “I was told that you were an avid reader and that you have a unique adoration for stories.” Kratos suggested, “Would you like to hear one?”

At first, Ashe looked at Kratos as though he wasn’t sure if he was serious or not. But after looking at the Spartan’s face of unwavering sincerity, the gray-haired archer couldn’t help but give a small smile as he replied. “Yes, I… I’d really like that.”

His professor nodded in satisfaction and cleared his throat so that he could speak clearly and with purpose:

“A long time ago, a man found guilty of murder escaped from his homeland; and traveled to a faraway land so that he may start anew. Eventually, he found love, and they had a family deep in the wilderness so that they could live their lives in peace and isolation. As the years went on, the man was afraid that one day, his son may learn the truth of his deeds, and resent him for it. However, the more the man did not tell him, the more the rift between them grew. It was not until the day came that the man’s past had finally caught up to him and was forced to confess his sins. Instead of pleading for his life, the father only asked that his son be a better man than he once was. And the son, wrought with guilt upon realizing what he had truly felt for his father, promised that he would honor that wish.”

Ashe continued to listen as though there was more to Kratos’ story, but upon realizing that the story had ended, he gave his teacher a confused look. “That’s… not a very happy ending, but… I can see what the moral to that story is.”

The Spartan gave the boy a firm squeeze on the shoulder. “Lonato knows that he could not overcome his grief. He has made his choice.”

The archer’s face twisted in anguish. “The Archbishop is sending us to help deal with the rebellion, aren’t they?”

“You do not have to come with us if you are-”

“No, Sir Kratos.” Ashe suddenly sat straight up and looked his professor dead in the eye. “If there is the chance that I can talk Lord Lonato out of this, then I won’t stand by and allow any more unnecessary bloodshed. Not just because he is my adoptive father. But I also refuse to believe that there isn’t any other choice. Not if I can help it.” His face softened upon realizing who he was actually talking to and then added respectfully. “Um, sir.”

Unbeknownst to him, Kratos was stunned by the sheer similarities between Ashe and Atreus. Minor similarities in terms of looks were one thing, but the added sincerity in how they spoke and what they were fighting for was what had ended sealing the deal for Kratos, who let out an uncharacteristic chuckle. 

“I am glad to hear it.”

Chapter Text

“Lady Rhea…” Seteth spoke quietly as soon as he closed the door behind Catherine upon her dismissal. “There is something that I wish to ask you regarding these.... Professors of yours.”

Meanwhile, Rhea remained seated and appeared unfazed, taking her time with the hot cup of tea in front of her. She added a sugar cube and began to stir without so much as a glance towards him. “Go on.”

Her stilted response already told the priest that the Archbishop had zero intention of changing her mind on the subject he was about to bring up with her. Nonetheless, Seteth clasped his hand behind his back, puffed out his chest with his shoulders back as he’d done for hours on end in front of the staff and students, and spoke. “Rhea… I am having difficulty in understanding these choices you’ve been making over the past month. At first, I was only baffled by your choice to hire that mercenary- even if she did happen to be the child of that former knight you hold with such high esteem. But to then keep someone like Kratos around, of whom we know absolutely nothing about is a decision I can’t even begin to fathom.” The woman had been sipping on her tea up until the emphasis on the name “Kratos” was brought up, and Rhea had set down her cup rather forcefully and gave Seteth a stern look.

“Are you doubting my judgment, Seteth?” She said flatly.

The man took a moment to gather his thoughts, choosing his words carefully. "It's not a matter of doubting your judgment, Lady Rhea.” He said calmly. “Rather, it's a question of prudence. Kratos has already proven himself to be unpredictable, and dare I say, even volatile. While he and that talking head of his adhere to the rules to some extent, he does not shy away from bending or outright breaking them if he deems it inconvenient.” He paused, observing Rhea's impassive expression before moving so that he was standing right next to her, leaned down, and began to whisper. "Our secrecy and control are paramount, and their presence jeopardizes that. If their loyalty were to waver or if they were to consider us a threat, there is no telling how much chaos that will come out of it. It's a risk that I fear we may not be able to afford, especially given the possibility that he might be working with-" 

He was silenced when the Archbishop suddenly raised a hand for silence, and Seteth's eyes held a mix of caution and apprehension as he awaited her response. “I am aware of the dangers, my dear Cihol.” She spoke softly and slowly lowered her hand. “And I will also not pretend as though your concerns are not considerable or even unjustified. As it stands, our current situation has become quite dire.” She takes one last sip of her tea before pushing it away. “And yet, it seems that the heavens also continue to smile in our favor.”

Seteth furrowed his brow, uncertainty crossing his features. "I'm not entirely sure of your meaning, Lady Rhea."

An annoyed look crossed her face as the Archbishop stood on her feet. “Kratos is much too dangerous to be left to his own devices, Master Seteth, that much is clear. Had he been found by someone else instead, there is no telling what he could have been coerced into without us so much as knowing of his existence.” She flashed a small smile to the priest. “However, with him under our direct eye, we will at least be given the opportunity to earn his trust until our mages can figure out what can be done about the problem regarding his… displacement.”

“Do you consider it enough to keep him as our ally?” Seteth asked.

Rhea scowled. “We did not need him to be our ‘ally.’” She hissed back as though the mere thought disgusted her. “Only that we give him enough reasons to not become our enemy . As you have already said, Kratos and Mimir operate on their own terms; and it would be foolish to believe that we can fully control them.”

Her words left Cihol silent for a long moment before finally responding. “...And I suppose that the children are meant to be one of those reasons?”

The Archbishop tilted her head as if to indicate offense at his question. “I am not a monster, Seteth. We, and by extension, the Holy Church of Seiros, have maintained peace and stability because we are the only ones who can. Without the presence and grace of the Goddess, mankind will be doomed to wage endless wars until the end of their miserable existence, as they did so long ago. If Lord Kratos truly wishes to avoid a war, then the children should help to serve as nothing more than a deterrent.”

Seteth shifted his feet before crossing his arms. “And if that fails?”

“Then,” Rhea responded coldly, her eyes darkening. “All of Fodlan shall know who the monster truly is.”

x-x-x

Tucked in the far corner of the Monastery library, Mimir had been helping himself to one of the many thick books Dimitri had arranged for him before leaving so that his professor could study in peace and quiet. Almost everyone within the room had maintained a sizable distance from the table on which the Norse god’s head sat; something that Mimir had come to appreciate since it allowed him to focus without the chance of an interruption. However, that sense of solidarity was eventually broken when a hunched figure stooped into view from behind the massive book. He looked up to see Tomas as the librarian offered him a warm smile and waved with his free hand.

“Greetings, Master Mimir,” said the aged man pleasantly.

“Ah, hello there, Tomas,” Mimir replied in kind, though there was a hint of impatience in his voice. “Is there anything I can assist you with? Pardon me if I sound a bit dismissive at the moment, because unfortunately, too much has already happened, so I’m not entirely in the best of moods today.”

“Oh, not to worry, my good sir,” Tomas waved a hand in a kind gesture. “In fact, that is exactly the reason why I am here. You are usually never here this early during the school days, and I could see you glaring so hard, I could’ve sworn you’ve grown a unibrow.”

At this, Mimir couldn’t help but smile a little and chuckle. “Aye, that obvious?”

“Obvious enough to have me worried, my good friend,” the librarian stated. “Tell me, what has happened? This is the first time I had ever seen you this upset- much less at all, if this old man could remember.”

The head made a facial gesture as if to shrug. “Daw, it’s nothing to be too concerned over. Just the usual fash that Kratos and I have to deal with.”

“Seteth getting under your skin again, I presume?”

“Honestly, that sums up about a tenth of the issue. As much as I would love to rant about it to the next sod, it wouldn’t be professional of me to indulge in the details. For that. I hope you understand.”

Tomas nodded while maintaining a delighted smile. “Of course, Master Mimir. If there’s anything I can do to lighten your mood or provide assistance, you need only ask.”

“Huh, I suppose now that you’re here, there is something I’ve been meaning to ask of you.”

“And what is that?”

“Well, for starters, for someone who’s been here for the past forty years, I was hoping you could tell me about any significant changes that have occurred as of late- particularly around the time of King Lambert’s death?”

The old man raised his brow curiously. “A bit of an odd question, but… let’s see.” He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “I was not present within the monastery when word of the Tragedy of Duscar had spread throughout Fodlan, but after returning earlier this year, I have noticed that everyone here has become more… how shall I say it, tight-lipped?”

“About the king, or the events that followed?”

“Both, I should say. Every conversation I happen to hear regarding His Royal Highness was immediately hushed once they realized that their conversation wasn’t private. But I have heard the rumors.”

“What kind of rumors?”

Tomas took the opportunity to look around to ensure they would not be overheard before leaning over towards the severed head. “Some believe that the King was conspiring against the Church with his reforms after he attempted to reduce the influence of the Crest’s system. Others, however, say that the Tragedy of Duscar was all part of a more elaborate scheme in order to remove His Highness from the throne so that his brother may take it as his own.”

Mimir hummed. “And you don’t suppose that there is any validation to these rumors?”

“From my experience, Master Mimir, every rumor or conspiracy theory sounds plausible if you make it so.” Tomas chuckled. “But going back to your original question, overall I would say that- no. Not much else has changed besides everything returning to the status-quo as far as politics are concerned until the young Prince is ready to take his rightful place as king.” As though he’d sensed someone approaching, the librarian pulled back and cleared his throat. “Oh! As much as I would like to humor your inquiry, Master Mimir, it would seem as though someone else would like to have a moment of your time, so I shall leave you to it. Farewell, my friend.”

The severed head watched as Tomas turned away and disappeared out of view, and Mimir only had enough time to utter the words, “Hmm, I wonder…” Before a much younger and timid student with blue hair stepped up quietly to his table. 

“Um, excuse me, professor Mimir?”

Mimir raised his brows. “Ah, hello there, milady.” He greeted the girl pleasantly. “If memory serves me right, you must be Marianne Von Edmund.”

The young noble clasped her hands together tightly and bowed deeply in respect. “Um, y-yes, you are correct. I hope I'm not disturbing you.”

The bodiless professor grinned reassuringly. “No, not at all, lass! In fact, disturbing me would take a lot more than a friendly pupil seeking advice. What can I do for you?”

Marianne looked shyly away while gripping one arm with the other. “W-Well, I wanted to make a request, if that's okay.”

“Ah, a request, you say? Well, don't keep me in suspense. Ask away!”

“Well, um, is it... is it possible for me to transfer to your class? T-temporarily, I mean.”

Mimir made no attempt to hide his mixed expression of surprise and interest. “Huh, that is unexpected… May I ask where a request like this is coming from?”

The young noblewoman flustered. “Um, well, I have been observing how you and Professor Kratos instruct your class, and… I just became interested, is all. I thought that maybe it would be... helpful for me.”

“Well, I'm flattered!” The Norse god told her with light-heartedness, though he didn’t seem to be completely satisfied with the girl’s answer. “Teaching is a passion of mine, so it's always heartening to see students taking an interest. But, my dear Marianne, why the sudden change?”

Marianne seemed as though she were on the verge of simply saying “Never mind, forget I asked.” However, she mustered up her resolve in order to give her answer. “I believe there is much I could learn from your methods, Professor. It's just… a feeling I have.” Though She initially started off strong, the latter part of her sentence had dissolved into almost a whimper and was barely loud enough for Mimir to hear.

The professor of the Blue Lions was silent for a moment as he contemplated her words before finally giving his answer. “Aye, I suppose a feeling is as good a reason as any. If you're serious about this, I shall consult with your own professor and make the arrangements. But Marianne, you do understand that the Blue Lions' training might be a bit more...intense than what you might be used to with the Golden Deer?”

Marianne nodded and bowed graciously. “Yes, I understand, Professor Mimir. Thank you for considering my request. I am genuinely grateful for this opportunity.”

“Think nothing of it, milady.” Mimir told her. “And even if you decide that it’s a bit wee much for you, just remember that my counsel will always be open to you whenever you need it.”

“Of course. Now, please excuse me, professor. I do not wish to take up any more of your time.”

“It’s no trouble, lass. In the meantime, get some rest while you can. Because you will need it for tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

The Blue Lions followed the company of Knights as they marched through the clearing on the outskirts of Magdred Woods. At the front, Kratos, Mimir, Catherine, Dimitri, and Ashe led the way across the muddy terrain, their boots sinking into the ground with each step. A cold morning mist hung in the air, slightly obscuring their surroundings as they ventured along the perimeter of Gaspard Territory. 

Meanwhile, Marianne had taken the opportunity to hang as far back from the group as she could without anyone taking notice. However, that hope was eventually crushed when Mercedes looked back over her shoulder to ensure that nobody was falling behind and saw her fellow healer maintaining a sizable distance between her and everyone else. With her bow slung over her shoulder, the oldest student of the Blue Lions subtly slowed her pace while continuing to march casually along with everyone else until she was now walking side-by-side with the blue-haired priestess.

Mercedes glanced at Marianne with a warm smile. "How are you holding up, Marianne?"

Marianne looked a bit surprised by the attention and stammered, "Oh, um, I'm doing okay, Mercedes. Thank you."

Mercedes tilted her head. "Is something on your mind, dear? You seem a little distant."

“N-no, everything is fine. I just… wanted some time to myself, is all.”

Mercedes maintained her warm smile and nodded. "I see. It's important to have some time to yourself, but we also need to stick together. We are in a warzone, after all, and in a situation like this, we need to be ready for anything." She emphasizes this point by gesturing to the bow she carried with her.

Marianne simply nodded in response, hoping that her agreement would signal the end of the conversation. However, Mercedes remained persistent. "So, Marianne, how has the training been with the Blue Lions so far? Hopefully Sir Kratos and Professor Mimir haven’t been too harsh for your liking."

Marianne hesitated for a moment, caught off guard by the question. "Well, it's been... intense," she admitted, "More intense than I anticipated, but I've learned a lot. It's helped take my mind off of some things."

Mercedes raised an eyebrow curiously. "Oh? What kind of things?"

Marianne's eyes widened, realizing that she had given away more than she intended. She stuttered for a moment but couldn't find the words to explain. “I- I, um…”

Seeing Marianne’s sudden distress, Mercedes quickly changed the subject. "Oh, I didn't mean to pry. I'm just glad that you're getting the benefit that you were looking for.”

Marianne let out a relieved sigh, grateful for the change of topic. "Yes, I am. Thank you, Mercedes."

“Of course, dear. Even though your stay may or may not be permanent, I still try to look out for my friends just the same.”

The blue-haired priestess raised her brows slightly at the older woman. “You… consider me a friend?"

Mercedes looked genuinely surprised by the question. "Of course, Marianne. Why wouldn't we be friends? We’re in the same class, share similar beliefs in the Goddess, and we watch out for one another."

Marianne's cheeks reddened with a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude. She mumbled, "I just... We've only known each other for a short time, and I..."

Mercedes giggled and gave a reassuring pat on Marianne's shoulder. "Friendship doesn't always need a long time to grow, dear. Sometimes, you just connect with someone, and that's all that matters.” She winked playfully at her. “Besides, the rest of the Lions already consider you to be part of the family as well, even if they do get a little uncouth from time to time. Trust me, I think you’ll fit right in.” 

Just ahead of them, Sylvain spoke up. “Why do I get the feeling that that was directed towards me?”

“I didn’t say anything,” The eldest student told him playfully while giving her fellow healer a pleasant look as if to say, “See what I mean?”

“I don’t think she was referring to you , Sylvain.” Annette said as she tapped her elbow at Felix’s side, who gave off a “hmph” in response.

“Oh yeah?” The redhead smirked with a side glance towards the swordsman. “In that case, I’m not sure whether I should be relieved or worried.”

Felix simply huffed, clearly unamused by the banter.

Ingrid chimed in, “Well, at least you’re self-aware enough to admit it, Sylvain.”

“Only because it is what every dashing gentleman like myself should do.” Sylvain turned around and, while marching backwards with his lance propped up on his shoulder, gave an elegant bow towards Marianne and Mercedes. 

“Careful, Mercy,” Annette warned them teasingly, “Otherwise, Sylvain here might court our new classmate before the end of the mission.” The jest was obvious, yet Marianne couldn’t help but blush at the implication of her words. 

“Oh, I’m not worried, Annie.” The mage’s best friend replied. “He’d still have some competition between you and I, right, Mary?” She smiled at the younger priestess before quickly adding, “It… is alright if I called you Mary, yes? Or would you prefer I just call you Marianne?”

Despite the sheer awkwardness that came with mingling in her new classmates' squabbles, which all seemed to be a lot more personal compared to her experiences with the other students in the Golden Deer, Marianne couldn't help but feel a warmth in her chest at the camaraderie displayed by the Blue Lions.

"N-no, Mary is fine," she stammered, her cheeks still tinted pink. "I... I have no problem with that."

At the head of the formation, Catherine led the company through the wetlands, with both professors and both of their students following closely behind. Kratos stayed near Ashe, keeping his gaze forward and alert, while Ashe remained fixated on the ground ahead. Periodically, Mimir checked on the young archer, noticing his unchanging emotionless demeanor since their arrival. Ashe had not spoken a word since they’d left the Monastery, and the smartest man alive had decided it was finally time for that to change as he broke the silence.

“So, lad, you’re familiar with these lands, aye? Did Lord Lonato ever take you out hunting in these?”

Ashe perked up a little as he looked down at his golden-eyed professor and eventually nodded. “Yes, of course. When Lord Lonato took me and my siblings in, one of the first things he taught me was how to use a bow. It was my adoptive brother, Christophe, who taught me how to hunt. We spent a lot of time in these woods.”

Kratos took a moment to gaze down at his ashen-haired pupil. “Your siblings… where are they? Are they not residing in Gaspard Castle?”

Ashe shook his head. “No. They are currently visiting some distant relatives of his in Fhirdiad. I had just received a letter from them a few days ago ensuring their safety.”

Mimir made a gesture with his eyes as if to indicate a nod. “Well, that’s very good to hear. Despite Lord Lonato’s personal vendetta against the Church, at least he’s willing to ensure that no innocents are caught in the crossfire.” He pauses for a moment. “And, it’s no wonder why he chose to take you and your wee brother and sister under his wing. I can’t imagine the amount of hardships you’ve been through leading up to that point.”

Ashe nodded, his gaze distant as memories flooded back. "Yes, it was... tough. After my parents passed, the debt collectors were quick to claim everything. We were left with nothing, and I had no choice but to..." His voice trailed off.

"It's alright, lad," Mimir reassured him. "No one here will judge you for doing what was necessary to survive. And it seems that fate had a brighter path in store for you, with Lord Lonato stepping in."

Ashe's eyes softened. "He did more than just take us in. He gave us a home. Christophe was especially kind to me. After he taught me how to hunt, live off the land... He made those dark times feel like a distant nightmare."

Kratos, who had been quietly listening, spoke up. "And Lonato, how did he treat you all?"

"As family," Ashe said without hesitation. "He never once made us feel like we were any different from his own flesh and blood. He was stern, but also fair and he had a warmth about him that I... I've never known before."

Silence filled the air, and Kratos took the opportunity to glance at Catherine just ahead of them. While Ashe had spoken, he noticed her turning her head ever so slightly to hear what the young archer had to say. But upon seeing the Spartan’s gaze fixated on her, she quickly turned back and focused back on the open field in front of them.

Kratos turned his attention back on Ashe. "Family does not end with blood. The bonds we choose to forge can be just as strong, if not stronger. Always remember that."

Ashe met Kratos's gaze, finding an unexpected comfort in his words. "I will, Sir Kratos. Thank you."

Mimir chimed in, lightening the mood, "And remember, lad, we're here for you too. The Blue Lions are quite the family in their own right, wouldn't you say?"

A small, grateful smile tugged at Ashe's lips. "Yes, Professor Mimir. I believe you're right."

Dimitri, who hadn’t said a word throughout the entire exchange, chuckled. “I think so as well. We wouldn’t expect anything less from the smartest man alive.”

“Aye, and you lads don’t ever forget that.” Mimir's eyes gleamed with a hint of mischief as he looked over at Catherine, her gaze still fixed on the path ahead. "You know, Lady Catherine," he began, his voice carrying a playful undertone, "that Relic of yours, Thunderbrand, it doesn't quite fit the bill of what one might expect from a holy weapon."

Catherine glanced at Mimir, then to the weapon at her side. "Oh? And what exactly would one 'expect' from a holy weapon, Professor Mimir?"

Mimir chuckled softly. "Well, one might imagine something a bit more... ornate, perhaps? But there's an undeniable rawness to Thunderbrand, a sort of rugged beauty. It speaks more of battlefields than altars."

Catherine smirked slightly. "The holiness of a weapon doesn't come from its appearance, but from the deeds it performs and the purpose it serves. Thunderbrand has protected the faithful and struck down the wicked. Isn't that holy enough?"

"Aye, point taken," Mimir conceded. "But speaking of which, it's quite the heirloom of the House of Charon, isn't it? A noble house with quite the tumultuous history. It's intriguing that you carry it, especially considering the mysterious disappearance of the Lord's daughter, Cassandra, about say… three years ago?” Catherine's eyes narrowed slightly, but her composure remained intact. “How did such a sacred relic come into your possession, if I may ask?"

"I was a distant relative, previously unknown.” She answered simply. “My connection to the House of Charon was discovered long before Cassandra's disappearance. When she was presumed dead, Lady Rhea recognized my loyalty and service, and saw it fit to entrust Thunderbrand to me."

Mimir's gaze lingered on Catherine for a moment, his expression unreadable. Both Dimitri and Ashe looked at one another with confused expressions, unsure of what their Professor was getting at with his line of questioning. But Before Mimir could probe any further, a scout hurried over.

"Captain!" the scout told the knight, breathless. "Lord Lonato's forces have been spotted. They're heading in our direction, and fast."

Catherine's attention snapped to the scout, her expression hardened. "Understood. Prepare the troops. We move to intercept."

“Wait, Captain! There’s more. Look.” The scout pointed over the treeline, and a geyser of mist could be seen sprouting from half a mile into the woods.

Kratos looked on at the phenomenon as he grabbed Mimir from his waste so that both professors could see what the scout was pointing out. “What is this?”

“It’s a concealment spell.” The Captain of the Knights answered hurriedly. “It seems that Lord Lonato was able to enlist some powerful mages within his ranks. We need to move. Now.”

“Aye,” Mimir concurred. “If we get caught in this clearing by the time that fog reaches us, then we’ll all be easy pickings like a piper on a silent glen. Facing them in the forest is our only option.”

By this point, the Ghost of Sparta had heard enough as he swiftly returned Mimir to his hip and called out to his class, “Blue Lions! Prepare for battle!”

Chapter Text

Catherine and her Knights were the first to reach the tree line by the time the mist had settled down around them, where nothing could be seen past no more than a dozen meters. However, it wasn’t until Kratos and his students had entered the woods close behind them when the attack came. Suddenly, arrows shot through the thickened fog from deeper within the forest. A couple of knights had been caught completely by surprise as they were struck multiple times and fell to the ground.

“Archers!” Another one hollered, as he moved and took a stance in front of his fallen comrade with his shield raised. “We’re under attack!”

“Defensive formation!” Catherine yelled back. “Protect the students!” The Knights immediately maneuvered as ordered, forming a tight, curved wall of steel as they knelt down to protect their entire bodies. Projectiles continued to fly at the surprised company and deflected harmlessly off of their shields. As Sylvain was rushing to get behind the makeshift cover that the knights provided, one arrow in particular flew right by his head and embedded itself into the tree next to him. This caused the red head to let out a yelp in surprise, tripped over himself and landed face-first into the grass and mud. 

Kratos, seeing this, immediately came to his aid while keeping his own shield aloft. “Get up!” He ordered, grabbing the boy by the collar of his armor and heaved him back up effortlessly while simultaneously shoving him towards safety before the Spartan added himself to the formation. While most of the Blue Lions had already huddled behind the Knights, Dedue had also taken the initiative of strengthening their defense as the Duscan took his place right next to his professor.

Meanwhile, the soldiers wounded in the ambush were quickly tended to, with Mercedes and Marianne working to extract the arrows and heal their injuries as they were carefully moved to safety. One of them cried out in pain, his eyes squeezed shut as the barrage of arrows became more intense. Catherine, realizing that the archers were focusing on sound to find their targets, hissed. “Keep him quiet!”

At first, Marianne, who’d been tending to the man in question, was at a loss about what to do about his screaming. However, once Mercedes realized that her own patient was already beyond saving, she immediately came over to the opposite side of her fellow healer and pulled a piece of cloth from her medical bag. “Marianne, lift his head up for me, please.”

“Huh? U-oh, right.” The blue haired priestess did as she was asked, and Mercedes stuffed the bundle into his mouth as soon as he opened his mouth to yell again. “There we go,” she commented, offering Marianne a wry smile. “That should help.”

As silence returned, save for the muffled sounds of pain, the intensity of the arrows flying towards them noticeably decreased. Catherine nodded in approval and then turned her focus back to the tree line.

“Good thinking, lass.” Mimir said told her from Kratos’ hip.

Kratos himself on the other hand stood absolutely still, scanning the fog for any sign of movement. “Stay sharp.” He whispered to Dedue, who responded with a wordless nod.

The barrage slowed and then stopped altogether when the sound of pounding hooves approached from beyond the archers, accompanied by a commanding voice shouting, “Hold your fire!”

Though neither Kratos nor Mimir recognized the man ordering his troops to stop, they did however catch a glimpse of Catherine and Ashe’s reaction to it respectively. From his peripheral vision, the Ghost of Sparta could see the knight captain’s body go rigid. Her grip tightening on the hilt of her relic, her face hardened with such intensity that Kratos knew all too well. Meanwhile, Mimir watched as Ashe’s head shot up and his eyes widened. The boy looked as though he was going to spring to his feet at any moment, but thankfully Dimitri noticed this as well and placed a firm hand over his classmate’s shoulder to discourage him from doing so.

“Knights of the Church,” Lonato’s voice spoke out again. “We have you surrounded. Lay down your arms, and you will be allowed to leave without retaliation. In the Goddess’ name and my honor as a knight, you have my word.”

Despite being held in place, the ashen haired archer’s body language became more feverish before suddenly yelling out, “Lonato! It’s me! You must stop this!”

“Boy!” Kratos turned his head at the young lad, only to be answered with the sound of yet another arrow pinging off of his shield.

From beyond the fog, Lonato could be heard yelling angrily. “I said hold your fire!” The sound of clanging metal shot through the air, followed by a painful holler; presumably from the individual who fired at Kratos. There was a pause. “Ashe, my boy… you should never have come.”  Lonato’s voice moved through the fog. “Though, that is to be expected. I should have known that the witch would try and use you as a pawn in her twisted game."

Kratos scowled deeply. “The boy was not sent here against his will!” He called out. “He came here of his own volition- for you!”

“...Is that so? And I presume you are the leader of these men? Where is his professor? Tucked safely behind his books back at the monastery with the rest of his students?”

This time, it was Catherine who spoke. “This is the captain of the Knights of Seiros. Lord Lonato, you are hereby ordered to stand down, or you will be cut down where you stand.”

A neigh from Lonato’s horse echoed through the woods as though its rider suddenly jerked on its reign. “So… it may seem that the Goddess continues to smile upon me to this day.”

“What is he talking about?” Annette asked aloud, only to be answered with a shush from Ingrid.

Lonato continued. “Not only has the witch sent Ashe to finish her dirty work, but she was also merciful enough to send my son’s murderer to me as well.” The atmosphere took a sudden shift upon the rebel leader’s accusation, and the students looked at one another in a mix of shock and confusion.

“...Catherine,” Ashe uttered out, his gaze fixated on the blonde knight  “What does he mean by that?”

The woman ignored him, keeping her attention focused solely in front of her. But before she was able to get her response out, it was Dimitri’s turn to speak out. “Lord Lonato! This is Prince Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, heir to the throne of the Kingdom of Faerghus. The Blue Lions and I have come on behalf of our classmate. As a member of the Royal Family, I implore you to reconsider your intentions and-”

“ENOUGH!” Lonato roared, his voice laced with a bitterness that seemed to echo through the trees. "Prince Dimitri, while I hold no personal grudge against you, your title bears no weight here." He then turned his attention towards Ashe, his tone softening but still firm. "Ashe, my boy, I beg of you one last time, walk away from this. You should not have to suffer for the sins of others. I do not wish to see you hurt, but make no mistake, I will not stop my crusade against the church. Not for you, not for anyone."

Lonato's focus shifted back to the assembled group. "As for the rest of you, I offer one final ultimatum. Leave now, peacefully, and you shall not be harmed. However, your safe passage comes at a cost—hand over your captain. She is the one we seek justice from, not you. You have five minutes to decide." With that, the horse neighed once more, and the sound of pounding hooves became faint as Lord Gaspard rode off.

“So what do we do now?” One of the knights asked the other.

“Silence!” Catherine hissed at them. “Scout, report. What do we know about Lonato’s forces?”

From behind, the scout that had reported earlier spoke into Catherine’s ear. “Captain, the last I’d heard, Lord Lonato had abandoned his fortress and is currently on the run from the Church's main division.”

“That much is obvious. But do you think he’s lying about having us surrounded?” Catherine asked skeptically.

“No, but I believe that he doesn’t have the time, nor the numbers to confront us in a skirmish; and as far I’m aware, we are the only ones preventing Lonato from any means of escape.”

The captain nodded and said to another subordinate next to her. “Lieutenant, is there anything that we can do about this fog?”

“I’m afraid not, captain. We don’t have any mages to counteract the spell. Plus, we can’t afford to divide our forces in order to find its source.”

From nearby, Mimir huffed from Kratos’ hip. “Daw, that’s just bloody brilliant. Since we’re essentially blind and with no knowledge of the terrain, there’s no way we can manage an offensive without getting attacked from multiple directions.” As the discussion was going on amongst the adults, an idea suddenly came to the orange-haired student, and Annette kept a low profile while crouch-walking over to Mimir’s head.

“Professor Mimir,” She spoke lowly yet hurriedly. “You remember the first law of magic, right?”

The head looked at the girl as if to say, you’re bloody joking, right? But the seriousness in her eyes has led him to humoring the question and answered, “Aye, I do.” He then recited, ‘ Mana cannot be created nor destroyed; it can only be transformed or transferred from one form to another.”

“Right,” she nodded, her mind racing through the implications of this fundamental principle. “So, if we apply this law to the spell that’s been cast over us, we can deduce that the mage must be drawing mana from a source, transforming it to fuel the spell. The scale of the enchantment suggests a significant, sustained draw of power. If mana can only be changed or moved, then this spell's energy has to be coming from somewhere. And if we can trace the flow of that mana back to its origin, we should be able to locate the mage.”

Mimir seemed to be  impressed by this explanation. “Aye, that’s sound reasoning. If we can sense the disturbance in the mana currents, or find where the mana is being siphoned from, we’ll find our caster.”

“Exactly! So, my idea is that by merely changing the raw mana into something that is more visible to the naked eye, we can see exactly where it’s getting pulled from.” Annette’s excitement faded. “However…”

“The change will only last a brief period of time.” The head finished for her. “And… you’ll have to go out in the open to clearly see where it will lead.” Even though Mimir was unable to shake his own head, his expression gave off that exact impression. “Nay, it’s too dangerous, lass. There’s no way I’d risk you exposing yourself when we’re already short on time. It’s already clear we’ve no intention of surrendering or backing down, and I wouldn’t forgive myself if you-”

“But then everyone else will still be dead where they stand if I don’t go.” The female mage insisted, then to the ashen warrior towering over her. “Am I wrong, Sir Kratos?”

The Ghost of Sparta considered her words. “I will go with you.” He said after a moment’s pause. He stabbed his spear into the ground to allow himself a free hand and held out Mimir to her. “Hurry and inform the captain of the plan. Time is short.”

Annette didn’t waste a beat and did exactly as was told, and nigh half a minute passed before she came back with Mimir in hand. “We’re good to go, Brother.” Mimir informed him. “Catherine says she doesn’t care how we do it, just as long as we find our heading.”

Kratos nodded once and took Mimir back from Annette, securing him at his hip. He then turned his attention to Annette, his gaze firm yet not without concern. "Listen carefully," he began, his voice low. "No matter what happens out there, you are to stay close behind me. Do not leave my side under any circumstance."

“Yes, sir.” Annette answered, her usual spirited demeanor replaced by a focused seriousness.

With a final look shared between them, Kratos began to move. He walked slowly out into the open, his shield held in front of him, with Annette following closely behind as he reached back to wrap a protective arm over her shoulder. Watching their step as they go, the two silently distanced themselves from the safety of the knights until they were in the ideal spot for Annette to work her own spell. “Right here is perfect,” She whispered.

Her professor stopped, and Annette took a moment to allow herself enough room to work in. She began to wave her hands in a circular motion, as though she were molding a sphere of clay in front of her. Eventually, the air began to spin within the hypothetical sphere and change into a skyish blue color. Once it was visible enough to see clearly, Annette then released the sphere and set it loose into the open air. Almost immediately, the transformed energy began to break apart into something resembling that of a water current. Kratos and his student watched as it was carried in the direction slightly off from where the archers had been shooting from, yet still in the direction where they expected more hidden enemies to be lurking in.

All was perfectly still by the time Annette’s spell had dissipated. Kratos was about to turn his head to give her a nod in approval when two arrows suddenly came flying in their direction; one deflecting off his shield, while the other flew past the girl’s ear by mere inches, causing her to shriek involuntarily.

“GET DOWN!” He yelled, grabbing and pulling her to the ground while using his own body and shield to protect her from all directions.

Catherine, who along with the rest of the knights were now fully aware of where to go, drew Thunderbrand as it crackled with raw power. “TAKE THEM ALL DOWN!” The battle cry of the company shook the very ground as they charged forward, and utter chaos broke loose.

Chapter Text

Catherine and her knights charged through the fog toward the direction of Kratos and Annette, where Kratos was shielding Annette with his body from the arrows whizzing overhead. The Church's knights maintained their speed as they passed the pair, swiftly closing in on the unsuspecting archers who recoiled in shock at the sight of spear tips aimed directly at them. 

Meanwhile, Kratos kept a low profile while he continued to use his own body as a shield to ensure the terrified girl’s safety. Dimitri, and the rest of the Blue Lions quickly caught up from the rear and rushed to their professor and classmate’s side. 

“Sir Kratos, we’re here!” Said the young prince, as the students formed a defensive circle around the brigand. With this, Kratos quickly got to his feet and pulled Annette up along with him.

“Annie!” Mercedes cried out and embraced her best friend in a tight, albeit brief embrace.

“Are you alright, lass?” Mimir asked the girl from Kratos’ hip.

Annette stuttered, who was clearly shaken by the close call. “Y-yeah, I’m f-fine.”

Kratos, quickly assessing the situation and the immediate safety of Annette confirmed, turned his attention to the rest of the students. "Blue Lions, form up! We cover the knights' rear and flanks. We push towards the mage maintaining the spell!" 

“Yes, sir!” The class said in unison.

Kratos's command had barely echoed out when Lonato's soldiers burst through the mist in a desperate counter charge to outflank the knights. The brigand reacted instantaneously, stepping forward to intercept the first attacker as he was swiftly cut down without any effort.

As he turned, his gaze swept over his students to ensure they were holding their own, until his eyes landed on Ashe. At first, Kratos had been concerned that the boy didn’t have the strength or willpower to stand up against his own subjects, but Ashe’s face was hardened with the determination of protecting his own classmates, evidenced by the fact that he stayed within close proximity to Annette along with Mercedes; nocking arrow after arrow without so much as a tremor in his hands.

Meanwhile everyone else was managing in their own ways. Dedue, unsurprisingly, was at His Highness’ side as the two young men repelled the oncoming attacks. Ingrid and Sylvain, operating as a coordinated unit just as they’d practiced with Kratos, swept through the ranks of attackers with their lances. They moved in unison, each covering the other’s blind spots; with weeks of grueling training put to good use against the uncoordinated strikes of Lonato’s forces.

 Felix, on the other hand, preferring to fight alone, sliced through the air with precision and speed. He took on multiple opponents at once, yet easily dominated his foe as he struck them down one by one, proving once again his prowess as a swordsman.

Mercedes had taken a supportive position beside Ashe, her bow in hand thanks to her recent practice under Mimir's guidance, firing on anyone who came too close or attempted to overwhelm their comrades. Marianne, with her sword drawn, positioned herself a short distance behind the Blue Lions. Despite the short month of training she had under Kratos, she’d refrained from engaging in combat, as this was her first real experience in combat and was overwhelmed by the ensuing chaos.

This formation was kept as the knights slaughtered their way through Lonato’s ranks, with Kratos and his House following closely behind. However, eventually one church soldier had been wounded and fell out ranks, but the rest of the company continued to push forward without any regard for their fallen soldier. He lay there, clutching at a nasty gash across his side as he began to bleed out, calling and begging for someone to come and help him before the Blue Lions too began to leave him behind. Marianne, upon seeing this and hearing the man’s screams, hesitated with a pained expression for a moment before rushing towards him.

Mercedes, seeing this just as she was about to fire off another arrow, called out to her. “Marianne, wait!” 

Whether she’d heard her classmate and ignored her, Mercedes was not sure. The young blue-haired priestess proceeded to kneel at the injured man’s side before laying her sword down next to her. “Shhh, I’m here now, let me take a look.” She attempted to soothe him down, but the man continued to yell out in pain and begged her to make it stop.

Meanwhile, a loud neigh could be heard reverberating through the woods, followed closely by the sound of pounding hooves heading right towards them. From nearby, Dimitri looked towards the source of the noise, and could vaguely see a silhouette of a small group of riders through the fog heading directly towards Marianne and the wounded soldier.

“Marianne! Look out!” he shouted, and the young girl looked up to see a massive figure about to collide with her head-on. Her eyes widened in shock, and she froze. But just before impact, a pair of slim, yet incredibly strong arms wrapped around her waist and twisted her away. The impact with the horse sent her flying, but the collision had been softened by another body that had positioned itself between her and the horse, absorbing most of the shock and cushioning her fall, yet still knocking the wind out of her.

Her world spun, and Marianne was vaguely aware of the sound of hooves galloping away as she shook her head and she pushed herself up to her knees. As her vision cleared, she noticed Dimitri lying next to her. “Dimitri…?” He doesn’t respond, his body unmoving. Panic surged through her as she realized that he was the one who shielded her from the impact. "Dimitri!" she called out desperately, her hands trembling as she reached to check his pulse, fearing the worst. But just as she touched his neck, Dimitri suddenly inhaled sharply, a large gasp of air filling his lungs after having it knocked out of him by the initial impact. Relief washed over Marianne.

“For Lord Lonato!” Marianne looked up to see another of Lonato’s soldiers charging towards her, a spear aimed directly at her. However, a towering figure suddenly appeared in front of the students as Kratos intercepted the attacker; ripping the spear from the rebel’s hands before knocking him out cold on the ground with a massive fist to the face.

“Marianne!” Mercedes ran up to the pair and knelt next to her fellow healer. “Are you alright?”

“Y-yes, but, Dimitri-”

Kratos, holding his spear in one hand, extended the other to the prince. "On your feet!" he ordered. Dimitri grabbed it without hesitation. Once the prince was standing, Kratos asked, "Are you injured?"

The blonde shook his head. “Just had the wind knocked out of me- I’ll be fine.”

The Spartan nodded. “Come. The fight is not over.” He said before looking over at Marianne. She met his gaze briefly and, though his expression held no contempt or disappointment, the realization of her actions caused her to feel incredibly small under his watchful eye.

Meanwhile, the mage and the soldiers guarding him began to feel the pressure as the sound of battle drew nearer and nearer.

“They know where we are!” One of the rebels said, not bothering to hide the panic in his voice.

“Hold them back!” The mage told them. “If I break this spell, we’ll lose the only advantage that we have!”

Unfortunately for them, now knowing exactly where they are, Catherine took off with Thunderbrand in hand and began to carve her way through those foolish enough to stand in her way. The mage could only watch in despair as the captain of the knights made a beeline towards him, and all he could do was scream, “No… No! NOOOOOOOOO-” before being silenced as Catherine swung at his neck.

The mist had begun to disperse suddenly, and the battleground began to clear up more and more with every passing second. All fighting had ceased temporarily as realization dawned on everyone of what had happened, and could now see the full scope of their current situation. Once the fog had cleared up enough, a couple of armored rebels could see that they were now standing before the wielder of Thunderbrand. After initially recoiling from the shock of who stood before them, they attacked her but were cut down with little effort on Catherine’s part. 

The rebel forces regrouped and retreated, and Lonato's voice echoed again as he emerged from the dissipating fog on horseback. "It's you..." The Blue Lions rallied behind Kratos next to the Knights of Seiros, all eyes fixed on the rebel leader as his horse reared up. He spat out with venom, his daggered eyes focused on Catherine. "Thunderstrike Cassandra!" He levels his lance at her. “It was your wretched zealotry that killed my son!”

Standing before the Lions and her company, the knight's captain couldn’t help but scoff. “The only name I answer to is Catherine .” She answered with equal disdain as she too raised her blade at him. “And unless you want to taste the blade of one who serves the goddess, you will surrender; for you now face a Knight of Seiros!” She smiles wryly. “The fog has lifted, Lonato. There is nowhere left for you to hide.”

Lonato snarled. “The only one who has been hiding was you!” He then began to breathe heavily with rage. “Ever since that day… Ever since you betrayed my son’s trust! He would have defended you to his last breath… and yet you continue to run away from your mistake that cost him his life! But now… now you will face the goddess’ judgment! You and the Central Church will pay for what you’ve taken from me!”

Catherine shook her head. “I have nothing more to say to you, Lord Lonato.” She took a ready stance. “But if this is how it should end, then let’s not delay any further.”

“Lonato, wait!” Ashe broke away from the main group and took off before anyone including Kratos had the chance to stop him and put himself between both Catherin and the rebel leader. “Please surrender, Lonato! Whatever your reasons for doing this, we can still talk this out!”

Lonato hesitated. “Ashe…” He shook his head despondently. “There is no talking this out, Ashe. That woman who stands before you now is the reason for your brother’s death. She condemned him just to save her own skin; and the witch she serves is an infidel who has deceived the people and desecrated the goddess! We have virtue and the goddess on our side!”

Ashe swallowed hard. “Even if that is all true…” He gestured to the uncertain men and women who looked at one another with uncertainty behind their lord. “What about them? Why drag the townsfolk into this? That isn’t right!”

“They stand with me because they choose to!” Lonato barked. “I did not force them into this the same way you were not forced to come here. But if that is how you feel…” he leveled his lance at Ashe. “Then prepare yourself! I am putting an end to this—”

Before he could finish his sentence, a lance shot over the archer’s head and impaled itself deep into Lonato’s shoulder, causing the rebel leader to cry out in shock and pain. He yanked back on the reins, causing the horse to rear back so violently that it fell over with Lonato still on its back. Ashe’s head snapped back around to see who it was that had thrown the spear, only to find that it was Kratos who’d been the one to do it as he walked up to the boy empty handed.

“Wha- why?” The ashen Blue Lion said in disbelief. “Why did you do that? We could have-”

The Spartan raised a hand for silence, his expression unreadable as he spoke in a low, resolute tone. "Ashe, there are times when choices must be made swiftly to prevent further bloodshed." Kratos said, his voice heavy with experience.

"But, Sir Kratos, was there no other way? Could we not have found peace?"

Kratos considered the boy’s question. "In war, peace is a luxury often hoped for, but rarely granted. Lonato made his choice, and I made mine- to prevent more deaths, including yours."

With that, Kratos turned his attention back to the field. Lonato continued to yell in great pain as the spear remained lodged in his shoulder, and the remaining rebels who’d survived the skirmish up to this point were now at a complete loss of what to do next. Slowly, Catherine marched past the professor and student until she eventually stood over the defeated rebel leader with her hero’s relic in hand.

"Lord Lonato," she said with authoritative finality, her hand firm on the hilt of Thunderbrand as it crackled with power. "In the name of the Central Church, you stand condemned for treason and rebellion. Your sentence is death, to be carried out forthwith.” She paused for a moment as she watched the older man groan. “Have you any last words before passing judgment?”

Lonato spat. "That vile woman..." he choked out, his voice tinged with remorse. "Christophe... forgive me." With his last words spoken, Catherine raised her blade to deliver the final strike on the fallen lord.

"NOOOOOOOO!" Unbeknownst to Kratos, a torrent of emotions had been building up inside Ashe—not only from seeing Lonato in his current state but also from the final words he spoke to Christophe. Just before Catherine could bring the blade down on her sworn enemy, Ashe threw himself over his adoptive father, using his own body as a shield, despite knowing it would do little to stop her from executing both him and the man condemned to death. 

“Ashe!” Some of the Blue Lions students yelled in worry and disbelief, but were held back when Kratos raised a hand for them to remain where they were.

Upon seeing the boy instead of the man who’d caused her so much grief in the past made Catherine stop dead in her tracks, and she gritted her in both frustration and anger before she was barely able to utter out, “Ashe… step aside. Now. ”

Ashe shook his head rigorously. “I can’t. I won’t. ”

From beneath him, Lonato spoke. “Ashe- cough- it’s over. There is nothing here for me now. Don’t- cough- don’t throw away your life like this…”

The boy turned to face his adoptive father, and tears welled up in the archer’s eyes as he said, “I can't just leave you to die like this, not without trying to make things right.”

Catherine remained rigid. “Stand aside, Ashe. This is beyond personal grievances now. It's a matter of law.”

Ashe’s gaze hardened, and his expression resolute. “Then I will face whatever consequences come with defending him. I owe him that much.”

Catherine’s nostrils flared. “Ashe, don’t make this harder than it has to be. If you will not move aside, then I will be forced to execute you as well. Is that really what you want?”

Amongst the rest of the Blue Lions, Annette looked for Mercedes’ hand and gripped it tightly. “He’s really not going to do this, is he?” She looked around at her other classmates. “ Is he ?!” Her question was met with somber silence.

Ashe took a heavy breath. “I am prepared to accept the consequences.”

Hearing this once again gave Catherine pause for thought, as though she’d heard those words before. Her stiff stature began to shake, her emotions seemingly bubbling over before finally she let out a reluctant snarl before lowering Thunderbrand to her side. “Lieutenant ,” she called out begrudgingly. “We’re taking them in.”

An ominous silence filled the air, as though everyone were still trying to process what the captain had ordered. “Um… I’m sorry, Captain?”

“I said,” She repeated stiltedly before putting away her weapon. “We’re taking Lonato and his soldiers prisoners.”

Her Lieutenant was bewildered. “B-but, Captain! We were under strict orders to-”

“I know what the Archbishop said, Lieutenant.” She glared daggers at her subordinate. “ Do as I say. ”

Her expression made it clear that the captain would not tolerate any more insubordination, and the officer nodded rigorously. “Y-yes ma’am! You heard her, men! We’re taking the rest of Lonato's army prisoner!” Ashe was quiet for a moment before letting out a deep sigh in relief. However, that relief was short-lived as Catherine gave him one last side glance, and what he saw in her face was one he did not expect- an expression of sorrow and guilt before she walked away from them. 

Kratos eventually stepped into view, giving Ashe a nod to indicate he wanted to speak privately. Meanwhile, Mercedes rushed to Lonato's side to treat his wound and called out to Marianne, "Mary, I need your assistance, please."

The blue haired priestess stuttered. “Huh? Uh- oh! Right, right…”

As they tended to Lord Lonato’s shoulder, with the rest of the Blue Lions assisting the knights with the prisoners, Kratos and Ashe stepped away from the ongoing activities.

“Well, lad,” Mimir spoke once they were finally out of earshot. “That has got to be one of the most reckless bloody things I’d ever seen a kid your age do. And that is saying something.”

“Mimir.” Kratos chastised him.

“Oh, come on, Kratos. Am I wrong ? Think about it- If not for the hair and freckles, I’d say he’s one step away from being just like-”

“Enough.” Mimir goes silent, and Kratos focuses back on Ashe. “Why did you endanger yourself like that?”

Ashe scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “I… I remembered the story that you told me. Remember, back at the Cathedral?”

“I remember,” Kratos answered simply.

“It’s just that- well, I couldn't let him face his end alone, not without trying to change the outcome. Maybe I thought there was still a chance for a better ending."

The Ghost of Sparta observed Ashe closely. "And what of your own safety? Is the preservation of your own life also part of the point of that story?”

Ashe looked down, his voice a mix of defiance and uncertainty. "Yes, it is. But isn't part of being better trying to fix even the seemingly unfixable? If there's even a small chance to make things right, shouldn't we take it?"

Kratos considered Ashe’s response and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Your courage is commendable. However, you are responsible not only for your own life, but also for those who fight beside you. Ensure their safety as well as your own. This is a lesson you must always bear in mind."

Ashe nodded. "I understand, sir. It won’t happen again."

Kratos looked over the boy one last time before giving a satisfied nod in return. "Make sure it does not." 

Chapter Text

Dimitri and Ashe stood on either side of their professors as Catherine gave her report to the Archbishop. Though she was seemingly pleased at their return, Rhea’s pleasant demeanor seemed to have evaporated once it was understood that Lonato had been captured and incarcerated at the Monastery. Still, she continued to maintain a composed facade that only Kratos, Catherine and Seteth could see right through as the Captain finished her report.

“I am glad to hear that you have all returned safely,” Rhea began after a pause, her disarming voice strained along with her facial expression. “The goddess is gracious with her divine protection.” She takes a moment to eye both Ashe and Dimitri respectively before continuing. “I understand that what you had to face was extremely difficult for all of you; fighting a militia led by a man respected by many, including one of your own,” she finished, her gaze lingering on Ashe, who shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny. 

“However, we must punish any sinner who may inflict harm upon believers, even if those sinners are civilians. I pray that you have learned a valuable lesson about the fate that awaits all who are foolish enough to turn their blades against the heavens.”

Mimir spoke up from Kratos’ hand. “Ah, yes, nothing like a proper baptism by fire, teaching our young ones the harsh realities of life through the clash of steel against farmers and townsfolk. Quite the divine lesson, isn’t it?”

Kratos was prepared to give the head another scolding before Rhea responded, “War can be cruel, my dear professor, but it was not the Church who’d decided to wage it. Lonato’s rebellion required a swift and firm response. We did what we must in order to preserve peace.” Her attention went to Kratos. “As for Lonato himself, I am surprised by how everything has unfolded and where they have led to. Under normal circumstances, retribution is swift and absolute.”

The Spartan could sense the ashen haired boy looking up at him, and he looked down to see Ashe with a look as though he were asking for permission to speak up. After being answered with a curt nod, he stepped forward.

“Um, Lady Rhea, I apologize if I am speaking out of line but… what is to happen with Lord Lonato? Obviously you haven’t already issued an order for his execution, so I wanted to know if maybe…”

Rhea raised a hand for silence. “Your love and admiration for Lonato is commendable, dear Ashe. However, given the current state of affairs, his fate must be determined in a manner through a proper judicial process. While his execution is not a foregone conclusion, neither is his clemency guaranteed. We must consider all aspects carefully to ensure justice is served appropriately.” She manages a smile. “After all, it would be irresponsible of the Church to allow the same mistake to be repeated.”

Ashe’s shoulders sank. “Oh, I- um… y-yes, I guess so…” He went silent before stepping back to Kratos’ side, who instinctively placed a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“In the meantime,” Seteth spoke up, “let us not forget the Rite of Rebirth at the end of the month. It is when the Church of Seiros and its believers unite to pray for the return of the goddess. Since it is of paramount importance, each house will be tasked with maintaining security within the Monastery during the ceremony as part of their respective mission.”

The priest locked his hands behind his back. “Furthermore, by the beginning of month, the students shall be given command of new recruits from their respective nations. These recruits will join us, and each student will be responsible for their training and integration into your ranks. This is a vital part of developing their skills as leaders, so treat this responsibility with the seriousness it deserves.” Seteth concluded. “As for Lord Lonato, we will determine the appropriate course of action, and I would strongly discourage any attempts at interference or extreme actions regarding his situation. The Church will handle this matter with the discretion and judiciousness it requires."

Rhea nodded in concurrence. “Thank you, Seteth.” Then to Kratos and his company, “With all of that said, Master Kratos, there are other matters that I would like to speak with Catherine in private. You and your students are dismissed now.”

Kratos nodded briefly at Rhea’s dismissal. “Very well,” he says before exchanging a knowing glance with Catherine. “Come,” he then urged Dimitri, who had been silently brooding throughout the entire discussion while leading him and Ashe towards the exit. “We are done here.”

Just as he was about to leave the advisory room, Ashe took the opportunity to glance back one last time at Catherine, who, as though sensing his gaze, turned to meet his eyes with a solemn look before he turned away and followed his professor out of the room. Once the door was shut, both Rhea and the captain of the knights stood rigidly still as Seteth crossed the room and leaned in towards the door, listening for any eavesdroppers. Eventually, the priest nodded in confirmation that they were alone, and Rhea’s calm, collected demeanor took a sudden, dark turn.

“Reckless…” she began, her voice controlled at first, yet the venom began to seep in as she walked to one side of the room where the couches and small table sat. “Shortsighted, irresponsible, insubordinate fool !” Her last words were emphasized with a surge in her voice, causing the teapot that sat upon the table to shatter, with hot tea spilling onto the rich wood and eventually onto the velvet carpet. The Archbishop, however, did not care. “Do you have even the slightest inclination for what you have done? Are you aware of the precedent you have now set for us?”

Catherine remained silent and at attention, barely containing her own brewing storm of emotions. After a moment of heavy silence, Rhea’s voice cut through the air again, sharper and more commanding this time. “Answer me!”

Catherine swallowed in an effort to control her emotion before answering. “Please, forgive me, Lady Rhea,” her voice shook. “It was not my intention to-“

“‘Not your intention?’” Rhea asked condescendingly. “When last I heard, the Captain who’d sworn fealty to me years ago would never have intended to stray from the Church’s directives. Nor would she have allowed a child to prevent her from executing a necessary action to maintain the order of the Central Church.” Rhea began to pace slowly. “Yet here we are, Catherine. You’ve not only disobeyed a direct command, but you also compromised our position by allowing emotions and sentiment to cloud your judgment.” Her eyes narrowed on the blonde swordswoman. “This is not just about one rebel lord, Catherine. It’s about setting an example. How can we expect obedience and respect, or deter future rebellions, if dissenters believe they can escape swift justice?”

Once again, the wielder of Thunderbrand remained silent.

“Don’t you understand, you foolish girl? Even if we were to execute Lonato right this instant, it would not erase the consequences of your hesitation. His revolt, however small, may inspire other rebellions. Your actions have already sown seeds of doubt among our followers and enemies alike.” At this moment, Rhea had to take a pause for breath. Meanwhile, Catherine was about to open her mouth to defend herself before Seteth finally spoke up.

“Ahem, Lady Rhea, might I have a word with you for a moment?” He gestured to the corner of the room. 

Rhea paused, her gaze lingering on Catherine as if to consider continuing her tirade regardless of his interjection. However, with a deeply reluctant sigh, the Archbishop walked briskly towards the corner of the room where Seteth waited, her robes swishing with each step. They then turned their back to her as they spoke in a hushed tone.

“Lady Rhea, you remember that conversation we had a month prior, don’t you? Regarding why we keep that Kratos around?”

“Get to the point, Seteth.” The Archbishop said impatiently, “I am hardly in the mood to reminisce on past quarrels.”

Seteth nodded, “Yes, of course. You yourself once said that we didn’t need to keep him around as an ally, only that we don’t give him any reasons to be our enemy, correct? And yet… Why not use this opportunity to do just that? If the children are simply meant to be a deterrent, then let us secure their loyalty through our actions today. By sparing Lonato, we demonstrate not only mercy but also a level of fairness that Kratos and Mimir cannot ignore. It ensures that Ashe, and by extension Kratos, will see the Church as lenient and just."

Rhea considered this for a moment, her features softening slightly with contemplation. "You propose that we use mercy as a tool to bind Kratos more closely to us, through his students' gratitude?"

"Precisely," Seteth affirmed. "Kratos is deeply invested in the welfare of his students. By showing them that the Church can be both just and merciful, it could align their loyalties more closely with us. And in turn, Kratos is less likely to be a problem for us in the future."

Rhea mulled over the implications. "And you are confident that this will work? That sparing Lonato will not encourage more dissenters to test our resolve?"

Seteth met her gaze evenly. "It's a calculated risk, but one that might pay dividends in maintaining the Church's image and control. Even if more incursions were to arise, then at least we would have the brigand on our side to help deal with them directly.”

The Archbishop still seemed skeptical with her right hand’s proposal, but after a brief moment of contemplation, she turned to Seteth and said, “Very well, my dear Seteth we shall do it your way..” Her eyes hardened, “But know this: if any more complications are to arise as a direct result of this decision, I will personally hold you responsible for them. Am I clear?”

“Crystal.”

She then turned to Catherine, her expression reverting back into the same facade of a calm and collected authority figure. “Catherine,” she said in a superficially pleasant voice, “You may return to your duties.”

Catherine's face registered a flicker of surprise at the abrupt leniency in Rhea's tone, relief mingling with confusion in her eyes. “Y-yes, my Lady.” She straightened up, preparing to bow and exit the room, when Rhea's voice halted her mid-motion.

"However, before you leave," Rhea continued, her tone firm and unwavering, "I ask that you leave Thunderbrand here with me."

The captain’s eyes widened in shock. “I… I beg your pardon, my Lady?”

Rhea smiled coldly. "Surely, I shouldn't have to repeat myself," She replied coolly before adding, "I trust that you understand, this is not a punishment, Catherine. It is merely a precaution. Because after all, great power is only bestowed upon those who are worthy of taking on the responsibility that comes with it.”

Catherine’s expression tightened as realization dawned on her. “Yes… of course, Lady Rhea,” she quietly complied. With a heavy heart, she slowly unclasped the weapon from her belt, her fingers lingering on the handle for a moment before reluctantly handing it over.

“Thank you.” The Archbishop said simply without so much as looking at the blade. “You may go now.”

Catherine bowed stiffly, then turned and walked towards the door. Her steps were slow and heavy, before she reached the door. She opened it, and after a brief pause, stepped out, and quietly closed it behind her.

Silence filled the room and Seteth crossed his arms. “Are you sure that was necessary?” 

Rhea's gaze hardened as she turned to face Seteth. "I've already entertained your suggestion against my better judgment," she said crisply. "Do not question how I manage insubordination."

Seteth's mouth tightened, but he nodded. "Understood, Lady Rhea."

Rhea turned away, her expression unreadable. "See to it that you do. We cannot afford any more laxity.” Her gaze falls back to the closed door. “We have taken enough risks already."

Chapter Text

Kratos and his two students silently walked down the long hallway away from the audience chamber. As they reached the foot of the stairwell, Ashe stopped and turned to his professor.. "Sir Kratos," he said, his voice steady but low. "I need to go and write a letter to my siblings. Since I am not permitted to visit Lonato, I want to let them know what’s going on."

The Spartan gave a brief nod. "Go ahead."

“Do what you got to do, laddy.” Mimir added. “I know that things have been rather heavy as of late, and I’m sure your brother and sister will appreciate hearing from you.”

Ashe offered a faint smile. “Thank you, Professor. Oh, and Sir Kratos, I never got the chance to tell you this until now, but...” Ashe took a step back to allow himself room for a deep bow. “Thank you. I cannot imagine how much worse things would have gotten had you not been there for me and my classmates. For that, you have my utmost gratitude, and I hope that I may repay you one day for this.”

Mimir couldn’t help but chuckle. “You don’t owe us a thing, Ashe. It may be part of the job, but seeing you and your friends safe is more than enough repayment.”

Kratos gave a slight nod of agreement. "Take care of your responsibilities. That is thanks enough." The ashen archer nodded once more before turning and hurrying off down the stairs.

The prince watched Ashe leave, then turned to Kratos. "Professor, may I speak with you about something?”

Noticing the conflict in his expression, the Spartan’s attention was now fully on Dimitri. “What is it?”

The House leader paused for a moment as he tried to think of where to begin. “My classmates and I… that was our first time killing civilians.” He shook his head in great frustration. “Those men we fought… they weren’t soldiers! Those were people I had sworn to protect!”

Kratos listened intently as he weighed his options on how to respond. “Do you feel responsible for the choices Lonato made? Or the ones that followed him into battle?”

“I… I don’t understand.”

The Ghost of Sparta elaborated, “Was it your hand that forced him to rebel? Did you compel those people to take up arms against us?”

Dimitri’s brow furrowed in thought. “No, but still, I feel as though I could’ve done more and prevented something like this from happening.”

“Responsibility and blame are not the same,” Kratos said. “As a leader, the burden of your decisions will always be heavy. However, you must learn to distinguish between what you control and what you do not.”

Mimir chimed in, “Aye, lad. You did what you had to in order to protect your friends. It’s a cruel reality, but sometimes innocents get caught in the crossfire. That doesn’t make it your fault.”

“Y-yes, you’re right, professor.” The prince admitted. “It’s also just that… Lord Lonato didn’t take up arms out of a lust for power. He simply believed his cause to be just. Who’s to say it wasn’t?”

Hearing this immediately prompted Kratos to raise a hand. “Do not assume to know whether someone’s cause is just. It does not matter if Lonato believed his own vendetta was righteous. The fact remains that he threatened lives, including yours and your classmates’.”

Dimitri frowned. “But he-”

Kratos cut him off. “Lonato’s belief in his cause does not change the reality of his actions. He raised a rebellion and put many lives at risk. You must remember your duty to protect those under your care, even if it means facing difficult circumstances.”

Mimir added, “And, lad, it’s wise to keep such thoughts to yourself while the verdict of Lonato’s sentence is still undecided. Loose talk can lead to misunderstandings… or worse.”

Finding himself cornered by both his professors, Dimitri eventually gave in with a reluctant nod. “You’re right. I’ll be more careful with my words.”

“Good,” Kratos said firmly. “Now, let us return to the others. We have much to prepare-”

“Excuse me, but are you Kratos?” A bored and monotone voice spoke up. Both professor and student turned to see a young woman with short comet blue hair at the foot of the stairs, and standing dutifully next to her was a young boy in commoner clothing who looked to be about Annette’s age.

“I am.” Kratos said plainly.

The woman snorted. “Short and straight to the point. I can already tell we’re going to get along just fine.” She continued. “With that said, I am Shamir. I was sent to come find you because Lord Lonato has requested to speak with you. Normally, prisoners don’t get to have any visitors, but Captain Jeralt himself has given the order to allow this one exception.”

Mimir spoke up, “Ah, did he now? And does this one exception also happen to include a severed head of sorts?” 

Shamir shrugged. “He didn’t mention anything about that, so unfortunately I have to assume that he means only Kratos for this occasion.”

“Ah, well, that’s a bit disappointing, isn’t it?”

Meanwhile, the boy at Shamir’s side gazed up at the brigand towering over him. “Huh,” he said with a hint of disappointment. “I thought you’d be a bit bigger with how the Captain described you.” 

Though he couldn’t exactly see him, Mimir’s golden eyes lit up upon hearing the boy speak. “Well, if it isn’t young Cyril! Good to see you, lad. I take it you’re still keeping Garreg Mach spotless?”

Cyril’s eyes widened in recognition as a smile curled at his mouth. “Mimir! Yeah, I’m still cleaning up around the place. Or at least, whenever I’m not working as Shamir’s apprentice.”

Dimitri raised an eyebrow. “You two seem quite familiar, professor. Have you met before?”

“Indeed, Your Highness. I see young Cyril from time to time during my off hours in the library. He’s got a good head on his shoulders, if you’ll pardon the pun.”

Cyril looked up at Dimitri, nodding. “Yeah, Mimir and I chat sometimes when I’m cleaning. He’s always got interesting stories to tell.”

“Aye, and speaking of which, Brother, how’s about you hand me off to His Highness before you head off with these two?” 

“Hmph,” Kratos grunted before doing exactly that.

“Now then,” Shamir said nonchalantly, “Kratos, if you could please follow us…”

x-x-x

“Marianne?” Mercedes called out as she lightly rapped her knuckle on her classmate’s door. “Marianne, are you in there?”

From the other side of the door, the older woman could barely make out the sound of someone shuffling inside, as though they were attempting to remain as quiet as possible. “Mary, please, talk to me. Is everything alright?”

There was a moment of silence before a frail and despondent voice called back, “Please… leave me be. You shouldn’t come near me.”

Mercedes was flabbergasted. “What on Earth for?”

“I…” the young girl started, “I’m cursed, Mercedes. I only bring bad luck to those that get too close.”

The woman standing out in the hallway paused for a moment. “Marianne… is this about what happened earlier today?” No response. “Oh, Mary, that had nothing to do with you being ‘cursed,’ you just made a mistake, is all.”

“A mistake that almost got Prince Dimitri killed.” The former Golden Deer insisted. “I was almost solely responsible for the death of a royal. If he hadn’t tried to save me, he would never have gotten hurt in the first place.”

“But Marianne, that was his decision to make. If he-“

“-if he hadn’t acted, I would be the one who is hurt right now, and that’s exactly how it should’ve been,” Marianne interrupted, her voice cracking with emotion. “I’m a burden, Mercedes. I bring misfortune to everyone around me.” Mercedes’s heart ached at the sound of Marianne’s despair as she continued. “I think it’s best that I return to the Golden Deer. At least there, they’re used to dealing with me. They know what to expect.”

Mercedes was left in absolute disbelief. Surely, this wasn’t what she or the rest of her Golden Deer classmates truly thought of her, was it? And yet, the priestess outside her room was left with nothing else to say that she thought could change the girl’s mind, and slowly stepped away from the door.

She just needs a bit of time, Mercedes told herself. But even then, she felt helpless knowing that a friend was suffering from her own self-degradation. However, shortly after she turned to walk away, Mercedes heard another door open up beside her, and a feminine voice spoke up.

“Hey, Mercedes! What’s going on?” Mercedes turned to see Hilda Valentine Goneril standing at the doorway to her own room, leaning on the doorframe with the same charming smile she’d used countless times against unsuspecting boys. “Is everything alright? I could hear you talking from just a few doors down; and if I’m being honest, it sounded kinda serious.”

“Oh, hello, Hilda.” Mercedes greeted the pink haired noble, though she didn’t attempt to hide the concern on her face. “It’s just… our mission didn’t go very well. Marianne has taken to locking herself in her room, and she refuses to talk to me.”

Hilda's usual smile was replaced with a more serious expression. "What exactly happened, Mercedes?"

"We were ambushed. Marianne blamed herself for putting Prince Dimitri in danger. She thinks she's cursed and that she brings misfortune to everyone around her, and so now she wants to go back to studying under professor Byleth."

Hilda nodded with a heavy sigh. "That does sound like the Marianne I know.”

“I really wish that I knew what to do in this circumstance.” Mercedes admitted. “I’ve once helped countless number of people who’d lost their way, but I never once experienced anything like this.”

Hilda tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly as she assessed the situation. "Hmm... Well, I guess I’ve got nothing else better to do at the moment.” She said, mostly to herself, before pushing herself off the door frame. “Don’t worry, I’ll handle this.”

Mercedes looked uncertain. "Are you sure, Hilda? She’s in a really bad place right now."

Hilda flashed a confident smile. "Absolutely. Trust me, Mercedes. This isn’t my first time helping Marianne out of her self doom-and-gloom phase.” 

With that, Hilda walked past Mercedes and up to Marianne’s door. She knocked, her demeanor both casual and lackadaisical. "Marianne? It’s Hilda. Can I come in?"

There was a moment of silence, followed by the sound of shuffling from inside the room. “Go away, Hilda. I don’t want to talk.”

Hilda wasn’t deterred. She leaned against the door, her voice light and teasing. “Oh, come on. I know you don’t mean that. Let’s chat, okay? I promise I won't bite.”

Another pause, and then a softer response. “Please, Hilda, just leave me alone.”

Hilda sighed theatrically, her tone taking on a more serious turn. “Listen, Marianne. I get it. You’re feeling down and thinking you’re to blame for everything that happened. But you know what? You’re wrong. We all make mistakes, it happens. Now, open this door and let me in so we can talk about it.” The noble smirked. “And besides, if you don’t, I might just have to sit out here and start telling embarrassing stories from our time in the Golden Deer. Your call.”

Mercedes raised her brow upon hearing Hilda's playful threat. The silence from behind the door stretched on for a few moments before the sound of a lock turning could be heard. The door creaked open slightly, and Marianne's face appeared in the gap. “Please don’t do that, Hilda,” she said in a defeated tone. “Come in.”

She opened the door a little wider to allow her classmate to slip through. Before doing so, Hilda gave Mercedes a reassuring wink and a hand gesture as if to say, “I’ll take it from here,” and then disappeared inside the room. This left Mercedes alone in the hallway once more, and she contemplated listening in on their conversation before ultimately deciding to leave Marianne in Hilda’s hands and reluctantly walked away to join her classmates.

Once Hilda was inside, Marianne quickly shut the door and sat back down on her bed without so much as a glance toward her fellow Golden Deer. Arms crossed on her lap, the bluenette stared intently at her feet to avoid eye contact. Hilda, on the other hand, remained standing, maintaining a sense of aloofness to her best friend’s troubles, prompting Marianne to speak out.

“What do you want from me, Hilda?”

Hilda was momentarily taken aback by Marianne’s directness, which was a rarity from the typically reserved girl. Quickly recovering, she smirked and placed her hands on her hips. “What do I want? It’s obvious, silly,” she said with a playful tone. “I’m just doing what any best friend would do- making sure you’re okay.” She paused before adding, “Mercedes mentioned that you wanted to come back to our class. Is that really true?”

Marianne frowned. “I thought you would’ve been happy to have me back. Why try and convince me otherwise?”

“Because, Marianne, I don't think the solution is as easy as switching classes for a change of scenery- or boys for that matter.” She added amusedly. “And besides, you’ve already made progress with the Blue Lions. Don’t you see that?”

Marianne’s shoulders slumped. “Progress? I almost got Prince Dimitri killed. How is that progress?”

Hilda stared at her friend for a brief moment. “You really haven’t noticed, have you, Marianne?”

The girl sitting on the bed furrowed her brows at her classmate. “Noticed what, Hilda?”

A giant smirk crept on Hilda’s face. “Hold on one second,” She told her before turning around. True to her word, it only took a second for Hilda to grab a hand mirror from her friend’s desk and hold it out to Marianne. “Here, look at this and tell me what you see.”

The priestess gave her a look as if to say, do I really have to? But eventually, she took the mirror and gazed at her own reflection and huffed in frustration. “I don’t see anything.”

“Right, but you know what I don’t see anymore, Marianne?” Hilda encouraged. “Those dark circles under your eyes. They’re almost completely gone now.”

Hearing this prompted the girl to take another look, and her face softened in realization. “Oh…” Was all she could mutter as she subconsciously brought up a free hand to her cheek. “They really are gone…”

Hilda smiled brilliantly. “You see what I mean? Somehow over the past month, you’ve been getting enough sleep for a change!”

Marianne flustered. “I- I mean, Sir Kratos has been pushing me to my limits every single day. Every night when I go to bed, I just… I don’t know, I simply feel too tired to really do much else.”

“And I think that is exactly what your little problem is, Marianne.” Her best friend emphasized this by leaning forward and placing a finger on her temple. “You’ve been spending more time tearing yourself down rather than focusing on things you can control, curse or no curse. I know that what I’m about to say is incredibly rich coming from me, but you have to start believing in yourself. I can’t always be there to pick up the pieces.”

“But… What if I am cursed? I’ve seen people I care about get hurt because of me, and- and I’m terrified that it’s just going to keep happening. What if staying with the Blue Lions only brings them more harm?”

Hilda gently lifted Marianne’s chin, forcing her to make eye contact. “Listen to me. You are not cursed. You are a kind, caring, and incredibly strong person; and I think the Blue Lions are lucky to have you. You wanna know how I know that? Because your friend Mercedes asked for my help. If none of them had your best interest at heart as much as she did, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation right now. They believe in you, just like I do.”  

Marianne hesitated and then took a deep breath before asking, “Do you think it’s too far-fetched for you to eventually join me some day?”

Hilda laughed, shaking her head. “Oh, Marianne, after seeing how Professor Kratos works his class to the bone, there is absolutely no chance of that happening.” She then asked, “I mean, that’s assuming you no longer want to go through with your plan?”

The bluenette was silent for a moment. “No. I mean, yes, I do wish to remain with Blue Lions, Hilda.”

Instinctively, the pink-haired teen knelt down and took friend's hand. “Are you sure about this, Marianne?”

She nodded, though more committedly this time. “Yes. And... You’re right. I do not wish to continue being a burden, and if the Blue Lions are my best chance at overcoming this, then I have to stay. I need to prove to myself that I can be strong.”

Hilda smiled proudly, squeezing Marianne's hand gently. “Then I’m proud of you. You’re making the right choice. And no matter what happens, we will always be best friends. Nothing is going to change that.”

Marianne felt a surge of warmth and gratitude as she suddenly lunged forward and embraced her once fellow classmate into a hug. “Thank you, Hilda.” She sniffles.

“Of course, Marianne.” Hilda said, surprised yet returned the hug nonetheless. “Of course.”

Chapter Text

Ashe was writing at his desk in his small, candlelit dorm room when a knock came at his door. Letting out a reluctant sigh, he placed his quill back into the small ink container before standing up and walking over to the door. Initially, he’d expected it to be one of his classmates checking up on him again, as they’d been doing ever since they returned from their mission; which was why it left him even more surprised when he opened the door to see none other than Catherine standing on the other side.

“Oh, Lady Catherine,” the archer’s eyes widened slightly, though his expression quickly shifted to one of apprehension.

"Hello, Ashe," said the swordswoman, though there was a noticeable strain in her voice.

Ashe swallowed hard, obviously not being too thrilled about the Captain’s presence. "Is there something you need, Lady Catherine?" He manages to utter out.

Catherine shook her head. “No, actually. In fact, it’s… kind of the other way around. May I come in?”

Though the boy had initially wanted to tell the woman to get lost, Ashe suppressed these urges and took a step back to allow Catherine through. As soon as she was inside, she shut the door behind her and took a moment to ensure nobody was listening outside before returning her attention to Ashe.

“Listen, Ashe… After everything that’s happened today, I’m certain that you have many questions regarding my involvement in Christophe’s death.”

The adopted son of Gaspard scowled and crossed his arms. For a moment, there was a tense silence. “...I might.”

The blonde wanted to let out an exasperated sigh, but she pulled herself together and said, “Well? Do you, or do you not?”

Ashe gritted his teeth. “Of course I do!” He blurted out, much to his own surprise. “He was my brother! Lord Lonato said Christophe trusted you with his life. That had to have meant you two were close, right? So why? Why did you hand him over to be executed? There must have been another way!”

“There was no other way.” Catherine’s temper flared. “If there was, then I’d have chosen. On that, I swear upon the goddess.”

The archer’s face fell in distraught as the sudden burst of anger whittled away, for as brief as it had lasted. “So then, why are you here?” He asked dejectedly. “Is it forgiveness that you’re after?”

“I can live either with, or without your forgiveness, Ashe.” The woman told him before reaching into her pouch, withdrew an aged piece of paper and held it out to him. “But living with a clear conscience would be much harder if you didn’t know the truth.”

Ashe eyed the parchment in the Captain’s hand before taking it tentatively from her. “What’s this?”

“Read for yourself.” She told him simply, and the boy turned so that his back was facing her before he began reading aloud:

Dear Madrid,

If this letter finds you, then this means that you now have my answer.

I have thought long and hard on your proposition, and every fiber of my being is telling me that an act of sin as blasphemous as this is not the solution that we seek.

However, as the days have gone by, and with the snowstorm allowing me to think on what you’ve said more than I care to admit, I realize now that this may be the only way in which Fodlan can fully heal. The crests, the corruption, the Central Church… all of it must go. And that starts, as you’ve said, with the Archbishop. They are all a festering wound that has only stifled our progress as a human race and perpetuated suffering.

While I deeply respect His Highness for his diplomatic attempts to enact change within the corrupted system the Archbishop upholds, I begin to fear that it is all for nought. So long as the majority of the nobles fight tooth and nail to maintain the status quo, there is no hope that we shall ever see true reform.

And for that, you have my utmost support in this endeavor.

Yours in the cause,

Christophe

Catherine watched as Ashe’s knuckles turned whiter with every word he read out. Once he was finished, he turned back around to face her with a look of sheer bewilderment.

“Catherine… what does this mean?”

“Ashe…” The swordswoman braced herself. “What you are holding is a letter incriminating Christophe in a plot to assassinate Lady Rhea.”

She’d half-expected the boy to jump into a fit of rage for daring to insinuate such a thing, yet Ashe remained in complete disbelief. “But… if this letter is from my brother, then that would mean it predates…” He brought his gaze up to the knight and looked her straight in the eye. “Catherine… Did the church lie about his involvement in the Tragedy of Duscar?”

Catherine nodded solemnly. “Yes. Christophe was a good man- maybe too good. It wasn’t in his nature to mistrust people. When the Western Church told him that Lady Rhea had to die for the goddess’ sake, or the world’s, he went along with it.”

 “So… Christophe really was guilty of the crime he committed?”

“No- Christophe was indeed innocent of his involvement with the Tragedy of Duscar. The Central Church made it seem that way to cover up the actual reason for his execution.” She took a moment to brush aside some loose strands from her face. “You have to understand, Ashe. I wasn’t motivated by a personal grudge. When I found that letter, I was forced into an impossible situation. The world was in chaos, and the Church did what it had to do. However…”

The wielder of Thunderbrand then took a chance and took a step toward the young man before placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. She’d half-expected him to brush her arm off, but did not. “...That is why I have decided to show this to you now. After all the pain and suffering that had been caused by Lonato’s misguided pursuit of vengeance, I knew that you at least deserved to know what actually happened.” She then nodded to the letter in his hand. “And it’s also why I am leaving it up to you to decide on whether or not Lord Lonato deserves to know before.. Well, you know.”

Ashe looked down at the paper and gave her a knowing nod. “I understand.”

Catherine managed a small smile. “Good. I’m glad we at least reached an understanding,” she told him before turning to head toward the door.

“Catherine, wait!”

The Captain of the Knights paused at the door, turning back to face him. “Yes, Ashe?”

Ashe hesitated, searching for the right words. “I… I just wanted to say thank you. For telling me the truth, for everything.”

Catherine’s smile widened slightly, and she nodded. “You’re welcome, Ashe. Remember, the truth can be a powerful tool. Use it wisely.”

With that, she opened the door and left, leaving Ashe alone with his thoughts and the letter in his hand.

x-x-x

Kratos followed Shamir and Cyril as they led him to the left wing of the Monastery, where they then descended another flight of stone stairs leading underground. Once they reached the bottom, two armored knights stood guard at a reinforced door with a small barred window which allowed them to see into the dungeon.

Shamir spoke and addressed the knights. "I’ve brought the prisoner's visitor as Jeralt ordered."

One of the knights took a long look at Kratos, as though he were mesmerized by the towering white brigand standing behind his superior before nodding finally and unlocking the door to let them through.

Kratos stepped through the door and found himself in a dimly lit dungeon. The space was narrow, with a single hallway lined with six cells on one side. Each cell had thick iron bars, with only the only light coming from a few lit torches mounted on the other side of the wall.

The dungeon only had two occupants. One was the famous knight and mercenary Jeralt, who seemed to be in high spirits as he had a friendly chat with the prisoner in the cell before him. Through the iron bars, Lonato could be seen sitting on the only piece of furniture he had, which was a grimy wooden bucket flipped upside down. No longer in his pristine armor fit for a lord, he was now dressed in dirty brown rags typically issued to prisoners. His once proud demeanor had been replaced with a weary, disheveled look, and he glanced up as the door creaked open. 

Jeralt too stopped mid-sentence as he saw who’d come through the door. “Well, it seems like you have some company. Perhaps we’ll pick this up some other time.” He then greeted the new arrivals. “I have to say,” Jeralt told Kratos, “If not for those big red tattoos of yours—among other things—you would’ve been a hard man to track down.”

Kratos grunted, cutting right to the chase. “The prisoner wished to speak with me?”

“That he did,” The Blade Breaker nodded. “Said he had no idea who you were, only what you looked like, and was insistent about meeting you.” He gestured to Lonato. “In any case, you won’t have much time to talk, but I’ll be right upstairs if you need anything. Though, I doubt that neither you nor I will have anything to worry about.” With that, Jeralt left the dungeon, followed closely by Shamir and Cyril and left Kratos alone with Lonato as the sound of a heavy door closed and locked behind him.

Kratos stepped closer to the cell, towering over the disheveled lord. Now that the two were face-to-face, Kratos could see that the minor lord’s right arm was now missing. Lonato scrutinized the man who shattered his shoulder, yet there was no trace of anger or resentment towards Kratos as he spoke, “So- I guess you’re the one I should be thanking for that spear you’ve given me.”

Kratos met his gaze steadily. “It was necessary. You were going to harm the boy.”

Lonato nodded, a faint, tired smile forming on his lips. “Yes, I suppose I was. And yet, here I am, alive and well. A prisoner, but alive… for however long that will last.”

The Ghost of Sparta was starting to grow impatient. “Why did you summon me?”

“I… wanted to thank you.” The rebel leader admitted. “At the time, I’d assumed you were just another one of the Archbishop’s blind followers—quick and eager to do her bidding with complete disregard for their own autonomy.” Lonato shifted on his makeshift chair before continuing. “But never in a thousand years would I have expected you to be my dear boy’s professor. When I described you to the captain you just spoke to, I refused to believe that someone such as yourself would take on that role. Even as I gaze upon you now, it’s hard to reconcile.” Kratos remained silent, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Ashe spoke highly of you, you know. In his letters to me. Said you were a man of few words, but also of immense strength and wisdom. It was evident that he respects you deeply. I suppose… I just wanted to understand why.”

Ashe’s professor thought for a moment. “The boy is a good student. He has potential. In many ways, he… reminds me of my own son, Atreus.”

Lonato raised a brow. “You have a son as well?”

“Yes.”

“And where is he now, if I may ask?”

“...I do not know.” Kratos admitted. “He told me there was something he needed to do. Alone.”

“I see.” Lonato grunted. “My boy, Ashe… he was always too optimistic for his own good. Always tries to assume the best intention in others, as every knight in those stories of his were.”

Hearing this gave Kratos pause for thought. “You lied to him.”

“What?”

Kratos spoke a little louder this time. “Up until now, you never once told him how you truly felt. You sent him away under the pretense that you had moved on. You never allowed him the chance to try to ease your pain- and you allowed your rage to consume you.”

Lonato narrowed his eyes angrily at the brigand. “And what do you know of it?”

Kratos didn’t budge. “I know the cost of letting anger and grief fester. It destroys everything in its path and harms everyone we care about. You thought you were protecting him by keeping your pain hidden, but all you did was push him away.”

“I thought I was shielding him from the truth!” Lonato’s jaw tightened, his left hand clenching into a fist. “There was no reason for him to carry the burden of my suffering!”

“And yet you refused to give him that choice regardless.” Kratos countered. “You denied him the chance to stand by you and share that burden. You underestimated his strength.”

The prisoner’s nostrils flared. “Fine, then. Let us assume I did tell him, and Ashe does somehow talk me out of it. Then what? We simply allow the Church to continue using the Goddess’ name to justify their tyranny?”

Kratos regarded Lonato with a steady gaze. "I do not care about your personal vendetta. You chose to put many lives in danger, including Ashe. Now, you are paying the price for your decisions."

Lonato scoffed in frustration. "I've accomplished nothing in my plight against the Church. If I wasn't going to die at that woman’s hand earlier, then what's the point in delaying the inevitable? What do I have left?"

Kratos's eyes softened slightly. "You can start by making amends with the family you still have left. Ashe still cares for you. Instead, the question you should be asking is, how will you use the time you have left to make things right with him?"

Before he could reply, the sound of keys jangling and disengaging locks brought the conversation to a halt, followed by the dungeon door opening with a loud groan. Both men turned to see Archbishop Rhea and her right hand Seteth stepping through the door, followed closely by Jeralt and a couple other knights who were escorting them.

“Ah, Sir Kratos,” Said Rhea with her usual polite and candid demeanor. “I am pleased to see that you are already here. We were just about to send someone for you before we proceed with Lord Lonato’s final sentence.” She then glances at Lonato, who glared daggers at her. However, the Archbishop pretended to not take notice of this as she addressed her right hand. “Seteth, if you may.”

The priest gave a curt nod before stepping directly in front of the cell. Reaching into his cloak, he withdrew a piece of rolled parchment and unrolled it for everyone to see. He cleared his throat, speaking loudly and clearly as he read out what was written.

“Lord Lonato, you stand trial for treason, inciting a rebellion against the Central Church, and desecrating the goddess' name under the guise of aiding such rebellion. In light of these grave charges, the penalty shall be death. However, considering your outstanding lifelong service under the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, of which the Central Church has many strong ties and alliances, a different course has been decided. By order of the Archbishop, you are hereby banished from the land of Fodlan. You are to remain under house arrest on the remote island of Viano off the coast of Albinea; where you shall remain for the rest of your days- with all titles and lands stripped from your name and given provisionally under a different lord until an appropriate heir has been decided upon.

"Should you ever violate these terms or be seen setting foot on Fodlan again, you shall be executed immediately and without trial. This leniency is a reflection of your previous contributions, but know that any further defiance will be met with swift and unforgiving retribution." After finishing reading from the parchment, Seteth looked up at Lonato with a stern expression. "Have you anything to say before your sentence is carried out?"

Lonato's gaze shifted first to Kratos, then to Rhea. His face hardened with a mix of both defiance and resignation flickering in his eyes. Finally, after a long pregnant pause, he took a deep breath, and he gave his answer.

x-x-x

Ashe sat at his desk as he stared intently at the letter Catherine had given him. His mind raced with thoughts of his adoptive father, Christophe, and the truth of what he’d just learned. The candlelight flickered, casting shadows across the crumpled paper as he read the words over and over again. 

Catherine’s words echoed in his head: And it’s also why I am leaving it up to you to decide on whether or not Lord Lonato deserves to know before… Well, you know.

His heart ached. Could he really burden Lord Lonato with the truth, knowing it might break him even further? Or should he let him hold on to his beliefs, however misguided they may have been? Ashe sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. He picked up the letter, his gaze shifted to the candle burning on his desk. 

Having made his decision, he held a corner of the letter to the candle, and set it aflame.

Meanwhile, after having just reached her quarters, Catherine immediately kicked off her boots and began to undo her armor and let it drop haphazardly onto the floor. Once all of the extra weight had been removed, she moved toward her bed with the intention of burying her face into her pillow, but then the sight of the drawer where she originally kept the letter she’d given Ashe caught her eye. Sluggishly, she went to it and opened the cabinet that was empty save for another letter she’d kept in there as well as a simple gold ring.

At first, Catherine picked up the ring and fingered it in her hands for a moment before eventually moving on to the letter. Years of dust had accumulated on top of the folds, and she blew most of it off before opening it and began to read the words that were written in a familiar handwriting:

My Dearest Cassandra,

I hope this letter finds you well. How have you been? I miss you dearly and long to see you again. 

I’m still stuck here in Fhirdiad with my mates. A snowstorm has hit, and we’re not able to leave for at least another week. It’s frustrating to be away from you for so long, especially with the ceremony coming up.

Speaking of which, there’s something I regret having not done sooner- I’ve yet to introduce you to my new adoptive younger brother yet. I feel terrible about it, especially since you’re about to become his sister-in-law, but I’m confident you’ll like him a lot. He’s a good kid, and I know he’ll look up to you.

I’m sorry for having to delay our ceremony again, but please know that you are always in my thoughts. I can’t wait to see you and hold you in my arms again. 

With all my love,

Christophe

Catherine read the letter over once more before letting out an aggravated sigh. She then tosses the letter back into the drawer and closes it rather forcefully, and opens another drawer where the knight keeps her stash and grabs a bottle of ale.

Chapter Text

It was late in the evening as the Regent of Faerghus sat in his ornate chair at the head of the grand table. On the other side of the chamber, there was a loud groan as the heavy wooden doors opened, revealing the Kingdom’s Court Mage as the guards opened them and allowed Cornelia to enter the Regent's chamber. She kept a calm and unimposing expression as she stepped inside, yet Rufus continued to eye her warily before the doors closed shut behind her.

“My Lord,” Cornelia greeted him, offering a sly smile and a bow. “It is wonderful to see you again after such a tumultuous week. I trust you are well?”

Rufus couldn’t help but scoff. “I have no need for your pleasantries, witch. Word has already reached my ear that my nephew still lives. Care to explain?”

Cornelia's smile faded slightly, but she maintained her composure. “Indeed, the young prince managed to survive the incursion. However, as per your stipulation, there must be no trace leading back to you. Because after all, that rebellion was doomed to fail from the very beginning, was it not? Consider yourself fortunate that the mage I provided was killed in battle before he was to be interrogated.”

Rufus narrowed his eyes at the woman, his anger barely contained. “That does little to console me. The rebellion was meant to be a death sentence for Dimitri, yet he still draws breath.” After a moment’s pause, the late King’s older brother stood from his chair, hands clasped behind his back as he went to the open stone window and looked out toward the setting sun.

“It should already have ended that day,” said the Regent out loud, as though talking to himself more than Cornelia. “Had the runt not survived, my right to rule Faerghus would’ve already been mine to claim. But now, with every passing day and every failed attempt to have him perish on the battlefield, the boy only seems to be getting stronger, and his bloodlust grows.” He then turned to the Court Mage. “Have you ever witnessed the young Prince’s true nature, Cornelia? Have you seen the feral beast he hides within?”

Cornelia tilted her head, a faint curiosity piqued by Rufus' words. “I have heard rumors, but I have not seen it with my own eyes. Do enlighten me, Regent.”

Rufus’ face was etched with frustration and fear. “Three years ago, during the rebellion in western Faerghus, I saw it for the first time.” He paused, his gaze distant as he recalled the memory. “The battlefield was a slaughterhouse. He showed no mercy, no hesitation. He tore through the rebels with a brutality that left even the most hardened soldiers shaking with fear. It was as if he relished the bloodshed.”

Cornelia listened intently, her expression showing great interest in the tale. “So your real intent is to rid your kingdom of this so-called feral beast, My Lord?”

The older man shook his head. “No. The throne on which my brother sat still belongs to me by right. Ridding ourselves of the beast would certainly remove one significant obstacle, but my claim to the throne stands regardless of his presence.”

Cornelia's eyes gleamed with understanding. “Then our goal is twofold. Secure your claim while eliminating any threats that could challenge your rule.”

Rufus nodded, his expression darkening. “Indeed. His growing strength and the loyalty from the other lords are troubling enough; and with the blessing of his Crest, if he were ever to discover who was truly behind the Tragedy of Duscur, none of us would be safe from his wrath.”

x-x-x

Marianne stood outside of Prince Dimitri’s dorm room, her hand raised as if preparing to knock. However, hesitation overcame her just as she was about to rap her knuckles against the wooden door. She stood there, contemplating whether to turn away, when the door suddenly opened, revealing Dimitri.

"Oh, Marianne," he said, surprised. "I had no idea you were out here. Forgive me, but I was just about to leave. Did you wish to speak with me?"

Marianne's cheeks flushed, and she clasped her hands nervously. "Y-yes, Your Highness. I… I just wanted to say thank you. F-For what you did earlier during the battle.” Though she tried her best to make eye contact, her gaze eventually fell to her feet. “But- at the same time, I wanted to apologize.”

Dimitri crossed his arms, his eyes filled with confusion. “Apologize for what exactly?”

"For putting myself in danger and forcing you to take the hit for me," Marianne said softly, her voice laden with guilt.

The prince laughed, a warm and reassuring sound. "Marianne, there's no need to apologize for that. I'm tougher than I look, you know." He rolled his shoulder to emphasize his point. "The worst I got was a sore shoulder."

Marianne almost managed a small smile at his words, but it quickly faded. "I appreciate your kindness, but… all the same, I think it's probably best if you keep your distance from me."

Dimitri frowned, and his expression shifted back to confusion. “Is that so…?” he asked regretfully.

“Yes.”

Hearing her straightforward answer caused the crown prince to take a step back for a moment as he leaned on his elbow against the doorframe, seemingly lost in thought. “Forgive me, Marianne.” He finally said, and the priestess looked up to see Dimitri looking at her with a determined, but also slightly defiant look. “But I will do no such thing.”

The young noble girl’s breathing hitched. “But- but why?”

"Because, Marianne, I don't regret risking my life for you, and I wouldn't have done any differently for any of the other Blue Lions. Protecting you is not a burden, it's something I do willingly and without hesitation."

"But... I don't want to be the reason you get hurt. I don't want anyone to suffer because of me."

Dimitri shook his head. "You are not the cause of any suffering, Marianne. As leaders, the dangers we face are part of our duty. We face them together, and your life is just as valuable as anyone else's." His eyes then lit up as he remembered something and stood up straight. “Oh, by the way, Mercedes informed me that you went to Professor Mimir and requested to remain as a permanent classmate with us. Is this true?”

Marianne's eyes widened slightly. "Y-yes, it is. I just… I just feel that I can grow and contribute more if I stay with the Blue Lions, all while under Professor Mimir and Sir Kratos’ guidance.”

Dimitri's smile broadened. "That is wonderful news, Marianne. We are honored to have you as a permanent member of our house, and I’m sure that Mercedes is very excited to have you stay with us."

Marianne blushed, feeling a mix of embarrassment and happiness. “Th-thank you, Your Highness.”

“Please, Marianne, no need for such formalities. Just Dimitri will suffice.”

“But, the rest of the Lions, don’t they…?”

The prince couldn’t help but laugh. “I keep telling them the same thing, yet they insist on using titles. Well, all except Felix, of course. It seems old habits die hard. But truly, I would prefer it if you just called me Dimitri.”

At last, the blue-haired priestess, though still flustered, managed a small smile. “O-OK, of course… Dimitri.”

Unbeknownst to them, just a little ways down the hall, Felix had been listening in on the two nobles' conversation, and a scowl was drawn across his lips as he silently closed his door shut.

x-x-x

Rhea had entered her private studies, where several of her mages were hard at work, pouring through materials of old scrolls, books and artifacts that littered every table within the room. Upon hearing the door open, one of the mages, an older man with a long gray beard, looked up from one of the many tomes spread before him.

"Your Grace," he greeted, rising from his seat and bowing slightly. The other mages followed suit, pausing their research to acknowledge Rhea's presence.

Rhea nodded in acknowledgment and moved to the table where the old man stood, her eyes scanning the numerous documents. "What news do you have regarding our guest, Kratos?" she asked, her voice calm, yet still carried a sense of urgency.

The head mage, Eadric, spoke uncomfortably. "Your Grace, I am afraid to say that our progress has been… minimal, so to speak.”

The Archbishop frowned. “Explain.”

“W-well, the truth is that none of us, even with our lifelong experience in studying magic, have ever seen anything quite like this. The first snag we ran into was trying to discover where the brigand had originally come from. Even with the strand of hair you’d provided us, we were unable to trace its origin within our known world."

Rhea's eyes narrowed, her impatience growing. "What do you mean by that, Eadric?"

Eadric swallowed nervously before he continued. "In our world, teleportation magic relies on the projection and placement of magic circles, which allow for near-instantaneous transportation within a limited range. However, these circles cannot work over vast distances, which was the second snag. But even if we were to somehow crack it, that strand of hair you provided does not resonate with any known magical signatures or locations within our world." Rhea's expression hardened, remaining silent as to allow the man to finish, who hesitated at first. “My Lady, from everything we’ve gathered, it’s as if the realm Sir Kratos comes from doesn’t even exist. His being here… it shouldn’t even be a possibility.”

"So you're telling me there is no way to send him back?" The Archbishop’s gaze went cold.

Eadric nodded. "Indeed, My Lady. As it stands, the only way that Sir Kratos can return to his home world is if the Goddess herself wills it to happen.”

Rhea clenched her fists, the knuckles turning white. "This complicates matters further.” She muttered out loud, then to the head mage. “Thank you, Eadric. Your service is greatly appreciated. In the meantime, continue on with your work and inform me if any new developments arise."

Eadric bowed deeply. "Of course, Your Grace. We will not rest until we have exhausted every possibility."

x-x-x

“So,” said Mimir after they’d finally returned to their dorm. “Our employer has decided to let old Lord Lonato off the hook?”

“It would seem that way,” Kratos grunted.

“Well, not entirely, mind you. But still, I’d have never expected such leniency. Especially not from the Archbishop.” Mimir paused. “Have you told wee Ashe of the verdict?”

“No. He needs to allow his emotions to run their course before we tell him anything. For now, it is best we allow him a night's rest.”

“Aye, and not just him. The Blue Lions as a whole have had quite an emotional ordeal ever since that skirmish. I dare say, if not for the grueling training you put them through, I suspect our casualties would’ve been a lot higher.”

“That was precisely the purpose.” Kratos brushed him off.

“Oh, no doubt about it, Brother. However… with everything that’s been happening as of late, I’m starting to fear that just the physical training isn’t going to be enough for these lads.”

“Explain.” Said the Spartan.

“Brother, you have to remember. These are children we’re talking about here. They may be young, clever, and obviously very intelligent in most cases, but they are only human; and human children, no less. Besides, I highly doubt that the Archbishop had spared Lonato out of the goodness of her heart. It is quite obvious that she means to gain our favor, and the students are no doubt one of several ways to achieve it.”

“And so what do you suggest?”

“I suggest,” The head began, “that perhaps we take a little more of a personal role in their development moving forward. I know we agreed to meddle in their affairs as little as possible while we were here, but now it has become quite clear that it is no longer a possibility. You remember the young lass, Marianne, aye? She chose to stay despite her recent misstep. The lads need us, Kratos.”

“Even if that means playing directly into the woman’s hands?” Kratos questioned Mimir. “You would allow your feelings to cloud your judgment for the sake and wellbeing of a select few?”

Mimir sighed, his gaze steady. “It’s not about allowing my feelings to cloud my judgment, Kratos. These youngins are more than just soldiers in training. We have the opportunity to shape them into not just warriors, but wise and compassionate leaders. Is that not something Tyr himself had taught you?” Kratos remained silent for a moment, considering Mimir’s words. “Not only that, but you saved a man’s life. Sure, it might lead to some other messes in the future, but the fact remains that you chose to act despite what we’d agreed upon. You can’t pretend as though you already don’t care about what happens to any of the young whelps.”

“I am not pretending.” The Spartan growled. 

“Then why do you hesitate?” Mimir pressed. “Why do you fight against what’s already in your heart? You care for these students, Kratos. You see the potential in them, the same way you saw potential in your own son.”

Kratos’ expression darkened. “It is not my right. I do not wish to lead them down a path of ruin.”

Mimir’s eyes softened with understanding. “But that’s precisely why you’re the right person for this. You’ve seen the darkness, and you know how to navigate it. After all, when you looked into His Highness’s eyes, that’s what made you accept the role in the first place, was it not?”

This time, the Ghost of Sparta did not have an answer.

Chapter Text

It was an early Sunday morning at Garreg Mach, one week after the events of what happened in Magdred Forest. While some students within the Monastery had opted to sleep in or simply spend their free time relaxing in the gardens or catching up on personal studies, others were meanwhile attending the end-of-the-week seminars that were being hosted by various professors. 

Each student, armed with a training weapon of their choice, had decided to try their luck in a one-on-one duel with their instructor; and one after the other, they were either quickly disarmed or knocked flat on their backs. As one challenger went down, another immediately took their place. Every strike was either heavily telegraphed for the man, allowing him to parry and counterattack with minimal effort, or a predictable feint was quickly exploited as Jeritza immediately went for the “killing blow” before his attacker even realized what happened. And it was soon becoming evident that the low and soft-spoken instructor was becoming incredibly bored very quickly.

Jeritza sighed, his voice carrying a hint of disdain. "Is this really the best any of you can do?” He said, lowering his weapons to his side. “I’m disappointed. But perhaps, I was expecting too much." The students exchanged weary glances, as if to see who would be foolish enough to take another shot at a clearly superior opponent when a voice called out from the entrance of the training grounds.

"Why don't we make it interesting for you, then?"

Everyone turned to see Felix approaching them and carrying his own training sword, his expression relaxed and confident as he locked eyes with the Monastery staff member. Jeritza’s interest was piqued as he saw the young man, recognizing him to be from Kratos' class. He nodded slightly, acknowledging Felix's challenge. "Very well. Let's see if you can provide a challenge."

The students stepped back, giving the two combatants room. Felix assumed his stance, and Jeritza, still exuding an air of nonchalance, motioned for Felix to come at him.

Felix came at the instructor aggressively, yet he struck carefully at Jeritza who effortlessly parried his attacks. However, the older swordsman realized he was not in a position to easily counter his opponent, and they disengaged briefly. The instructor's eyes gleaming with a slight hint of approval.

"Certainly more skilled than the others," Jeritza remarked, though his bored expression and tone remained.

The second engagement was equally brief, with Felix trying to find an opening, and again, Jeritza deflected each strike. It was evident that young Fraldarius was determined to get an edge over his opponent, but it was clear that the older sword wielder was still in complete control.

As they squared off for the third engagement, Felix pushed himself harder, his strikes more aggressive and desperate. Jeritza, however, anticipated his every move. With a swift and decisive counter, he used the boy’s own momentum against him by knocking his blade aside and struck him on the small of his back with the pommel of his sword, causing Felix to stumble and fall hard on his stomach; emitting choruses of “ooos” and “aaahs” from the students around him.

Jeritza looked down at him. "You have potential, but you still have much to learn. You are not ready."

From that moment as Felix pushed himself up to his elbows, he could see through the small crowd of students that his professor, Kratos, was watching him from the open entrance to the training ground, his face and expression completely unreadable. The young swordsman did not know how much he’d seen or why he was there in the first place, but allowing his own teacher to see him get bested so easily sparked something dangerously hot in Felix’s guts.

He gritted his teeth, his frustration evident as he hurriedly pushed himself up to his feet and faced Jeritza. "Again!"

Jeritza, who also noticed Kratos watching, felt a surge of both curiosity and desire. From Kratos' perspective, The instructor's piercing gaze seemed to invite him to come and spar with him instead, either to show the students how it's done, or simply because Jeritza was imploring for someone to give him a worthwhile sparring match. Kratos, however, silently walked off, leaving Jeritza with a sigh of resignation.

"Fine,” He said, turning his attention back to Felix. “If that is your wish."

Meanwhile, Kratos had been making his way to the courtyard just outside the Monastery gates where merchants and traders had begun to set up their stalls for the day. Upon learning that he would be allowed to use the Dining Hall’s kitchen, provided that he bring his own ingredients and thoroughly clean up after himself, the Spartan decided to take this as an opportunity to share a meal with some of his students, as one of many suggestions Mimir has been giving him. 

As he navigated through the bustling market, Kratos was acutely aware of the many pairs of eyes staring at the tall, white and tattooed brigand casually roaming the stalls, but he paid them no mind. But eventually, he happened to stumble across a particular merchant that sold something he did not expect to find.

Marching directly up to the merchant, whose back was facing the Spartan as he was stocking up his shelves, Kratos pulled a small pouch from his side and slapped three gold pieces down on the counter.

“I wish to buy your olives.”

The merchant turned around, startled by the sudden presence of the imposing figure before him. "O-olives? Oh, you mean the moonberries?" he said, pointing to a basket of dark, glossy fruits.

Kratos frowned slightly but didn't bother correcting the man. "Yes, moonberries . I will take them."

The merchant blinked, a bit taken aback by Kratos' abruptness but quickly recovered. "Of course, sir. Here you go," he said, placing a generous portion of the olives into a small bag and handing it over.

Accepting the bag and, out of curiosity, Kratos sampled one of the olives before he immediately spat it out in disgust. "These are spoiled," he growled.

"I- I beg your pardon!" The shorter man took offense. "Freshly picked not a month ago, I promise you!"

The brigand narrowed his eyes. "What about the seeds?"

"Seeds?" The merchant scratched his head. "I mean, sure, I’ve got them, but you'll have a hard time growing them in these parts."

Before he said anything else, Kratos tossed the small bag of coins at the man, who caught it in surprise. "That will be my problem to worry about."

The merchant weighed the bag before checking to see if the coin was genuine. "Alright, say no more. Here you are, sir, and thank you very much for your patronage!"

After being handed the small sack of “moonberry” seeds, the Ghost of Sparta was about to leave before speaking over his shoulder to the man, "And if I find out that these are no good either, you best pray that I never find you here again."

The merchant paled, nodding quickly. "Understood, sir. I assure you, the seeds are good. In any case, enjoy your… oh-lives. "

With that, Kratos turned and made his way back toward the Monastery, seeds in hand. By this point, he now had a different goal in mind as he made his way straight for the Greenhouse inside Garreg Mach. Once he was through the glass doors, he noticed that one of his students, Dedue, was already there on one side of the room as he crouched over some of the plants with gardening tools in hand.

At first, the darker skinned man didn’t seem to notice the brigand standing and watching him a few steps away from him as he worked. But eventually, he did speak.

“Professor Kratos.” Dimitri’s aide greeted flatly, without so much as glancing up. “Did you want something?”

Kratos, who actually appreciated the straightforward and bluntness in Dedue’s question, answered in kind. “I am here to plant some seeds.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Hm. I see.” Dedue stood up and faced Kratos. “And what is it you are attempting to grow?” The brigand held out the bag of seeds for him to see. “Ah,” He said, a small hint of a smile appearing on his face. “Moonberries.”

“You have grown them before?” Kratos asked genuinely.

Dedue shook his head. “No. Where I grew up, we were too far north for them to be harvested. Because of that, they are considered to be a delicacy in Duscar.” He frowned, as though he were recalling a bad memory. “But even though we are not in Duscar, these mountains are not an ideal spot for growing moonberries. However, there are some methods we can try here in the greenhouse, since it is used to grow all sorts of plants.”

“What do you suggest?” Asked Kratos.

“Follow me.” Dedue led the Spartan to the back right corner of the greenhouse, where there was a small patch of open soil for them to use. “There are two things you can try: the first one is by infusing them with magic, while the other is burying them along with a scoop of Pegasus’ Blessing.”

“‘Pegasus Blessing?’” Kratos responded as though expecting Dedue’s stoic face to shatter in a fit of laughter. 

However, the student remained dead serious. “Do not let the name fool you. It means exactly what you think it means.” After digging two small holes in the ground with his fingers, Dedue took a pinch of seed from the pouch before dropping them in. “The bad news is that the Blessings are incredibly expensive. Anyone around here who happens to own a Pegasus is going to charge you a steep price for it.” He looks up at Kratos with a certain glint in his eyes. “But the good news is that I can teach you how to infuse magic in them.”

Kratos tilted his head. “You are sure that I am even capable of using this magic?”

“Of course. Not everyone is equally attuned to wielding magic, but the basic fundamentals remain the same. Though, you might not get the best results, it is still better than trying nothing at all.” Dedue added, looking Kratos in the eye, “And, in return, I would ask for a share of the harvest when the time comes.”

Kratos considered Dedue’s offer as he held his now lighter pouch of olive seeds, then gave a brief nod. “Very well. Show me.”

He knelt beside the darker-tanned man, and over the next half hour, Kratos listened as Dedue explained the process to him. Following Dedue's instructions, the Ghost of Sparta attempted the techniques as shown. Despite the process being new to him, Kratos was determined to succeed.

Finally, Dedue nodded approvingly before standing up. “That is sufficient, Professor. Now, we wait and see how they grow. With any luck, we’ll have a successful harvest.”

Kratos also stood, brushing the dirt from his hands. “Yes,” He concurred. “Let us hope so.”

Just as they were finishing, a Church staff member appeared at the entrance of the greenhouse.. “Professor Kratos,” he huffed, slightly out of breath. “The Archbishop requests your presence. She wishes to speak with you immediately.”

Kratos was silent for a moment before nodding. “Very well.” Then to Dedue. “Thank you. I shall return some day to check on our progress.”

Dedue responded with a nod. “Of course.”

With that, Kratos followed the messenger towards the Archbishop’s chambers, and the Ghost of Sparta couldn’t help but feel rather curious as to what the woman in question could possibly want from him this time around.

Chapter Text

The messenger shuffled hurriedly down the grand hallway, the tall white brigand following closely behind with long strides. As they reached the other end of the hall, instead of taking the stairs to the audience chamber, the younger man passed it and opened the doors leading outside to the bridge and the Cathedral. Kratos found this curious at first, but regardless, he continued to follow as they crossed the bridge.

Once inside the Cathedral, his guide took an immediate left towards a set of doors, leading Kratos through a series of hallways before coming to one that was flanked by two armored knights. The messenger approached one of the knights, saluting with his right hand while discreetly flashing a sealed document with his left.

“By order of the Archbishop, Lady Rhea has requested the presence of Lord Kratos. He is to be granted passage without delay or impediment. No screening for weapons is to be conducted.”

The knight scrutinized the piece of parchment as though the messenger’s words were an elaborate jest. However, once he’d read the document for himself, the guard returned the salute before turning to his partner. “Let them pass.”

The second guard immediately went to unlock the doors behind him, but not before he shot Kratos a deeply suspicious look. Yet despite the troubling orders they’d been given, they let the brigand and his guide pass through without another word.

On the other side, there was a short hallway which led directly to the outside. The air grew colder as they stepped out, the tall walls of the Cathedral looming behind them. Straight in front of them was a sheer cliff, where the jagged rocks awaited far below them. To their left lay narrow stone steps, which had been carved into the side of the mountain, and led down and around the backside of the ridge.

“These stairs will lead you directly to the Archbishop,” said the messenger, daring not to go beyond the point where the mouth of the hallway. “Oh, and please do mind your footing, as the wind here can be quite precarious at times. In the meantime, I shall be off.” Without waiting for a response, the young man hurried back to the safety of the indoors, leaving Kratos to grunt in annoyance, before turning his attention back to the stairs. He had no idea why he was summoned, nor why he was summoned here of all places; but alas, if there was the possibility that Rhea had news regarding his return home, then he had no choice but to move forward. 

He descended the hand-carved stairwell, and as he reached the bottom of the ridge, the stairs gave way to a flat and square opening. Sand covered the ground, with walls of sheer rock protruding on all sides of the field. Once it was fully in view, one of the first things Kratos noticed was the flash of neon green hair swirling as Rhea swung her sword and shield around as though she were fighting shadows.

No longer dressed in her appropriate garbs for an Archbishop, Rhea was now clad in pristine lightweight armor; and her expression she now wore was so far detached from what was usually a serene and composed demeanor, that any outsider would’ve been easily forgiven for thinking she was a completely different person.

She did not seem to take any notice of the Ghost of Sparta until she ended her routine with spinning flourish, pivoting one the heel of her foot before slashing through the air with a sharp whistle. With her back facing towards him, Kratos could see her taking short breaths as though Rhea was mildly winded from her exertion. After a moment, she straightened and turned to face him.

“Professor,” she greeted him kindly, though there was a noticeable lack of formality in her voice as she sheathed her blade. “First, I would like to thank you for coming at such short notice. Given my duties as Archbishop, it is very rare that I am able to have some time solely for myself.” Kratos said nothing, for he simply waited for the woman to get the point for why she’d summoned him. In response to this, Rhea merely smiled. “But alas, even with the limited time that I currently have, I wanted to use this opportunity to converse with you personally- just the two of us- without any prying eyes or ears.”

The ever stone-faced God of War replied, his voice low, “And what is it that you seek from me?”

The Archbishop’s smile didn’t waver as she held his gaze. “As I understand it, you are quite familiar with war, are you not? Surely, as someone of your stature, you need to constantly train and hone your body, so that you may be ready for whatever conflict that may come to pass?” 

Kratos broke eye contact as he considered her question. “Yes.” He said before eying her distrustfully. “Though war is not what I seek.”

“No, of course not.” Rhea concurred, her expression becoming serious as she began to pace the sand. “Yet I see in you the many lifetimes of experience that war has brought upon you.” She paused, her tone becoming more reflective. "We both possess a unique power to influence the world and guide it towards a lasting peace. This power is not just a gift, but a responsibility. Humans have always looked to those greater than themselves for salvation and guidance. Without us, they are lost sheep, prone to falling into chaos and despair. However, if we do not remain vigilant, then those who wish to usurp the order will bring ruin and suffering upon the innocent.

“And that is why,” The Archbishop concluded before stopping dead in her tracks, and faced Kratos once more. “I have a favor to ask from you personally, Sir Kratos.” She nodded to his left, and Kratos turned to see a rack of weapons placed in the corner of the square. “Would you grant me the honors of a sparring match? I wish to test my strength against someone of your caliber. It has been a long time since I had a worthy opponent aside from my dear Seteth.” Kratos did not answer and simply looked at the weapons before she added, “And besides, I am sure that this would be an opportunity for you after being forced to hold back these past couple of months.”

Kratos considered her offer, his eyes scanning the weapons on the rack. His gaze settled on a silver short sword, and after a moment's thought, he reached for it. As he did, he also opened the Guardian Shield, the only weapon that was with him when he fell into this realm. “Very well,” he said, turning to face his opponent. “Let us begin.”

At this, the woman cocked a smile. And then, in an instant, her expression changed to that of what Kratos had seen earlier, and in a flash, she held her own sword in her hand. Simultaneously, Rhea leaped at the man with blinding speed, but Kratos was ready, who deflected the blow with his shield. However, he continued to remain on the defensive as his opponent came at him with everything she had, but not once did he falter. It soon became clear to him that the woman came at him with the intention of winning, and he soon shifted his stance so as to enact a counteroffensive. 

Rhea was quick to respond to his counterattack, and eventually both blades became locked at the hilt. At this, both combatants thrusted their shields towards each other with the intention of knocking the other off balance. As a result, both blades ended up becoming pinched between the fighters’ shields, and it was at that moment when Kratos could finally look directly into Rhea’s eyes as the thrill of combat enthralled her. Though the moment was brief, the Spartan was keenly aware of the hint of darkness and insanity that sat deep within the Archbishop’s gaze, and almost as similar to the one Kratos had seen in Dimitri.

Eventually, Rhea broke the staring contest, taking the opportune moment to inspect Kratos up close from his head to his chest. Kratos could hear the ever faintest of “mmmm,” from the Archbishop before jumping away and bringing her sword and shield back into a defensive position. A faint smile had formed on her lips, and the two combatants circled the sand-covered arena before going at each other again. 

As the fight went on, her attacks had begun to wane in both strength and speed, while Kratos’ endurance continued to maintain. Noticing how she was starting to lose steam, Rhea's frustration only grew as Kratos took advantage of every opening. Finally, with a powerful shield bash, he sent her stumbling backward, and her frustration boiled over.  With a fierce cry, she launched herself at the Spartan, who met her charge, and their swords clashing once more. With a final powerful strike, Kratos deflected and sent the Archbishop’s sword flying across the arena and held his own to her throat.

Panting heavily, Rhea fell to one knee while using her shield to support herself. Beads of sweat covered her face, her chest heaving as she looked up at Kratos, and the calm in his eyes contrasted sharply with her own frustration and exhaustion.

“It may seem that,” Rhea panted, gazing back down at the ground. “You are far stronger that I’d originally imagined.”

Upon seeing that his foe has conceded the fight, Kratos lowered his weapon and retracted his guardian shield before holding out his hand to her. “You have fought well.”

Hearing this caused the Archbishop to let out an involuntary chuckle. “Did I, now?” Eventually, she looked up to see the hand offered to her, and took it. Once she was back on her feet, she said, “Thank you, Sir Kratos. You have done me a great service with this duel of ours.”

The Ghost of Sparta cocked his head. “In what way?” He inquired.

Before answering, Rhea turned to where her sword had been flung, and slowly walked over to pick it back up. Upon doing so, she calmly wiped the blade of any sediments off with her sleeve and returned it to her scabbard. 

“I will not lie to you, Master Kratos.” She said, her back facing him once again. “I have been consulting with some of my best mages, and unfortunately, I have been told that there is currently no way of sending you to whence you came.” She turns around, her expression somber. “For now, you are bound to this world.”

Kratos narrowed his eyes, his jaw tightening. “And how long have you known this?”

"Only a week," Rhea admitted. "I wanted to be certain before I told you. But believe me when I tell you this, Sir Kratos, there is no other place I'd rather you be than not here.” Her eyes shot daggers at the brigand. “Words cannot describe how much trouble you and Mimir’s presence has caused. I knew that from the very beginning, I would not be able to control or deceive you to do my bidding without proper incentive to do so. But now it has become clear that there is nothing left I have to offer you, and…” She swallowed hard before continuing, “After today, I had to be certain that there was no other way.”

“No other way before what ?” Kratos asked guardedly, his grip tightening on the sword.

The Archbishop closed her eyes and sighed heavily. “Before I told you the truth and voided our agreement.”

"Void it?" The Spartan found himself saying without thinking.

Rhea nodded. “I never wished to make you our enemy, Sir Kratos.” She scowled deeply at him. “But make no mistake, there is too much at stake for me right now to simply throw away due to your interference. And all that I ever asked is that you stay out of my way and keep your meddling to a minimum, because you do not have even the slightest idea about the kinds of evils that I hold at bay every waking day.”

Kratos thought for a moment. “Does it involve the children?”

The Archbishop was taken aback slightly by the question. “What about the children?”

“You said that there was too much at stake.” Kratos elaborated. “Do any of those ambitions happen to involve the students?”

Rhea was stunned. “...So, you do care for these mortals.”

“Do not change the subject,” Kratos told her. “We had agreed that I would look after your students so long as they are placed in my care, and nothing more. And I intend to honor that agreement.”  He gives her a cold stare. “Is that not what you wanted? Because if, however, whatever you are planning puts them directly in mortal peril for the sake of gaining what you seek, then I will do everything within my power to stop you.”

Her expression remained unchanged due to the latter words Kratos had told her, but eventually it did soften as she contemplated everything else he’d said. After a long and tense moment, Rhea nodded reluctantly. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I do want this. And also…” She looks at him with a deep sense of reverence. “I swear upon my mother’s name that the students have absolutely nothing to do with my goals and ambitions. I will do all that I can to make sure they are safe here at the Monastery.”

Kratos studied her for a moment, then gave a curt nod. “It is settled then. See to it that you do.” He turned to leave, but was stopped as the Archbishop called out to him.

“Oh, and Lord Kratos?” From the steps leading up to the Cathedral, he looked back as the green-haired woman folded her hands in front of her and offered the Spartan a warm smile. “If it is of no inconvenience, perhaps we could find the time to spar against each other more regularly?”

Kratos considered her request briefly before responding, “Very well. I will make time.” Without another word, he turned and began ascending the stone steps.

Chapter Text

The dining hall was bustling with activity as both students and faculty crowded the long tables for dinner. At the end of one of these tables, Kratos had already taken his seat with Mimir’s head resting on the corner, accompanied by their students. To Kratos’ right, Dimitri sat closest to him, followed by Dedue, Mercedes, and Annette. On his left were Ashe, Ingrid, Sylvain, and Felix, with the remaining chair beside Felix kept unoccupied at Mercedes’ request. 

After having returned from his secret sparring match with the Archbishop, the Ghost of Sparta had enlisted the help of Mercedes, Dedue, and Ashe early on to prepare the feast that now lay before them. A vast assortment of freshly picked and cooked foods littered the table, catering to everyone's specific tastes. The Blue Lions excitedly began to load their plates, giving Kratos a series of “thank yous” before they started to dig in. 

“Are you sure she’s coming, Mercedes?” Annette asked her best friend next to her as she reached and grabbed a pheasant leg.

“Of course, I see no reason why she wouldn’t.” Mercedes responded confidently, taking a plentiful amount of vegetables. “This is a class celebration, after all.”

“True, it’s just that I don’t see any reason why she wouldn’t want to eat with her old classmates.”

“She’ll be here.” The older woman affirmed.

“Maybe she’s just shy about all the attention,” Sylvain chimed in, smirking as he grabbed a piece of bread. “You know how Marianne is.”

“Or maybe she’s tired of listening to your endless flirting, Sylvain,” Ingrid retorted, rolling her eyes. “That would drive anyone to avoid dinner with.”

The redhead feigned a hurt expression, placing a hand over his heart. “I’m deeply wounded by your words, Ingrid, truly.”

“I think it’s nice that she’s coming out of her shell more,” Ashe said, his tone sincere. “It hasn’t been easy for her, but I’ve seen that she’s making an effort.”

Felix scoffed lightly, though still nodded with approval. “As long as she’s ready for the next training session, it’s fine by me.”

“Always the charmer, Felix,” Sylvain teased, giving him a friendly elbow to the rib. However, this was enough to cause the blue haired swordsman’s face to contort slightly. 

“ Don’t do that again.” He warned him.

Sylvain raised an eyebrow. “The heck is the matter with you? Trained a little too hard today?”

“You could say that.” Ingrid spoke up before Felix could get a reply in. “He’s been going at it with Jeritza for almost the whole morning. He was hoping to at least get a hit on the instructor, and the only thing he got out of it were a few nasty bruises.”

Felix opened his mouth to finally get a word in, but was cut off when a familiar feminine voice spoke up behind him. “Hello, everyone. I hope you will forgive me for my tardiness.” Everyone looked up to see Marianne taking her seat tentatively in the empty chair. However, most of them were caught slightly off guard by her difference in appearance, as the hair that hung over her brows had been cut short, and the loose bangs that drooped over her ears had been fully tied back with the rest of hair bun. 

“Oh, Marianne!” Mercedes smiled brilliantly at the girl. “I am happy you were able to make it.”

“O-of course, Mercedes,” She smiles back shyly, though whether it was over her hair and the looks she was receiving, nobody could tell. “It- it makes me happy that you invited me.”

“Aye, and you arrived just in time, lass.” Mimir told her from the end of the table. “But either way, showing up late is better than not at all.”

Before any of them could dig into their plates, Kratos raised a hand for silence and garnered his student’s attention. Slowly, he pushed his chair back and rose to his feet, his battle-hardened face now soft with both reverence and a hint of pride.

“Before we go any further,” the man said as he eyed each of his students individually. “There is… something I would like to say to you all.” Kratos took a moment to pause as silence fell across the table before he continued. “Over these past months, I have seen each of you face challenges that have tested your strength, your resolve, and your character. Despite the seemingly overwhelming odds, you have managed to push through them. You have faced setbacks and hardships, but what matters most is that you did not quit when confronted with the kind of adversity that would break a normal man.”

Kratos reached down and picked up his wooden mug from the table and held it out as if to offer a toast. “Remember this strength. Hold onto it, and continue to support each other as you have done. For together, you are stronger than any challenge you will face." Dimitri was the first to pick up his own mug, and the rest of the students including Marianne held theirs up as the Spartan concluded, “To the Blue Lions.”

“To the Blue Lions!” said everyone in unison. Felix, though reluctant and still sulking in his bruised state, raised his mug for the toast before quickly lowering it again.

As everyone became engrossed in their food, Dimitri, after taking a long sip from his mug, cleared his throat and asked, “Pardon me, Marianne, I couldn’t help but notice you’ve changed your hair.”

Marianne blushed slightly and touched her hair self-consciously. “Oh, yes. I… I guess I decided it was time for a change.”

“I like the new look,” Ashe chimed in with a warm smile. “It really suits you.”

Mercedes nodded in agreement. “It really does, Marie. I think it looks lovely.”

Dimitri smiled, looking directly at Marianne. “As do I. Because personally, I prefer how I am able to see your eyes more clearly.” The table went silent for a moment, everyone pausing mid-bite to exchange glances. Marianne's blush deepened, and she looked down at her plate, feeling both flustered and pleased by Dimitri's unintended compliment, who looked around confusedly. “What?” 

Across from him, Ingrid couldn’t help scoff in disbelief before picking back at her food. “Really smooth, Your Highness.”

Sylvain propped his elbow on the table and covered his mouth to hide his maddening grin. “At least it wasn’t a knife this time.” He muttered out loud.

“A knife?” Dedue asked questionably, turning to Dimitri. “You were attacked, Your Highness? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What- no! Dedue, I wasn’t attacked. Sylvain is just talking nonsense, as usual,” Dimitri explained hastily, his face turning slightly red while glaring at his redheaded companion.

There was a forced “ahem” that came from Mimir’s head, who noticed that the prince was starting to slowly be boxed in by the conversation. “Alright, everyone, let’s eat while the food’s still hot, aye?”

The students heeded the advice, and the focus returned to their plates. As they began to finish their meals, Annette looked over at Mimir and asked curiously, “Professor, neither of you are actually from around here, correct?”

“Aye, what of it, lass?”

“Well, I’ve always been curious about the kind of world and culture you come from, and so, I was wondering if perhaps you know any songs that we might like?”

Mimir chuckled warmly. “Aye, lass, I do know a few. Though not originally from my own realm, there is one that I’ve always been particularly fond of. Although, I am not sure if serenading is even allowed here in the dining hall.”

From next to him, Kratos replied almost immediately, “I will allow it.”

Everyone, including Mimir, looked genuinely at this assertion. 

Annette's eyes lit up with excitement as she clapped her hands together.. “Really? Oh, please do, Professor!”

“Ah-er,” Mimir’s tongue twisted as he tried to reconcile what the Spartan had just told them. “Sure! Of course! Let me- erm, let me just warm myself up a bit here. It’s… actually been a while since I’d done this.” He began to start with a series of mi mi mi’s in various pitches, and once he felt confident in his voice, the smartest man alive began to sing as everyone including Felix listened with great interest.

“Upon the hearth the fire is red,

Beneath the roof there is a bed;

But not yet weary are our feet,

Still round the corner we may meet

A sudden tree or standing stone

That none have seen but we alone.

Tree and flower and leaf and grass,

Let them pass! Let them pass!

Hill and water under sky,

Pass them by! Pass them by!”

As the song continued, Annette began to sway side to side, clapping along with the beat of the song. The rest of the Blue Lions quickly followed suit, creating a rhythmic accompaniment to Mimir’s melody. Eventually, the serenade could be heard throughout the dining hall, causing everyone to pause and listen to the enchanting tune. Noticing the growing attention, Mimir's voice grew louder, more confident, as he sang for everyone to hear.

“Still round the corner there may wait

A new road or a secret gate,

And though we pass them by today,

Tomorrow we may come this way

And take the hidden paths that run

Towards the Moon or to the Sun.

Apple, thorn, and nut and sloe,

Let them go! Let them go!

Sand and stone and pool and dell,

Fare you well! Fare you well!

Home is behind, the world ahead,

And there are many paths to tread

Through shadows to the edge of night,

Until the stars are all alight.

The world behind and home ahead,

We'll wander back to home and bed.

Mist and twilight, cloud and shade,

Away shall fade! Away shall fade!

Fire and lamp, and meat and bread,

And then to bed! And then to bed!”

By the song’s end, everybody else, including students from the other houses, had been clapping along to Mimir’s song. A series of applause rang out, even from the staff who had stopped to listen from within the kitchen.

“That was amazing, Professor!” Annette told him elatedly.

“Ah, well,” Mimir said, somewhat abashed by the praise. “Thank you very much, lass. I’m glad you all enjoyed it.”

“You said earlier that the song wasn’t actually from your homeland, right?” Ingrid asked him.

“Aye, it was sung to me by a very old traveler who’d wandered into our domain, asking us if we had any mountains nearby. Quite the odd fellow, that one.”

“What was he like?” Ashe inquired, leaning forward with interest.

“He was an eccentric sort, to say the least. Always talking about the beauty of nature and the joy of unexpected journeys. Plus, he had a knack for storytelling that very few could rival.”

Dimitri smiled. “It sounds like he left quite an impression on you.”

“Indeed he did,” Mimir agreed. “Because sometimes, it’s the unexpected encounters that can leave the most lasting memories.”

“And… is there any chance we could hear more of those songs and stories in the future, Professor?” asked Ashe.

A brief look was shared between Mimir and Kratos, the latter of whom nodded his head with the smallest of smiles that only the Blue Lions could see. “Of course, lad. There is nothing else I would like more than that.”

Chapter Text

It was early afternoon when Shamir pulled up to the tavern located a bit down the road from the Monastery. Though her face showed little sign of urgency, the way she'd pushed her horse to make haste made it clear that she was in a hurry to get somewhere—or to someone—as soon as possible. After nearly running over an aloof couple, Shamir didn't even acknowledge them as she dismounted and hitched her horse, ignoring their curses to watch where she was going.

Opening the door to the tavern, her violet eyes swept over the almost empty bar before catching a glimpse of familiar blonde hair in the far corner of the room. Upon locating her target, Shamir quickly strode over to the sleeping knight, whose hand still gripped an empty bottle of ale.

"Wake up," the ex-mercenary said simply as she crossed her arms, but Catherine made no indication of having heard the order. Instead, a loud snore could be heard from the captain as she lay peacefully over the wooden table. However, that peacefulness was soon rudely interrupted as Shamir looked over at a pale of water from a nearby table, grabbed it, and dumped all of its contents onto the unsuspecting knight's head.

Catherine sputtered and jolted awake as the cold liquid roused her from her slumber. She blinked rapidly, wiping her face with a hand, and glared up at Shamir with bleary eyes.

"What in the- Shamir?" She growled, her voice heavy with sleep and irritation. "What was that for?"

Shamir calmly set the empty jar back on the table before answering, "Because it was the only way to make sure you're up- and that I have your undivided attention."

Catherine cringed before letting out a groan and buried her face in one hand. "Yeah, well, it worked. What do you want?"

"You're needed back at the monastery." Shamir told her companion, unfazed by the hangover plaguing her companion.

The captain of the Knights shook her head miserably. "I'm off duty, Shamir, unless you've got a direct order from Lady Rhea, then I couldn't less of a-"

"As a matter of fact," The younger woman interrupted as she pulled a sealed order from her pocket. "I do."

Catherine suddenly raised her head and stared at the document for a short moment before reaching out and snatching it. "What is this about?"

"Read for yourself."

Catherine broke the seal and unfolded the document, her eyes scanning the contents quickly. As she read, her expression shifted from confusion to urgency. "Damn it," she muttered under her breath, attempting to jump hurriedly to her feet. However, she quickly lost her footing and she nearly fell flat on her face before grabbing the table for support, causing the empty bottle of ale to fall to the floor and shattered.

Shamir moved in quickly, wrapping an arm under Catherine's shoulders to steady her. "Easy there," she said, her voice firm but gentle. "You're still not fully steady. Take a moment."

Catherine clenched her jaw in frustration, leaning heavily on Shamir for support. "I'm fine," she insisted, though her wobbling legs told a different story. "We need to hurry back."

"Not like this, you're not. You won't be of any use if you can't even stand. Let's get you some water first."

"Why, so you can waterboard me again?"

"Tempting, but no. Here," Shamir grabs another pale of water for her. "Drink this."

"Fine," she grumbled as she was guided back onto the chair. After being handed the water, Catering threw her head back and began to gulp down. After finishing the drink, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked at Shamir. "How did you know I was here, anyway?"

"Well," Shamir began. "At first, you stopped coming to the pub with the rest of the garrison back at the monastery. The second was simply asking the gatekeeper which way he saw you go during the day when you're off duty."

Catherine gazed up at her partner. "You've been keeping tabs on me?"

Shamir shrugged. "Only when you started acting out of character. You've seemed to be in a bad mood these last three weeks, and from what I know about you, when you're in a bad mood, you tend to drink alone. So it only made sense that I'd find you here."

Catherine sighed, and pursed her lips, shaking her head once more. "I suppose you're right. It really has been a rough few weeks."

There was a pregnant pause before Shamir asked, "You want to talk about?"

The blonde huffed, seemingly surprised by the question. "Since when did counseling become an interest to you? I thought you never liked to get involved in someone's personal problems."

"I'm not as cold and heartless as I make myself out to be." The comet-haired woman sat across from her. "Also, I get that the sword was important to you, but I thought you of all people understood that a relic isn't what makes a good soldier."

"It was never about losing Thunderbrand." Catherine snapped, before lowering her voice again. "...Actually, just forget it."

Unfortunately for her, Shamir had no intention of doing so. "Is this about that boy?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do." Shamir said patiently. "That same kid who'd challenged you to execute him alongside Lonato? Is he not the reason you are now wallowing in your self-pity?"

Catherine was silent for a long moment as she swished around what water was left in the pale. "Sort of. At first, I was content with burying an old wound by putting an old dog out of its misery so that I may finally move on from those deeds." She placed the pale back down. " But when I looked into Ashe's eyes, I realized that it was impossible for me to do so. Lonato had every right to hold me accountable, given that the truth was hidden from him. But Ashe didn't have the slightest idea of the quarrels that had plagued both of us for so long… I couldn't bear to make the same mistake again."

"You chose to spare Lonato's life against Rhea's orders," Shamir reminded her. "Are you saying that was because of Ashe?"

Catherine nodded slowly. "Yes. He was innocent in all of this, even when he defended a man who'd been condemned to death."

"So why do you then spend your time living as though your own life has hit a dead end?" The archer pressed. "You were given the chance to make things right, but you act like you're the one who's been sentenced."

Catherine looked down, her fingers tracing the edge of the table. "It's hard to shake the feeling that I failed. I failed Christophe, I failed Rhea's orders, and above all else, I failed my duty." She raised her gaze to meet Shamir's. "You have to understand, Shamir. I gave up everything in service to Lady Rhea. Once you've committed your entire existence to someone who has given you a purpose to live, going against their wishes is, to me, akin to biting the hand that feeds you. That is precisely what I did. And if I no longer hold Lady Rhea's approval, then…" Catherine's voice trailed off, unable to finish her sentence.

Shamir, ever pragmatic, leaned forward and gestured to the document she'd given Catherine. "And yet, here you are, still serving the Archbishop. That piece of paper proves that Rhea hasn't cast you aside. You're still needed."

The swordswoman peered at the parchment in her hand again before letting out a flippant scoff. "Hmph. I guess it does, doesn't it?"

Shamir continued, "Also, Catherine, let me give you some bit of advice: if having a purpose really means that much to you, then I would strongly suggest that you go and find one on your own terms, instead of waiting for someone to fill that gap for you. But if serving the Archbishop does in fact happen to be what it is that you seek, then don't sit around and wait for me to go out of my way to be the middleman between you and Rhea."

To this, Catherine couldn't help but laugh. "Is that your polite way of asking me to stop sitting on my ass and indulging in my self-destructive tendencies for your own convenience?"

The archer smirked. "Something like that. Besides, I've got better things to do than babysit a drunken knight." She stood up and held out a hand. "In any case, we should be heading back. The situation at the monastery has become quite dire, as you've just found out. But I'd prefer to do so with my partner having her head back on her shoulders. Can I count on you to do that?"

Catherine looked up at Shamir, her expression a mix of gratitude and reverence. She took Shamir's hand and steadily stood herself up. "Yeah, you can count on me. Now let's go."

x-x-x

Back at Garreg Mach, there was indeed quite the commotion within the monastery as the Archbishop had sent for all professors of their respective classes, including their house leaders, who now stood before Rhea within the advisory room, her expressions deathly serious. She sat behind her desk with Seteth standing close by, who also gave a look of foreboding as he held a piece of paper in his hand as though the parchment itself was a cursed relic.

"Thank you all for coming at such short notice." Rhea's right hand man spoke rigidly. "We have summoned you all here because there is a sudden pressing matter that you must all become aware of." He then took the piece of paper and laid it out flat on the desk for everyone to see, and Kratos lifted Mimir from his side so that the head could get a clear view of what was written.

"Is this… an open threat against the Archbishop?" Dimitri asked after he finished reading.

Seteth nodded. "Indeed. It was nailed to the main doors leading directly into the monastery. We've questioned the gatekeeper as to how whoever wrote this managed to do so without being noticed, but alas, it seems they used the cover of night, as it was discovered at first light this morning."

"Interesting." Said Claude, pinching his chin. "So they intend to take action against her during the Rite of Rebirth?"

"That is what the letter says, but we have no reason to believe that whoever sent this will not try something sooner."

"Aye," Mimir spoke up, "And do we have any idea if this is related to the incident with the Western Church?"

"It is a possibility," said Seteth gravely, "But the Church of Seiros does have its fair share of enemies. The threat itself seems unrealistic at best… But a threat is a threat."

"What do you want us to do?" Kratos asked, cutting to the chase.

"Your mission remains the same as it has been given. However, since Lady Rhea and I will be confined to the Goddess Tower once the ritual begins, that is where most of the knights will be focused. We do not have enough of them to keep watch on every corner of the monastery. Therefore, it will be up to all of you to maintain security where it is most vulnerable."

"While there is no need to fear for my safety," Rhea added, "We cannot turn a blind eye to those who would blasphemy so heinously." She then spoke to the three individual students. "If you are to engage with an enemy whom you cannot best, you should be fine so long as you have your professors by your side."

Manuela let out a precarious, yet dramatic sigh. "Well, I was hoping for a relaxing mission this time around, but it seems that isn't a possibility anymore."

"It would seem so," Edelgard told her professor, "But I'm confident that we will be able to handle whatever happens come the Rite of Rebirth."

"Well said," Claude stretched out his arms before lacing his fingers behind his head. "But still, there's something about this that feels very off for some reason…"

Seteth cleared his throat, drawing their attention back to him. "Remember, your primary responsibility is to maintain the security of the monastery. Stay vigilant at all times and report any suspicious activity immediately. We cannot afford to take any chances." He then finishes, "With all of that said, you are all dismissed. Good luck to you all."

Chapter Text

Two days had gone by, and the training area was now packed with both students and instructors alike as they prepared for the coming mission. Ever since the news broke that there would be an attempt on the Archbishop’s life at the Rite of Rebirth, everyone had begun to train even harder than usual in anticipation of the coming event.

Among those who’d been training were the Blue Lions, along with most of the other students from the Golden Deer and Black Eagles. From there, everyone split off into pairs and engaged in individual sparring matches for a little while before moving on to find someone to train with in order to test themselves against other weapons and opponents. 

As the session went on, Felix could be seen having a particularly hard time against his new sparring partner, Petra, who came at him fast and from all different directions. Though it was already well within his skill level to block, dodge and parry everything the young foreign girl threw at him, the injuries from his fights with Jeritza had taken a toll on his stamina and reflexes.

Petra notices this and pressed her advantage. “You are slowing down, Felix. Are you being tired?”

Felix gritted his teeth, refusing to show weakness. “I’m fine,” he spat, but his body betrayed him as he missed a block and Petra’s wooden sword struck his shoulder, causing him to stumble back and wince as his own training sword clattered to the ground.

“Clearly that is not being the case.” She commented upon witnessing this. “You are usually much more strong and agile when we train.”

“It’ll pass.”

“Then why are you struggling to hold your sword?”

“Just give me a minute.”

Petra frowned. “I have already been waiting. Many times, I think. Maybe you should be sparring with Ignatz instead?”

“Huh?”

From nearby, Ignatz, upon hearing his name, couldn’t help but stop midway through his swing to look over at the two before his opponent Caspar came barrelling into him. Once the hotheaded noble had the timid student pinned to the ground, he hollered in triumph. “Woooo! Whatcha looking at, Ignatz? Don’t be taking your eyes off me while we’re taking shots!” Caspar grinned down at Ignatz. “Maybe you should leave the staring to your paintings and focus on the fight!”

Heads turned at the commotion, including Petra’s, who scowled before glancing over at Felix one last time. “Please be excusing me, Felix.” She said before bowing respectfully and began to march right over to Caspar who still had the poor student pinned to the stone floor. “Caspar! Release Ignzatz right this instant.”

Caspar looked up at his fellow Black Eagle. “Oh, come on, Petra! We were only sparring, that’s all.”

“And the sparring is over.” The princess from Brigid scolded him. “You have already been winning.”

“Fine, fine.” The noble shrugged before lifting himself off Ignatz and said, “Just don’t take your eyes off of your opponent next time.”

Once he was off, Ignatz quickly scrambled to his feet, but not before realizing he’d lost his glasses after being tackled. “Oh! My glasses! Has anyone seen-”

“I have them, Ignatz.” Petra told him reassuringly as she leaned down and picked them up. “Here,” She gently placed the glasses back on his face, adjusting them so they sat properly.

“Are you being alright?” she asked, her voice filled with concern.

Ignatz adjusted his glasses and nodded. “Yes, thank you, Petra. I’m alright.”

“Good,” She replied, giving him a small smile. “You will be sparring with me from now on. There are a few techniques that we think will be helping you with aggressive opponents. Now, follow me.”

Petra took his hand and led him away to another spot in the training ground, leaving Caspar alone as he raised his arms as if to say, “Seriously?” The young woman paid him no attention, and eventually he let out an aggravated sigh and turned towards Felix. But before the second son of Bergliez could get the chance to walk up and challenge him to a duel, Kratos appeared from behind Felix and grabbed his attention.

“You are not performing adequately.” His professor informed him.

Felix scowled at Kratos as he approached. “I’m still recovering, cut me some slack.”

“From what, exactly?” Kratos frowned. “A duel you did not need to participate in?”

“It was training! Is this not what you’ve been doing to us?”

Kratos let out a patient, yet irritated grunt. “I have taught you to be strong, despite the pain. However, pain that hampers your ability to grow stronger is useless pain. The training you have engaged in was both self-serving and counterproductive.”

“Oh, and so pushing me until I lose feeling in my hands is supposed to make me feel better?”

By that point, others were starting to take notice of the interaction, and Kratos could see some of the students staring at them. This in turn prompted the God of War to take a step toward Felix so that he was standing directly over him. With a disapproving glare, he looked down at the young Lion and spoke in a low voice.

“It is not my fault that you are in this position,” Kratos said, his voice calm but stern. “You put yourself here by engaging in reckless trifles. If you are unable to keep up with your training, all you have to do is say so.” Kratos continued, his tone growing even more intense. “However, if you ever disrespect me openly in front of the other students again, I will see to it that you never have the opportunity to do so again. Am I clear?”

Despite the intensity that radiated from the tall white brigand that everyone in their immediate vicinity could feel, Felix continued to return his professor’s glare with a hard look, yet he nodded regardless. Satisfied, Kratos grunted approvingly before picking up the sword Felix had dropped earlier.

“Here,” The God of War said as he handed it back to him. “I shall assist you until you are fully recovered. Now is ill time to lose focus, but we need to ensure you are training effectively.”

Caspar watched as Felix reluctantly took the sword that was offered to him by the brigand, and the young man let out an audible "Tch" before shaking his head and stomped his way toward the main group where the rest of the students from all three houses had gathered.

“Man, this is so unfair!” Bergliez complained as he stopped next to Sylvain who was in the middle of his own lancing duel with Leonie. “How is it that you guys literally have the three best professors in the entire monastery, while we get stuck with someone like Manuela?”

“Mind your tongue, Caspar.” Edelgard warned him as she fenced with Ferdinand. “While I understand your frustration, I will not tolerate you disrespecting our own professor so overtly.”

Caspar threw his hands up in exasperation. “But it’s true! The Golden Deer has the kid of a legendary mercenary as their teacher, and the Blue Lions not only have one, but two professors who are way overqualified. How is that fair?”

Hilda chimed in, smirking. “Oh, cheer up, Caspar. Aren’t the seminars with Kratos enough for you?”

Caspar crossed his arms and shook his head. “The Blue Lions get way more time to train with him than everybody else. If I was allowed to transfer over to their class, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

Sylvain, taking a brief pause in his duel with Leonie, glanced over at Caspar. “You think it’s that easy? Training with Kratos isn’t exactly a walk in the park. The man’s relentless.”

“That’s exactly what I want!” Caspar retorted. “I want to be pushed to my limits, to get stronger. I’m tired of feeling like I’m falling behind. And don’t get me started on how Felix gets one-on-one training with him.”

Leonie, panting slightly from her duel, added, “So then, why not ask for a transfer?”

“I already did!”

“And what did they say?”

Caspar let out a frustrated sigh. “Seteth told me that transferring isn’t something that can be done on a whim. He said it’s customary for students to remain in the house of their represented nation, and that I didn't have any justifiable reason to do so.”

“And I believe that he is correct.” Edelgard told him. “As it stands, you are getting along just fine without him.”

Out of the corner of his eye, the blue-haired brawler spotted both Marianne and Dimitri in the far corner of the training ground, where Dimitri was showing the girl proper techniques in thrusting and parrying with the lance. “But what about her? How come Marianne gets to transfer but not me?”

“Marianne’s case was an exception. Her transfer was approved due to specific personal circumstances and the belief that it would benefit her growth more significantly. It’s not something that happens regularly, as Seteth had already explained to you.”

He frowned, clearly unsatisfied with the explanation. “So what, I just have to stick it out and hope for the best?”

Edelgard nodded. “Yes, Caspar. Focus on making the most of the training you do have. Each professor has something valuable to offer. Manuela might not be Kratos, but she’s still an experienced instructor.”

“Very well said,” Her opponent announced approvingly. “Just the response I’d expect from my rival.”

“Oh, be silent, Ferdinand, and focus on trying to hit me.”

Ferdinand smirked at her. “Your wish is my command.”

Meanwhile, in the secluded corner of the training guard, Dimitri patiently gave Marianne the same instructions that Kratos had so diligently taught him in improving his fundamentals of wielding a spear. 

“Remember, Marianne. You need to think of your weapon as an extension of yourself. The lance is one of the best spacing tools against your enemy in close combat, but should you ever find yourself up against the sharp side of one, you need to be able to anticipate their movements and counter effectively.”

“A-are you sure that this is the best weapon of choice for me?” The priestess asked as she awkwardly held the wooden spear in her hands the way she’d been shown.

“Of course. If Professor Mimir believes it’s worth learning for you, then I trust his judgment completely." He then stood opposite of her and got into a ready stance with his own lance. “Now, the first thing we need to do is work on your defense. It’s a very simple trick, but it’s quite effective. I’ll act as the aggressor, and I want you to focus on deflecting my attacks, and then going in for the counter thrust. We’ll start off slow, then slowly speed up at your own pace as we build up your confidence in your technique. Are you ready?”

From nearby, Marianne was aware of the flash of pink hair entering her peripheral vision, and she turned her attention away from Dimitri to see Hilda smiling brilliantly as she gave her friend a small wave and then two thumbs up. Seeing this caused the priestess to almost let out a smile of her own, but it ended up giving her the confidence she needed to hold the lance more firmly and confidently as she readied herself to match the same stance that the prince took in front of her.

“Yes. I am ready.”

x-x-x

“Thanks again for allowing me to carry you around, Professor.” Claude said as he carried Mimir's head by the string up the stairs towards the staff lounge.

“Aye, lad.” Mimir told the Golden Deer’s house leader with equal appreciation. “And thank you for giving me the opportunity to take a break from the school’s library. Very few of the staff and much less any of the students had ever offered to take me around places besides me brother Kratos.”

The young man looked down at the head in his right hand. “Well, I’m glad I can be of service. But I’ve always been curious, Mimir- what’s it like, being an undead severed head?”

Mimir let out an amused chuckle. “Ah, it’s a mixed bag, to be sure. On one hand, I miss the days when I had a body and could run around freely. There’s something quite disheartening about losing the ability to stretch your legs or grasp something with your own hands. On the other hand, or rather the lack thereof, I’ve gained a new perspective. Immortality of sorts, and the ability to impart knowledge without the distractions of bodily needs or wondering when the next cough will be me last.”

Claude nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a fair point. But don’t you ever get tired of it?”

Mimir sighed. “Aye, at times. But I’ve had time to come to terms with my situation. Though, truth be told, I’ve had my share of adventures, even in this form. But to say I don’t miss me ol’ goat legs would be entirely dishonest. And speaking of running around, where exactly are we headed, lad?”

“There’s a few people around the monastery I’d like to speak to.” Claude told him. “You realized it too, didn’t you? About the real purpose behind that threat letter?”

“Aye, and it seems to me that everyone else working here in the monastery is aware of it as well. I see no reason to send out a calling card of sorts if the plan was to actually assassinate the Archbishop. Therefore, it must mean that the perpetrators are after something else instead; and the question is, what exactly.”

“Bingo,” The archer winked. “Teach and I had already decided to split up and figure out what kind of valuables Garreg Mach had lying around, and that was when I decided to swing by and enlist your help.”

The Norse god hummed. “Well, you certainly came to the right head for that. Garreg Mach has a history steeped in relics and artifacts. If someone’s planning a distraction with a threat to the Archbishop, then it’s likely they’re after something of great value.”

“My thoughts exactly. But before we go any further…” Claude stopped midway down the hall before slipping in through the door leading to the infirmary and closed it behind him. Nobody was there, just as Claude had expected, and he raised Mimir’s head so that he was now at eye-level with him. “My apologies, Professor, but there was something I was hoping to ask you in private.”

Mimir, however, didn’t look the slightest surprised by the house leader’s actions as he said, “Ah, did you now?”

Claude nodded, looking somewhat regrettable about what he’d done. “I do. I apologize for having somewhat deceived you, but this was the only chance that I could get a one-on-one conversation with you.”

“Lad,” The head began, as though he were getting himself ready for another one of his lectures, “If I’d known that you were up to something nefarious, which I do know that you don’t, I would never have agreed to be carried around with you in the first place.” He then cleared his throat, or at least made a noise as if to do so despite not having one. “In the meantime, I’d first like to know what this is all about.”

The young man couldn’t help but laugh at the conclusion Mimir had made. “You catch on pretty quick, don’t you?”

“Aye, there is a reason why they call me the smartest man alive.”

Claude’s smile widened, but his eyes turned serious. “Alright then, no point in hiding it now. There’s just something I’ve been wanting to ask regarding you and Sir Kratos. I think it’s obvious beyond any reasonable doubt that neither of you are from around here; or even from this world as a matter of fact. But the reason I bring this up is that I was hoping I could ask you to shed a bit of light on where exactly you guys came from.”

“Well,” The Norse god said after a moment’s pause. “For me to answer that, it would depend on personal the questions are and what exactly you intend to do with that information.”

“Nothing too personal, I promise. Or at least, I would hope they are not. Because just by looking at Sir Kratos, it’s quite apparent that he’s… well, he's seen a lot of things, you know what I mean? So my question is, what kind of world did you and him come from, and how did you manage to get through all of it the way that you did?”

Mimir contemplated Claude’s question for a good long while, a small frown forming on his lips. “Laddy, I think that’s about as personal as it’s going to get as far as questions go, but as I said before, because I already know the type of person you are, I will at least humor you just a little bit.

“Things were not exactly sunshine and rainbows as far prosperity was concerned in the realms we once inhabited. The lands were harsh and unforgiving, ruled by those whose callousness and cruelty knew no bounds. Survival often meant facing trials that tested the very limits of one’s strength and will. Kratos’ upbringing in particular was one of constant battle and hardship. He was born into war, molded by it, and forced to endure trials that would break most men. Those he was forced to obey were as ruthless as they come.”

Mimir’s expression grew somber. “As for me, my choices led me down a path that ultimately cost me my body and my freedom. I sought to sit beside kings, sometimes sacrificing my own sense of morality to do so. But… It was Kratos who eventually came around and turned me into the man I am now.”

Claude initially listened with great interest before doing so out of respect as the story went on. “And what about everyone else? Were they treated with the same injustice that both you and Sir Kratos had faced?”

“‘Injustice?’” Mimir repeated, flabbergasted by the question. “Nay, lad. That is not the word I’d use to describe that kind of peril. While I won’t go into any further detail, what I can say is that… things did not particularly end well in the land Kratos once hailed from. And truth be told, the same would have happened in me own realm, had he not shown up.” His eyes had drifted off as he spoke, but then his eyes lit up upon remembering who exactly he was speaking to, and met Claude’s gaze. “But the point is, lad, no matter how bad things may seem at the moment, or how bad they may get, always remember that there is always a path for a brighter future. I can see it in you that you wish to make the world a better place. Every choice, every action, and every word spoken is an opportunity to shape that future. It's up to you to seize those opportunities and help guide the world towards a better tomorrow.”

Upon finishing his speech, an awkward silence loomed over the two until Mimir suddenly raised his voice in order to break up the tension. “Well,” He said with a rather forceful cheer. “Hopefully that has answered your question, young Riegan. In the meantime, how’s about we continue with our current mission and share more stories some other times, aye?”

This in turn prompts a chuckle out of Claude. “Aye-aye, Professor. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover, so we best get moving. But also… Thank you. For humoring me, even just for a little bit.”

“Don’t mention it, lad. Besides, just because you’re not my student, that doesn’t mean my door isn’t open to the rest of ye knuckleheads.”

Chapter Text

The day of the Rite of Rebirth was upon them, and all three houses, along with their professors, had gathered at the Cathedral to discuss the information that Byleth, Claude, and Mimir had obtained through their investigations. The students, armed and ready, lounged in the front rows of the pews as Claude reported their findings.

“Alright, thanks to the help of Teach and Professor Mimir, we were able to narrow down the places that our foe intends to strike during the Rite of Rebirth.” To help make his explanation easier, he unfolded a small map of the monastery where its public locations were shown. “Here is where we are now,” Claude said, tapping his finger on the map before sliding it to the other side, “And right here is where the entrance to the Holy Mausoleum will be.”

Dimitri gazed down to where the archer was pointing. “The Holy Mausoleum? What makes you so sure that will be their target?”

Claude looked over at Mimir in Kratos’ hand. “Professor, would you do the honors?”

The head made a noise as if to shrug. “Well, it’s quite simple, lad. Normally, the mausoleum has restricted access throughout most of the year. However, on most Church holidays, it becomes open to the public so that worshippers may come and pay their respect to Saint Seiros; whose coffin we've recently discovered is sealed with powerful magic.”

Edelgard pinched her chin thoughtfully. “That does seem like sound reasoning. But if that is indeed the case, what use could they possibly have with Seiros' remains?”

Claude shrugged. “Why else would they go through such trouble just to keep a coffin sealed?”

The eagle's house leader rolls her eyes. “Does the term ‘grave robber’ happen to ring any bells, Claude?” 

Her Professor intervenes. “On one hand,” Manuela began, “I do find it a bit strange that magic was used to seal the coffin. However, this is the grave of Saint Seiros we're talking about. Combine that with the fact that she was also likely entombed with some valuable possessions, it would be reasonable to have it sealed the way it is.”

“Exactly,” Mimir concurred, “Given the role that Seiros had played in Fodlan's history, and is still evidently revered to this day, there is no doubt in my mind that her final resting place contains something of importance that our enemy intends to steal for themselves.”

Byleth, the ever silent professor and former mercenary standing amongst the group, spoke up. “But what if it isn't the Holy Mausoleum? How can we be certain we aren’t being misled?”

“Aye, that is a fair point. While the mausoleum seems like a prime target, we cannot rule out the possibility that the culprit behind the letter may be after something else entirely. Therefore, I think it best that we don't put all our eggs in one basket.”

Kratos said, “What do you suggest we do?”

The head pondered for a moment. “I would suggest that we station one of the classes near the entrance to the mausoleum and keep an eye out, while the other two remain close by. Not too close to end up covering the same ground, but also close enough to send a runner for help should one of the groups run into trouble.”

Claude immediately raised his hand. “The Golden Deer will take the job of watching the entrance. I know of a good hiding spot where we can keep an eye on things without being seen. I also happen to know one of the church knights who usually stands guard there around this time.”

Dimitri raised an eyebrow, a hint of suspicion mixed with amusement in his voice. “And how, pray tell, do you know these things, Claude? One might think you were the one planning the heist.”

“Oh, come on, Your Highness.” The archer waved aside the remark. “I scouted out the entrance yesterday and did my due diligence. Is that really such a bad thing?”

Almost every pair of eyes in the group went to Claude's professor beside him, as though they were waiting for her to give her own opinion on the matter, but instead offered an indifferent shrug.

From nearby, a familiar called out to them. “You all seem a mite too relaxed for my liking.” Seteth said as he walked up to the group, with his sister Flayn close beside him. He crosses his arms with a look of slight disapproval. “The Goddess’ Rite of Rebirth is about to begin. While we are in the Goddess Tower, we are relying on all of you to secure any location where the defense is lacking.” 

Mimir responded with a slightly sarcastic tone, “Oh, don’t you worry, Master Seteth. We’ll be sure that no stone is left unturned, and that no shadow goes unnoticed.”

A giggle escaped Flayn's lips at the head's remark. "May I let you in on something, Professor? My brother can be a bit... callous."

"Aye," Mimir agreed under his breath. "I would never have guessed.”

She then looked up at the tall white brigand holding the head with a hint of mischief in her eye. “Also, Sir Kratos, Seteth told me that he was concerned about you.” She lets out another giggle. "So much so that he suggested you'd be better off patrolling a coffin instead!”

Though the young girl had delivered this in such a way that made it difficult to tell if she was telling the truth, a hint of stress crossed over Seteth's face as he quickly said to her. “Th-That was said in jest, Flayn.” He tries his best to remain looking composed. “And in confidence. Please just remain by my side and try not to cause any more trouble.”

Witnessing this caused a tug at the corner of Mimir's lip. Had he been able to cover his own mouth, the Norse god would’ve likely been cackling right now.

The priest then forced a cough as he returned his attention to the four adults. “Just remember that as professors, you would all do well to remember that it is your duty to guide your students down the path of righteousness. I have confidence that none of you will disappoint our expectations.”

After both siblings had left and were out of earshot, Manuela couldn't help but exhale rather forcefully. “I'm not sure what I did to get a pep talk from Seteth; he of all people should know that this isn't my first year teaching at the monastery.”

“Doh, I'm sure he wasn't directing that toward you in particular, milady.” Mimir reassured her in a rather flattering tone. “I'm sure that Master Seteth is just a bit stressed out from everything that's been happening as of late.”

“Oh, don't you worry that handsome little head of yours, Professor.” The older woman told him before offering him a smile. “I've known Seteth for- how long was it- five years? Yes, that seems about right. Besides, I wouldn't put it past him to be so overly cautious in situations like this. It’s in his nature to be thorough, even if I happen to dislike it at times.

“On the latter part, Lady Manuela, we are in agreement.”

Edelgard clears her throat to gather everyone's attention. “In any case, we should all get going. There’s much to prepare for, and we need to be in position before the Rite begins.”

“So, does this mean we're going through with Claude's plan?” Dimitri asked, and once again, everyone's eyes were on Byleth to give them the final verdict.

x-x-x

“So, Claude,” Lysithea asked her house leader as the class marched together down the dimly lit corridors of Garreg Mach, “Any particular reason you’ve been getting all cozy with the knights and the other professors recently?”

The older boy shrugged. “Do I need a reason to be friendly with everyone here at the monastery?”

Lorenz jumped in, “Actually, I must concur with Ordelia’s inquiry. Maintaining good relations with the staff of Garreg Mach is one thing, but you seem to have taken a particular interest with certain individuals.”

Claude glanced back at his classmates with a playful smile. “Well, you know me, Lorenz. I like to keep my options open and learn from everyone I can. Besides, you never know when a little extra information might come in handy.”

“I don’t recall spending an exorbitant amount of time sneaking around with Professor Mimir as a way of ‘learning from everyone you can.’” The son of Gloucester probed. “What are you two scheming?”

“Oh, relax, Lorenz.” Hilda spoke up behind him as she rested her arms lazily over the she carried across her shoulders. “It’s not like Claude is planning to take over the monastery or anything. He’s just being… well, Claude.”

Lorenz didn’t seem satisfied with this answer. “That he is, but I still think it’s prudent to understand the full extent of our house leader’s activities.”

This time, it was Leonie’s turn to throw her hat into the conversation. “Honestly, I wouldn’t be too bothered by this if not for the fact that Professor Mimir often comes across as an older version of Claude.”

The purple-haired noble snorted. “What, in that he has a penchant for rabble mischief? Or that they seem to know much more than they let on?”

“Kind of a bit of both.” The commoner shrugged. “ However, Claude hasn’t let us down yet, and as long as our own professor doesn’t lead us astray, then I’ve got nothing to complain about.”

“Yeah!” Raphael cheered from the back. “Claude always has our backs, and Professor Kratos too! I mean, have you seen him? There’s no way anything’s going to go wrong with him on our side. We’ve got nothing to worry about!” He then added thoughtfully, “Actually, now that I mention it, I keep forgetting to ask him about his training routine. In fact, I never really see him doing any kind of training outside of teaching us how to use weapons. You think he just goes into the woods and lifts a bunch of logs or boulders?”

From the front, their professor speaks up. “No more talking. We’re about to come up on the mausoleum.”

Everyone was silent as they rounded the corner leading to another long hallway. Some ways down, a soldier fully clad in church armor stood guard in front of a stone archway. Though their face was hidden beneath the helm, Byleth noticed a slight change in Claude’s expression as he subtly leaned over and whispered into his professor’s ear, “Something’s wrong- but just keep going until we’re out of sight again.” 

Byleth made no move or sound to acknowledge him and continued to march forward with the class without another word. As they began to pass by the church soldier, Claude offered him a smile and a wave before asking cheerfully, “Good morning! Wonderful time for counting clouds, isn’t it?”

The guard offered him a single nod in response, followed by a stiff, “Yup,” and the Golden Deer continued their way down the hall. Claude was the first to disappear around the corner, and as soon as he did, he quickly placed his back against the wall and motioned for everyone else to quickly follow suit.

“What the heck is going on, Claude?” Hilda asked in a hushed voice as she hurriedly joined him at his side.

The house leader gave her a rather serious look. “That isn’t the same guard that Mimir and I spoke to yesterday.”

“How do you know that for certain?” asked Lorenz.

“Because the guard from yesterday was female.”

Ignatz spoke up, “Well, maybe she just got relieved?”

Claude shook his head. “No. The way that the watch works in the Church is similar to how they operate in the Alliance military. Guards are assigned specific shifts, and they’re typically posted for several days in a row to maintain consistency. If a guard is relieved, it’s usually because they’ve completed their rotation, and a new set of guards takes over. But that transition happens in shifts, not in the middle of an assignment. Hers had only just started.

“And there’s another thing. When I asked the guard about counting clouds, it was a code phrase. The real guards use it to confirm their identity discreetly. The correct response is something like, ‘Only if they’re numbered.’ But this guy just gave me a simple ‘yup.’ That’s a red flag. Whoever that is, they’re not one of the church’s regular soldiers.”

A pregnant pause of silence filled the air as the rest of the students looked at their house leader with a mixture of confusion and disbelief.

Eventually, Lorenz broke the silence. “...And just how exactly did you manage to know the Church’s code phrase?”

“Like I said, I have a habit of being quite friendly with the right people.” Claude winked. “That, and I managed to have help from the smartest man alive.”

“OK, so then, what do we do?” said Hilda. “Should we go ahead and send someone to call for help?”

“Wait, wait, wait, hold on.” Lysithea interrupted. “Here’s the thing, Claude- you don’t have any proof that the enemy is already here. That guard could be there for all sorts of reasons.”

Claude nodded in concession to this. “I know. But all I ask is that you guys trust me on this. The enemy is in the Holy Mausoleum right now as we speak, and the more we delay, the more we’ll lose the opportunity to see who’s really behind this.” He then turned to Byleth, who’d been listening in on the conversation with her typical blank expression, looking at her in anticipation. “Teach?”

Byleth thought for a moment, her gaze shifting from Claude to the rest of the group before finally making a decision. “Leonie, go and inform the other classes that the enemy has been discovered and that we request immediate assistance.”

Leonie looked none too happy about this. “Wha- why me?!”

“Because,” Her professor said patiently. “You are our fastest runner. Time is of the essence, and we need to act quickly. The others need to know what’s happening.”

Leonie glanced at her classmates as though expecting one of them would volunteer to take her stead. Unfortunately for her, though, nobody was willing to contradict their professor's orders, and eventually the spearwoman conceded with an aggravated sigh. “Fine. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” She said before taking off with her spear in hand.

“Thank you, Teach.” The Golden Deer’s house leader told her, making sure to sound grateful for her decision.

In return, she gave him a simple nod before turning her attention to the rest of the class and drew her sword. “Everyone, get ready for a fight.”

Chapter Text

Leonie led Kratos and the Blue Lions around the corner as they hurried towards the Mausoleum. Once they rounded the bend, the scene before them came into full view. The Golden Deer and Black Eagles had already gathered near the entrance to the underground tomb, and both groups were standing over two bodies that lie on the floor. The first was the imposter guard, whose helmet was removed and blood seeped from a wound on the side of his head. The second, a woman and the real church soldier, looked deathly pale while Manuela hunched over her as she furiously worked to heal a wound in her gut.

Everyone turned to see Leonie and the rest of her company moving swiftly towards them, and the Blue Lions could see the grim expressions that most of them wore before coming to a halt. Kratos stepped up to the professor attempting to save the guard, unclipping Mimir from his hip so that the head could see what was going on.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Mimir said upon seeing the two bodies. “What happened here?”

Claude spoke up, “We caught this guy posing as one of the church’s knights.” He says, kicking the boot of the unconscious man before nodding at the woman. “After we knocked him out, we found the real guard on the stairs just past the entrance.”

Mercedes rushed over and knelt down on the side opposite from Manuela. “Is she going to be alright?”

The songstress’ eyes were narrowed with intense focus as she continued to concentrate her healing magic on the wound, and she shook her head in uncertainty. “The wound is deep, and she’s lost a lot of blood. I fear that we may have arrived too late to save her.”

“But is there a possibility that she’ll survive?” Asked Annette in an attempt to sound hopeful for the soldier’s situation.

“Maybe. But for now, she will need constant medical attention, and we can’t move her until her condition has stabilized.”

Kratos turned his attention to Byleth. “You said that you have found the enemy. Are the rest of them inside the Mausoleum?”

The younger woman nodded. “Yes. However, we’re not sure how many of them there are down there.”

Kratos considered this for a moment, then began outlining a plan. “The Black Eagles will remain here and guard the entrance. The rest of us will go in and neutralize the threat.”

Caspar immediately cried out in frustration, “What? You’re leaving us behind? We should be helping you in the fight, not just standing guard!”

The Ghost of Spartan remained firm. “We do not know if the enemy has reinforcements waiting for them elsewhere. Therefore, you will be our only defense in guarding our flank, should they come looking. And if any one of them were to sneak past us in the midst of battle, you will be the ones to ensure they do not escape.”

To his slight surprise, Edelgard was next to step forward and object to his plan. “Sir Kratos, perhaps it would be frugal if I were to at least accompany you. As Professor Byleth stated, we don’t know exactly who will be waiting for us down there, and it would be wise to have all of the manpower that you can-”

The brigand raised a hand for silence, having already made up his mind. “Your place is here with your instructor and your fellow students. If reinforcements arrive, you must help them hold the line and protect the injured. Do not underestimate the importance of this duty.” Then, to his students, “Blue Lions, fall in behind me- and be on your guard.”

The Blue Lions and Golden Deer, led by their respective professors, quickly descended the steps into the depths of the mausoleum. The heavy thud of their boots and the clattering of their armor echoed down the stone corridor until the sounds gradually faded away, leaving the Black Eagles alone at the entrance.

All was quiet in the hallway, save for the sound of Manuela's magic being put to work along with the occasional groan of the injured guard. 

Eventually, Bernadetta was the first to break that silence as she whimpered out loud, hugging her bow close to her chest. “That Professor Kratos... He gives me the absolute creeps. I mean, did you see the way he just shut down Edelgard? It’s like he doesn’t care what anyone thinks! He-he's even scarier than Hubert!”

The taller, imposing young man couldn't help but huff humorously at the girl's last remark. “Is that so? Then perhaps I'll have to try harder in the future.”

The purple-haired archer squeezed her eyes shut as her hands shot up to her head. “Oh, Bernie! Now why'd you have to go and say that?!”

Meanwhile, Linhardt, who had been leaning against the wall with his eyes while trying to avoid looking at the wounded guard, sighed. "I’d much rather be back in my room with a good book," he muttered as he stole a quick look at the bloodied scene before quickly averting his gaze. “Why did I even get out of bed today?”

Manuela, who had been tending to a wounded soldier, shot Linhardt a sharp look. “Linhardt, if you’ve got time to complain, you’ve got time to help. Get over here and assist me before we lose this one.”

With a sigh, Linhardt pushed himself off the wall and reluctantly moved to assist Manuela. “I suppose I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” He said with resignation, though he quickly got to work with his own healing magic.

Dorothea glanced toward the stairs where Kratos and the others had disappeared. “I hope they know what they’re doing down there. I was hoping that intruders would at least try to avoid causing harm to others, but…” The brunette then gestures to the two bodies laying on the floor. “It seems that fighting can't be avoided.”

Petra nodded in agreement, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. “Yes, and we are needing to remain strong, for the sake of our friends. The battle may be hard, but we must be harder.”

Ferdinand, standing tall with his lance at the ready, added confidently, “We are the Black Eagles, the finest students in the Empire. We will hold this position no matter what comes our way. Sir Kratos has entrusted us with this task, and we will not fail him.”

Caspar, who had been pacing restlessly back and forth, suddenly stopped and looked around. “Hey, wait a minute... Where's Edelgard?”

x-x-x

At the bottom of the steps, the two classes were immediately met by two unfamiliar soldiers guarding the entrance to the massive underground chamber. They both turned in surprise before one of them instinctively yelled, “Oi! We’ve got company!” 

The two men raised their weapons to attack, but Kratos and Byleth were already upon them before they even had a chance to do much else. The brigand headbutted the man who'd called out, even through his thin helmet, then grabbed the dazed man by the head with his massive white hand and drove it into the wall beside him.

Once the guards were subdued, they noticed a number of enemies shouting and running to take cover, some hiding behind the rows of giant stone pillars and tombs, while the rest of them grouped up together out in the open to face the “intruders” head-on.

“Seems like our guess was spot on, Teach.” Claude commented to his professor as he reached for an arrow. “See over there at the other side? That mage appears to be working on the spell keeping Seiros’ coffin sealed. We need to stop them before they can get their hands on whatever’s inside.”

“That would appear to be our only course of action,” said Dimitri, though as he looked In the direction that Claude was referring to, another presence in the Holy Mausoleum had grabbed his attention. “Also, look over there.” he points with his lance. “See that man in the black armor?”

The individual he was referring to was a menacing-looking knight wearing jagged, full-body armor and sitting atop an equally dark horse. Horns protruded from the rider's helmet, which hid its face and replaced it with a demonic skull shaped design and glowing red eyes. In its hand, it carried a wicked-looking scythe, which was held lazily at its side as though it wasn't even expecting a fight.

“What is that?” Lysithea asked, her mouth slightly agape.

Beside her, Leonie cocked a grin. “ That is mine.”

Before anyone had a chance to realize what she was doing, the orange haired archer quickly knocked an arrow, took aim at the rider in black, and let it loose. The arrow streaked through the air towards its target, but just as it was about to hit its mark, the knight's scythe moved. With an effortless flick of its wrist, the knight deflected the arrow, sending it up in the air before eventually clattering to the stone floor. 

Claude's usual smirk faltered as he tried to process what had just happened. "Did… did anyone else just see that?"

Ashe's eyes were wide with disbelief. “How could it move so fast?”

But before they could recover from their shock, the knight slowly turned its gaze toward Leonie, its glowing red eyes beneath the horned helmet now locked onto hers. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, the black knight raised its scythe and pointed it directly at her. The weapon crackled with energy before an arc of lightning shot out from the blade towards her.

It was Lorenz who was the one to react first, being one of the few students to maintain awareness of the situation. As soon as he realized what was happening, he dropped his weapon as he yelled, “Watch out!” Before diving to tackle the petrified girl.

However, it wasn't enough to move her out of the way in time, and the most that the young noble could do was put himself between his classmate and the streak of lightning coming at them with blinding speed. But then, just before the arc had reached them, everything came to a complete halt. Kratos’ entire surroundings turned into a shade of dark blue, and once again he was forced to move against his will as time rewound itself.

A split second later, he found himself still standing exactly where he was previously, but he looked to his left to see the students of the Golden Deer repeating their lines from earlier:

“What is that? ”

“ That is mine.” 

Once again, Leonie begins to ready a shot with her bow, but just as she had pulled back the bowstring to take aim, Byleth was quick to intercept, placing her hand on the student's bow and forcing her to lower it.

“Wait,” The former mercenary told her. “He doesn't seem to be hostile.”

Leonie looked bewildered by this statement. “‘Doesn't seem to be hostile?!’ You're kidding me, right? I mean, just look at him!”

“We don't know what an individual like that is capable of.” Byleth informed her. “Plus, he hasn't taken any action against us since we arrived. I think it is best that we go around him and deal with the underlings.”

“But what if he attacks us while we're busy with the rest of the intruders?” Ingrid asked her skeptically.

“I have to agree with Ingrid,” Dimitri spoke up. “We can’t leave someone like that unchecked.”

As the students debated their options, Kratos remained focused on the rider. The knight, still motionless atop his dark steed, seemed almost amused by the situation, as if waiting for Kratos to make his move.

Finally, Kratos’s deep voice cut through the chatter, “Enough. The Golden Deer will take the left. The Blue Lions shall take the right.” He opens up his guardian shield, his gaze never leaving the Death Knight. “I will handle this.”

Dimitri looked surprised by this. “Sir Kratos, are you sure about this?”

The god of war nodded as he turned his attention to the young man. “Yes. In the meantime, you shall lead in my stead. Now go. There is no more time to waste.”

The prince didn't hesitate; not bothering to question his instructor any further before answering with a determined nod. “Of course. Blue Lions, follow me!”

He and his class had broken off, with Byleth and the Golden Deer doing the same. Once Kratos and Mimir were alone again, the head said, “Kratos… about what happened earlier… was that what I thought it was?”

“Yes.” The brigand answered stiffly, but did not elaborate further as he brandished His spear and shield. “But now is not the time.”

Kratos made his way up the small elevation of steps deeper into the Mausoleum, and the dark rider, seeing that the Ghost of Sparta intended to challenge him, nudged his black steed to trot slowly towards him. From nearby, a couple of the intruders pointed at the brigand and began prepping a spell to cast at him, but his buddy stopped him and pointed at the evil-looking knight, and instead decided to focus on the group of students that were cutting their way towards them.

The soon-to-be combatants were now only roughly fifteen yards away from one another, and Kratos took his stance in anticipation of the coming fight between him and the scythe-wielding knight. But then, a flash of white hair and red armor appeared out of the corner of his eye, and Edelgard readied her own shield and ax as she got into a defensive position at his side.

“Let me help.” She told him with a tense undertone in her voice.

Without taking his eyes off the black knight, Kratos shook his head. “The rest of the students will need your help. This fight is mine.”

“I can help you. ” She persisted, but Kratos cut her off angrily.

“Do as I say!” He raised his voice with enough force to cause the young Empress to blink, and he lowered it into a soft growl before finishing with, “Do not disobey me again.”

It was evident that the Blue Lion’s professor was unwilling to hear anymore from her, and Edelgard’s eye immediately went to Mimir’s head as if silently pleading for him to intervene and talk sense into Kratos. For an extremely brief moment, Mimir met her gaze. In that fleeting exchange, he noticed something off about the worried look on her face, but before Mimir could process it further, Edelgard broke eye contact with him and relented with a reluctant nod. She quickly turned and ran off to join the other students, leaving Kratos and Mimir alone again with the black knight.

From atop his, the knight’s glowing red eyes followed her as though intrigued by the girl’s initial willingness to try and face him in combat, before it snapped back to the Ghost of Sparta and spoke in a deep, hollow, and menacing voice:

“A wise decision.” He said, still holding his scythe as he dismounted from his horse. His armored boots clanged loudly on the stone floor, and the knight brandished his scythe for the spartan to see in full view. “They told me to attack… to kill. But I don’t take commands. Or waste my time on weaklings.” He took a slow step forward, his red eyes seeming to glow brighter than before. “You… You are the one I crave. How fortunate, indeed, that we meet like this. The others… they are of no consequence.”

Kratos remained still, his grip tightening on his weapons, yet he maintained a composed posture and said nothing in return. 

This in turn gave the black knight a pause for thought, tilting his head slightly as if to assess the brigand. “I’ve longed for a challenge, and it seems fate has delivered. The others will fall in time, but you… you are different. Our meeting was inevitable.” Having now said his piece, the Death Knight flourished his weapon by dragging the tip of the curved blade across the stone beneath him, causing sparks to fly as an aerie grating sound emanated throughout the Mausoleum. “Now then, let us partake in this dance of damnation!”

Chapter Text

Both the Golden Deer and the Blue Lions had already been carving their way toward the other side of the mausoleum by the time Kratos and the Death Knight had started to confront one another. From one side, Byleth and her students made quick work of the first wave of soldiers blocking their path before arrows started to fly towards them from further down. This forced them to take cover while Claude, Leonie, and Ignatz tried to find an opportunity to fire back, with Lorenz and Lysithea attempting to support them with their magic. Unfortunately, the numbers were not on their side.

Leonie peeked out from behind a pillar, narrowly avoiding an arrow that whizzed past her. "This isn't looking good! They're not giving us any openings!"

"No kidding," Ignatz muttered as he fumbled with another arrow. "There’s too many of them. I can’t get a good shot without exposing myself.”

Lorenz cast a quick fire spell toward the archers, forcing them to duck before ducking back to safety himself. “This is precisely why we should have brought more mages. A well-placed spell could have cleared them out by now.”

“Right, because we have so many mages to spare, Lorenz.” Lysithea shot back as she readied another spell. “If you’re so confident, why don’t you go out there and show them how it’s done?”

Claude managed a grin despite the situation. "Hey now, there’s no need to fight among ourselves. Besides, I don't see you rushing in either, Lysithea."

The white-haired mage huffed, “You know very well that I’m not reckless enough to get shot full of arrows, Claude.”

Right after she said this, a heavily armored Edelgard came up from behind them. The soon-to-be-empress didn’t even glance their way as she marched past, using her broad shield to tank the oncoming fire. She reached the next row of pillars where the nearest archer was hiding, who immediately dropped his bow and drew his sword to defend himself. Unfortunately for him, Edelgard was already on him, bashing his face in with her shield and finishing him with her ax after knocking him to the floor.

More arrows came her way, and the leader of the Black Eagles took cover in order to catch her breath before shouting at the other students. “We’re wasting time! We need to move. Now!” 

Hilda, who was crouched behind a stone coffin next to Claude, rolled her eyes with great agitation. “Ugh, That’s so easy for her to say. And who the heck made her boss?”

“I told you we should’ve had Raphael bring a shield!” Leonie shouted ruefully.

“Well,” her house leader could only shrug, “Nothing we can really do about that now.” Claude then looked over across the mausoleum to see how the other class was faring. “But at least they’ve got the right idea.”

On the other side, the Blue Lions had formed a tight shield formation with Dimitri, Deduce, Ingrid, and Sylvain at the front as they forced back anyone who attempted to take them head-on, while also protecting themselves and everyone else behind them from the enemy’s arrows. 

Meanwhile, Kratos and the Death Knight circled one another like two predators sizing each other up, neither making the first move. The dark rider spun his scythe at his side, continuing to assess the Spartan, who held his shield raised with the spear resting on top, its point aimed directly at his adversary. Eventually, having grown tired of waiting for his opponent to make his move, the Death Knight stopped and faced Kratos fully, flourishing his scythe once more in front of him before finally going on the offensive. 

With a sudden burst of speed, he lunged forward, swinging his scythe in a wide arc. Kratos, anticipating the attack, shifted his shield to intercept, blocking the strike with a solid thud. The force of the blow reverberated through his arm, but he held firm. Kratos countered with a quick stab at the knight, but the demon twisted away at the last second and used his momentum to swipe at his neck, but managed to duck just in time.

The Death Knight swung again. And again. And again. But each and every attack was met with either nothing, or the stalwart defense of the God of War’s Guardian Shield. Though Kratos couldn’t see it, he was aware of the knight’s growing frustration at the Spartan's refusal to take part in the fast-paced duel that he was evidently searching for.

“You bore me!” the Death Knight snarled, stepping back and resumed walking in a circle. “I did not come to trifle with a coward who hides behind a shield.” Kratos, however, offered the rider no response, and continued to maintain his defensive form. “If that is how you play, then let us see how you handle this.”

The Death Knight rotated his scythe, pointing the blade upward, and slammed the pointed pommel down on the stone floor. The tile cracked beneath him, and the scythe began to glow faintly blue as electricity sparked and a blackish violet aura started to emanate from all around him. Then, in a flash, a magic circle appeared beneath him, and he vanished.

Kratos needed only a brief instant to understand what was happening, and he didn’t need to wait for Mimir to call out, “Behind you!” as he spun on his heel, raising his shield just in time. The Death Knight reappeared, his scythe slashing across toward his midsection, but Kratos intercepted the attack and prevented the blade from cutting him in half.

Seizing the opportunity, Kratos immediately thrust his spear toward the knight’s exposed side, but before the strike could land, the Death Knight vanished again. From a short distance away, the dark rider reappeared, his scythe once again at the ready, but this time he kept his distance, as though daring Kratos to close the gap.

“I know how strong you really are.” The Death Knight told him. “You are a warrior without equal. I can see the monster that lies within. But if you will not give me the battle that I want, then I will not allow you to kill me so easily. I seek a worthy opponent, not a mere executioner. Show me that you are somebody worth my time.”

As the duel went on, the Blue Lions have been making progress by pushing further and further down the right aisle. Eventually, they got far enough to the point where Ashe and Mercedes had the opportunity to fire on the flank of the archers suppressing the Golden Deer, causing them to try and take cover from two different flanks.

With the archers distracted, Byleth took advantage of the opening they’d been given and ordered, “Everyone, follow my lead!”

From Dimitri’s perspective, he watched as the Golden Deer pressed forward to cover more ground thanks to his class's efforts and smiled brilliantly. “Keep it up, everyone! We have them on the ropes now!”

As the Blue Lions continued their advance, the enemy forces began to waver under the combined pressure of both houses. But amidst the chaos, a lone enemy mage, hidden behind one of the massive stone pillars, quietly chanted before he stepped out from behind his hiding spot and unleashed a web of black magic that surged across the floor towards the student’s formation. As the dark lines extended outward, spikes shot from the ground with the intention of impaling anyone who stood in its way.

Dedue was the first to react to the dark tendrils racing toward them. "Move!" he bellowed. Sylvain and Ingrid immediately broke formation, backing away to a safe distance. Dimitri, however, distracted by his earlier encouragement to the others, was a split second too slow to react. Dedue acted without hesitation, shoving the prince with enough force to nearly send him flying. Dimitri hit the ground hard but was spared from the incoming attack. Dedue, however, wasn’t as fortunate. The dark magic reached him just as it reached its limit, and a black spike shot out, skewering his thigh and causing him to stumble and fall heavily on his back.

“Dedue!” Mercedes screamed, her eyes widening with worry and shock before she ran to his side.

“Have at them, lads!” one of the enemy leaders shouted. Upon seeing the broken formation, they wasted no time in regrouping to prepare for a counter-push. Meanwhile, Dimitri still lay dazed on the floor after having hit his head on the stone floor as the intruders charged toward them. 

Now realizing that this was quickly turning into a desperate fight for survival, Mercedes immediately got back on her feet, but remained standing defiantly in front of Dedue as she readied her bow. The rest of the Blue Lions, including Felix, Sylvain, Ashe and Ingrid rushed forward to try and recreate the vanguard for their two fallen comrades while Annette supported them from behind. Both forces clashed, and despite being outnumbered, the students were able to hold their own. However, one of the intruders did manage to sneak past the line, and he found the prince still attempting to pull himself back on his feet.

Though his vision was blurred, Dimitri was very well aware of the man approaching him with a murderous intent, and he hurriedly felt around the floor to try and find his weapon that he’d dropped from the push Dedue had given him. Unfortunately, his fingers only found cold stone. Desperate, Dimitri raised his shield, preparing to defend himself from whatever attack that would come, with the rest of his friends too distracted to even realize what was happening.

Just as the enemy soldier raised his weapon, the prince heard a voice call out his name. “Dimitri!!” 

Both he and the approaching intruder turned their heads to see Marianne rushing over to his side and holding his lance, though her grip was unsteady, her hands were trembling, and very clearly stressed beyond comprehension. Upon seeing who it was that attempted to intervene, the intruder sneered, clearly unimpressed by the young woman standing between him and his kill; and with a cold gaze, he redirected his attention to Marianne. Time seemed to have slowed down for Dimitri, and he could feel something rising in his throat about the imminent danger the girl was now in as the man twice her size lunged towards her with his own spear. 

But then, something remarkable happened. Marianne’s eyes widened in fear, yet her body moved on its own. Instinct took over as she angled her lance and deflected the oncoming attack. And her attacker, having fully expected to already have the girl dead to rights, was thrown off balance after having overextended due to hitting nothing but air. At the same time, the priestess followed through with her movements just as she’d done countless times over with Dimitri in the past and sunk the tip of the spear in his side just below the arm that the armor did not cover.

The man gasped, dropping his weapon and his eyes widening in surprise. He stood rigidly still as blood began to seep over his lip, and Marianne let go as he fell to the side and hit the ground hard with the spear still inside him.

Dimitri hurriedly scrambled back to his feet, still slightly dazed from the earlier blow. His vision cleared just in time to see Marianne standing over the fallen intruder, her hands trembling uncontrollably as she stared down at the man she had just killed. The shock was evident on her face, her eyes unfocused as if she couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

Dimitri quickly moved between her and the lifeless body, blocking the sight from her view. He grabbed her gently by the arms, his worry plain in his eyes. “Marianne,” he said, his voice firm but filled with concern, “Are you unharmed?”

Marianne blinked, as if snapping out of a trance. She looked up at Dimitri, her lips quivering as she struggled to find her voice. “I... I’m fine,” she managed to say, though her voice wavered. “But… I…”

Dimitri tightened his grip slightly, trying to steady her. “You did what you had to do. You saved my life,” he reassured her, his tone gentle yet resolute. “But right now, we need to keep moving. Can you do that?”

She hesitated for a moment, still visibly shaken, but then she nodded slowly, drawing in a shaky breath. “Yes,” she whispered, trying to steady herself. “I can.”

With that, Dimitri released her arms, offered her a small, encouraging nod and turned around to remove his lance from the dead soldier. “Stay close to me,” he instructed. Marianne nodded again, this time with a bit more confidence, and the two of them turned to rejoin the rest of the Blue Lions.

When Kratos had originally challenged the Death Knight, his intention had been to merely keep the red-eyed demon busy while the Golden Deer and the rest of his class could go and accomplish their mission without fear of interference. However, what he did not intend was for the scythe-wielding rider to eventually catch on to what the spartan was up to, and Kratos had begun to worry that if he did not engage with the Death Knight enough to keep his attention, then it would’ve been likely that he would attack the students in order to force the professor to confront him.

And now, upon seeing the close call with Prince Dimitri in the corner of his eye, the Ghost of Sparta had decided that enough was enough, and began to go after the Death Knight for real. Though the dark rider was initially pleased with this, Kratos’ approach at merely attempting to end the fight as soon as possible caused him to evade the brigand even more; but not without trying to land a hit or two whenever the opportunity presented itself. 

Eventually, the Death Knight noticed someone reaching Saint Seiros’ coffin. While keeping a safe distance from Kratos, the rider stole a quick glance and saw the woman who had prevented her student from shooting him cut down the mage who had broken the seal. What truly caught his attention, however, was the sword she now held in her hand—a long, jagged blade seemingly made from the same material as the other hero’s relic. But more importantly, it exuded power with a glowing red aura.

Seeing the weapon in Byleth’s possession caused the rider to become enthralled by what he’d just witnessed, and appeared to have completely forgotten about Kratos as he said aloud, “That sword… I see. What a pleasant surprise.”

Kratos wasted no time taking advantage of the distraction, rushing the Death Knight. The rider barely managed to turn his attention back in time to dodge out of the way. Now completely detached from their duel, the knight swung his scythe at Kratos with renewed force, the blade cleaving through Kratos’ silver lance. But the Spartan had had enough of the Death Knight’s games. He tossed aside the broken spear and continued his advance, deflecting the next swing with his shield before landing a punch directly to the center of the rider’s armored chest.

With a loud crunch, the armor caved in where Kratos’ fist had landed, and the Death Knight emitted a sickening sound, as though he were regurgitating his own innards. The force of the blow sent him staggering back several feet, doubling over in pain. Falling to one knee, he used his scythe for support, and once again, a retching sound escaped him. Blood began to seep through the black satin material covering his head, dripping down his mask.

“Arrrgh!” groaned the rider, placing his free hand over the fist-sized cavity in his armor while trying to breathe with ragged, bloody breaths. “I- I can see it now…” The Death Knight croaked out before letting out a series of ravaged coughs. “The will to live… to fight… to die.”

As if sensing its master’s distress, the rider’s black horse trotted up to the injured man, nudging his jaggedly armored shoulder. “I thought… this would finally be-” he coughed again violently, “-my last dance. But now…” The knight managed to raise his head to look at Kratos one last time. “...I realize-” another cough interrupted him, more sporadic and harsh, “-that I cannot go yet. Not without…”

Unable to finish, the coughing overtook him entirely. The Death Knight forced himself back onto his feet, draping an arm over his horse’s neck for support. Then, without another word, they both vanished into thin air. This time, for good.

All was suddenly quiet throughout the mausoleum, and everyone with the exclusion of Dedue and Mercedes converged on Kratos at the center of the room. Everyone’s eyes were on the small pool of blood that the Death Knight left behind before talking amongst themselves.

“That jerk got away.” Claude said, shaking his head. “Was that magic? I never heard of a teleportation spell that could transport you where you couldn’t see.”

“Aye,” Mimir concurred from Kratos’ hip, “I’d seen it before, though only back in my homeland. Quite the advanced spell, if past experience is anything to go by.”

“Which means we won’t be able to chase after him.” Byleth concluded, and everyone’s attention was now suddenly on her.

“Hey, uh, Teach…” Claude asked with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. “What’s, uh… What’s that you got there anyway?”

Edelgard tilted her head at him. “You don’t recognize it, Claude?”

“Wait a minute,” Dimitri added in, “Did that come from Saint Seiros’ tomb?”

“Brother,” the Norse god said to Kratos, “I’d like to see exactly what these lads are referring to, if you don’t mind.”

Kratos made a noise to acknowledge his companion before bringing the head around for him to see, and Mimir’s jaw nearly dropped upon seeing the sword in Byleth’s hand. “Oh, bless me nan, is that…?”

Before he could say anything further, another voice called out from the entrance. “Is the intruder here?!”

Everyone turned to see Catherine and a company of church soldiers spilling into the mausoleum and fanning out. But after seeing the two classes together with Kratos, along with the litter of dead bodies spread across the chamber’s floor, the Captain’s expression relaxed a bit as she sheathed her sword.

“Oh… it looks like you have this under control.” Then to the rest of her men, “Everyone, spread out and round up the stragglers- and any others that happen to be playing dead.”

Chapter Text

“There you have it…” Dimitri told everyone who’d gathered around him at the front of the Blue Lion’s classroom. “It seems that the assassination attempt and the attack on the Holy Mausoleum were all the work of the Western Church.” He then looked over at Kratos and Mimir, the former of which stood silently with his arms crossed while that latter’s head sat on said desk right next to him. “As for the masked knight that Sir Kratos had fought, however… I’m afraid his whereabouts are yet unknown.”

Dedue, who sat in the chair next to Prince Dimitri with his upper leg heavily bandaged, spoke up. “It makes no sense that the Western Church would try such a thing.”

The House Leader couldn’t help but shrug at his friend’s assertion. “Perhaps not. But it just goes to show that the Church of Seiros is not completely united.”

“Aye,” Said Mimir. “That it isn’t. However, one might say that it is quite the understatement. The Western Church has been sidelined from the governing council for some time now. They’ve had little to no influence over key decisions, and their grievances have gone largely unheard. Combine that with the suppression and subsequent banishment of Lord Lonato after his rebellion, it’s not surprising that they might resort to such drastic measures.”

“And do you think it was the Western Church’s intent to eliminate Lady Rhea, and the Central Church’s authority along with her, Professor?” Dimitri asked him. 

“It is quite possible, lad.” Mimir answered. “Though, I don’t think it is prudent for me to jump to any conclusions at this very moment. But what we do know is that the Western Church’s top officials will be receiving a visit from the knights very soon.”

To his immediate left, Kratos could see Ashe’s gaze fall to the floor with a downtrodden look as he said, “So… those people from the Western Church they’d taken prisoner… Um, Lady Rhea had them killed, didn’t she?”

“Well, of course she did!” Mercedes told him with an uncharacteristically loud voice, a scowl etched on her face. "They tried to kill us, Ashe! And they’d almost succeeded with Dedue!”

“I know that!” Ashe shot back. “But why do they believe this is something worth risking everything for? These are people’s lives we’re talking about here!”

Ingrid sighed with resignation. “I mean, they did go against the teachings of Serios, after all. Those who stray must be punished, I suppose.”

Ashe looked as though he was about to say something in response to this, but was cut off when Kratos had decided to finally intervene. “Enough. What has already happened cannot be undone. I have said this before, and I do not wish to keep repeating myself: Your own actions are the only ones that matter. If it is change that you seek, then do so as you see fit, and always be aware of the consequences.” He eyes each and every one of his students before continuing. “ However , as of today, you will do as I say and speak no more of this. Getting involved in matters beyond your control can be dangerous. Do you all understand?”

The students let out a soft chorus of “Yes, sir” before the room fell to silence. Kratos, satisfied that his point had been made, gave a curt nod and let the matter rest.

Then, a familiar voice called out to him from the classroom doors: “Ah, there you are.” Seteth said as he walked through past the wooden doors and up to the class circle. “Master Kratos, Professor Mimir.” He began, “It seems Lady Rhea would like a word with you both. Please, come with me.”

Every student in the room looked expectantly at Kratos, as though they were waiting for orders on what to do next. Begrudgingly, he picked up Mimir from his desk and clipped him onto his belt before saying, “You are all dismissed for the day. You have all done fine work today, and be sure to take this time to rest and recuperate. That is all.”

x-x-x

"The Archbishop lives," Volkhard spoke with irritation, his brows furrowed as he shook his head. "Not that I had ever placed much faith in those swine from the Western Church."

Across from him within the misty woods, an individual wearing black and red armor and a masked helmet responded, their voice indistinguishable from being either male or female. “I have news, both good and bad. The remains of Seiros were not in the tomb. However, something else was found. The Sword of the Creator.”

Volkhard’s expression shifted to that of mild surprise. “Ah, the weapon wielded by that thief, the King of Liberation.”

“‘Thief?’” The masked individual said amusedly. “Hm. At any rate, it is now in the hands of one of the academy’s new professors- the child of the former mercenary leader. I doubt you will be surprised that the Crest Stone had already been removed from the sword when it was found.”

The older man chuckled. “Hmph. As expected. It would be foolish to keep both in the same location.”

Despite the lack of an actual face, the Flame Emperor made a motion as if to infer something a bit of wariness. “There’s more. That professor was able to awaken the sword’s true power. Even without the Crest Stone, the sword glowed red. The professor’s Crest is compatible. There is no mistaking it.”

Volkhard’s eyes widened. “Absurd. Using a Relic without its Crest Stone should be impossible…” He frowned. “The King of Liberation’s bloodline should not even… Hmm.”

“They must be allowed to keep it, for now.” The Flame Emperor told him. “I do not have enough information about the professor to act.”

“And what about this brigand and severed head that you spoke of earlier?” Lord Arundel inquired. “Surely, there is something useful you must have learned about them beyond mere intimidation."

The Flame Emperor’s posture stiffened, and they responded with a hint of indignation, “That brigand almost killed my Death Knight.” Though their voice was distorted, the disdain in their words was evident. “So as for your request, he must be allowed to recover before I place him in your command. Once he does, he is to not go anywhere near that man again until we know exactly what we are up against.”

Volkhard made a look as if to resist a scoff. “...Very well. In that case, I will take extra precaution in ensuring that he doesn’t break your shiny little toy again. Until then, please do give the Death Knight my regards and that I wish him a swift recovery.”

x-x-x 

“I cannot thank you both enough for defeating those invaders in the Holy Mausoleum,” Rhea told Byleth, Kratos, and Mimir before looking over at Byleth specifically, who still held the ominous looking blade securely in her hand. “And especially for protecting the Sword of the Creator. That sword is one of the Heroes’ Relics, and the most precious artifact in the church’s possession.” The Archbishop was silent for a moment as she allowed the information to sink in before finally finishing with a grave undertone, “It is also a weapon of terrifying power.”

She then turns her attention to the head dangling in Kratos’ hand. “Professor Mimir. I've heard that you have been deeply interested in the history of Fodlan. Am I correct to assume that you are already informed on the origins of such a weapon?”

Mimir answered with a relatively reserved tone. “Aye, you could say that.”

Rhea seemed satisfied with his response. “In that case, would you do us the honor of explaining its origins to our other dear professors who may not be as informed? I shall like to hear the story in your own words, if that is acceptable to you.”

All eyes were now on Mimir, including Byleth, whose gaze maintained their usual cold stare, but the slight shift to listen was enough to show genuine interest in what the Norse god had to say.

The head eventually let out a small sigh before responding, “Aye, I suppose I could do that.” After taking a brief moment to clear his throat, and Mimir began to recite a passage from one of the many books he'd read since arriving to Fodlan:

“In the ancient days, when the world was still young, the goddess, in her infinite love, descended from the heavens. She walked among the people of Fódlan, sharing her wisdom and grace, bringing peace to the lands and binding all in the warmth of her light. Mankind flourished under her guidance, their hearts filled with devotion and their hands building great cities in her name. Her love was unending, and her mercy touched every corner of the earth.

“But not all were content with the goddess' teachings. In time, a faction of mankind corrupted by wicked gods rose against her, rejecting her wisdom. They sought dominion over the lands, and their hearts were filled with greed and power. They waged war across Fódlan, casting the continent into chaos.

“And it is said, in the time when darkness threatened to consume the land, the goddess herself bestowed upon the King of Liberation a weapon of unimaginable power— the Sword of the Creator. With this blade in hand, the king smote the enemies of the goddess and brought them low, delivering Fodlan from the clutches of ruin. For a time, the king ruled with righteousness, guided by the wisdom of the goddess, and the people flourished under his reign.

“Yet, as the seasons passed, the king grew drunk with the power of the blade, no longer heeding the counsel of the divine. His heart was consumed by ambition, and he sought to unite all of Fodlan under his iron hand, casting aside the goddess who had once granted him strength.

“In his pride, he raised the blade to conquer. The lands trembled beneath his might, and his subjects, once free, became slaves to his will. It was then that Seiros, chosen of the goddess, rose against him, laying the fallen hero to rest, his fell deeds never to be repeated. And thus, the Sword of the Creator was lost, its power fading into legend, awaiting the day it would once again return in the hour of Fódlan’s greatest need.”

By the time Mimir had finished his recitation, Rhea had already looked more than impressed, and Seteth couldn’t help but raise a brow at how accurately the head was able to recount the legend. “I see that you are already a scholar in a wide variety of our scriptures- including the Book of Seiros.”

Mimir made a noise as if to shrug. “The perks of being a disembodied head when you’ve only got eyes and ears.”

Rhea then turned her attention to Byleth and spoke, “As Mimir has explained, the sword you now possess was indeed bestowed upon humanity by the goddess in their time of greatest need.” She closed her eyes, a soft smile forming as though recalling a faint memory. “And, given all that has transpired over the past few months, I believe it is only fitting that the sword remains in your hands.”

Seteth’s eyes widened in shock, and his head snapped toward the Archbishop. “Lady Rhea, wait!” he said, his voice frantic, struggling to maintain his composure as he fought the urge to shout. With a gentle, but firm hand, he motioned for Rhea to turn around so that their back was facing the professors. “Do you truly mean to give the Sword of the Creator to this… this stranger?!” He asked her with an angry whisper. “Surely it is not the sort of thing one hands over so readily, even to someone who has the ability to wield it! If someone like Nemesis were to appear again, all of Fodlan will be consumed by war! Not only that, but you are giving away what is possibly our only leverage against that brigand that you have suddenly become very friendly towards!”

Rhea’s expression suddenly darkened, and she shot her right hand man a sharp, menacing glare. “Don’t you dare speak to me about what I must, or must not do, Seteth.” She added, “My mind has been made, and I expect you to follow my lead without any further objection. And from now on, don’t ever speak to me in front of anyone like this again. Have I made myself clear?”

Seteth couldn't help but glance back at Kratos, whose hardened expression seemed as unyielding as ever. The sheer lack of emotion in the Spartan’s face sent a chill down the green-haired man’s spine, making him more unsettled than usual. His gaze then shifted to the woman holding the Sword of the Creator in her hands. Her similarly unreadable, blank expression did nothing to ease his growing unease, which left him with a sinking feeling that there was something deeply abnormal about them both. After a long, tense pause, Seteth let out a deep sigh of resignation, finally turning to Rhea. "I... understand. As you wish, Lady Rhea."

Both leaders of the Church turned around to face their audience again, and Seteth took a moment to compose himself once more as he straightened himself up, took a deep breath, and spoke. “In case it is not clear, Nemesis, the King of Liberation, was an ancient king of mankind who was defeated by Seiros a thousand years ago. When Fodlan was attacked by both men and wicked gods, it is said that the goddess gifted Nemesis with the Sword of the Creator. Nemesis used that sword to defeat the wicked gods, saving all of Fodlan. Henceforth he was dubbed the King of Liberation.”

He then gives Byleth a pained and mistrustful look as he continues. “However, his power began to corrupt him until he, himself, turned to the darkness. Saint Seiros was forced to destroy him. Lady Rhea has already decided that you are worthy of wielding such a Relic. If that… is the will of the Goddess, then that is the responsibility you shall carry. Please, see that you do not betray the trust the archbishop has seen fit to bestow upon you.”

“In the meantime,” Rhea followed up, “I am sure that you and your students are weary from the recent battle. With that said, you are dismissed. It has been a very long and arduous day, and I wish to retire early for the evening. The new recruits for each class’ respective nation will be arriving by the end of the week for them to take command, so take the time to ensure that they are well rested by then.” She then finished with a small bow, then walked off without another word to her bedchamber.

Once Rhea had disappeared into her room, Byleth gave Kratos one last look before she herself casually turned around and made her way toward the stairs, with the Sword of the Creator fastened securely to her belt. Kratos watched as she left, his gaze fixated on the blade all the way until the former mercenary disappeared behind the corner. This left the three remaining men alone in the audience chamber, and the Spartan heard the priest clear his throat to garner his attention.

“Master Kratos, may I have a quick word with you?”

Kratos turned to face him. “What is it?” He responded bluntly.

Now back to his usual calm demeanor, Seteth maintained his professional stature as he said to the man, “I had recently been informed that one of our instructors, Jeritza, had received a letter from the Empire requesting his immediate presence regarding a territorial dispute between House Hrym and House Bergliez. He has already left without any warning with the exception of said letter being left on his desk, and the Officers Academy is now left without a proper fencing instructor.”

“Then hire another.” The Ghost of Sparta told him.

Seteth let out a patient huff. “Unfortunately, that is not so simple. Master Jeritza was originally meant to host a seminar demonstration for some of the nobles who will be arriving with the new recruits at the end of the week. But now that it is evident that he will not be present for such a crucial event, I am forced to look towards the next best instructor that I can… reasonably rely on.”

“You wish for me to take his place?”

“With limited responsibilities and an emphasis on the coming seminar, yes. However, this is not an order, but a formal request. If you decline, then I will simply find someone else, and there will be no hard feelings. I would simply feel a lot better knowing that I had someone as capable as you’ve shown to be for such a delicate matter.” To Kratos’ slight surprise, Seteth even managed to offer him a small smile along with the compliment he’d given the Spartan. “What say you?”

Kratos looked down at Mimir, who simply gazed back up at the man with a look as if to say, “Hey, don’t ask me, this is your decision.” Before he eventually answered: 

“Very well. I will accept.”

The priest nodded, clearly pleased with the answer. “Fantastic. I’m glad we could come to an understanding. Rest assured, this won’t take too much time away from your class, as I’m aware of the responsibilities you’ll have once your students are given command of their battalions. Once the seminar is concluded, you should have no further obligations in this regard.”

Chapter Text

The following day, all the students at Garreg Mach had been given a day off to recover from the previous day’s incursion. While most spent the time relaxing in their dorms, Marianne had sought solitude in the stables, tending to one of the newly assigned horses for the students of the Officers Academy. With the arrival of new recruits imminent and the customary expectation for officers to lead their troops on horseback, Marianne found the task a welcome distraction from the events that had transpired.

But as her hands moved rhythmically over the horse’s coat, her mind lost in thought, her solitude was soon interrupted when a familiar voice came from behind her.

“Marianne, you're up early.”

Marianne turned her head to see Prince Dimitri standing at one of the entrances to the stables, and offered her a warm and friendly smile. Admittedly, had it been anyone else, the girl would've been disappointed that her seclusion with the animals was no more. However, upon seeing who it was, Marianne couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and relief as she flustered. 

“Oh- um, good morning, Your Highness.” She said awkwardly before slowly returning to grooming her mount. “A-and yes, I just thought I'd get to know our new companions as early as possible. You know, since… since they will be with us for the rest of the year.”

“I see,” Dimitri responded with intrigue as he moved away from the door and towards his classmate to get a better look at her horse. “I have to say, that is quite a good-looking steed you have, Marianne. What is its name?”

“His name is Dorte,” the priestess answered without any hesitation, much to her own surprise.

“‘Dorte’, huh.” the prince repeated thoughtfully. “That is a fine name for a fine horse.”

“Th-Thank you, Your Highness,” Marianne says before immediately correcting herself. “Oh, I apologize, Dimitri. I forgot that you didn't prefer any formalities.”

“It's no trouble, Marianne.” He tells her with a chuckle. “For you, you're still free to refer to me however you'd like, royalty or not.” In response to this, the girl simply nodded while attempting to hide her embarrassment behind her horse's mane. “You know, in Fearghus, a horse is treated with the same dignity and respect as the knight who rides him. Did you know that?”

“I… I am aware of the Kingdom's customs with horses, yes.” Marianne answered quietly. “Since Edmund territory shares some of its borders with them, we’ve adopted some of those customs over time.” She paused for a moment, running the brush gently through Dorte’s mane. “Horses are very noble creatures.”

Dimitri watched her for a moment, noticing the tenderness in the way she groomed her horse. “You seem to have a deep connection with them,” he observed.

“They understand me,” Marianne admitted, her voice even quieter. “Sometimes, they’re the only ones who do.”

The prince was silent as he chewed on her last statement, and neither of them spoke for an awkward moment. His eyes shifted to the neighboring stall, where another steed stood calmly, its pitch black coat gleaming in the morning light. “Ah. This must be the horse I was assigned,” he said, stepping closer to examine it. However, as he opened the waist-high gate to get within arms reach of it, the horse suddenly jerked and whinnied back as though it were frightened by Dimitri's approach.

“Whoa, there! Easy” The prince told the beast, raising his arms up in a placating gesture. “It's alright, I'm not going to hurt you.” If the horse had understood him, it still showed zero signs of calming down, and its movement became more sporadic as the boy tried to inch himself closer to it.  

Marianne, who'd been watching with a worried and skeptical look, spoke up. “Um, Dimitri…”

Dimitri stopped and turned to look at her with his arms still raised. “Yes?”

His classmates hesitates. “He's, um… he's afraid that you might break him.”

The young prince becomes bewildered by Marianne's words. “He… what now?”

Marianne took a moment to put down her brush and exit her stall to join Dimitri in his before elaborating. “He doesn't want you to touch him. He thinks that you may hurt him because you might be too rough.”

Hearing this only caused him to become even more confused. “You can understand what he's saying?”

Marianne could feel her cheeks burning red hot and nodded sheepishly. “Yes- or rather, I can understand how he feels. I don't know what's caused him to act this way towards you, but perhaps if I…” She slowly approached the nervous horse, who'd backed itself up against the corner of the stall. “Shh… It’s alright, you’re safe.” The horse's wild eyes gradually softened as it focused on her, the tension in its muscles slowly easing. “That's it, good boy.” She reached out and stroked the mount's snout, and before Dimitri realized it, Marianne had the beast's head in her arms with its attention focused solely on her. She then glanced over her shoulder at Dimitri. “You can try now. Just go ahead and brush him, so he knows that you don’t mean any harm.”

Choosing to take her word for it, Dimitri cautiously bent down to pick up the brush from the floor, then slowly moved over to the horse’s side. At first, the horse’s skin twitched under the initial touch, but as the prince gently began brushing, the animal started to relax. Dimitri, noticing the change, grew more confident, finding a steady rhythm. Marianne, observing the scene, stepped back, watching as the horse gradually warmed up to its new rider.

“He doesn’t seem to be afraid of you any longer.” She commented. “Though, it is strange. What could possibly have made him nervous around you?”

“I think I might know the answer to that,” Dimitri admitted. “I… have a habit of breaking my weapons when I’m training. In fact, the last time I did so, the sound it made was so loud that it spooked all of the nearby horses. And I would assume that this fellow was one of them.”

Marianne tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “I see… They have a good memory for things that frighten them, after all.”

Dimitri chuckled softly, still brushing the horse. “Yes, it seems my training sessions make me rather unpopular with the horses.” He paused, giving the now much calmer animal a gentle pat. “But thankfully, it looks like we’ve made peace. Thank you, Marianne.”

“O-of course, Dimitri.

A long pause followed, with only the quiet sound of Dimitri brushing the horse filling the space between them. Marianne shifted slightly, unsure of what else to say, until Dimitri finally broke the silence.

“And speaking of thank yous,” he began, his tone more serious now, “I never had the chance to properly thank you for saving my life yesterday.” His eyes met hers, sincerity clear in his voice.

Marianne flushed. “It-it was nothing, Your Highness. I only did what you would have done had our positions been reversed.”

“That may be true, but all the same, I wanted to ensure that you knew how grateful I am to you. You put yourself in great peril to come to my aid, and that is something I shall never forget.”

“I appreciate that, Your Highness, but… it was only thanks to your lessons that I was even able to pull it off in the first place. And I doubt that either of us would be standing here if it weren't for that.”

Dimitri paused for a brief instant as he considered his next words carefully. “Do you still consider yourself to be a curse, Marianne?” 

The priestess was taken aback by the prince’s question. “Wha- what do you mean?”

Without looking in her direction, Dimitri moved on to brushing his horse’s mane as he elaborated, “Last month, when you told Mercedes that you only bring misfortune to those who come near you. Do you still believe that?”

“I…” Marianne hesitated. But then, remembering the encouraging words Hilda had shared with her when she’d felt at her lowest, she slowly balled her hands into fists, and Marianne spoke with a newfound resolve in her voice. “I used to think that. I used to believe that there was only misfortune for those that came near me, and that I was powerless to stop any of that from happening. But then… after the past couple of months spent with you, Sir Kratos, Professor Mimir, and the rest of the Blue Lions, I realize now that misfortune is something that finds everyone regardless. However…”

The house leader gave her a side glance and noticed the girl's features contort into a pained expression. This prompted Dimitri to stop mid-stroke, put the brush away, and face Marianne fully, giving her his undivided attention as her voice began to crack.

“Even still, my entire life up until this point has been nothing but a string of unfortunate events. It still doesn’t change the fact that everyone around me has suffered or even perished, especially those with complete disregard for their own safety.”

Dimitri remained silent as he listened to Marianne’s words, and in that moment, his suspicions were finally confirmed. He let out a quiet breath, his expression somber. After a brief pause, he turned his attention back to his horse, gently brushing his hand over the beast’s head.

"It doesn’t feel good, does it…” he muttered, his voice low. He then turned back to face Marianne, his eyes filled with understanding. “…to be the only one left behind? To feel as though you should have died with the others?"

Marianne’s eyes widened as the revelation of what the prince understood about her took hold. “H-how did you know?”

Dimitri gave his horse one last glance at his horse, a smile forming on his lips before answering, “You and I are the same.” He paused, watching her reaction. “Maybe you should fear being cursed with misfortune for coming near me. In fact, at this point, I find you my lucky charm of sorts.”

Marianne blinked. “Me? Lucky…?” She took a moment to allow the absurdity of his words to settle in. “...Hehe.”

“Ah, a smile and a laugh.” The prince’s face lit up. “Coming from you, that’s a rarity. This must be my second lucky day in a row.”

She let out another quiet, shy laugh, her gaze dropping to the floor. “It’s… strange to think that someone like you could have anything in common with me.” She fidgeted with her hands for a moment before adding softly, “Much less someone who thinks of me as a lucky charm.”

Dimitri frowned slightly, tilting his head. “Is it so terrible a thought?”

She shook her head, and to his amazement, Dimitri was once again treated with another rare smile from Marianne as she responded, “No, no. It’s not that. It- It actually makes me happy. As though there’s finally someone who understands how I truly feel.”

Dimitri’s expression softened, and he allowed himself to smile back. He hadn’t expected to hear those words from her, but the warmth in them reassured him as he mustered the courage to ask what had been on his mind since arriving. “By the way, Marianne, I actually have a bit of a request, if you don’t mind hearing me out.”

“What is it, Dimitri?”

“There’s a polearms tournament coming up at the Officers Academy near the end of the month,” he explained, his tone casual yet hopeful. “I was wondering if you might be interested in participating.”

The girl’s eyes widened in surprise, and she immediately shifted, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. “Me? In a tournament? I don’t know... I don’t think I’d stand a chance. You and the others- Sylvain, and Ingrid- you’re all much more capable than I am. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

Dimitri gave her a reassuring smile, his voice calm and encouraging. “Actually, I’m disqualified from the tournament, since my crest gives me certain advantages that would make it unfair for me to participate. But also, you demonstrated yesterday that you were more than capable of holding your own.”

“Even so, I’m not sure I’d do well. Plus, that was in the heat of the moment. I’m unsure if I could even last that long against multiple people.”

“I understand why you’re hesitant, but I believe in your abilities.” He said in a hopeful tone. “You’ve already proven yourself in a real battle, and this could be a chance to push yourself further. If you feel you’re not ready, then I… I'd be more than happy to help you practice for it.” He quickly adds, “But if you still don’t want to, then I would understand completely.”

It was at this moment when Marianne had finally understood the purpose behind the prince’s request, as evidenced by his cheeks turning to a bride shade of pink, and she could feel her own face once again growing hot. “You really think I can do it?” she asked softly with apparent uncertainty.

Dimitri nodded, his expression sincere. “I do. I think you’ve grown so much since joining us, Marianne, and with a little more practice, I’m confident you’ll do even better.”

Her heart fluttered at his words, and after a moment of contemplation, she gave him a small, shy smile. “Alright… I will give it a try.”

x-x-x 

“Master Kratos, Professor Mimir, and Professor Manuela,” Rhea greeted the three of them pleasantly within the audience chamber. “First, I would like to thank you all again for both the diligence and initiative you displayed during the Rite of Rebirth. Your swift actions not only saved the life of one of our church soldiers, but also prevented the Sword of the Creator from falling into wicked hands. For that, you have my deepest gratitude.” Kratos made a noise as if to acknowledge the Archbishop’s recognition, but did not offer a response, though she didn’t seem to mind this. “With that, I now have a new mission- for both of your classes. I would like you to take your students into Kingdom territory and eliminate some thieves.”

Mimir, always one to add a touch of sarcasm, chimed in, “Ah, so back to Fearghus we go, then? No more rebellions to put down, no standing guard of buried trinkets, just common thieves then?”

Rhea’s smile remained calm, though her tone carried a hint of reproach. “Unfortunately, my dear professor, this has become more serious than mere bandits. But I shall allow Seteth here to explain the situation.”

Taking his cue, the Archbishop’s right hand cleared his throat to garner their attention. “We have been informed that a Hero’s Relic from House Gautier from the Holy Kingdom of Fearghus has been stolen- the Lance of Ruin. Their leader… is Miklan. He is apparently a disowned son of House Gautier.”

Mimir’s eyes lit up. “Miklan, you say? You mean Sylvain’s elder brother? Well, isn’t that a fine family affair.”

Upon hearing that the antagonist force behind their coming mission was related to one of his students, Kratos found himself speaking up so as to better understand the situation. “Why was the eldest son of Gautier disowned? What has led him to resort to banditry?”

Seteth, who’d become accustomed to the Spartan only asking questions directly related to the mission, was surprised by the inquiry. “I believe that it had something to do with his lack of a Crest. Such happenings are fairly common within the Kingdom. But as to the familial strife that has led to this unfortunate situation, I cannot say for certain. The specifics of their personal affairs are beyond my knowledge."

Kratos did not seem satisfied at all with the answer he was given, but opted to not question the man any further.

“So, if I were to understand everything you told us so far,” Mimir began, “You want to send us and the rest of the wee lads to deal with some bandits who’d gotten their hands on a Hero’s Relic, of which we’d already seen is capable of such terrible power?” Rhea nodded. “Well then, pardon me if I sound too abrasive, but don’t ya reckon that there is another professor here that is much better equipped to deal with these kinds of circumstances?”

“You are correct to assume that Professor Byleth would be the ideal individual to lead the mission against someone who wields a Hero’s Relic, Professor.” The Archbishop said calmly. “But as it stands, I have already assigned her another task that is much more suitable to her capabilities. Thankfully, the Crestless cannot unleash the goddess’s power, even if they possess a Relic. Nonetheless, they are still capable of simply wielding those weapons like any other. 

“The reason I am sending both the Blue Lions and the Black Eagles is that this is no mere band of thieves. Miklan has a way of rallying others who share his grievances- those from the Kingdom’s army who feel they have been similarly disparaged or cast aside. This has led to a more organized force than what your students faced so far, and that is why they will be taking their assigned battalions along with them. However, to ensure that no harm comes to the students, we will also send the monastery’s most skilled individuals to aid you. In the meantime, please see to it that they are all adequately prepared for this mission.”

x-x-x

“Agh, I bloody knew it.” Mimir said ruefully as Kratos reached the main hall from the stairwell. “I bloody knew that something like this would happen eventually.”

“Do you mean the theft of the Hero’s Relic?” The Ghost of Sparta asked his bodiless companion.

“Aye, that’s part of it,” Mimir replied. “But what I’m really talking about is everything else that has led to it! Brother, do you remember what I told you when I said that for every good thing Crests has on Fodlan, many more bad ones take its place?”

“I remember.”

“Disowned sons turning to banditry, soldiers rallying against their own- this whole bloody place is caught in the web of Crests, and it won’t be the last time we see this. Mark my words.”

“And what do you suggest we do about it?”

“I…!” Mimir was about to say before slowly closing his mouth and clenched his teeth. “I don’t know, Kratos.” He told him despondently. “I mean, it’s just so infuriating.” Kratos remained silent, letting the head vent. “We're being sent to clean up other people's bloody messes, time and time again. And what really gets me, brother, is how the wee lads are forced into it. Sylvain’s got to march alongside his classmates to put his own brother down like a dog, just like Ashe had to when we put down Lonato's rebellion. And for what? For something none of them had any control over in the first place! It’s… It’s beyond words, it’s maddening!”

Mimir eventually let out a long, weary sigh, his tone softening as his anger slowly ebbed away. “But there's no point in staying mad about it now, is there? We’ll need to prepare the class and speak with wee Gautier about the mission at the end of the month. The poor lad deserves to know what he's getting into.”

“Do you wish to tell him personally?” Kratos asked, stopping midway through the hallway.

Mimir’s voice became more measured. “Is there something else you need to do, brother?”

Kratos remained quiet for a moment before replying, “I want to find the mercenary. There are some… things that I wish to confirm.”

The disembodied gave him a knowing and understanding look. “Aye, you go do that, brother. Last I heard, she was training with her new blade out on the plateau. Although I have my suspicions, I’ve no doubt that you’ll finally be able to get some answers from what happened yesterday. Just… try not to spook the lass while you’re at it, aye?”

From nearby, neither man was aware of a particular white-haired individual hiding behind one of the stone pillars as Edelgard listened in on the conversation. She continued to watch them as they left while remaining out of sight, and the words of Mimir echoed in her head before she silently slipped away in the opposite direction.

Chapter Text

“So,” Sylvain said aloud in a matter-of-fact manner while sitting at the edge of his bed, his fingers laced in between his legs as he mulled over the news Mimir had delivered to him. “I guess my older brother finally went off the deep end, huh?”

Across from him, Mimir’s head sat at the edge of his desk where Kratos had left him so that the two could talk privately, and the Norse god let out a reluctant sigh. “It would seem so, lad. I am sorry to have been the bearer of bad news. I was hoping that we would already be past this after what had happened with young Ashe and Lonato. You and he obviously deserve better than this.”

Sylvain couldn’t help but chuckle at his last statement. “Oh, don’t misunderstand, Professor. Miklan has always been a piece of garbage. I just never thought he’d go so far as to steal the Relic.”

Mimir hummed. “So, I take it you’ve no problem joining the rest of us on this mission then?”

Sylvain leaned back slightly, arms resting on his knees as he shook his head. “Nope, no problem at all, Professor.” A smirk crept across his face. “In fact, I’m kind of looking forward to seeing the look on Miklan’s face when he realizes I’m part of the group sent to take him down.” Despite the cheeky grin, Mimir could see Sylvain’s eyes betraying him with a look of bitterness.

“Tell me, lad.” The head spoke after a brief pause. “What led your brother down such a path? I know the history of House Gautier well enough, but I’d like to hear it from you. Clearly, there is more to this than just a stolen relic or a bad apple in the family.”

The redhead’s smirk faded. Clearly, he wasn’t expecting the professor to ask about his past relationship with his brother directly, and he found himself reluctantly answering the question as he clenched his hands tighter together. “Well, what is there to say? He didn’t have a Crest, but I did. And despite being the eldest, everything under the Gautier name was to be mine instead of his, and he’s resented me for that ever since.”

“Aye, but surely that kind of animosity towards him doesn’t just bloom overnight, right?” Mimir told his student. “Cutting ties and burning bridges with family is one thing. But to be so openly accepting of putting your own kin down is... well, that speaks to something much deeper, lad.”

Upon realizing that he’d given away more than he had intended, Sylvain gave an uncharacteristic scowl, standing abruptly from his bed. He turned his back to Mimir, placing a hand on his hip, staring at the floor. The room fell into an uncomfortable silence as Mimir waited patiently, giving the young heir time to gather his thoughts. After what felt like an eternity, Sylvain finally let out a deep, resigned sigh and said in a low voice.

“How could I possibly respect him? How could I ever feel anything but hatred for someone who made every second of my life a living hell?” He shook his head frustratingly. “Ever since I was old enough to become aware of what was happening, I was subject to all kinds of abuse from him; all while my father sat back and let it happen. Or at least, until he realized Miklan left me on the side of a mountain during the winter for two days before he finally did something about it.”

Sylvain turned back to face Mimir, his expression softer now but filled with a weary sadness. “And yet, despite all of that,” he began, “I don’t resent him. Not really. I used to, but… I realize now that if our positions had been reversed, I could’ve ended up just like him. Hating everything, feeling like I was cheated out of what should’ve been mine.” He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze dropping to the floor. “If there’s anyone I could blame for all of this, it would be my father. But whatever I feel about all of that, it doesn’t change what’s happening now. Miklan made his choices, and now he’s going to face the consequences. When I face him in battle, I will not harbor a single ounce of pity towards him because he deserves nothing more than what’s coming.”

From atop his desk, Mimir seemed pleased with his answer. “Aye, that he probably does. Though, I am curious. How does your old man treat you? Given what I understand about the Gautier territory bordering the lands of Sreng, I’d have presumed someone like him would’ve been harder on you, knowing what kind of threats lie just beyond those deserts. It also makes me wonder why he never disowned Miklan much sooner if his eldest son was leaving such a bad impression on him.”

“Oh, boy, where to begin.” Sylvain scoffed. “So, first of all, you’re aware that Miklan and I are half-brothers, right?”

“Aye, I do.” Mimir said solemnly. “Quite the tragedy, too, to lose a wife and unborn child to such savagery. I can imagine what a man like your da would go through before he tried again with someone else.”

“Yeah, but by the time I came around, he was already about as cold as one could get when it came to ‘fatherly’ love. Miklan was already bitter towards me before my Crest even presented itself, and by the time it did, it had only gotten worse from there. I think the only reason our father hadn’t done anything about it sooner is because Miklan was the only remaining child of his first wife, but after I came within hours of being at death’s door, he realized he couldn’t ignore it any longer.”

Mimir was shocked by what his student had told him. “That’s…” His brows furrowed. “That is irresponsibility of the highest order. I am sorry that you had to go through all that.”

Sylvain shrugged. “It is what it is. I guess you get used to it after a while. Besides, there’s no point in dwelling on it now. What’s done is done, and honestly? I’m just glad I survived long enough to get out of that mess. Well, for now, anyway.”

The Norse god pondered for a moment. “And let me ask you this, wee Gautier. What exactly do you intend to do once the inheritance of your House is left in your care, Relic and all?”

Sylvain paused for a moment, clearly giving Mimir's question some serious thought. Then, with a resigned sigh, he answered, “Honestly? The first thing I’d do is let the Gautier bloodline die out. Along with the existence of my Crest.”

Mimir’s eyes widened, clearly taken aback. “Let the bloodline die out? Well, I certainly didn’t expect that answer. And here I thought all your skirt-chasing was just for a bit of good sport.” And then silently to himself, Bloody hell, he’s more like meself than I originally thought.

The redhead let out a genuine laugh at that, but there was no mistaking the bitterness in it. “Oh, believe me, Professor, I’m absolutely dead serious. I despise having a Crest. And almost every girl I had ever talked to has always had this underlying expectation that they would one day gain my inheritance and the titles along with it. It’s all the same, but it’s also not particularly their fault. That’s just how it is when you possess this so-called ‘blessing.’ If I had my way, I’d make sure that it ends with me.”

“And what about the influence you’ll inherit along with it? Titles, power, land… Surely there’s more to it than just letting the bloodline die. What do you intend to do with all of that before it’s gone?”

“That’s the tricky part, isn’t it?” Sylvain rubbed the back of his neck, his expression thoughtful.  “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure yet. For now, I still answer to my father, and Crest or not, I’ve got the responsibility of protecting our territory and Faerghus from Sreng raids. That doesn’t just go away.” He sighed. “But hopefully by the time I graduate with the rest of my friends, I’ll have figured out a clear goal for what comes after. I’d like to do something good with it all… if I can.”

“And I’ve no doubt that you will do just that.” Mimir told him, offering an encouraging smile. “Also, lad, one last thing. If on the off-chance that you decide to- eh, not die alone of old age- I’m always open to helping you out on your little, shall we say, scavenger hunt in terms of courtship, aye? How’s that sound?”

Sylvain couldn’t help but snort. “You know what, Professor Mimir? I might just actually take you up on that offer.”

x-x-x

Thick gray clouds hung over the plateau right outside the Monastery, where Professor Byleth stood alone in the middle of the field. Several targets were set up a few meters in front of her, but her attention wasn't on them. Instead, she blankly stared down at the Sword of the Creator, the legendary weapon resting loosely in her hand.

Without much thought, she let the tethered sections of the blade flop to the ground, watching as they dangled limply. With a simple flex of her will, the segments snapped back into place, the sword returning to its original form with a metallic click. She repeated the motion several more times, the sword extending and retracting in a repetitive cycle.

After a few moments of this, Sothis appeared as she floated into her peripheral vision and said irritably, “How much longer are you going to keep doing that? Stop playing with it like a child’s toy and start learning how to use it properly.”

“I am trying to see how it responds to me.” The former mercenary stated simply. “I can get it to do basic things such as this, but I am unsure how it will respond when I actually use it.”

Sothis scoffed impatiently. “Well, as far as we are aware, you are the only person alive who’s ever used it, so it’s not like there’s anybody around that can teach you to wield it. The only way you’re going to get familiar with it is through trial and error.”

Byleth, whose expression remained unchanged, conceded. “Fine. But any self-inflicted injury I get out of this is going to be compensated by you, if you don’t mind.”

The young girl rolled her eyes. “Like I said, my power isn’t limitless, so if you want to go and waste it because you don’t know how to properly use a Relic, then that’s on you. Just don’t come crying to me if something were to happen and you can’t do anything to change it in the near future.”

She doesn’t receive an answer as Byleth focuses her attention on the dummies in front of her. Byleth allowed the segments of the blade to fall to the ground like a whip, her eyes narrowing as she sized up the nearest target. She had used a whip before, but the weight and design of the Sword of the Creator made it feel clunky in her hand. She gripped the hilt tightly, focusing on the motion she intended to use.

With a sharp flick of her wrist, she swung the sword in a wide arc, the tethered segments awkwardly lashing out toward the nearest target. The blow was imprecise, the blade whipping erratically and missing its mark by a wide margin. The segments then quickly clanged together as they retracted back into the hilt.

Sothis watched, unimpressed. “That was dreadful. You’re treating it like any old weapon. It’s clearly not made for that.” 

“And have you any advice of your own to offer?” Byleth asked her, who was also now becoming annoyed. “Because otherwise, unless you have something useful to add, I’ll continue doing it my way.”

Sothis crossed her arms. She opened her mouth to speak, but was beaten to it when a deep and gruff voice spoke behind her. “You are fighting against the weapon. It is not meant to be forced. The weight of the blade will carry the swing for you.”

Both individuals whirled around to see Kratos approaching them. Though he was unaware of Sothis presence, the smaller girl couldn’t help but instinctively shrink back and moved subtly behind Byleth. Immediately, the mercenary was concerned about whether or not the tall ashen man had been listening in on her seemingly one-sided conversation, yet the Ghost of Sparta gave no indication that he had noticed anything out of the ordinary as his eyes remained focused solely on the sword in her hand. Unfortunately, this did not put her any more at ease as she remembered Sothis’ warning from before, now that she was alone with the brigand. 

Yet she remained stoic and mostly expressionless as she too looked back down at the sword and asked him, “I suppose you have an idea as to how this works?”

Kratos stopped at her side, with Sothis maneuvering to keep Byleth between them as he added. “You need to maintain the flow of the sword’s movement. Breaking the momentum could reduce its effectiveness and will leave you vulnerable. When you swing, redirect its path if you must, but never stop its flow.”

At first, Byleth waited patiently for the other professor to provide more helpful advice such as stance, grip, and bodily movement, but once she realized it was all he had to say, she said, “Is that all?”

The Spartan nodded again. “Trust your instincts.”

From behind her, the woman heard Sothis say incredulously to her, “Are you still open to taking my advice instead?”

Kratos continued to gaze expectantly at the shorter professor for some kind of answer as Byleth weighed up her options. After a brief moment of mulling it over, she decided that she was going to take the man’s advice- for whatever it was worth- and prepared herself to have another go at the dummy she’d missed earlier. Without a word, Byleth adjusted her grip on the Sword of the Creator.

Letting the blade extend, Byleth swung it back to build momentum. This time, however, she allowed the chain to move freely, without interference. In a single, fluid arc, the sword came down, and the dummy exploded in a burst of straw as it was cleaved in two from top to bottom.

Byleth retracted the blade, though whether or not she was satisfied with the result, Kratos was unsure, as her continued blank expression left little to read out of it. “Thank you,” She simply stated. 

"You learned quickly." Kratos responded, crossing his arms.

She glanced down at the Sword of the Creator, running her fingers along the hilt. "How did you know?" she asked, her voice still even, but with a hint of curiosity. "About how to use it?"

Kratos remained still, eyes narrowing slightly as he considered her question. "I have fought with many weapons.”

“He’s dodging the question!” Sothis accused him, even though he couldn’t hear what she was saying. “Ask him again!”

The mercenary hesitated for a moment, then met Kratos' gaze again. "But this one... it's different. You knew how to handle it. Are there other Relics like this that you have used?"

The man was silent for what felt much too long for Sothis’ liking, and eventually Kratos uncrossed his arms and took a moment to inspect the straw target that the sword had obliterated. “I have seen many weapons in my lifetime. Some blessed by the divine, others forged for a sole purpose of death and destruction. Yours, however…” He steals a glance at the Sword of the Creator, and Byleth couldn’t help but hold the blade tighter and close to her. Noticing this, he finished. “...I do not know what to make of it.”

Another pregnant pause of silence envelopes the space around them. Kratos knew that what he was going to say next would be crucial, as he was still on the fence of whether or not he would interfere with what had been set in motion. He knew what the sword was. He knew the true implications behind the myths he had heard from Mimir, Seteth, and Rhea. The only question for him now was what kind of impression he would leave on the unassuming woman next to him about the power and responsibility she now possessed in her arsenal.

“...When I was a young man,” The Spartan finally spoke, “I had led countless men to war. We were warriors trained to know nothing but victory. With the belief of having the gods on our side, I led my soldiers into many battles, convinced nothing could stop us.” He paused, his eyes narrowing as he remembered. “Until one day, the hoards of our enemy were too great. My men and I were nearly wiped out, and in that moment, I realized that my strength alone was not enough.”

There was another pause. “...And what happened?” Byleth had asked him.

Kratos closed his eyes, his jaw tightening as he breathed heavily through his nose. Slowly, he turned to face her, his expression grim. “I made a choice that led to the destruction of my homeland.”

Sothis, who’d originally been listening intently to his story, scoffed. “Oh, please. Who does this man think he is, anyway?” She floated over to one side of Byleth’s shoulder, her arms crossed in annoyance. “You’d think he was some tragic hero with all his cryptic warnings. He talks like someone who’s seen the worst of it all but-”

Unbeknownst to her, Byleth’s eyes had subtly shifted toward where Sothis was hovering behind her. Kratos had noticed the change in her focus and instinctively glanced over her shoulder, his gaze following what he assumed she was looking at. This resulted in him unknowingly staring directly at Sothis.

The young, ethereal girl froze mid-sentence, her eyes widening as his hardened gaze pierced straight through her, or so it seemed. For a moment, it felt as though the brigand could see her, and the force of his stare rendered her speechless. She floated to the other side of Byleth’s shoulder, the bravado in her voice vanishing. “U-um, he can’t actually see me, can’t he-?”

Once again, Byleth’s eyes subtly followed Sothis’ movement, this time to her right. Naturally, Kratos noticed as well, and was once again looking directly in Sothis’ direction. But this time, something was different. Instead of looking through her, Kratos’ eyes seemed to lock directly with Sothis’ and fear began to take hold of her.

Suddenly, his vision blurred. The world around him began to dissolve into a deep blue shadow, as if reality itself were slipping away. From Kratos’ perspective, he could see a swirl of visions of a world he’d only started to become familiar with, flying through the air as fire rained down from above onto unsuspecting masses of people below. He saw, as though somebody else’s own eyes, the utter chaos of a large body mass thrashing around and attacking everyone in sight as the world around them was lit into a great bonfire. Then, there was darkness. A calm, soothing darkness as though the eyes he was seeing through were enjoying a pleasant slumber. However, that peaceful sensation was uprooted when the visage changed to a large, muscular man standing over the unseen individual, a large sword held in both hands as he prepared to plunge the tip of the blade downward. 

Then, just as quickly as it came, the blue shadow dissipated. Kratos found himself once again standing in the middle of the plateau. Byleth was still staring at him, her expression unchanged, completely unaware of the vision that had unfolded before him. From her perspective, it seemed as though nothing had happened. However, Sothis snapped out of her daze with a sharp gasp, her ethereal form shaking. Before Byleth could ask what had just transpired, Sothis spoke, her voice low and trembling, carrying a fear that Byleth had never heard from her before.

“Get out,” Sothis whispered, terrified.

“What?” Byleth couldn’t help but ask aloud.

“Get out. Getoutgetoutgetougetout, get. OUT!”

Sothis’ voice grew frantic, nearly screaming by the time she finished. Byleth, utterly bewildered, froze, unsure how to respond to the girl’s sudden, panicked outburst. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of it. She glances at Kratos, his expression unchanged, as though he was still completely unaware of what was going on with the ethereal girl behind her.

Forcing herself to focus on the present, Byleth turned to Kratos, her voice calm despite the urgency from Sothis. "Please excuse me, Kratos. I must be going now." Without waiting for his response, she hurriedly walked away, leaving the Spartan warrior standing there, watching her retreat as he tried to process exactly what had just happened.

Chapter Text

Byleth didn’t stop for anything as she hurriedly walked back through the main doors into the interior of the Monastery. Her mind was racing, and her grip on the Sword of the Creator tightened as she ignored passing students and faculty while heading straight for her dorm room. After what felt like an extensive amount of walking, she finally reached her destination, entered, and swiftly shut and locked the door behind her.

As she turned around, Byleth’s eyes immediately fell on Sothis, who had reappeared and was now sitting on the bed, curled up tightly against the wall with her arms wrapped around her knees. The small girl was trembling uncontrollably, her head buried in her arms. And for the first time, Sothis looked like a frightened child, despite usually acting like an old woman, belying her youthful appearance.

At first, she was dumbfounded by the sight of Sothis looking so vulnerable. The girl, who usually exuded so much confidence, now appeared utterly shaken. Unsure of what else to do, Byleth decided to come right out and ask, “Sothis, what happened back there?”

Sothis didn’t lift her head. Instead, she snapped, her voice shaky and strained. “J-just… give me a moment!”

Byleth stood still, watching as Sothis trembled and breathed heavily, clearly trying to regain her composure. After several long moments of tense silence, the small girl finally lifted her head and spoke, her voice soft and haunted. “The brigand… when he looked at me, he saw me- he looked directly into my eyes. And in that instant, I began seeing things…” Sothis shuddered again, hugging her knees tighter. “It was… it was absolute carnage. Pure, wanton death and destruction. So many- so many lives snuffed out before my very eyes, killed in so many ways that I can’t even-!”

If anyone besides Byleth could hear the girl, there was no doubt that someone could’ve heard her as she reached up and pulled down on her own pigtails as she yelled. “WHAT IS GOING ON? WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME? WHY CAN’T I REMEMBER ANYTHING?!?!” before once again burying her face back into her knees.

Sothis's voice cracked as she began to cry, her small body shaking with each sob. Byleth stood frozen, utterly stumped by what she’d just witnessed. Never before has her incorporeal companion acted in such a way before, and soon the professor realized that she needed to do a little more than stand by the wayside and allow Sothis to continue through with the emotional breakdown she was now having all by herself. Slowly, she made her way over to the bed, and without a word, Byleth sat down beside the young girl. She didn't reach out or say anything. Instead, she simply sat there, sharing the space with Sothis.

Eventually, Sothis does manage to rein herself in as she raises her head again and sniffles. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, and upon seeing the former mercenary staring at her with her usual deadpan, yet concerned expression, Sothis quickly straightened up. Her face flushed with embarrassment as she stubbornly tried to regain her composure while trying to force herself back into her usual demeanor. “I-I’m fine now,” she muttered, her voice shaky but determined to show no more weakness. “You don’t need to look at me like that.”

Byleth simply nodded in acknowledgment, not saying a word. The two of them sat side-by-side on the bed against the wall, staring quietly at the other side of the room. The silence stretched on, with only the faint sounds of the Monastery happening outside their door. The small girl fidgeted slightly, her eyes occasionally darting to the floor, then back up again, as if searching for the right words but not quite able to form them.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Sothis said quietly, “Those visions that I saw… I couldn’t recognize any of them.” Hearing this prompted Byleth to turn her head to look at her smaller friend. The girl however acted as though she didn’t notice this, still staring across the room as she continued. “It was unlike anything that I was familiar with here in Fodlan. The landscapes were strange- with massive temples and cities that put everything we’ve seen here to shame. But I also saw…” She shuddered. “I saw both men and monsters beyond even my own comprehension. I… I could see someone killing them, almost like I was seeing it through their own eyes.”

Sothis hugged her knees tighter. “I couldn’t make it out at first, but there was so much rage behind the ways they were killed. And the blood- so much blood, and ash everywhere-” Her eyes suddenly widened as a thought struck her, her gaze snapping toward Byleth. “Ash and blood.”

Byleth, still watching her closely, raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Sothis swallowed, her voice shaky as she continued. “The stench… the one I could smell around the brigand that I couldn’t make out before.” She shook her head despairingly. “I understand now.”

“Understand what exactly?” The mercenary asked her.

She turned to Byleth, her expression tense and petrified. “You need to stay away from him. As far as you can, and as often as you are able.”

“But why, Sothis?” Her corporeal friend pressed, with a rare look of apprehension. “Are you saying that…?”

“I- I can’t say anything for certain,” Sothis admitted, shaking her head. “But trust me, what I can tell you is that while he may be a friend to you and everyone else, I can almost guarantee you that he is not a friend of mine- or anyone else like me.”

Without even bothering to wait for a reply, Sothis vanished once again in a flash of green. And while Byleth was still uncertain about exactly what it was that happened in her confrontation with Kratos earlier, she knew better than to take the girl’s warning lightly as she looked down at the Sword of the Creator strapped to her side, and let out an audible sigh.

x-x-x

Not much time had passed before Kratos returned to the monastery, marching through the large wooden doors leading into the fortress's interior. Originally, his intention had been to find Mimir so that the Spartan could share what he’d experienced in his confrontation with the mercenary, but he stopped in his tracks when Dimitri’s familiar blonde hair caught his eye. He saw the prince speaking to a grown man he did not recognize, but the unmistakable blue hair- matching Felix’s perfectly- piqued his curiosity, and Kratos decided to approach the conversing duo.

Dimitri had been talking excitedly to the man when the boy noticed Kratos approaching from behind, and his face lit up even more as he cut what he was saying short and waved at the Spartan. “Oh, Professor Kratos!”

The man turned around at Dimitri's greeting, his expression shifting from curiosity to mild surprise as he took in the imposing figure of the Spartan approaching them. Kratos stopped just in front of them, his gaze shifting briefly between Dimitri and the man.

Dimitri, clearly eager, gestured between the two. "Professor Kratos, I'd like to introduce you to Lord Rodrigue Fraldarius, an old friend of my father’s." He then turned to the man he was just speaking to. "Rodrigue, this is Professor Kratos. He is the one who’s been guiding us in our training."

Rodrigue regarded Kratos with an appraising look before offering a nod of respect. "So, you are the one His Highness speaks so highly of. I must say, your reputation precedes you, though I hadn't expected to meet such a figure here at the Officers Academy."

Kratos returned the nod with his own, followed by a grunt of acknowledgement, but said nothing in return.

“I’m sorry for not having mentioned him before, Professor,” said Dimitri, “But Rodrigue was the one who took me in four years ago after my father had died. He looked after me as though I were his own son.”

Kratos' hardened features softened slightly at Dimitri’s words, and he shifted his gaze back to Rodrigue. “Is that so?” He said with a profound sense of newfound respect toward the other man.

Rodrigue couldn’t help but  laugh in good faith at the prince’s words. “You flatter, Your Highness. It was my honor to care for such a fine, young man.” Then to Kratos again. “In any case, it’s nice to finally meet you, Professor Kratos. My son, Felix, has mentioned you on occasion in his letters. I hope that he isn’t causing you any headaches as of late.”

“Your son is a fine student.” The Spartan reassured him, though his voice was laced with reservation. “However, his… behavior leaves much to be desired.”

“Oh, I would not doubt it.” Rodrigue chuckled, shaking his head. “I apologize for any problems he may have caused, but I assure you that he’s a good kid at heart. Besides, nothing a little tempering wouldn’t fix, wouldn’t you say?”

Again, the Ghost of Sparta grunted and said nothing back.

“By the way, Rodrigue,” Dimitri asked the lord. “What brings you to the monastery? Is it the thieves plaguing the Kingdom?”

“I’m afraid so. This is not merely a problem for House Gautier, but for everyone. The thieves have set up their headquarters in Fraldarius territory, and are mercilessly pillaging the villages of that area.”

Hearing this caused Kratos to scowl deeply as he said, “Why hasn’t the Kingdom dealt with this problem already? You are the proprietor of the lands that these bandits occupy, are you not? Why do you wait for the Church to send the children out to handle it?”

Though the questions were scathing- and in some cases, accusatory- Rodrigue did not take offense to this, and instead let out a deep and heavy sigh while crossing his arms. “You are correct, Professor. It is my obligation to deal with the bandits, and I would much prefer to handle this matter myself.” He paused, his voice tinged with frustration. “However, Lord Matthias has demanded that his son, Sylvain, be the one to lead the expedition to eradicate them from their base. The Church has agreed to this, and so, here we are.”

Kratos' scowl deepened, but Rodrigue continued, explaining further, “Believe me, Professor, if it were solely up to me, I would ignore these politics and clear out the bandits myself. But...” His face grew more solemn. “My relationship with Matthias is already strained, and pushing the issue further would only make matters worse. The other lords are watching closely, especially in the wake of Lonato’s attempted rebellion. Because of this, any further deterioration could have dire consequences for the Kingdom.” His gaze shifted between Kratos and Dimitri as he finished. “Regardless, I will support you all in any way I can. While I’m here, I will ensure the company you and your students will command is more than ready for this mission.”

“Thank you, Rodrigue,” Dimitri said appreciatively. “No matter what happens, we’ll be sure to retrieve the Relic and bring Miklan to justice.” He then addressed both men. “Now then, Professor, Rodrigue, I still have many obligations to fulfill, so with your leave, I should be going.”

The blue-haired lord nodded with a smile. “Of course, Your Highness.”

With that, the prince didn’t wait for a response from Kratos as he turned and started down the grand hallway. For a moment, both men watched as he disappeared from sight. Rodrigue then returned his attention to the ashen warrior, his smile fading and replaced with a serious, somewhat troubled expression.

“Professor Kratos,” he began, “If you are not too busy, might I have a moment of your time?”

Kratos remained silent, his gaze narrowing slightly as he studied Rodrigue. The weight behind the lord’s words suggested something of importance. Without a word, he glanced once more down the hallway where Dimitri had disappeared, then back to Rodrigue.

“Very well,” Kratos replied, his voice low and measured. “Speak.”

“It’s been two years since I last saw His Highness,” he began, his voice carrying a hint of regret. “In that time, I’ve heard many rumors surrounding him, and I’ve begun to worry until I was able to speak with him personally. However, as someone who has been working closely with him these past months, I wanted to ask... have you noticed any peculiarities regarding his behavior?”

The Spartan, knowing exactly what the lord was referring to, narrowed his eyes slightly at the shorter man. “I have kept a close eye on him,” Kratos replied, his tone blunt. “So far, he has shown nothing out of the ordinary.”

Rodrigue exhaled in relief, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. “That’s good to hear. I am… certain that you’re already aware of the things he’s had to endure since that fateful day, but that is not the main reason I wished to speak with you.  

“I have many regrets, Sir Kratos. Not only have I failed to protect His Majesty, but I also failed to protect Prince Dimitri’s innocence as well.” The head of House Fraldarius’ expression grew more somber. “And now, even though I no longer see eye-to-eye with my remaining son, I ask you to please do everything within your power to keep Felix and His Highness safe out there. It is not often that I would ask for such a favor from someone I’d deem to be a complete stranger, but after everything I’d heard about you, I believe you are someone who can be trusted.”

Kratos remained silent for a moment, his gaze unwavering as he considered Rodrigue’s request. Finally, he gave a firm nod. “I will do what I must,” he replied, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

And Rodrigue, reassured by the Spartan’s answer, offered a small, grateful smile. “That is all I can ask for.”

x-x-x

After his recent discussion with Sylvain, and with Kratos seemingly nowhere to be found within the monastery, Mimir had asked the young redhead to take him to the library, where the severed head could continue his own independent study and where Kratos would inevitably find him should the Spartan come looking. Some time had passed, and still, his old companion hadn’t shown up. But eventually, someone did come looking for the Norse god. From atop the table where his head rested, he noticed a familiar shade of sky blue hair entering and walking toward him.

Dropping the utensil in his mouth that he used to turn the pages of the book propped up in front of him, Mimir offered the approaching Marianne a friendly smile before greeting her warmly, “Ah, hello there, Ms. Edmund. Did you get yourself a good night’s rest last night?"

Marianne offered a polite nod. “Yes, I did sleep well, despite everything that happened yesterday,” she said softly, her voice tinged with lingering concern.

Mimir's smile widened slightly. “Well, that’s good to hear. Rest is important, especially after a day like yesterday.” Noticing the fickleness in the girl’s eyes, he then added with a more serious tone. “Was there something that you wanted to talk about with me in confidence, lass?”

The priestess hesitated. “Yes, there is, but we don’t have to go anywhere private. Right here will be just fine. May I sit with you?”

“Aye, of course.” The head said in a low voice, but maintained his smile. “Please, take a seat.”

With a grateful nod, Marianne did just that. And as she got settled in, Mimir had decided to get right to the chase before asking her, “So, lass, what’s been eating away at you as of late? Was there something about yesterday that you wanted to get off your chest?”

To his surprise, Marianne shook her head. “Oh, no, Professor. It’s nothing to do with that. It’s about, um…” She bites her lip while trying to recall what she’d practiced before talking to her professor. “I… actually came here to make a confession.”

Mimir raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “A confession from you? I must admit, I’m a bit surprised. You’ve always seemed like the least likely of the lot to have something to confess about.” His tone was light, though he was clearly intrigued. “But, no matter. Whatever it is, I’ll do what I can to help you set things right. So, what’s weighing on your mind, lass?”

Marianne, with her hands folded in her lap, nervously fidgeted with her thumbs before quietly saying, “It was two months ago, right before I decided to ask to join your class. I was passing by your room one night, and, well, I overheard some things that you and Professor Kratos had said.” At that moment, Mimir could almost immediately recall the specific conversation the priestess was likely referring to. However, still unsure as to exactly what she’d heard, the severed head waited patiently, giving Marianne an expectant look to allow her to explain herself. “I wasn’t able to hear everything,” The girl hurriedly added. “It- it wasn’t even my intention to intrude , but… the things that I did catch was what had motivated me to ask to join your class in the first place.”

Her professor clicked his tongue. “Miss Edmund… What exactly did you hear?”

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath as she gathered her resolve. “I... I heard you mention something about Prince Dimitri,” she confessed, her voice trembling slightly. “As well as something about ‘controlling the monster.’ I still don’t know exactly what that means, but...” She opened her eyes, looking down at her hands as she continued. “When Sir Kratos said that, it felt like something that applied to me, too.” She glanced back up at Mimir. “That was why I wanted to join your class. I thought that maybe... by being here, I could figure out what he meant, and maybe... learn how to control whatever it is inside of me, too.”

Mimir remained silent for a moment, his gold glowing eyes studying her carefully. When he spoke, his voice was low, meant only for her ears. “This is something to do with your Crest, isn’t it, lass?”

Marianne’s breath hitched, and she could feel the familiar wave of fear and shame tightening in her chest. She knew she could still deny it, pretend that her professor was wrong, but as tears welled up in her eyes, she gave a silent, trembling nod, her gaze dropping to the table once more. The answer she’d given him was the final piece of the puzzle, confirming what Mimir had suspected all along. He couldn’t help but pity the girl as he weighed his options for how to respond to this new revelation.

“Let me tell you something, Miss Edmund,” He told her firmly, yet reassuringly. “I have seen many monsters- and I mean- real monsters throughout my long, disembodied lifetime. And would you like to know what they all have in common?” Marianne blinked, looking up at him with uncertainty as her silence prompted him to continue. “They were not born that way. Now, I don’t mean to include things such as wild beasts, or even creatures of pure instinct. I’m talking about those who had the capacity for reason, for kindness, and still chose to make the conscious decision to inflict great pain and suffering on others simply for their own selfish gains.”

Marianne stiffened, having noticed that Mimir was starting to become uncharacteristically angry as he reached the latter half of the last sentence. Thankfully, however, he realizes this himself and the head took a moment to reel himself back a bit before asking her, “Now, do you truly see yourself as such a person, lass?” 

“I... I don’t know,” she admitted quietly, her voice wavering. “Sometimes, I wonder if... if there’s a part of me that might be.”

Mimir softened his gaze, giving her a moment before responding. “Lass, you’ve had many opportunities to show the kind of person you are, and time and time again, you’ve proven yourself. Despite your Crest and what it means to others, you’ve succeeded.” He gave her a knowing smile. “But now, you’ve got an even bigger opportunity ahead. You’ll be given command of a battalion soon enough, and it’s there where you can truly show the cut of your jib, as we say. You’ll have the chance to show everyone- yourself included- what kind of leader you are truly capable of becoming.”

Chapter Text

It was early morning, and a light fog had settled over the plateau where the Blue Lions and the newly arrived recruits had taken formation for their muster as a united battalion. Each student had been assigned twelve soldiers, including a seasoned noncommissioned officer who had already experienced combat and would serve as both mentor and advisor to the newly up-and-coming officers.

With a wax board in hand and a stylus in the other, Dimitri followed closely behind his professor as Kratos began to pass the platoon of armored knights that had been assigned to him personally. Their sergeant, who was arguably the most experienced out of the new arrivals, raised his hand in salute as the brigand stopped in front of him.

“Sir,” The grizzled man began, keeping his eyes straight forward. “Sergeant First Class Mattias Bolander of the Kingdom’s 1st Armored Cavalry Division, 3rd Heavy Assault Battalion. My platoon and I are ready for inspection, Sir.”

Unbeknownst to everyone on the plateau with him, with the exception of Mimir dangling from his hip, Kratos felt a strong sense of nostalgia settling over him, like he’d returned to a place that he hadn’t realized he missed. Yet, even though these were not spartans that he had once led, the Ghost of Sparta had always valued the kind of military discipline that the man in front of him had exuded.

“Very good.” Kratos told him and stepped to one side to inspect each rank. It only took him a brief moment to assess the line before he nodded curtly. “Adequate,” he muttered, and Dimitri quickly scribbled the note on his wax board as Kratos moved back to the front of the formation.

Turning to the sergeant, Kratos asked, “And you- share something of yourself.”

The man straightened slightly, a sense of pride visible on his face. “Sir, I have served Lord Blaiddyd in the Kingdom’s central army for ten years now. I’ve been stationed in a number of places from the mountain pass of Ruska to patrolling the Itha Plains, and it was there when I’d received orders to take my new command here on Garreg Mach.”

“Itha Plains, you say?” Mimir spoke up from Kratos’ hip. “Isn’t that the place where the wildlife tends to grow into… well, monstrous proportions, shall we say?”

The sergeant nodded grimly. “Indeed, that is correct. We know not what goes on there to manifest such creatures, and it’s suicide to even try venturing in there without an entire army behind to back you up: Wolves the size of small cottages, birds with wingspans wider than a King Wyvern… you can imagine the kind of carnage that would follow if they weren’t already busy keeping their own population in check.”

“That, I do not doubt.” The awestruck head agreed .

“I have seen my fair share and fought alongside many men,” the man said to Kratos, “but to be able to serve alongside His Highness throughout his tenure at the Officers Academy is the highest honor I could hope for, Sir.”

Kratos looked the sergeant over one last time, his gaze steady as he took in the man’s composed stance and clear dedication. After a moment, he gave a satisfied grunt and a curt nod. Without another word, he turned and moved on to the next formation, all of whom were women that Ingrid presided over.

“Good morning, Sir!” A taller woman next to Galatea saluted enthusiastically. “Wing Leader Freja Arnulf, 2nd Aerial Company of the 5th Sky Legion, reporting as ordered!”

Kratos once more grunted in acknowledgement. “And what is your story?”

“Sir! For six years, I have served honorably under Lord Galatea’s leadership. I was tasked with helping to enforce the border between us and the Daphnel region of the Leicester Alliance, but we also worked with Marquess Edmund in ensuring safe passage of ships in the Whitehorn Sea.”

Kratos raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “The Galatea-Daphnel borders. What role did you play there?”

Ingrid’s new NCO nodded as if anticipating the question. “Sir, Lord Galatea and Margrave Daphnel have had a long and bitter rivalry for years now. Tensions usually spill over from time to time, and we were only tasked with keeping the peace and making sure neither side oversteps. Thankfully, it has nothing to do with any formal border dispute between the Kingdom and the Alliance, and we try to stay on good relations by helping them to protect trade.”

“Ah, nothing like a good old-fashioned rivalry to keep things lively, eh?” Mimir said lightheartedly. “Though I suppose playing peacekeeper isn’t exactly what one would expect from knights in the sky.”

The Ghost of Sparta gave the head a low grunt in response before asking, “And how are you and your troops on the ground?”

“We train regularly on foot, sir. It’s not our specialty, but my sisters and I can hold our own if it comes down to it.”

“Hm. Very good.” Without further comment, Kratos turned and began moving through the remaining formations.

As soon as his back was turned, Freja leaned over to Ingrid and whispered, “Is he always this intimidating?”

Ingrid simply shrugged. “You get used to it.”

With that, Kratos continued down the line as each NCO introduced themselves and their platoon.

“Sergeant Second Class Roland Dufort of the Kingdom Light Cavalry Division, 2nd Cavalry Troop.”

“Corporal Elna Leclerc, Kingdom Magic Corps.”

“Sergeant Steffen Müller, Kingdom Light Cavalry, 4th Archer Brigade.”

“Field Sergeant Beatrice Novak of the Kingdom Field Medic Corps, 1st Medic Unit.”

“Sergeant First Class Arne Soren of the Kingdom Light Infantry Division, 5th Infantry Squad.”

“Chief Medic Sergeant Katherine Fischer of the Alliance Physician Medical Brigade, 2nd Healer Company.”

Kratos stopped abruptly near the end of the line upon reaching Dedue’s unit, noting the Church of Seiros crest on the soldiers’ armor, including the NCO’s. He looked younger and much less experienced than the other battalion leaders, and Kratos furrowed his brow as the shorter man before him nervously raised his hand under the Spartan’s scrutiny.

“I- um, Sergeant Third Class Viktor Karadimas, reporting from-”

“You are not Kingdom soldiers.” The brigand cut him off sharply.

The NCO faltered, lowering his hand slowly, his eyes darting to Dedue for reassurance before meeting Kratos’ stare. "N-No, sir.” He swallowed. “We were assigned by the Church under the orders of Lady Rhea herself."

Kratos narrowed his gaze, staring down the sergeant before shifting his focus on Dedue. “What is the meaning of this?” The NCO let out a quiet, shaky breath, visibly relieved to no longer be the subject of Kratos’ ire. He took a small step back, letting Dedue take the lead in addressing the question.

“Forgive me, Professor Kratos.” Dimitri’s aide began. “But apparently there have been some… discrepancies, when the unit that I was assigned arrived last night.”

Kratos’ eyes narrowed further. “Elaborate.”

Deduce took a breath through his nostrils but continued to meet his gaze steadily. “As I am certain you are aware, Professor, I am of Duscur descent,” he stated plainly. “Many within the Kingdom still harbor… unfavorable views toward my people. When my company arrived, they made it clear they were not going to serve under me and would refuse to attend the morning muster.”

Standing beside his professor, Dimitri shifted slightly, his gaze scanning the reactions from both his classmates and some of the troops in neighboring battalions, who were now casting curious glances in their direction. 

Kratos’ expression darkened. “Why was I not informed of this sooner?”

“Again, my apologies, Professor.” He answered calmly. “But I did not wish to complicate matters any further and avoid drawing unwanted attention to the situation. Since I have no direct authority over these men without formal rank or position, I cannot compel them to follow my orders. Even though my role is sanctioned by the Church, they still ultimately answer to their respective lord.”

Kratos fixed Dedue with a hard stare before shifting his gaze over to the rest of the battalions, and those who had been glancing in their direction quickly snapped their heads forward back to attention, including his own students.

“Hrm…” The ashen-skinned warrior let out a low, rumbling sound before turning his attention to the Church NCO in front of him. “Where are these men?”

Before he had a chance to answer, the Wing Leader next to Ingrid quickly raised her fist to gain his attention. “Um, excuse me, Sir,” she called out in uncertainty, “But the last I saw of Sergeant Rorie was when he and his men were heading toward the garrison pub inside the monastery.” She lowers her arm. “I’m not sure if they’re still there, but…”

Kratos had heard enough. He cast one final glance at the Church leader before turning on his heel and marching swiftly toward the fortress, surprising everyone. Both Dimitri and Dedue looked at each other for a brief moment as the prince quickly shut his wax board and his aide breaking formation before hurrying to follow their professor.

“Professor!” Dedue called out after him. “Professor Kratos, wait!”

“I wouldn’t bother, lads.” Mimir warned them with a knowing look while his head swayed from Kratos’ hip with each giant step. “Best you both stay out of his way for the moment. Trust me on this one.”

Meanwhile, inside the garrison’s pub, the men lounged around the tables and bar, filling the room with conversation and laughter.  The sergeant, seated at the bar, raised his empty mug toward the young man tending to it. “Oi!” He yelled out over the noise. “Another round!” 

The soldier nodded, grinning as he poured ale from a large barrel. Just as he was about to hand the refilled mug back to his sergeant, a sudden bang echoed through the room. The laughter died instantly as the heavy wooden door swung up, slamming against the wall and revealing a towering, white-skiined man with red tattoos. Kratos’ form had almost completely enveloped the doorway, and some of the men who’d previously been enjoying themselves could barely see the two students behind him as the spartan stepped heavily inside, his piercing gaze sweeping the room.

The junior soldiers gaped at the man that had stormed in, their laughter and conversation forgotten as they sat frozen, unsure of what to say or do and exchanged nervous glances. The sergeant, however, didn’t share his men’s hesitation. He remained seated on his stool, a scowl crossing his face as he looked down at his spilled mug, then back up at Kratos with a glare of disdain. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he snapped, his voice loud and indignant. “Barging in here like you own the place! Now you’ve gone and spilled my drink!” 

Being the only one to have foolishly spoken out, Kratos’ attention was now focused solely on him as the Ghost of Sparta slowly marched up to the Kingdom soldier. However, at a glance, the sergeant didn’t look the least bit intimidated as he took notice of Mimir’s head hanging on his side, and glanced up at Kratos. “Ah, so you must be the brigand that we’ve heard so much about.” He said nonchalantly. “Bet you get paid a tidy sum to be the Archbishop’s personal lapdog- like the one you’ve got standing behind you.” He jerked his thumb dismissively in Dedue’s direction, his tone dripping with mockery.

All around them, laughter broke out from the younger soldiers. However, there was an unmistakable hint of nervousness in all of them as Kratos continued to look down at the sergeant.

“You are Kingdom soldiers, are you not?” The professor asked him in a restrained, yet impatient voice. “And are you not the leader of these men?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

Kratos took an audible breath through his nostrils, his gaze remaining fixed on the sergeant. “You and your men are late to formation.” He tells him with an oddly cool tone. “You were supposed to be outside and attending muster.”

“What, you mean with him?” The man named Rorie gestured dismissively at Dedue and shook his head. “Forget it, slaphead. My men and I would rather march barefoot through the Valley of Torment than follow a treacherous swine into battle.”

His sneer grew as he continued, “And one more thing: even if you were to go and complain to Captain Gwendal or Lord Rowe about it, they’re about as likely to tell you the same thing I’m about to say to you right now. So how’s about you mind your damn business, and sod off!”  Rorie then let out a loud, mocking laugh and turned his back on Kratos, facing the bar once more. His men, though visibly uneasy, chuckled nervously before following his lead and settling back down. 

Kratos didn’t react immediately. Instead, his eyes shifted from one side of the room to the other, taking in each face around him. Then, without warning, his foot shot out against one of the legs of Rorie’s stool. The sound of splintering wood filled the room as the leg was taken out from underneath him, and the sergeant found himself flailing as he fell back in his stool and crashed heavily on the floor with a loud thud.

Once again, the room fell silent as the men around them stared in shock at what just happened, and Rorie could only gaze up at the ceiling with a surprised expression. However, it wasn’t long until he scrambled to his feet, his face twisted in fury as he turned to face Kratos. 

“Oh, is that how it’s gonna be, eh?!” He yelled at him before swinging a fist up at the taller man’s face.

Kratos moved effortlessly, stepping aside to avoid the strike and using the sergeant's own momentum against him. In a fluid motion, he grabbed Rorie’s wrist with one hand, and with the other, seized the back of Rorie’s head and slammed it down onto the bar top, pinning him firmly in place. But the spartan wasn’t finished. Maintaining his grip, he twisted Rorie’s arm behind his back and pulled it upward, sending a jolt of pain through the man’s shoulder. Rorie let out a sharp holler, clenching his teeth in agony as his assailant leaned over him.

“I am able to tolerate many things,” Kratos lambasted the Kingdom’s NCO as the man continued to holler. “But insubordination is not one of them.” He emphasized this by putting more pressure on the arm, while taking care not to go too far. He leaned in slightly, his voice low but forceful. “You and your men answer to the authority of the Church- and, by extension, to me. Therefore, you will do as you are told, and you will   be expected to conduct yourselves as soldiers.” Kratos’ grip tightened just enough to drive the point home.

“Am. I. Clear?” He growled.

Sergeant Rorie let out one last scream as he cried out, “ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT, I GET IT! LET GO OF ME ALREADY!!!”

Meanwhile, the rest of his men could only watch, uncertain of what to do as Kratos finally released his hold on their superior. Some of them had expected him to try and take another shot at the professor, but instead all he did was hold his shoulder while wincing in pain.

“I expect you all to be out there and in formation in no less than fifteen minutes.” The Ghost of Sparta told all of them. “From now on, see to it that you arrive on time so that I do not have to come looking for you again. Is that understood?”

A chorus of soft “yes sir” emanated from the younger soldiers, with Sergeant Rorie simply nodding in reluctance. Satisfied, Kratos turned to Dimitri and said, “Make sure every one of them is put on a charge for tardiness, as well as extra military instructions for whoever had recently consumed alcohol- no exceptions”

Finally, Kratos turned his gaze to Dedue and said, “There. Now there will be no excuses about any future ‘discrepancies.’ May these men serve you well.”

x-x-x

The Knights Hall was completely empty, save for two occupants who were sparring with one another with practice swords in the center of the room. And by “sparring,” it was actually Lysithea who was doing most of the aggression as she wailed away at her classmate while Ignatz stumbled back while attempting to defend himself.

“Come on, Ignatz!” she snapped at him in frustration. “What’s the point of sparring if you’re just going to flail around like that? Didn’t Petra already teach you how to fight back?”

“I’m trying, Lysithea!” Ignatz protested, raising his practice sword just in time to block another swing. “But you really don’t need to go so hard! And besides, why are we doing this here? Isn’t this where the knights train?”

“It’s the only time this place is empty!” Lysithea shot back, swinging again with an aggressive strike that Ignatz barely managed to parry. “Do you really think I want people watching me flail around like an idiot? No way! Honestly, I don’t know what our professor was thinking, suggesting that I even try picking up a sword. I’m a mage , for the goddess’ sake! This isn’t exactly my area of expertise!”

Lysithea’s grip tightened on her practice sword as she suddenly pressed forward, her strikes becoming even more furious. “This is all Claude’s fault! If he hadn’t signed me up for that stupid tournament behind my back-” she shouted, punctuating her words with a hard overhead swing that forced Ignatz back a step, “-Then I wouldn’t. Be. Doing this right now!

The last swing had hit the boy’s guard so hard that his wooden sword fell out of his hands, clattering to the floor. Ignatz winced, shaking his numbed fingers. “L-Lysithea,” he stammered, “Please, can we-”

“Pick it up!” she told him, pointing her sword at the fallen weapon. “We’re not done yet!”

But before her classmate even had a chance to protest even further, an older, feminine voice spoke up behind her. “Not bad, for a mage,” the girl turned around as Catherin leaned casually against the doorway with her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. “Though, judging by all the yelling, it sounds like you’re trying to fight your frustration more than your opponent.”

Lysithea stiffened at the sight of the seasoned knight, quickly standing up straight and adjusting her grip on the practice sword in an attempt to appear more professional. “Oh, um, Lady Catherine. I, uh… I didn’t see you standing there.”

Catherine cocked a smile. “Hey, don’t mind me, kiddo. I’m just here to witness the show you’re putting on against that poor classmate of yours.” She gestured toward Ignatz behind her, who was still shaking out his numbed fingers. “At this rate, you’ll be ready for that tournament in no time.”

Lysithea’s face turned red, with indignation. “I don’t need to be treated like a child, Lady Catherine,” she muttered with embarrassment before breaking eye contact.

Catherine’s smirk widened. “Oh, is that right? Because judging by how you’ve been swinging that sword around like a club, I’d say you’ve got a bit of growing up to do when it comes to technique. And I mean that both figuratively and literally.”

She paused, watching as the two students stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do next before an idea sparked in the Captain’s mind. Stepping away from the door, she strolled over to them and bent down to pick up the wooden sword Ignatz had dropped. She turned it over in her hand before looking at Lysithea with a grin. “I’ll tell you what,” She tells Lysithea, “If you’re that determined to train, then I’ll give you a few pointers myself. I’ve still got a bit of free time left before I’m needed elsewhere, if you’d like.”

Lysithea blinked, surprised by the offer, while Catherine turned to Ignatz. “Congratulations, Ignatz. You’re officially free from your classmate’s wrath. Npw go take care of whatever business you’ve got to do before she changes her mind.”

Ignatz let out a relieved sigh, nodding quickly. “Thank you, Lady Catherine! Good luck, Lysithea!” He grabbed his things and hurried out of the hall, leaving the two women behind.

The moment Ignatz was out of sight, Catherine’s smile faded into a more serious expression. “You know,” she said, gripping the wooden sword by the "blade" and wagging the hilt at Lysithea, “you’ve got quite the temper for someone who’s up against an opponent that wasn’t even willing to fight back.”

Lysithea crossed her arms, scowling. “I was trying to get better , ” she retorted with flushed cheeks. 

“Trying to get better by swinging like a maniac?” The Church Captain replied, unimpressed. “If you want a true master’s opinion, that’s actually a quick way to get yourself killed in a real fight.” She then flipped the wooden sword around in her hand. “Also, you were so focused on hitting your target that you’re not paying attention to what’s happening around you.”

Lysithea opened her mouth to argue, but Catherine cut her off. “And for the record, Ignatz was holding his own better than you think. If you’d bothered to notice instead of throwing a tantrum with a sword, you’d have seen how well he was utilizing his techniques.” Catherine’s lips curved into a faint smirk. “So if you ask me, I think Petra taught him well.

“But now,” Catherine continued, stepping back and twirling the practice sword in her hand with ease, “you’re not sparring with your classmate. Instead, you’ve got me now. So go ahead- try and hit me.”

Lysithea gave her a reluctant look, knowing exactly what was about to happen if she tried. But now that she’d been called out, her pride was now on the line, and she let out a resigned sigh adjusting her stance. She lunged forward, and Catherine swatted the attack aside with a single flick of her wrist with the sound of clashing wood filling the air. Lysithea stumbled slightly from the force of the deflection, her frustration mounting as Catherine gave her a cocky grin.

“Come on, now,” Catherine said, her tone teasing but firm. “You can do better than that.”

The young mage’s eyes narrowed, and something inside her seemed to snap. Subconsciously, she had decided to make it her life’s mission to land a hit on the Captain of the Knights of Seiros, and she was not going to rest until she’d done exactly that. She lunged forward, swinging her practice sword with every ounce of strength she could muster. But each strike was effortlessly deflected as Catherine danced around her while making it look as though she wasn’t even interested in the girl relentlessly attacking her.

Undeterred, Lysithea kept at it, her frustration only fueling her efforts. However, as time wore on, her arm grew tired, her swings slowing and her breath growing heavier. Just as her exhaustion was becoming apparent, Catherine shifted her stance, reversing their roles and going on the offensive.

With a quick flick of her wrist, Catherine lightly smacked Lysithea’s arm, causing the younger girl to yelp, “Ow!”

Catherine grinned, and she said in a playful tone. “Keep up your guard, Lysithea. Just because you’re tired doesn’t mean your enemy will give you a break. Out there, they won’t care how exhausted you are. Now come on- let me see that sword move!” 

Lysithea’s priorities shifted in an instant, her focus zeroing in on one thing: not letting Catherine land another hit. Catherine chuckled, clearly enjoying the challenge, but held back enough to keep the pressure on without overwhelming the younger girl entirely.

As they moved, Catherine offered pointed critiques between strikes. “Your footing’s too wide- tighten it up!” she instructed. “And don’t tense up so much; relax your grip a little. You’ll tire out faster if you keep squeezing the hilt like that.” While the heir to House Ordelia looked as though she were fighting for her life, the young Captain, on the other hand, was having the time of her life.

Chapter Text

The seminar had just concluded at the training ground, and both students and new recruits alike began filing out toward the large double doors leading back inside of Garreg Mach. The air buzzed with conversation, with much of it coming from the nobles who’d arrived the day before to witness the training session. They lingered in the courtyard, talking excitedly amongst themselves about the demonstration and exchanging their impressions.

In the center of the courtyard, Kratos watched as the large open room emptied out. A satisfied look crossed his face before he turned to follow the last of the soldiers through the doors. Just then, a familiar figure entered his field of view. Seteth, who'd been mingling with the nobles during the ongoing seminar, approached the professor. 

With his hands clasped formally behind his back, the green-haired bishop offered Kratos a pleased smile and said, “Well done, Professor Kratos. You’ve not only exceeded my expectations, but the nobles who are in attendance have spoken highly of your performance.”

From Kratos’ hip, Mimir’s voice spoke out in dry amusement. “Well, I’d have been surprised if you’d expected anything less from us, Master Seteth.”

Seteth glanced at the talking head. “Be that as it may, faith and results are not always aligned. That said, I had complete confidence in Professor Kratos’ ability to handle this seminar with the professionalism it required.” He paused, his expression shifting to something slightly sterner. “Especially after yesterday’s... incident with Master Molinaro’s unit.”

Kratos responded with a dismissive grunt.

“I trust neither you nor Lady Rhea are too upset about the way things unfolded?” Mimir asked the other man.

Seteth paused, his gaze shifting slightly as though weighing his response. After a moment, he spoke with a measured tone. “It is not an incident I would consider ideal, but... understandable under the circumstances. Master Molinaro’s disposition has long been a source of contention, particularly among the Kingdom’s forces. Their animosity, while unfortunate, is not entirely unwarranted.”

He hesitated briefly before continuing, his voice quieter. “Had I been in your position, Professor Kratos- and were it not for my role as Lady Rhea’s right hand- I may well have done the same.”

Mimir let out a low whistle. “Now that is unexpected. I’d honestly have pegged you as a ‘diplomacy first’ of sorts.”

The bishop waved a hand dismissively. “Diplomacy has its place, but so does decisive action. Regardless, I trust that you would have the discretion to not share what I have just told you with anyone else. After all, my job is to ensure that there are no bad actors trying to rock the ship between the various major factions within Fódlan. Speaking of which…” Seteth nodded over Kratos’ shoulder, and the brigand turned to see the several small groups of nobles talking amongst themselves and occasionally stealing glances at Kratos. “I know that I have said that once the seminar was over, you would be free to return to the comforts of your own classroom. However, most of the dignitaries that you see before you have insisted that they have the opportunity to speak with you directly.”

Upon hearing this, Kratos remained silent for a moment before a low grunt escaped him, clearly signaling his displeasure at the insinuation.

“I know what you are thinking, Master Kratos,” Seteth told him, his tone carrying an attempt to placate. “There is no doubt in my mind that many of these nobles intend to bombard you with offers- be it alliances, favors, or some other attempt to curry favor.” He paused briefly. “But I also believe that we know each other well enough by now to understand that they have nothing of value that would interest you.” His tone grew slightly more grim. “Still, I will caution you. These lords are not unaccustomed to rejection. If anything, I expect that will only make them more persistent. In the meantime, I ask that you mingle with them only long enough to satisfy their intrigue. The sooner they lose interest, the sooner they may leave, and the sooner you may return to your students.”

“You don’t suppose that they’re bold enough to think they can change his mind, do you?” Mimir asked.

Seteth gave a faint smile. “It is not boldness, but rather persistence I would be more concerned over. But I assure you, a brief interaction will suffice to placate their curiosity and make all our lives easier in the long term.” He straightened. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other matters that require my attention.”

With that, Rhea’s right hand turned and walked away, leaving Kratos and Mimir behind the remaining nobles.

“Well, Brother,” The Norse god remarked with shared reluctance. “Best we rip off the bandage and get this over with, aye?”

Kratos glanced down toward Mimir’s general direction on his hip, his expression unchanged as a low grunt escaped him in acknowledgment. Without a word, he began making his way toward the nearest group of nobles.

As the tall ashen skinned man approached, one of the three men, with broad shoulders and long blue hair, grinned with delight. “Well, I’ll be!” Leopold exclaimed, placing his fists on his hip. “The famed professor of the Kingdom’s house of kiddies! Kratos, was it?”

Before Kratos could respond, a sharp voice cut through the exchange. “Leopold, must you bellow like a bear announcing its territory?” Waldemar, the green-haired noble, said dryly as he adjusted his glasses. “I’m already saddled with one theatrical brute; let’s not risk encouraging another.”

Leopold let out a deep, hearty laugh, clapping a hand against his chest armor. “Ah, Waldemar, your wit is as sharp as ever. It’s a wonder anyone dares approach you without armor of their own.” He turned to Kratos with an exaggerated shrug. “Don’t mind him. And don’t worry, his tongue is the only thing he carries around that’s sharp nowadays.” He holds out his hand to the brigand. “In any case, the name’s Leopard von Bergliez, pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

For a moment, Leopold was certain that the man with red tattoos would reject the offer to shake, but was pleasantly proven wrong after Kratos didn’t hesitate to clasp his hand in return.

Neither man made a move to let go, and instead, much to Waldemar’s lack of surprise, Leopold continued to squeeze Kratos hand as to find out just how much iron the ashen skinned man had beneath those calloused fingers.

Leopold’s grin widened as he maintained his grip.  “Hah, a firm grip, Professor,” he remarked, his cocky smile remained fixed as his eyes met Kratos’ blank stare.

The spartan said nothing, his hand tightening ever so slightly around Leopold’s. At first, the Adrestian noble didn’t react, but as the pressure mounted, the smugness in his grin began to falter. His fingers twitched, his knuckles turning white, though he stubbornly held his composure.

Waldemar watched the exchange with a knowing smirk, his voice breaking the silence. “Careful, old friend. You might actually find someone who matches your bravado.”

Leopold’s grin wavered further as Kratos’ grip tightened once more. Finally, unable to stop himself, Leopold gave the smallest wince, his pride forcing him to mask the discomfort as best he could. “You’ve got… quite the handshake, Sir Kratos,” he admitted with a strained chuckle.

Kratos remained impassive but gave a single nod, releasing Leopold’s hand. “Well met.” He said in a flat tone.

The Empire’s Minister of Military Affairs flexed his fingers discreetly as he stepped back, the grin returning to his face, though it was now out of respect for the man standing before him. “I see the stories weren’t exaggerating. You’re a hard man to impress. You wouldn’t happen to have a Crest yourself now, would you?”

“I would highly doubt that,” Mimir spoke up, prompting his Greek companion to unlatch his head from his belt and hold him aloft. “Hmm, I must say your reputation precedes you, Lord Bergliez. I’ve read many accounts of your exploits during the Empire’s conflict with Brigid and Dagda, where you’ve slain many of the opposition in single combat. Only someone with a physique strikingly similar to Kratos could achieve so much in so little time.”

Leopold let out a loud, hearty laugh, the sound echoing through the courtyard. “Well, I’ll be! The man-goat sure knows how to flatter!” he said as he looked between Mimir and Kratos. “It’s not every day I hear my deeds compared to someone like this mountain of a man.”

“And I am sure that you two would have lots to discuss in that regard.” The thin man with glasses finally intervened while gazing at Mimir with intrigue. “However, I, Waldemar von Hevring, am more interested in speaking with you, Master Mimir. A fellow intellect, as you’ve just so aptly demonstrated.”

Mimir chuckled lightly, his disembodied head tilting slightly as if to nod. “Ah, indeed. It’s always a pleasure to meet one who values sharp minds over sharp swords. Although, it may seem for now that you’re stuck with the latter.”

Waldemar quipped a faint smirk. “A fair observation. Though I assure you, my association with Leopold is strictly a matter of necessity, not choice. That being said,” he gestured toward Kratos, “I imagine keeping the company of your... host has proven equally pragmatic?” Hearing this caused the spartan to noticeably scowl beneath the thick beard, and immediately Waldemar backtracked and bowed respectfully. “Forgive me, I meant no offense. I was merely curious, nothing more.”

From right next to him, Leopard scoffed, crossing his arms. “As always, your brain keeps getting ahead of your common sense, Waldemar. Maybe try thinking a little less next time, and save yourself the embarrassment.”

Waldemar shot him a sidelong glance. “And perhaps you might try thinking a little more, Leopold. A novel concept, I’m sure, but one worth considering.”

Leopold opened his mouth to retort but paused, his grin widening as a thought struck him. He leaned forward, peering around Waldemar to look at their silent companion with purple hair. “Hey, Greg. Are you about to introduce yourself, or are you just planning to continue standing there like a stump?”

Unbeknownst to them, the man Leopold had referred to as Greg had been standing motionless, his gaze fixed on Kratos with his mouth slightly ajar. His wide eyes betrayed his unease, and it only deepened when his attention fell on Mimir’s severed head. For a moment, he seemed lost in disbelief and unable to reconcile what he was seeing.

As the group’s attention shifted to him, the noble suddenly became aware of the eyes now watching him. His gaze darted nervously between Leopold and Waldemar, his lips parting as though to speak, but no words came. After a painfully awkward pause, he finally managed to utter out, “I… I must be going now. I’m sure that my daughter is awaiting me back inside. G-goodbye!” 

Without waiting for a response, he turned sharply on his heel and strode away hurriedly toward the interior of Garreg Mach.

Mimir watched him go with a raised eyebrow. “Intriguing…”

“Ah, don’t mind him.” Leopard told him, throwing his hand out toward the doors. “The paranoid dastard’s always been that way, and I take it that the talking severed head and a bloke like Kratos here didn’t help much for him.”

“Please forgive Lord Grégoire for his… apprehension,” Said Hevring in a measured tone. “Rarely does he ever travel beyond his estate, much less leave his own abode. His general perception of his own stature had led him to believe that he may become a target for ransom, or some other means.”

Leopold chuckled. “A bit rich, isn’t it? Always acting like he’s the center of everything. Still, at least it’s entertaining to watch him squirm.”

Waldemar sighed, adjusting his glasses. “Entertaining or not, it’s a nuisance when his paranoia dictates his every move. But I suppose such concerns are the price of perceived importance.”

Before the conversation could carry on further, footsteps echoed from the opposite direction of where Varley had hurried off, and the group turned to see Edelgard approaching with another nobleman at her side. Unlike the others Kratos and Mimir had encountered thus far, this man seemed to have a far more commanding presence around him. His sharp eyes immediately fell on Kratos and Mimir, inspecting them both closely as the young woman came to a stop beside the spartan and gazed up at him expectantly.

“Professor Kratos, and Professor Mimir.” She greeted them before gesturing to the man next to her. “It would be my pleasure to introduce you to my uncle, Volkhard, lord of Arundel, and the current Regent of the Adrestian Empire.”

Volkhard gave a small, practiced nod. “A privilege to finally meet the individuals responsible for such a remarkable demonstration,” he said smoothly with a bow. “Though I must admit, neither of you are exactly what I would’ve expected given the rumors and the stories that reached my ears from the capital. 

Mimir was quick to respond. “Rumors, you say? Well, those do have a way of... embellishing the truth, wouldn’t you say, aye? I’d be curious to know how we were painted by the good folk of Enbarr.”

“I wouldn’t think too highly of yourself, professor.” Volkhard said in a dismissive tone. “As you have said, rumors are exactly that: rumors.” There was an awkward pause as both Leopold and Waldemar gave the Regent a curious look before looking back at each other. Edelgard’s uncle continued, “In fact, my curiosity lies in the reality before me. Specifically, how it is you live as only a head.”

“Ah, now that’s the question, isn’t it?” The Norse god said with a hearty chuckle. “But to clarify, Lord Arundel, I wouldn’t quite say I’m ‘alive.’ Nor would I say I’m dead, either, if that makes any sense to ya.” 

Volkhard’s eyes narrowed slightly, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Magic, then,” he concluded with certainty. “And yet, I wonder. What sort of magic would make such an existence possible?”

Mimir’s tone shifted to one of dry amusement. “Ah, unfortunately, it’s the kind of magic that wouldn’t particularly work here, if you catch my meaning.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Well, you see, I’d spent roughly the past three moths studying…”

By this point, everything had begun to fade into the background when a flash of red hair caught the corner of Kratos’ eye. His attention shifted, locking onto a man with hair similar to Sylvain’s and marching toward the open doors leading into the monastery. Kratos’ gaze followed him silently, and once the man passed through the doors, he came to an abrupt stop just inside before he started looking around. Eventually, after seemingly finding who he was looking for, he raised his arm and made a beckoning gesture as if to say, “Come here.”

A moment later, Sylvain came into view with a scowl plastered on his face, and the spartan could see the boy mouthing something as if to say, “What do you want?” and the two soon became embroiled in an argument as evidenced by their body language.

“...and thus,” Mimir concluded with dry finality, regaining Kratos’ attention, “that is why I do not recommend it, considering what I had to sacrifice to even end up like this.”

“I see.” Arundel commented thoughtfully, though he still seemed pleased with the severed head’s answer. “I do very much appreciate your insight on our current limitations, particularly when it comes to Reason.” He then looked up at Kratos after having noticed the Spartan's diversion throughout their conversation. “However, it would seem that your companion has other matters to attend to, and I would hate to be the one to hinder-”

“Here,” Kratos interrupted abruptly, and without further explanation, held out Mimir’s head over to Edelgard.

The young empress-to-be blinked, stunned by the sudden gesture. Her gaze darted from the head in her hands to Kratos’ unreadable face. “I- what?” she stammered, instinctively reaching out and awkwardly grabbing hold of the string attached to Mimir. “I, um… Thank you?” she added, her voice uncertain as she glanced at her uncle, who appeared equally taken aback.

“I will be back shortly.” He clarified in his usual blunt tone. Without another word, he turned on his heel and began walking toward the monastery door.

Edelgard stood frozen for a moment, holding Mimir’s head in both hands like an unusual artifact. She glanced down at the severed head, whose expression was one of mild amusement. “Well,” Mimir said, breaking the silence, “this is certainly not how I expected today to go.”

Leopold let out a booming laugh, clearly entertained by the entire scene while Waldemar sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Is there ever a moment without theatrics when he is involved?”

Edelgard, regaining some composure, straightened her posture and held Mimir’s head at arm’s length. “I… suppose I’ll just… hold onto you for now,” she said awkwardly, to which Mimir replied with a cheerful chuckle.

“Aye, my lady, just don’t drop me. I quite enjoy staying in one piece.”

Leopold’s laughter then came to a sudden halt. “Hey, wait a minute! I didn’t even get to make him an offer yet!”

As Kratos drew closer, the argument between the father and son became more audible until he’d reached the doors where everything said could be heard loud and clear. Though he wasn’t out of sight from the two, the Ghost of Sparta made no attempt to hide himself or make his presence known as he listened in on what was being said as Sylvain threw his arm across his chest. 

“You really believe that I think this is a game? That I’m not taking any of this seriously?”

Matthias, his arms crossed his arms and responded coldly. “You’ve done little to prove otherwise, Sylvain. How can I entrust you with responsibilities when you’ve spent your time sneaking out at night, chasing skirts, and squandering your potential?”

Sylvain’s jaw tightened, his tone rising. “So that’s why you’re sending me to deal with Miklan? Is that the potential I’ve been squandering? Killing my own brother? Or is it because you don’t have the guts to face him yourself?”

The father’s expression darkened, his voice dropping to a dangerous calm. “Watch your tone, boy. You have no idea what I’ve endured to keep this house standing. Do you think it was easy disowning my own son?”

“No, but apparently sending both of them to kill each other seemed a lot easier for you in this case. I bet his mom would be really proud of you for that.”

“This is not about her!” Matthias nearly shouted, his nostrils flared and jabbed a finger at his son’s chest. “This is about the future of our house! Our name! Our legacy. And if none of that actually matters to you, then-”

The man stopped suddenly after becoming aware of someone else’s presence. Both he and Sylvain turned toward the doors, where Kratos now stood, watching silently.

Matthias cleared his throat, straightening his posture as he struggled to recompose himself in front of his son’s professor. “Master Kratos,” he greeted stiffly, his voice regaining some of its controlled tone. “I hadn’t realized we had an audience.”

Sylvain’s posture stiffened, his gaze shifting to Kratos with an almost pleading look that said, I really don’t need this right now. Without a word, he shook his head and turned on his heel, intending to walk away from both the argument and the conversation entirely.

“Sylvain, wait,” His father commanded, stepping forward and grabbing his son’s arm to stop him.

“Let me go,” Sylvain said in a low voice.

“Sylvain, just listen to me for one second-” 

“I said let me go! ” he yelled, yanking his arm free with enough force to almost cause the senior Gautier to stagger. The sudden act stunned Matthias, his hand hovering in the air where Sylvain’s arm had been moments before.

Sylvain glared at him, his chest heaving as he fought to compose himself. After a tense pause, he turned again, this time walking briskly toward the monastery’s interior without looking back. Kratos remained motionless at the doorway, his expression unreadable as he shifted his gaze to Matthias, who stood frozen in place, his lips pressed into a thin line.

The silence lingered as Matthias finally dropped his arm, exhaling sharply and muttering under his breath, “So much like his mother.” He then turned to face spartan at the doorway. “Is there something of which you require from me, Professor?” He asked as if to sound business-as-usual as possible.

Kratos held Matthias’ gaze for a brief moment before responding, “There was.” He then turned his head to watch Sylvain’s silhouette shrinking further and further away. “But not anymore.”

Matthias remained rooted in place. With a heavy sigh, he ran a hand down his face, then gazed up at the ceiling and said, “Why has the goddess cursed me so?” After a moment, he straightened his posture, taking a deep breath as he worked to fully recompose himself.

“I know that my son has said a lot of things to you about me.” The senior Gautier began. “He’s likely told you his side of the story, and while there is no doubt a lot of truth in what he’s said, I’d like to ask that you hear mine as well.”

He paused briefly, his eyes locking on Kratos. “You’ve seen it, haven’t you? The way human nature drags itself toward ruin. No matter how hard we try, no matter how much we reason or plead, it all too often amounts to nothing. I see it in your eyes.” The spartan didn’t respond. “You know exactly what I mean.”

Matthias exhaled sharply, his gaze momentarily drifting as if recalling painful yet vivid memories. “There was a time when I believed I could change it. That if I spoke the right words, extended the right hand, people would see reason. I thought I could overcome their greed, their anger, their hatred. And yet, each time, I failed. My words fell on deaf ears, and my hand was swatted away. And what did it cost? Lives.”

He clenched his jaw, his voice growing heavier. “I was a fool to think I could shape the world into something better. That I could outmaneuver the ugliness ingrained in us. And now, I see that same foolishness reflected in my son. I tried to reason with Miklan. Despite throwing away chance after chance, I still continued to offer it to him under the belief that the boy he’d once been was still in there, somewhere… and it was all for naught.” Matthias straightened slightly, his expression hardening as his eyes returned to Kratos. “But I will not fail Sylvain. No matter how much he hates me for it, no matter how much he resents the choices I’ve made, I will ensure he survives what’s coming. Because if I don’t... then everything I’ve sacrificed, everything my family has endured… will have been meaningless.” Gautier took a deep breath, “I don’t like asking for favors, Professor. But if it comes to it, all I ask is… make sure Miklan’s death is swift and painless.”

With that, he turned and walked away in the direction opposite of where Sylvain had gone, and the Ghost of Sparta was left alone at the doorway as he contemplated everything he’d just heard for a long moment before heading back to the training ground and retrieving Mimir.

Chapter Text

A light fog and drizzle settled over the expansive woods of Fraldarius territory, where the combined forces of the Blue Lions and the Black Eagles had made a temporary camp a couple of kilometers from Conand Tower. The fortress, a large circular stone structure rising approximately twenty stories high, was visible to them as its silhouette loomed above the treetops.

At the center of the camp, Kratos stood under an open canopy alongside Manuela, Dimitri, and Edelgard. They were gathered around a small table where Mimir’s head rested beside a structural map of the tower. With them was an older, broad-shouldered man with long orange hair streaked with gray, leaning over the table as he studied the map intently.

“As I’m sure most of you are aware, this-” the man named Gilbert began, his voice low and laced with weariness as he gestured to the map, “-is Conand Tower. Several centuries ago, this area was the site of a massive battle, back when invasions from the north were at their peak. In response, the Kingdom erected this tower as a means of both surveillance and defense. But now, it has been largely abandoned, as most of the bordering lands were annexed and the invaders pushed back behind the Ruska Mountains.” He then looked up at the individual around him. “However, Miklan and his band of thieves now occupy the fortress. Therefore, seizing may prove difficult.” 

“You know your history, Gilbert.” Edelgard told the Church Knight with interest. “If I recall correctly, you’re from the Kingdom, aren’t you?”

From Dimitri’s point of view, the veteran knight seemed to have given an ever so slightly scowl for the briefest moment before waving the question aside. “I left my home long ago.” He said with a pointed look. “If you have any questions about the mission, I’d be happy to answer them.”

Meanwhile, Kratos turned his head toward the rest of the students outside the canopy. They sat together in loose circles, talking amongst themselves. Among them, Annette sat slightly apart, her gaze fixed on the man whose hair color matched hers. Her shoulders were tense as she watched him, but the moment she realized Kratos was looking at her, she quickly averted her eyes, pretending to focus on the damp ground in front of her.

The Spartan lingered for a moment before returning his attention to the conversation at hand as Dimitri gave the old knight a knowing smirk. “That’s too bad, Gilbert. Since you’re very well informed, I was hoping to hear that you would tell us more.”

“In any case,” said Gilbert, his tone firm as he steered the conversation away from himself. “While the fortress itself is formidable in its construction, it requires a sizable garrison to operate effectively.” He gestured toward specific points on the map. “Thankfully, according to the latest reports, Miklan and his bandits are severely undermanned. They may be able to hold off a proper siege for a few days, but once we manage to get inside, there will be little else they can do.”

“Aye, that’s all well and good,” Stated Mimir, “but we don’t exactly have the means to conduct a siege, now do we? And since none of us are keen on standing around outside waiting to be spotted and picked off, we’ll need to find another way in.” He paused, his eyes rolling toward the darkening sky as a rumble of distant thunder echoed through the woods. “And you know what, that coming storm might just be the cover we need and-”

“-And use it as cover to mask our approach.” Edelgard finished with gleaming intrigue.

Dimitri nodded, his brow furrowed as he considered the plan. “Gilbert, are there any specific entry points that would be less guarded?”

Gilbert pointed to another part of the map. “Here. This access point leads to an internal staircase that bypasses most of the main defenses. Scouts under young Fraldarius’ unit reported it’s only manned by a couple of sentries. It’s our best option for entry without alerting the bandits.”

Edelgard immediately stepped in, “They shouldn’t be a problem. We’ll hit them before they even realize what’s happening.” She glanced at her professor. “Manuela, do you have any objections?”

Manuela shook her head, pulling her cloak tighter against the damp chill of the storm. “None at all. The sooner we can get out of this rain, the better.”

Everyone stood silently for a moment as they soaked in the initial plan, until it was eventually broken by the sound of Sylvain’s voice. “So, I take it we’ve got the whole plan in order already?” The redhead put on one of his signature smiles as he walked in under the canopy. 

“Ah, Sylvain.” Dimitri greeted his classmate. “How did the patrol go with you and your unit? And yes- we have a way inside, but there’s still the matter of formation.” He turned to Kratos. “Specifically, who will be forming the vanguard during the assault.” The prince paused in thought for a moment before he let out a sigh. “Sylvain, about your brother… I know he’s been disowned, but…

Sylvain’s smile vanished as he shook his head. “Listen, Your Highness, don’t bother losing your head over those lowlifes. It’s a wasted effort.” He crosses his arms. “He is no longer a member of House Gautier… or my brother. He’s nothing more than a common thief.”

“Are you sure about that? It would be understandable to find this situation… well, regrettable, to say the least.”

“Regrets?” The older student scoffed, letting out a bitter chuckle. “Heh, you must be joking. You know we’re far past the point of regret. And it always falls on the younger brother to clean up the mistakes of their elders, doesn’t it?” 

Before either Dimitri or anyone else could respond, Sylvain had already turned on his heel and walked out from under the canopy, heading back to where the rest of the students waited in the light drizzle. Everyone, including Edelgard, watched him go.

“What a mess.” The empress said with resignation. “Forsaken by the Goddess, who now demands his execution.”

The prince couldn’t help but furrow his brow at her words. “What exactly do you mean by that, Edelgard?”

“I mean,” She clarified while attempting to mask her impatience, “that there’s no reason that Crests should have the power to dictate someone’s destiny.” The young woman placed a hand on her hip and looked at Church Knight. “Don’t you agree, Gilbert? He was just another victim of cruel fate.”

There was an awkward pause before Mimir “stepped” in. “Aye, lass, I won’t argue that Crests played a large part in these horrific circumstances, nor would anyone deny their influence over the way things are. However, ” from the table, he gazed up at the white-haired girl with a look of both understanding and reservation. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves here. It wouldn’t be fair to put all the responsibility on someone, or something for the choices that Miklan made now, would it?”

The head’s bifrost eyes fell on His Highness for a moment before shifting over in the direction where Sylvain had left. “Take the other wee Gautier for example. The boy had plenty of reason to go down a similar path- maybe even worse. He’s got the Crest, aye, but one could argue it brought him more grief than glory, thanks to the abuse and resentment he endured from his elder brother.”

“Precisely,” Edelgarded emphasized. “Had it not been for the system in place to begin with, then maybe-”

“Don’t misunderstand me, lass,” Mimir interjected firmly, cutting her off. His golden eyes locked onto hers and his voice steady. “I’m not saying the system isn’t flawed. It has certainly hurt a lot of people, but that doesn’t erase individual responsibility. Miklan chose to let his anger consume him, just as Sylvain chose not to. That’s the distinction I’m making.”

Edelgard’s expression tightened, a flicker of frustration crossing her face. “So you’re saying the system bears no responsibility?”

“I’m saying it matters plenty,” Mimir replied evenly. “But blaming it for everything lets people off the hook for their own choices. Miklan’s story is tragic, aye, but it’s not entirely the fault of Crests or the system. It’s also his.”

Edelgard fell silent, her hand dropping from her hip as she stared at the table. After a moment, she sighed, her tone laced with reluctant concession. “Well, I suppose we’re all entitled to our opinions on the matter.”

Back outside, the rest of the Blue Lions and Black Eagles continued to pass the time with conversation. And when Sylvain came onto the scene, he noticed Annette sitting by herself on a nearby log, her shoulders slumped and her gaze fixed on the ground.

With his usual casual stride, the redhead came up behind her, stepping over the log to sit down beside her. His cheerful expression was in place, though anyone paying close attention might have noticed it was more forced than usual. “You know,” he began playfully, leaning forward slightly, “the last time my dad made a face like that, it ended up sticking that way. Pretty sure it hasn’t changed since.”

The girl blinked, momentarily startled by his sudden appearance. She glanced up at him, a faint crease of annoyance mingling with the faintest hint of amusement. “You’re ridiculous, Sylvain,” she muttered.

“Guilty as charged,” he admitted with a grin, leaning back and stretching his arms out. “But hey, if it gets you to stop sulking, I’d say it’s worth it.”

Annette huffed lightly, brushing aside some loose strand of hair from her face. “I’m not sulking,” she said half-heartedly, her voice unconvincing even to herself. “I’m just… thinking about some things.”

The redhead tilted his head, his grin fading into a more genuine smile. “Well, lucky for you, I’m great at helping people not think about things. So, what’s on your mind?”

His classmate doesn’t respond for a moment while tapping a finger on her knee as if to contemplate on whether to humor him or not. “...Your father, did he ever…” She hesitated. “Did he ever come to see you when you were at the Monastery? Or... was it always just about business?”

Sylvain blinked, surprised by the question, before leaning forward slightly with a thoughtful hum. “No, not really. I mean, he wrote letters to me, but I never responded to any of them.”

“Really? Why?” Annette asked, her brow furrowing slightly as she looked at him.

“To put it in your own words, it was because they were about business as usual,” Sylvain said with a shrug, “You know, ‘Do this,’ ‘Don’t do that,’ ‘Why can’t you be more…’” He trailed off, shaking his head before offering her a small, wry smile. “Point is, they weren’t the kind of letters that made you feel like someone actually wanted to see you.”

“But he was around before you came to the Academy, right?” She pressed.

Sylvain took a deep breath through his nostrils. “Yeah… he was.” The young son of Gautier admitted as he stared out into the woods. “Not exactly the warm and fuzzy type, though. He was there to make sure I didn’t mess up, as though he was trying to avoid another Miklan-esque type of situation. In fact, let’s just say we didn’t have a lot of heart-to-hearts.”

Annette looked down, her fingers fidgeting with the edge of her cloak. “But at least he was there. I mean... that’s something , right?”

Sylvain tilted his head, glancing at her. “Maybe. Depends on how you look at it. Sometimes, it’s easier when someone isn’t around to point out every flaw or remind you how you’ve disappointed them. But hey, at least you don’t have to deal with that kind of thing.”

At this, the young girl sighed frustratingly and shook her head. “To be honest, Sylvain, I’d say you’re lucky to not have to deal with the things I’ve had to put up with. Both me and my mother.”

The older boy frowned. “Is he really still avoiding you?”

“Every chance he gets,” she muttered. “It’s like I don’t even exist to him.”

For a moment, Sylvain considered saying something to further discredit the man talking with their professor beneath the canopy. But after a brief period of introspection, he instead said, “...I’m sure he’s not doing it on purpose.”

Annette’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowing slightly. “How would you know?” 

“For the same reason my father refuses to come over here himself to deal with Miklan.” He told her simply. “To him, it’s easier to just avoid the problem than face the fact that he messed up.”

“And you think he’s messed up with you?” Annette asked, her voice tinged with curiosity and doubt. “Are you disappointed with the way you’ve turned out?”

Her question gave the young man pause for thought. “Honestly, I think that remains to be seen. But if I do happen to turn out as anything worthwhile,” he nodded toward the tall white brigand beneath the canopy. “Then at least I'll know who to thank in that regard.”

Sylvain offered Annette a sincere smile this time, a rare moment of genuine warmth breaking through his usual playful demeanor. “You know what, Sylvain?” She said after a brief pause, her lips curving into a small but genuine smile of her own. “I never thought I’d say this, but that actually makes two of us.”

Elsewhere in the camp, Felix sat cross-legged on the ground away from the main group, including his battalion. With his sword in one hand across his lap and a whetstone in the other, he busied himself to ensure that all of his gear were in order, with only the sound of soft ringing metal to accompany him while waiting for the assault to finally begin.

As he worked, Felix became vaguely aware of movement at the edge of his vision. Glancing up, he spotted Marianne von Edmund stepping further into the woods, and the sharpening of his blade slowed. Before long, she stopped roughly thirty meters away, just within sight but far enough to be out of earshot of the main camp.

From her satchel, she withdrew a small tome and held it open in one hand. With the other, she began to summon what looked like frost from the air. Felix watched in silence as the frost coalesced into a sharp, crystalline spike before Marianne threw the ice projectile toward a nearby tree. However, just before it could reach its target, the spike disintegrated midair, scattering into a fine mist of powdered snow that harmlessly dusted the bark. With her back turned to her, he watched as her shoulders sagged in frustration before looking back down at her tome as if to see where she’d gone wrong. 

Unbeknownst to her, Felix recalled something he’d meant to address for some time. Realizing this was the best opportunity without interruptions, he glanced around briefly to confirm no one else was nearby. Satisfied, he rose to his feet, sheathing his blade as he silently approached Marianne.

The young woman didn’t even notice who was behind her until the boy’s voice made her nearly jump out of her skin. “Hey.”

Marianne quickly turned, her wide eyes meeting his as she clutched the tome closer to her chest. “Oh! Felix… I didn’t see you there,” she stammered, her voice quieter than usual, though it was never loud to begin with.

He crossed his arms, glancing at the powdered snow that clung faintly to the bark of the tree she had been aiming for. “Ice magic, huh?” he said bluntly. “Not bad, even if it didn’t hit.”

Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she looked down at her tome. “I’ve been practicing,” she murmured. “It’s… not my strongest, but I’m trying to improve.”

Felix tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “Reason magic isn’t my strongest either, but I know enough to use it when I need to. Annette’s been tutoring you as well?”

“Oh, um… yes, a little. She’s been helping me understand some of the finer points of incantation. But I still have a long way to go.”

The swordsman scoffed. “I think it has less to do with ‘the finer points’ and more to do with intent, if your recent attempt is anything to go by.”

“W-what do you mean?”

“Your technique isn’t the problem. You’re hesitating.”

Marianne blinked, her fingers tightening on the edges of her tome. “Hesitating?”

Felix nodded, gesturing toward the tree. “Your incantation was solid, but when you threw it, you held back. You didn’t commit to the spell.”

She frowned slightly, as though processing his critique, then sighed. “I just… I don't want to hurt anything unless I have to.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Even a tree?”

She gave a small, sheepish shrug. “Even a tree.” Felix gave her a hard look, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as if studying her. Marianne shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, clutching her tome a little tighter. “I-is there something wrong?”

“It’s not that something’s wrong,” Felix retorted after another long pause. “It’s more that something about you puzzles me.”

“I’m… sorry, Felix. I don’t exactly follow.”

Felix crossed his arms, his expression sharp yet inquisitive. “Mercedes has told me that you have this… affinity for understanding animals’ emotions. Is that right?”

Marianne blinked in surprise, unsure of where the question was leading. “I suppose so. I’ve always been able to connect with animals. They seem to sense my feelings, and I can usually understand theirs.”

He nodded. “In that case… I think it’s safe for me to assume that you can also sense what the boar is feeling?”

The priestess tilted her head, her brows knitting together in genuine confusion. “I… I’m sorry, Felix, but what do you mean by that?”

“I mean, your new sparring partner.” He told her, uncrossing his arms. “The boar prince.”

Marianne was silent for a moment before swallowing. “You mean… Prince Dimitri?” she asked hesitantly.

“That’s exactly who I mean,” Felix replied, his tone blunt. “You’ve been training with him more than usual lately. I’ve noticed.”

Marianne was silent for a moment, processing his words. She swallowed again, her grip on the tome tightening even further. “I’ve been training with him, yes, but… I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”

Fraldarius paused, picking his words carefully. “I’m saying,” he began slowly, “that the prince is not the kind of person you think he is.”

His classmate frowned, and to her own surprise, she began to raise her voice as she said, “But… Prince Dimitri has been nothing but respectful to me. He-”

“Stop,” Felix cut in irritably, and Marianne’s attempt to push back on his accusations dissipated instantly. “Look, I’m not going to continue wasting my time with this, because it’s not my job to babysit others over things they refuse to see. If you think the boar is exactly what he shows on the surface, fine. Stick to that if it makes you feel better.” He continued, and his tone became deathly cold. “ However, one thing I will say that I hope you take into heart for your own sake: If your gut feeling ever tells you something’s wrong when you’re around him, you’d do well to listen to it.”

Without even waiting for a response, Felix had already begun to turn around and head back to camp, leaving behind a confused and unsettled Marianne in his wake as the thunderclouds gathered overhead.

Chapter Text

Entering the tower from the entrance that Gilbert described proved to be little challenge for both the Blue Lions and the Black Eagles. And by “entrance,” it was, in reality, a hole in the side of the fortress’ stone walls that had been boarded up and manned by the two sentries stationed there.

This was mainly thanks to Manuela, and while the entire company had hidden from sight some distance away, the songstress had gone ahead to deal with the men guarding it. She’d proven herself to be quite the actress- and a lethal one at that. With the rain pouring down and obscuring their vision, the sentries had spotted a beautiful woman stumbling around in the mud, calling out and desperately pleading for help.

Believing her to be a maiden in distress, the guards had taken the bait and had originally planned to exploit this seemingly fortuitous encounter on what had been a miserable night standing watch in the rain. This ultimately proved to be their demise, as the femme fatale took advantage of their distraction, slipping the sword out from one of the bandit’s sheaths. And moments later, two dead bodies now lay at her feet.

Once the coast was clear, Manuela let out an inconspicuous whistle toward the trees. At her signal, the entire company, led by Kratos and Gilbert, made their way to the fortress where she awaited them. The first ones to arrive immediately set to work on dismantling the boards covering the hole. Among the last to pass by the slain sentries was Caspar, who let out a low whistle of his own as he stepped past the bodies.

“Damn,” the hot-headed boy said aloud, glancing at his friend Linhardt. “I take back everything I’ve said about our professor. At least now I know for sure not to get on her bad side.”

From nearby, Manuela couldn’t help but smirk. “I’m glad you’ve finally come to realize that even your professor is capable of committing acts of violence, my dear Caspar. And I trust you’ll prove wise enough to remember that going forward, yes?”

The second son of Bergliez swallowed. “Y-yes ma’am.”

With the boards finally removed, Gilbert turned to address the company. “The stairs here will lead us almost to the top,” he said over the sound of the rain. “That is where the gang’s leader will hopefully be waiting for us. Once we’ve secured Miklan and the Relic, we’ll be working our way down so as to route the remaining bandits from the fortress. With any luck, we won’t raise the alarm on our way up. From this point forward, everyone is to remain absolutely silent until it is no longer an option. Once we reach the top of the stairs, we’ll have to improvise. So no matter what happens, stay with your assigned units and follow your leader’s orders without hesitation.”

He then looked between Kratos and Manuela. “Are we ready?”

“Yes,” the Spartan answered without hesitation.

“We’ll make this quick and efficient,” Manuela affirmed with a nod.

“Very well,” Gilbert said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “Everyone, follow me!”

x-x-x

They’d reached the eighteenth floor without incident, and by the time they approached the double doors leading out of the stairwell, Gilbert halted. He raised a hand, signaling for the group to stop. The rain outside was still audible through the thick walls, but the interior was eerily silent.

Once the older knight was certain that everyone had the chance to catch their breath, he gave a nod to both professors of their respective classes, who gestured in turn to let him know that they were ready to begin the assault. With that final confirmation, Gilbert threw the doors open and rushed out into the open, with everyone else following close on his heels. 

They’d entered the grand hallway from the side, stepping into a vast space with high, vaulted ceilings and stone walls, with torches revealing the long stretch of the corridor. To their right, at the far end of the hall, was the main staircase leading downward to the next floor, which had been partially blocked off with large chunks of rubble. To their left, the hallway continued along the outer edge of the fortress, hugging the walls before disappearing around a corner, likely leading to the next set of interconnected floors.

Several bandits were already scattered throughout the hallway, some moving between floors while others lingered. The sight of soldiers suddenly pouring in through one of the doors lining the inner walls froze a few in their tracks, their expressions ranging from shock to disbelief. One bandit, however, immediately turned on his heels and bolted in the opposite direction.

“Sound the alarm! We’re under attack!” he bellowed, his voice echoing through the corridor and breaking the stunned silence. Soon after, the sound of a bell could be heard from somewhere on the top floor, and its ringing echoed and reverberated through the entirety of the fortress.

The infiltrating company wasted no time getting into formation. Before the alarm had even been raised, Edelgard, Sylvain, Dimitri, and their respective units had already positioned themselves as the vanguard, shields raised, with Kratos and Gilbert joining their front line. Ingrid and Ferdinand took positions behind them to step in to support them as needed.

“This hallway should lead us straight to Miklan.” Gilbert called out as the bandits rushed to organize themselves. “Watch the doors for any surprises- and be mindful of those corners!”

“They have nowhere to flee, so the situation is in our favor.” Edelgard added while brandishing her axe. “All we have to do is chase them down.”

“Don’t hold back for my sake,” Sylvain reminded everyone. “My brother is going to pay for everything he’s done.”

Meanwhile, Kratos turned his head to the redhead to see how he was faring at the moment, and he was satisfied to see the boy’s expression as serene and absolutely ready to take on the challenge that lay ahead of him. For a brief moment, he reflected on the young noble standing beside him at this very moment compared to the one he’d caught sneaking out three months prior. He remembered the things Sylvain’s father had told him- how the boy couldn’t seem to grasp just how serious the situation had become and what he would need to be prepared for in the future. But the look on Sylvain’s face was all the Ghost of Sparta needed to confirm that he was more than ready to face his brother in combat.

Eventually, the youngest son of Gautier noticed the brigand looking in his direction, and Sylvain could not help but offer his professor a small smile of reassurance. In return, Kratos let out a low, approving grunt, and the company began to move forward to confront their incoming attackers.

Ever since the two strangers had arrived in Fodlan, Kratos had taken active measures to avoid killing anyone they’d encountered, even those who’d tried to kill him. The main reason behind this was the unfamiliarity of this new land and its customs. He didn’t want to risk setting events in motion that could not be undone, something he’d learn from his experiences in the Norse and Greek realms. Even during his battle with the Death Knight, Kratos had deliberately avoided killing the man behind the mask, and instead had led the mysterious figure on to keep him occupied long enough for his students to fulfill their mission before sending him a good reason to never come back.

But now, the circumstances were much different, and his mindset had changed. The man leading the enemy forces was a direct threat to his students, and the carnage wrought by Miklan and his gang in the villages they had raided was undeniable. Kratos now knew that the luxury of restraint was no longer an option. The suffering Miklan had inflicted on others demanded decisive action, and once the two forces clashed in the push toward the next set of stairs, the ashen-skinned warrior held no reservations as he struck down those in front of him.

As Rhea had already warned them, the bandits had been better trained, organized and equipped than the foes Kratos and the Blue Lions had faced previously, and managed to slow the company's progress with a wall of shield of their own. 

Unfortunately for them, however, it was not enough.

From the rear, Ashe and Bernadetta ordered the archers to fire volleys over the enemy line, striking the bandits’ back ranks and disrupting their cohesion. Slowly but surely, the bandits’ formation began to crumble as panic rippled through their ranks.

At the front, Kratos seized the opportunity created by the archers. With a commanding shout, he drove forward into the line of bandit shields, using his immense strength to force a gap in their wall. “Push through!” he barked through the chaos, Dimitri and Sylvain immediately followed suit.

From the right flank, Edelgard led her units and began to hammer into the now-exposed sides of the enemy’s formation. “Do not let them regroup!” she commanded, her axe cutting through a bandit who had attempted to break free of the melee.

As they progressed, the walls of the grand hall suddenly became wider still, and several doors flew open on the Empress’ side. Bandits poured out from the adjacent rooms that they passed by, charging directly at her. Their leader, wielding a massive sword, broke ahead of the group, his sights locked on Edelgard.

Before he could close the distance, a dark figure emerged beside her. Hubert stepped forward, and in a blur, his dagger intercepted the bandit’s sword with a metallic ring. The force of the parry sent the bandit staggering slightly, but Hubert wasted no time. Dark energy coalesced in his free hand, forming into a dark jagged spike of magic.

“Know your place,” Hubert hissed as he thrust the spike forward, impaling the bandit through the chest. The man’s eyes widened in shock before his lifeless body crumpled to the floor. Hubert stepped back, his expression cold and composed, and the magic weapon dissolved into black mist. “Your flank, Lady Edelgard,” Hubert warned, his eyes catching the remaining bandits rushing in from the doors.

Before Edelgard could respond, Ferdinand and his unit surged forward to intercept them. "I will not allow these cowards to disrupt our advance!" he declared as he pierced the first bandit who dared to approach.

From the rear of the formation, a foreign, feminine voice cried out. “We are having company!” Petra pointed toward the main staircase leading downward, where another group of bandits began to ascend whose numbers far exceeded those who had attempted to flank earlier.

Felix glanced back at the growing threat and scowled. “I’ll hold them here,” he said sharply, as he motioned for his men to follow. “The rest of you can go on ahead.”

Before anyone could protest, Petra stepped forward with a sly grin. “Fighting alone?” she said, tilting her head at him. “I am thinking not. We will be helping in this fight.” She twirled her sword skillfully in her hand.

The Fraldarius heir cast her a sidelong glance, his lips curving slightly into what might have been a smirk. “Do as you like.”

“I will, but only so long as you are not dropping your sword this time.” She teased him. “I am needing you alive for the coming tournament.”

“Oh, no you don’t!” Exclaimed Caspar, cracking his knuckles as he and his team rushed to join them. “I’ve been put on the sidelines for long enough. It’s about time that I show everyone what I can do!”

Petra smiled cheekily. “In that case, the one with the most killing wins?”

Felix rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Just don’t slow me down.”

“Slow you down?” Caspar scoffed, laughing. “You’re about to eat my dust!”

From the front, Edelgard turned toward the scene, but Hubert placed a hand on her shoulder. “Let them handle it, Your Majesty,” he advised. “We have our own mission to accomplish with Sir Kratos.”

They exchange knowing looks before the Empress nodded. “You’re right. Let’s not delay any further.”

By this point, the enemy line had been completely shattered, and the bandits retreated. Gilbert took this opportunity to look back over his shoulder and yelled, “We have them on the run! Keep pushing forward!”

The remaining Blue Lions and Black Eagle regrouped as they gave chase, round the corner began climbing the wide stairs leading to the next floor. There, on the landing, more enemy bandits had been waiting for them, but their morale had quickly wavered due to the catastrophic defeat from the earlier excursion. 

However, also waiting for them were a small group of mages who stood in a semi-circle and began prepping a spell for the intruders. Flames swirled together, forming a single, massive fireball that hovered ominously over their heads, growing larger with every passing moment.

Dimitri's eyes widened as the realization struck him. He had learned, painfully, what mages could do to tightly packed units with spells of this magnitude, and without hesitation, he bellowed, “BREAK FORMATION!”

The company moved instinctively and split apart as the massive fireball shot toward them. It collided with the stone floor and detonated with a deafening roar. Shards of burning debris scattered in every direction, and smaller fireballs split from the initial explosion, raining down upon the disbanded soldiers.

Thanks to Dimitri's quick command, most of the company had avoided the worst of the attack. However, not all were so fortunate. A mage from Hubert's battalion was struck by a rogue fireball, the flames engulfing him instantly, and he collapsed to the ground in agony before his cries were quickly snuffed out. Nearby, an archer under Ashe’s command screamed in terror as he too was consumed by the fire.

Ashe froze for a moment, his chest tightening as he watched his soldier writhe on the ground. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to look away, his anger bubbling to the surface. “Archers! On me!” he shouted, quickly nocking an arrow and drawing his bow string taut before taking aim at the mages. “Fire!”

A hail of arrows followed Ashe’s lead, whistling through the air toward the semi-circle of mages. The bandits raised their arms to shield themselves, but it was futile. Several were struck down instantly, while the rest turned tail and ran.

Edelgard seized the moment. “Now! Charge!” she commanded, her axe gleaming as she led the Black Eagles into the fray.

“Blue Lions, with me!” Dimitri shouted, his lance raised high as he pushed forward, with Kratos, Manuela, Gilbert close beside the House Leaders.

The battle that followed was a confused mess for a brief period of time. Islands of soldiers duked it out with one another in a fight to the death, but it soon became clear the bandits were on the losing side.

Meanwhile, Marianne, Mercedes and Linhardt tried their best to keep themselves and their healers out of the fight while working to save as many of their injured allies as they could. Linhardt in particular looked as though he wanted to feint from the carnage he was witnessing, but Mercedes soon came to his aid and used her voice to help him through the dire situation.

Elsewhere, Rorie, the sergeant whom Kratos had confronted weeks prior, found himself separated from his commander after the earlier fireball had nearly vaporized him. Not that he particularly cared. He’d never been eager to serve under the Duscan, his disdain for the larger man as obvious as the sky was blue. While others might have scrambled to regroup, Rorie had taken the chaos as an opportunity to fight his own way, a smirk on his face as he carved his path through the scattered bandits. And after dispatching his most recent opponent, he wiped the blood off his blade as his eyes scanned the battlefield for his next challenge.

That was when he saw it.

A hulking figure appeared in his vision, covered from head to toe in thick heavy armor. The giant bandit’s helmet concealed his face, but the sheer size of the man and the way he lugged around a heavy 4-bladed mace made it clear that he was not someone to be trifled with as he lumbered his way toward the sergeant. 

Rorie, however, couldn’t help but grin at the sight. “Well, well,” he called out, his tone dripping with mockery as he gestured with his axe. “Looks like I’ve finally got someone worth my time. Come on, big guy, let’s see what you’ve got!”

The fight ended quickly.

Rorie barely had time to move before the giant bandit surged forward with terrifying speed. The heavy mace swung in a wide arc, and before he could react, the blunt edge of the weapon smashed through his weapon and into his chest, sending him flying backward. He hit the ground hard, the air knocked completely from his lungs as his axe clattered uselessly to the side.

Dazed, Rorie blinked up at the ceiling, trying to piece together what had just happened. The sound of the giant's armor clanking drew his attention, and he turned his head just in time to see the bandit standing over him, raising the massive blunt object high above his head.

It was only then, staring into the shadowy abyss of the bandit's helmet, that Rorie's bravado gave way to fear. Memories flashed through his mind, his mother's voice ringing clear as day. "One of these days, Rorie, you're going to pick a fight with someone bigger than you, and it’s going to get you killed."

For the first time, Rorie realized she might have been right. He was about to die.

But before the bandit could even begin to bring the weapon down, another large, albeit smaller figure appeared between him and his kill, and the sergeant watched as his commander, Dedue Molinaro, came in and swiped his axe across the helmet of the armored giant. A loud bang eliminated from the strike, forcing the bandit to stagger backward, dazed by the blow.

Discombobulated, he raised his massive mace with a growl and swung it in a horizontal strike toward Dedue, who ducked under the swing as it passed mere inches above his head. Without missing a beat, he shifted his stance and drove the blade of his axe into the giant’s knee, striking the gap where the armor plates were separated. The giant let out a roar of pain as his leg buckled, forcing him to drop his mace and stumble onto all fours.

And it didn’t take long for the Duscan to finish it from there.

Removing the bladed axe from the dead bandit, Dedue hurried over to the sergeant with a scarily calm demeanor. He leaned over his subordinate and offered him a hand. “Are you all right?” he asked, his tone steady.

Rorie, stunned, stared at the extended hand for a moment before taking it without realizing what he was doing. Dedue pulled him up with ease, and Rorie stumbled slightly, catching his breath. “I… I can still fight,” he attempted to say confidently.

“Good,” Dedue replied simply. “Find another weapon. The battle is not yet over.”

“R-right.”

Dedue was about to turn around and head back toward the fray when Rorie’s hand suddenly shot out and grabbed his shoulder to stop him. Dedue paused, turning his head slightly, his expression calm and unreadable.

“By the way…” Rorie hesitated, his grip tightening slightly as he strained himself to maintain his air of confidence. “...Thanks.”

Dedue regarded him for a moment, then gave a single, firm nod. “Do not waste it,” he said evenly, before shrugging Rorie’s hand off and striding back into the battlefield without another word.

“Yeah,” Rorie muttered to himself, taking a deep breath before leaning down to pick up another weapon. “I won’t.”

The bandits were now in full retreat.

By then, only a couple of dozen or so were left, and the company led by Gilbert hadn’t suffered anywhere near the number of casualties the enemy had taken. Knowing that all was lost, the surviving bandits fled to the final level, the Blue Lions and Black Eagles hot on their heels.

When they reached the top floor, they stepped into a wide, dimly lit chamber. Torches along the walls cast flickering inside the room, but all attention was immediately drawn to the man standing at the other side of it. He had flaming red hair that was unmistakably similar to Sylvain’s, and a large scar ran diagonally across his face, giving him a hardened, almost feral appearance.

But what truly set him apart from the other bandits, however, was the spear he held in his hands. It appeared to be made entirely of bone, with spinal columns forming crossbars beneath the spear tip, and its base was a small red orb, glowing faintly.

Sylvain was one of the first to reach the landing when he came to a sudden halt. “Miklan!” He shouted.

The bandit leader scowled deeply at the sight of his younger brother. “Why have you come, you Crest-bearing fool?”

“I’m here for the Lance of Ruin,” Sylvain said firmly. “Hand it over.”

“Hmph,”  Miklan scoffed, his tone dripping with venom. “You think that I’m just gonna obey and roll over like a good little mutt?” He began to seethe heavily. “If not for you… If it hadn’t been for you…”

“Shut up!” Sylvain snapped, his voice rising with anger. “I’m so tired of hearing that. You’ve always blamed me for something that isn’t my fault. All you’ve ever done is make excuses for everything.”

Miklan’s face twisted in fury. “You think you can talk to me like that? You, who’s had everything handed to him because of that damned Crest?” he snarled. “You think you can take this from me? Go ahead- try. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill every last one of you!”

Sylvain took a step forward, his lance at the ready. “This is your last chance, Miklan,” he warned, his tone low and cutting. “Hand it over. I don’t want to humiliate you, but I will if I have to.”

Miklan let out a harsh, bitter laugh, the sound echoing through the chamber. “So, after all these years, you’ve finally got the guts to stand up to me?” His lips curled into a sneer as he leveled the Lance of ruin directly at Sylvain. “Fine. In that case, I’ll start with you.”

By this point, both groups stood on opposite sides of the room. The remaining bandits huddled behind Miklan, using him and the weapon he wielded as their last line of defense. The Blue Lions and Black Eagles held their positions, weapons at the ready, but the tension in the room had shifted entirely toward the two brothers.

Kratos stepped forward from behind the younger Gautier, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “Sylvain,” Kratos said, the first name catching the young man off guard. “Are you absolutely certain of this?”

Sylvain turned to face his professor fully, his grip on his lance steady despite the weight of the moment. “I have to,” he said firmly. “This is something I’ve needed to do for a long time. I need to be the one to end this.”

Behind them, Ingrid frowned, stepping forward. “Sylvain, this is reckless! We can do this together-”

“Absolutely not!” Annette blurted, her voice shaking with worry. “You don’t have to do this alone! You don't have anything to prove to that worthless piece of-”

“Enough,” The Ghost of Sparta said, and they both fell silent as his commanding presence took over. His gaze shifted briefly to the others, his tone steady and resolute. “I have absolute faith in his abilities.” He then looks Sylvain in the eye. “Therefore, I will allow him to do what must be done.”

The rest of the Blue Lions turned to Mimir in a silent plea to try and convince their Professor otherwise, and all the head could do was make a face as if to suggest a shrug. “Give ‘em what for, lad.” He told Sylvain quietly.

Sylvain gave a small, grateful nod to both his professors before turning back toward Miklan. “I’ll make this quick.” he said in a low, yet unwavering voice.

Miklan sneered, stepping forward with his shield and the Lance of Ruin raised. “You’re going to regret this, little brother.”

Chapter Text

From Felix's point of view, it wasn't the first time he'd seen Sylvain and Miklan in the same room or vicinity. But it was, however, the first time he'd actually seen them fighting each other.

Or rather, it was the first time he'd seen Sylvain fighting back.

The bandits who had tried to attack from the rear had proven themselves wildly outmatched. The combination of Felix and Petra’s deadly dexterity and Caspar's overwhelming brute force caused the bandits to flee before many of them could even join the fray. As a result, the blue-haired swordsman was able to regroup with the company at the top floor just as the duel between the Gautier brothers began, with Petra nearly having to drag Caspar along by the ear when he attempted to chase the fleeing bandits.

Once he pushed past the soldiers at the top of the stairs leading to the final floor, even Fraldarius couldn't help but react at the shock and confusion of seeing one of his childhood friends engaging in a one-on-one duel with the bandit's leader.

From the sidelines, he could already see that the two brothers differed wildly in terms of how they carried themselves. Miklan's stance was unrefined and sloppy, relying on his larger frame for intimidation and taking wide jabs with the Lance of Ruin. Sylvain, on the other hand, kept himself low, hiding as much of his body as possible behind his shield, with his lance always pointed directly at his older brother.

The fight had started simple enough. While Miklan didn’t commit to a full-on offense, he took every opportunity he could to try and bypass Sylvain's defenses. The younger Gautier, in turn, avoided committing to any offense at all, merely letting his disowned brother take his shots while only using a counterattack to force Miklan to back off.

For a fleeting moment, Felix thought he was looking at a younger version of their professor. It didn’t take long for him to realize that Sylvain was using everything the Spartan had taught him over the past four months. Though not as refined as the ashen skinned warrior, there was not a single wasted effort in Sylvain's movement while he stayed on the defense in an attempt to have Miklan make a mistake.

The older Gautier, however, wasn't taking the bait, and the duel had swiftly turned into a stalemate.

“You can stand there and play porcupine all you want, you little shit,” Miklan spat, circling his brother with the Lance of Ruin at the ready. “And here I thought you’d actually grown a pair.”

Sylvain blocked one last jab before speaking low enough for only Miklan to hear, “You’re about to find out.”

He suddenly burst forward, shield and spear raised, catching Miklan off guard. The older Gautier managed to react just in time, bracing himself as their shields clashed with a resounding impact. The two brothers pushed against each other through gritted teeth, yet neither of them was willing to give an inch.

Sylvain shifted his stance and brought his spear up, aiming to stab down over Miklan’s shield. But Miklan saw the move and twisted away. Using his momentum, he swung the Lance of Ruin in a wide, sweeping arc toward his younger brother, who managed to jump back just in time as the tip of the spear carved a deep scratch into his shield. 

Sylvain let out a heavy “phoof,” his face hidden behind his shield as he caught his breath. For a brief moment, his grip tightened on the handle, steadying himself. He willed his racing thoughts to slow, forcing himself into the calm and collected demeanor so as to appear brave and in control towards his friends and professors. 

Lowering the shield, he faced Miklan again, who sneered as the Lance of Ruin resting casually at his side. “Not bad for a spoiled, rotten child,” he mocked, once again circling Sylvain.

This time, Sylvain followed suit, matching his brother’s steps. “Funny, coming from someone who threw tantrums every time things didn’t go his way,” He shot back.

“Tantrums?” Miklan barked out a bitter laugh. “You think I had tantrums? Do you have any idea what it was like to watch everything go to you while I got nothing? Father made sure of that.”

“Right,” The younger redhead said, his tone sharpening. “Just like he made sure you tried to kill me… how many times? The river, the well, the wild dogs, that ‘accident’ on the cliff?”

“You can thank him for that,” The bandit’s leader spat, his sneer widening. “He taught me early on that you were worth more to him than I’d ever be. Do you know what it’s like to be thrown away? To know the only thing that mattered was a damn Crest?”

Sylvain’s grip on his lance tightened, his jaw clenching briefly before he responded. “I already have,” he said firmly. “And that’s why I’m here now- to thank you for proving to me that you don’t even need a Crest to become something so pitiful and depraved.” He then drove the final nail home, “Even for the wrong reasons, Father was right. You didn’t deserve to inherit that Relic.”

That final verbal jab was enough to set Miklan off, who let out a snarl and bellowed, “If you really want it that badly,” He then charged at his younger brother. “THEN I’LL GIVE IT TO YOU- STRAIGHT THROUGH YOUR THROAT!”

Sylvain steeled himself, gripping his lance tightly as he braced for the attack. With a sharp inhale, he launched himself forward, meeting Miklan head-on. Both brothers leapt into the air, their weapons raised to strike, but their spears clashed against each other’s shields with a resounding clang as they flew past one another.

Immediately upon landing, they swerved to face one another again, and the distance between them vanished again in seconds. Spears jabbed, swung, and deflected as the two brothers engaged each other with nauseating speed. Miklan’s raw strength powered his strikes, each one aimed to crush and overpower Sylvain.

Sylvain, however, relied on precision and speed, ducking and weaving as he blocked and parried each of Miklan’s blows. He retaliated with quick thrusts of his own, forcing his older brother to go back on the defensive between each attempt to overwhelm him.

Through the chaos, each brother was determined to outmatch the other. The sound of metal against metal echoed through the chamber as their spears struck shields and deflected off one another’s weapons. Sparks flew with each collision, and the onlookers could only watch as the brothers pushed each other to their limits.

“You’ve got nothing without that Crest!” Miklan growled, jabbing his lance forward, only for Sylvain to sidestep and counter with a thrust that barely missed.

“And you’ve got nothing but excuses!” Sylvain shot back, twisting his shield to block another heavy blow. “Your entire pathetic life, you always blamed everybody else but yourself!”

“SHUT UP!”

With a wild swing of the Lance of Ruin, Miklan struck Sylvain’s spear hard enough to knock it from his hands and the weapon clattered to the floor and slid across the chamber. Seizing the opening, Miklan delivered a savage kick to Sylvain’s shield, sending the younger Gautier stumbling back before falling flat on his back.

Miklan tossed his own shield aside, gripping the Lance of Ruin with both hands. He let out a furious roar and charged, his intent clear as he barreled toward his brother with the aim to skewer him. Sylvain scrambled to his knees, barely having enough time to raise his shield. 

The impact came like a thunderclap.

The force of Miklan’s charge drove the Lance straight through the metal shield, and in a flash, the tip of the Lance shot right past Sylvain’s face. He felt a slight tingle in his cheek before warm liquid began to spill from the cut it had made.

His breathing hitched. From the corner of his eye, Sylvain saw most of the female students gasp, with Annette in particular looking like she was about to faint. Everyone else gripped their weapons tightly, clearly prepared to step in if necessary, and to his surprise, even Felix appeared unnerved, his usual composure strained by the close call.

However, it was mainly Kratos’ expression that caught his attention. Unlike everyone else, his professor showed no signs of worry and seemed entirely unfazed by how close Sylvain had come to death. Had it been anyone else in his shoes, they might have thought the towering, otherworldly warrior simply didn’t care about what happened to his students. But Sylvain knew better. He knew his professor still had faith in him to carry this out to the end.

With a sharp inhale, Sylvain shot back up to his feet before Miklan had the chance to pull the Lance free from the shield. With the spear tip wedged into the metal, he used his shield as leverage, twisting hard to wrench the Lance of Ruin from his brother’s hands. The strain caused both the shield and the weapon to break free as they were thrown to the side.

Before Miklan could react, Sylvain closed the distance between them, using the opening to strike first. He delivered a quick punch to the jaw, causing his brother to stagger back, who’d been caught off guard by the sudden aggression. Wasting no time, Sylvain followed up with two more jabs, delivered exactly as his professor had taught him during their unarmed seminars.

The blows landed cleanly before the bandit leader recovered enough to raise his arms and protect himself, bracing for Sylvain’s next move.

As Sylvain tried to swing around Miklan’s guard with a hook, the older Gautier countered and deflected Sylvain’s arm with a hard swipe. Without hesitation, Miklan grabbed the collar of Sylvain’s armor with one hand and delivered two savage punches straight into his younger brother’s head.

Sylvain stumbled, the force of the blows making his vision blur, but he refused to back down. As Miklan raised his arm for a third strike, Sylvain shot his own arm up, catching his brother’s mid-swing. 

But Miklan did not relent. Using his larger body mass to his advantage, he pressed forward, forcing Sylvain to give ground. Sylvain’s boots skidded against the stone as he struggled to hold his ground, but his foot caught on an uneven stone. He lost his balance and fell to the floor, with Miklan crashing down on top of him.

Pinned to the floor and trapped between his brother's thighs, all the younger Gautier could do in that moment was shield his face with his arms as Miklan continued to wail down on him; but Sylvain kept a cool head as he waited for an opening.

When Miklan threw a wide hook, Sylvain bent his torso to the side, letting the punch miss its mark entirely. The sudden shift caused Miklan to lean forward, his weight tipping off balance. Sylvain seized the opportunity immediately. Sitting up, he reached around his brother’s torso, locking his arms beneath Miklan’s in a tight bear hug.

With a grunt of effort, Sylvain planted his left leg firmly against the ground and pushed, using the leverage to roll both of them over. In one swift motion, their positions reversed, and now it was Miklan who found himself pinned beneath his younger brother.

However, the older Gautier kept his legs tightly wrapped around Sylvain’s midsection, using his larger frame to his advantage. Despite being pinned, he managed to pull Sylvain closer, trying to hook his arm around his neck into a headlock.

Sylvain quickly realized that grappling with Miklan’s size and strength was a losing battle. Frustrated but focused, he gave up on punching down and shifted his attention entirely to breaking free from Miklan’s legs. Using one arm, he pressed his forearm firmly against Miklan’s throat, keeping his brother from pulling him closer. The force of the push strained against Miklan’s attempts to close the gap, giving Sylvain just enough room to act.

With his free arm, Sylvain drove his elbow repeatedly into the sensitive spot on Miklan’s inner thigh, a technique Kratos had drilled into him for situations just like this. It was a vulnerable area even the toughest warriors couldn’t ignore, and Miklan was no exception.

The first strike made Miklan flinch, and by the third, he let out a pained cry. His grip on Sylvain’s midsection slackened, and finally, he was forced to release him entirely. Sylvain wasted no time pulling free, his breathing heavy as he scrambled to regain his footing.

It wasn’t long before the bandit leader was back on his feet as well. Frustrated that his opponent had managed to survive for this long, Miklan let out a furious growl. Without warning, he charged at his younger brother again, intent on overwhelming Sylvain with sheer brute force and a flurry of relentless attacks.

But this time, Sylvain was ready for him.

The very first punch Miklan threw was met with a simple parry. Sylvain deflected it cleanly before countering with a fast, straightforward strike to the nose. Blood spurted from Miklan’s nostrils as he reeled back, his face twisting in pain and anger. But rage quickly overtook him, and he came after Sylvain again with even more ferocity.

As Miklan threw another wild swing, Sylvain sidestepped, using his forearm to redirect the blow harmlessly to the side. He followed with a quick knee to Miklan’s side, drawing a grunt of pain. Miklan lashed out again, this time aiming low, but Sylvain shifted his weight, avoiding the strike entirely and retaliating with an elbow to Miklan’s jaw.

The more Miklan pressed, the more Sylvain seemed to anticipate him. His breathing steadied, and his movements became almost instinctive with every step and strike as they fell into place; almost as though he’d rehearsed this exact fight a hundred times. Finally, when Miklan aimed a heavy blow at Sylvain’s head, Sylvain ducked beneath it with ease, closing the gap and delivering a devastating uppercut.

The force of the punch rocked Miklan, sending him stumbling back. He teetered for a moment, his balance lost, before finally collapsing to the floor.

Behind Sylvain, the company erupted into cheers. The Blue Lions shouted his name, their voices filled with pride and relief as they witnessed his hard-fought victory. The young Gautier bent down, his hands resting on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. He flexed his gloved hands, rubbing them together to ease the painful soreness from the recent exchange.

On the other side of the chamber, he could see the remaining bandits staring in stunned silence. Their expressions shifted from shock to despair as they realized what had just happened. Their leader had fallen, and with him, any hope they had of winning.

But the fight was not over yet.

“Sylvain!” he heard Annette scream from behind him.

Immediately, Sylvain’s eyes snapped to Miklan.

His older brother had flipped onto his stomach and was crawling toward the Lance of Ruin, his hand outstretched. The realization struck Sylvain like a bolt of ice, and he broke into a sprint, closing the gap as fast as he could.

Miklan’s fingers wrapped around the shaft of the Lance just as Sylvain reached him. The older Gautier groaned as he pushed himself to his feet, gripping the Relic and turning to face his younger brother once more.

Sylvain didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward, grabbing the Lance’s shaft with both hands. The two brothers clashed again in a struggle for control over the weapon.

As soon as Sylvain’s hands came into contact with the Relic, the small orb bearing the Crest of Gautier began to glow faintly red. At first, he struggled to get a proper foothold against the larger man, until he felt a sudden boost that allowed him to push back against Miklan with equal strength. The two eventually became locked in another stalemate, with the Lance of Ruin caught between them in the center of the room.

Noticing the glowing orb and Sylvain’s abrupt boost in leverage, Miklan once more sneered through the blood dripping from his broken nose. “You see, little brother? If not for your precious Crest, this would’ve been a fair fight. And if this had been a fair fight, I would’ve crushed you beneath my boot!”

Sylvain, however, didn’t even bother with a response. Gritting his teeth, he willed himself to draw more power from the Lance of Ruin, and more energy began to course through him. Slowly but surely, Miklan started to lose traction, his feet sliding as Sylvain forced him back.

But that sense of power only lasted for a brief moment before a completely different feeling surged through both brothers, one that caused every hair on their body to stand on end. The red orb grew even brighter this time, and became noticeable to every individual in the room. The brothers stopped in their struggle as the ominous energy became more potent, and both pairs of eyes shifted downward just in time to see a black, gelatinous string of substance oozing out from the crest stone embedded in the Lance of Ruin.

A sudden, sharp pain shot through Sylvain’s arms, and both brothers cried out as the ooze began to creep along the shaft of the weapon toward them. They instinctively tried to release their grip, but somehow an unseen force held them in place, refusing to let them pull away.

The pain intensified as the substance latched onto their hands as it crawled its way up their arms, inch by inch, as though it had a mind of its own.

Meanwhile, Miklan’s larger form prevented the students from being able to see exactly what was going on, but they were still able to get a clear view of the spearhead that continued to glow bright red and could see the ooze pouring out of it in growing proportions.

“SYLVAIN!” Annette screamed, and attempted to break away from the group towards her classmate, but Felix was quick to stop her as he grabbed her by the arm.

“No!” He told her forcefully. “Don’t go anywhere near them.”

Annette struggled against him, her wide eyes locked on Sylvain as the grotesque substance continued to spread, but Felix’s grip didn’t falter. Desperate, she turned to Kratos with pleading eyes. “Professor, please, do something!” she cried, her voice trembling.

“Brother, what’s happening?!” Mimir called out from the Spartan’s hip. 

But it was already too late. By the time Kratos had realized he needed to step in, the string of goo had already almost reached the brothers’ elbows. 

Desperation completely overtook Miklan as he thrashed and cried out like a frightened child, his struggles growing wilder and more erratic. When his frantic attempts to escape failed, the bandit leader’s eyes locked onto his younger brother. What he saw on the other end of the spear left him dumbfounded. 

Sylvain’s expression wasn’t one of fear or panic like Miklan's. Instead, he looked at the pathetic sight in front of him with a mix of scorn and pity. And from Kratos’ perspective, he noticed something different about his student’s demeanor, as though Sylvain had eventually accepted the dire situation he now found himself in.

Sylvain took a deep breath and, without any more hesitation, raised his right leg before delivering a powerful kick to Miklan’s armored chest. The force of the strike sent Miklan reeling backward, tearing his hands free of the Lance and the ooze, and the bandit leader landed hard on his back, skidding across the chamber floor.

As he came to a stop, the parts of his arms that had been covered in cloth and armor were now exposed, torn away to reveal the bloody flesh where the ooze had latched onto him. Miklan groaned in pain, barely able to move as the realization of what had just happened began to sink in.

Sylvain continued to hold the Lance of Ruin, standing motionless and breathing heavily as he braced himself for what was to come.

The room fell deathly silent as the onlookers froze in place, their faces filled with absolute horror. All eyes remained locked on Sylvain as the ooze began to consume him entirely. Spreading even faster now, it crawled over his arms and shoulders, and his face twisted in anguish as he tried to endure the pain.

But the pain became too much. Unable to hold it in any longer, Sylvain let out a blood-curdling scream towards the high ceiling and echoed through the chamber. Soon, his entire body was engulfed by the grotesque substance. It began to grow larger and take shape, and Sylvain José Gautier’s scream was replaced by that of an inhuman, and demonic roar.

THUNDER:

https:// www.dropbox. com/scl/fi/et7j73i3egu066khsihb6/KotBL-THUNDER.wav?rlkey=vabjiic1le897f9094n3w2z60&st=msxaun20&dl=0

Chapter Text

Sylvain and the Relic were gone.

And in their place, the ooze had grown into a massive, hulking form, until eventually it began to harden and the finer details of the monster that stood in the room morphed into existence.

First came the limbs- thick, taut, and blackened flesh that flexed with unnatural strength as claws the size of daggers extended from its fingers. Then came the jagged, armor-like plates that formed across its back, sides, and tail; each piece looking as though it had been carved from volcanic rock.

The head was last to take shape, its skeletal structure forming with gaping hollow sockets where its glowing red eyes shifted erratically between openings, never staying in one place for long. Its jagged teeth jutted out from its massive jaws, with saliva glistening as the beast’s breath came out in heavy, feral snarls.

Finally, the jagged spikes running along the monster’s back mirrored the Lance of Ruin’s cross-guard, resembling bone-like protrusions that extended down its armored back and all the way to its snout; and by the time the transformation was complete, what remained of Sylvain was an abomination resembling a giant, demonic salamander.

A flash of lightning lit up the chamber, and everyone could see for a split second the blackened beast in its full, grotesque form. Its red glowing eyes darted in seemingly random directions as they moved from one cavity to the other, before settling its attention on the bandits who’d huddled together in fear at the back of the room.

Panic overtook them, and the survivors screamed as they split off and attempted to flee. Unfortunately for one of them, a bandit in the middle hesitated as he was torn between which side to follow, and ultimately sealed his fate. Now trapped like a rat, he pressed his back helplessly against the cold stone wall and watched in terror as the looming figure of the Black Beast towered over him.

“No, no, please! Stay away from me! Stay away! Stay- RAAAAAAAGH!”

Standing on its hind legs, the monster reached out with its darkened muscular hand and grabbed the poor soul. Meanwhile, his companions didn’t even look back as they sprinted around the occupied beast. Nobody on the other side of the room even tried to prevent their escape as they ran past them, and instead continued to watch in horror as the man’s cries were abruptly silenced and his corpse tossed aside.

The sight caused Bernadetta to scream before she fainted, and Petra caught her. Meanwhile, a wide range of reactions rippled through the group- some froze in shock, others tightened their grips on their weapons, and a few exchanged uneasy glances, unsure of what to do next.

“By the Goddess…” Was all Gilbert could utter out.

Kratos immediately went into action as he went to the front of the company and took charge. “Everyone, spread out! We cannot allow ourselves to be easy targets!” His voice cut through the chaos like steel, and the group instinctively moved to follow his orders.

“Professor, what are we going to do?!” Ingrid shouted as she and her sisters moved to the right to flank the beast with their spears raised.

“Hold your positions, but do not attack! We do not know what it is capable of!”

“Brother, what has happened to Sylvain?!” Mimir demanded again, his voice laced with growing panic. “Is the lad alright??”

If there had ever been a moment when Kratos’ expression could betray his emotions through the shield of his thick beard, this was it. His jaw clenched, and his eyes hardened as he answered. “The Relic has consumed the boy. A black beast stands in his place now.”

“You bloody wot???” Mimir’s voice cracked with a mix of shock and disbelief, his usually sharp wit momentarily lost as he processed the grim revelation. “And what of Miklan??”

Kratos did not answer, and when the beast turned around, all the bandit leader could do was whimper in absolute terror. Lacking the strength to pull himself off the floor and run, he found himself face-to-face with the demonic monster that had once been his brother. With a panicked cry, he rolled onto his stomach once more and began dragging himself forward with his bloodied arms, desperately crawling toward Kratos and the others.

At first, the monster seemed to be looking around the room as its red eyes darted between each group that began to surround it, yet it made no move to attack. Eventually, Miklan stopped for a moment before turning his head to see what exactly it was doing, and both of its eyes immediately snapped to the red-haired man crawling away.

Miklan froze in place, trembling as he caught sight of the Black Beast’s glowing crimson eyes locking onto him. Its head tilted slightly as if to study him, and for a moment, there was an eerie stillness in the room.

Then, without warning, the Black Beast let out a furious roar that echoed through the chamber, as though a primal, unrelenting rage had been brought to the surface. Its claws dug into the stone floor, leaving deep gouges as it prepared to charge.

Miklan’s face twisted in terror as he cried out, his voice cracking with desperation. “No, no, stay back!” He began to drag himself forward with renewed urgency, his bloodied arms trembling under the strain as he scrambled to put distance between himself and the looming monstrosity.

The beast launched itself at Miklan, shaking the floor beneath him as he once more saw a set of razor sharp teeth closing in on him, its jaw opened wide as if it intended to eat him whole; and all the older Gautier could do was roll himself up into a ball as he waited for his inevitable demise.

But then, in a move no one could have foreseen, Kratos acted. Tossing his spear aside, the Spartan broke into a full sprint, charging past Miklan and toward the beast. The sight alone was enough to leave everyone stunned, unable to process what was unfolding. 

With an earth-shaking impact, Kratos’ shoulder slammed into the beast’s snout, striking between one of its massive horns and its deadly maw. The force of the collision reverberated through the chamber, and though Kratos’ momentum was halted, the sheer power behind his strike was enough to slow the beast’s charge.

The Spartan dug his heels into the ground, his feet skidding across the stone as cracks splintered beneath him. The beast roared in frustration, pushing against him with relentless force, but Kratos held firm. Finally, with a defiant roar of his own, Kratos stopped the beast dead in its tracks, mere feet from where Miklan lay trembling on the ground.

“HOLY SHIT!” Caspar yelled as he jumped back, his eyes wide and his mouth agape. He turned to Annette, pointing frantically at the scene. “You never said your professor could do that!”

“We didn’t know he could do that either!” Annette shouted back, her voice filled with equal parts awe and panic.

Meanwhile, despite being stopped dead in its tracks, the Black Beast’s sole focus remained on Miklan. It snarled and roared, trying to force its massive frame past Kratos while attempting to take swipes at the bandit.

“Sylvain!” Kratos bellowed in an attempt to reach him. “This is not who you are! You must fight it! Control yourself!”

But the beast, now consumed by rage and instinct, showed no sign of recognition or restraint. "Sylvain" did not want to listen. It roared once more as its massive claws struck the ground in frustration.

After a moment, realizing that he was not dead yet, Miklan looked up with wide eyes at the sight before him. Kratos stood firm, holding the enraged Black Beast at bay. As though remembering he had legs, the redhead scrambled awkwardly to his feet and staggered away from the monster. He broke into a clumsy sprint, weaving around the gathered fighters in a desperate attempt to escape the chaos.

“Stop him!” Gilbert commanded, pointing toward the fleeing bandit. “Do not let him escape!”

Almost immediately, Miklan was tackled to the floor by several men. Meanwhile, Dimitri, one of the first to break out of his stupor at the feat his professor was now displaying for all to see, shouted to his comrades. “Come on! We have to help him!”

It felt silly at first, considering that what he was suggesting was helping someone who seemed to have the situation firmly under control. However, he reminded himself that this was one of his childhood friends they were talking about, and so it didn’t matter to the prince. He needed to find a way to fix this, and fast.

Dedue, Ingrid, Ashe, Mercedes, Annette, and even Edelgard followed Dimitri without hesitation, sprinting toward Kratos as he continued to hold the Black Beast in place

But Kratos, noticing them out of the corner of his eye, turned his head and bellowed, "No! Stay back! Do not come any closer!"

His students stopped in their tracks, and that brief moment of distraction was all the beast needed. Suddenly, the Black Beast stopped pushing against Kratos and abruptly reared back. The Spartan, momentarily thrown off balance from the unexpected shift, barely had time to steady himself before the beast twisted its massive body and swung its tail with devastating speed.

The tail struck Kratos with the force of a battering ram. The sheer power sent him hurtling to the side, his body colliding with the stone wall, leaving a massive, gaping hole that exposed the chamber to the raging thunderstorm outside. And their professor was nowhere to be seen.

“PROFESSOR KRATOS!” Some of the Blue Lions screamed.

Edelgard, who stood amongst them, struggled to process what had just happened. Her eyes darted between the hole in the wall and the beast now looming over them, its glowing red eyes fixed on the room’s occupants. 

Then a voice broke through the sound of the storm.

“Oh! Oh! Bloody hell, what’s happening?!”

Edelgard’s gaze snapped upward just in time to see a severed head tumbling through the air, the distinct sight of Professor Mimir spinning wildly before it began to plummet toward the ground.

Without hesitation, Edelgard darted forward, extending her arms as Mimir’s head fell “head first” toward her. She caught him just in time, holding the head securely in her hands.

“Wha- who? Oh, bless me nan, thank you, Your Majesty!” Mimir exclaimed, his voice brimming with genuine relief despite the absurdity of the situation.

“You’re welcome, Professor.” Edelgard replied calmly, her grip steady as she glanced down at him. “After all, I know how much you like to stay in one piece.”

Mimir chuckled nervously. “Aye, well, it’s not exactly me favorite pastime, being tossed about like a blasted cabbage.”

Their conversation was interrupted by another roar, and Edelgard looked up to see the Black Beast refocusing its attention on everyone in the room. Without wasting a moment, the Empress took the broken string that had once tied Mimir to Kratos’ hip and threaded it through the strap of her armor between the plates on her shoulder. She pulled it tight and secured the knot, fastening it so that Mimir’s head dangled securely against the back of her shoulder, resting just above her shoulder blade.

“Oh! Well, this is certainly a nice change in view,” Mimir quipped, his tone laced with his usual dry humor despite the chaos unfolding around them.

“We don’t have time for this, professor!” Edelgard shot back, her voice firm as her eyes stayed locked on the Black Beast. “We need to bring this thing down before it can cause any more damage. Now that Sir Kratos is gone…”

“Don’t worry about him, lass,” Mimir reassured her, his glowing eyes turned toward the snarling Black Beast ahead of them. “In the meantime, is that really what I think it is?” 

Edelgard frowned, her hands tightening around her axe. “If you mean a demonic beast, then yes. But I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“You mean you’ve fought one of these before?” Ashe asked while keeping his bow at the ready.

The young woman shook her head. “They are extremely rare, and I’ve only ever seen one as a child. They’re highly resistant to magic, and their soft hide is still very thick.”

“So then how do we kill it?!” Caspar practically shouted.

Edelgard opened her mouth to answer, but the Black Beast interrupted her with a deafening roar. The creature reared its massive head back, and the air around it seemed to distort as chunks of nearby rubble were pulled toward it, accreting into a jagged, pointed projectile before launching the deadly mass toward Dorothea and her group of mages.

Dorothea’s eyes widened as she tried to move out of the way, but the projectile came too fast. Just as she braced herself, her vision was filled with a blur of blue hair. A strong force slammed into her side, and she felt herself being tackled to the ground. The two of them rolled across the floor, the stone projectile crashing into the ground where she had just stood, sending debris flying.

When they finally came to a stop, Dorothea found herself sprawled on top of none other than Felix. Her moment of shock quickly melted into admiration, and she gave him a sly smile. “Ooooh, my hero~”

Felix, however, didn’t share her sentiment. He stared back at her with an expression that practically screamed, What the hell are you talking about? before he rolled his eyes “Ugh.” Then, without another word, he pushed her off of him and stood up as if nothing had happened.

Dorothea scowled as she sat up, crossing her arms with indignation. “How rude!” she huffed, glaring after Felix as he ran to rejoin the others.

The close call snapped Gilbert into action. With his shield and axe in hand, he charged to the front ahead of the students. Slamming his weapons together with a loud clang , he shouted, “Hey, you giant lizard! Over here!”

The Black Beast turned its massive head toward him, its glowing red eyes shifting erratically between the sockets in its skull. Just as the creature let out another earth-shaking roar, Manuela appeared at Gilbert’s side, donning her assassin’s armor and holding her blade in an underhand grip.

She turned her head toward Edelgard and the rest of the students. “What are you waiting for? Hurry up and figure out where its weakness is! We’ll keep this thing busy for as long as we can.”

Edelgard nodded, gripping her axe tightly as she quickly turned to the others. “Right. The underbelly is the most vulnerable spot, and once it sustains enough damage, we should be able to reverse the transformation.”

“And what about Sylvain?” Dimitri asked skeptically, though the concern in his voice was clear.

The white-haired girl shook her head grimly. “Unfortunately, there is nothing we can do for him. If you want to make it painless for him, however, we’ll have to destroy the insignia on the beast’s head.”

“No, no way…” Annette said despairingly. “There has to be a way…”

Dimitri’s expression darkened as he looked at Annette, torn between his emotions and the grim reality of the situation. His fists clenched tightly around his lance, his knuckles white. For a moment, it seemed as though he might agree with her, but instead, he let out a sharp exhale and spoke with quiet authority.

“Annette,” Dimitri said, his voice heavy with sorrow but firm. “I don’t want to do this any more than you do, but Edelgard is right. She’s the only one here with any real insight on how to deal with demonic beasts. If there were another way, don’t you think she would have told us by now?”

Annette shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “But Sylvain- there has to be something we can do! He’s still in there, I just know it!”

Dimitri stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. “If you truly care about Sylvain, then the best thing we can do for him is to end his suffering. Dragging this out will only prolong his pain” He paused, his voice softening just slightly. “Please, Annette. I know it hurts, but you have to trust me.”

Annette bit her lip, looking away as she tried to stifle a sob, but doesn’t didn’t respond.

Before Dimitri could turn around and give the order to the rest of the Blue Lions and their troops, Edelgard’s attention was drawn to Linhardt, who was rushing toward them, his face flushed from exertion.

“Wait, hold on a second!” Linhardt called out, his voice breathless as he came to a halt. “There might actually be a way!”

The group turned to face him, their expressions a mix of confusion and hope. Dimitri’s eyes lit up as he stepped toward the panting healer. “What do you mean? How?” he asked urgently.

Linhardt glanced over at Annette. “Annette, you’ve been able to sense magic from the beast, right? The strange aura that surrounds it?” 

Annette blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Strange? I don’t-” She paused, her brow furrowing as she looked toward the Black Beast and held out a hand as if to feel the temperature of the room. Slowly, her expression shifted to one of realization. “Yeah, now that you mention it... the magic coming from the beast feels... Ancient. Like a glass of water that’s been left out for too long.”

The green-haired boy nodded firmly, as if confirming something he had suspected. “Exactly. The magic the Relic possesses isn’t natural, and since it can only be accessed by someone with a Crest, we can determine that the Crest itself is the key to maintaining this transformation.”

“But how exactly?” Ingrid asked impatiently. “How do you expect us to control the flow of the Relic’s magic if none of us even have a compatible crest?”

Linhardt sighed, his frustration beginning to show as he ran both hands through his hair. “Does everything need to be spelled out for you?” he snapped, the stress of the situation clearly getting to him. “I’m trying to figure this out, just give me a moment!”  

Ingrid glared but didn’t respond, her lips pressing into a thin line. The others exchanged uneasy glances but remained silent as Linhardt turned his attention to Mimir, still dangling from Edelgard’s shoulder.

“Professor Mimir,” Linhardt said, his tone sharp but focused, “Edelgard alluded earlier that the Crest on the beast’s head is likely where the Relic’s power is being channeled. If the Crest acts as the conduit for the flow of magic, is there a way to disrupt it directly? Even if none of us have a compatible Crest?”

Mimir’s glowing eyes shifted slightly, as if he were deep in thought. “Hmm... Well, lad, if the Crest is indeed acting as a conduit, it’s not about controlling the magic- it’s about disrupting it. You wouldn’t need a compatible Crest to block the flow, rather, you’d just need enough magic to interfere with it. A bit like clogging a pipe, if you will.”

“Right. So, if we can get close enough to the insignia and physically make contact with it, someone with strong magic could inject their own mana into it. That could disrupt the flow of power between the Relic and its host, stymieing the magic needed to maintain its form.”

“But wouldn’t injecting mana into it instead strengthen the transformation?” Deduce inquired.

Annette answered this time. “Theoretically, no. Like we said, the magic from the relic is something else entirely. Injecting our own magic into it would be like mixing castor oil and water.”

Mimir hummed thoughtfully. “Aye, that’s a sound theory and all, but getting close enough to try will be the real challenge. That beast won’t exactly sit still and let you fiddle with its head.”

“And that’s assuming that it’s no different than actually destroying the Crest Stone.” Edelgard lamented, before a voice spoke up behind them.

“I’ll go.” Everyone turned to see Felix, his sword in hand and his expression set with a deadpan look on his face.

Caspar scoffed. “You? You barely know any magic. What are you gonna do, glare it to death?”

Felix shot him a sharp glance. “In case you haven’t heard, I’m not a one-trick pony like you are,” he retorted coolly.

That was enough to set Caspar off. “What did you just say?!” he growled, stepping forward with his fists clenched, ready to confront Felix.

Before things could escalate, Edelgard stepped between them, her axe in hand and her expression stern. “Enough!” she snapped, looking directly at Caspar. “Cool it. This isn’t the time for your petty arguments.”

Caspar gritted his teeth but stepped back reluctantly, shooting a glare at Felix before muttering under his breath.

Felix ignored him and returned his attention to the group. “I may not be as powerful as you, Annette, but I know how to control what I’ve got. As long as you keep that thing distracted, I can climb up its back and avoid getting chewed to bits.”

Mercedes frowned. “Felix, that’s-”

“Dangerous. I know,” Felix interrupted. “But it’s better than sitting here arguing until someone gets eaten. So unless someone else has a better plan, let me do it.” The group exchanged uneasy glances, but no one offered any objections. “Nothing? Good. Let’s not waste anymore time.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and sprinted toward the battle.

Dimitri clenched his jaw, watching Felix for a moment before snapping into action. “Everyone, move out!” he barked. “Keep the beast distracted and maintain your distance! Do not let it focus on any one group!”

The Blue Lions, Black Eagles, and their troops sprang into action, scattering to draw the Black Beast’s attention while keeping to the edges of the chamber. The monster let out a guttural roar, its shifting red eyes darting between its attackers as it tried to keep track of the movements around it.

As the others moved into position, Dimitri’s gaze fell on Marianne, who was standing rigidly nearby, staring up at the Black Beast as though lost in a trance, her face pale.

“Marianne!” Dimitri called as he ran toward her. His voice broke through her daze, and she blinked rapidly, her head snapping toward him.

“Y-yes, Your Highness?” she stammered.

Dimitri stopped in front of her, his expression softening slightly as he spoke. “Listen closely. You’ve been studying Reason, correct? You’ve been practicing ice magic?”

Marianne hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Y-yes, I have…”

“Good,” The prince said firmly. “I need you to take your unit and focus on freezing the beast’s feet in place. If we can slow it down, it will give us a much better chance of keeping it distracted and buy Felix some time.”

Marianne’s eyes widened in alarm. “But… I don’t know if I can. What if I fail? What if it-”

Dimitri placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, meeting her gaze with calm determination. “You won’t fail. I trust you, Marianne. Your magic is strong, and your troops will follow your lead. I’ll make sure nothing happens to you or your unit. You have my word.”

Marianne swallowed hard. After a moment, she nodded hesitantly. “I… I’ll do my best.”

The prince replied with a small smile and a nod, “Thank you, Marianne. We’re counting on you.”

Meanwhile, Edelgard took her position at the front beside Gilbert, her axe ready as she prepared to engage the Black Beast. Gilbert glanced at her briefly before speaking, his voice low but firm. “Do we have a plan to stop this thing?”

Mimir’s voice cut in from her shoulder. “Aye, there’s a plan- or the beginning of one, at least,” he said. “Wee Fraldarius is going to try and save Sylvain by climbing onto his head and cutting off the Relic’s hold on him while the rest of us keep him busy.”

The older knight furrowed his brow, his expression a mix of doubt and concern. “You’re entrusting the success of this plan to one young man climbing a rampaging beast while the rest of us provide a distraction? It seems... far-fetched.”

“Far-fetched, aye,” Mimir replied, his tone sharp. “But it’s the best bloody idea we’ve got.”

“I don’t like it,” he admitted, glancing toward the beast. “But I’ll go along with it. If there’s even a chance to save Mattias’s son, then we must try.”

The operation was in full swing as Felix rounded the Black Beast, staying low to the ground to avoid drawing its attention while trying to approach one of its hind legs. He darted forward, only to stop abruptly when the monster’s glowing red eyes suddenly shifted, locking onto him for a split second.

“Damn it,” Felix muttered under his breath, forced to back off to avoid getting caught in its peripheral view.

He circled again, waiting for an opening. As the others worked to keep it busy, an arrow from Ashe’s group struck the beast’s side. It roared and shifted its weight, stomping one of its hind legs down hard in response. The impact sent cracks splintering through the stone floor, and Felix had been forced to leap back to avoid the stomp while growling in frustration.

“Are you trying to get me killed?” Felix hissed through clenched teeth, glancing briefly at the students coordinating the attacks. His patience was wearing thin.

“Felix, are you needing assistance?”

The swordsman turned his head sharply to see Petra suddenly appear at his side with a sly grin. “If the beast is not letting you climb on,” she told him, sheathing her blade. “then I will be allowing you to do it myself.”

Before Felix could respond, Petra darted forward. She stopped roughly a couple of yards from the beast, turned around, and cupped her hands on her knee, her eyes locking onto Felix. “What is the word you are saying in this instance?” she called out, her voice loud and clear. “Tup-tup?”

Felix stared at her, his face instantly contorting into an exasperated glare. But before he could correct her, the beast snarled and stomped closer to Petra, its massive claws cracking the stone beneath it. Petra glanced back at it briefly, her eyes narrowing, before turning her attention back to Felix. She gave him a pointed look that seemed to say, Hurry.

With a final sigh of resignation, Felix muttered, “Fine,” before breaking into a full sprint toward her. As he closed the distance, she adjusted her stance, holding her cupped hands steady. “Hup-hup!” Felix yelled as he reached her, stepping onto her cupped hands and knee. With a grunt of effort, Petra launched him into the air, propelling him upward toward the Black Beast’s hulking form.

Felix stretched his arms out, barely managing to wrap his hands around the base of one of the bone-like spines running along the beast’s back. Dangling off the side, he adjusted his hold and began pulling himself up, eventually securing himself against the column like a monkey hanging from a tree.

From his perch, Felix glanced down just in time to see Petra roll out of the way of the beast’s massive claws to narrowly avoid being crushed. She popped up from the ground effortlessly, cupping her hands around her mouth and calling out, “Go, Felix! You are having this!”

She then sprinted off, drawing the beast’s attention and leaving Felix to shake his head in exasperation. “Someone should really get that girl a dictionary,” he muttered under his breath, before he started making his way towards the maw of the angry beast he rode on.

From the ground on the other side, Dimitri watched as Felix started to climb over the monster’s back, and he waved his spear in the air in order to give the signal. “He made it! Marianne, start with his back legs! We’ve only got one shot at this!”

Marianne, standing with her unit nearby, took a deep breath. Her hands trembled slightly as she stared at the massive beast before her, but she mustered up the courage to do what needed to be done. “Everyone, follow my lead! We need to hold it still!” she commanded, though her voice was steadier than how she felt.

Her unit followed suit, channeling their magic alongside her as tendrils of frost crept up the beast’s hind legs. The creature roared in frustration, its massive claws scraping against the stone floor as it struggled against the growing ice.

“Hold it steady!” Dimitri barked, rallying his own troops to shield the mages from retaliation. “We can’t let it break free!”

Above the chaos, Felix pressed forward, inching closer to the creature’s head as the battle raged below. He was almost there.

When he reached the second-to-last column, Felix crouched low and hooked his left leg tightly around its base, anchoring himself in place. Leaning over the top of the monster’s skull, he used the horn on its snout as a brace, gripping it firmly with one hand while stretching his other toward the glowing Crest insignia embedded in the beast’s head.

The moment his fingers brushed against the insignia, the red eyes of the Black Beast shifted abruptly, focusing solely on Felix. He froze for a split second, the piercing, ominous gaze making his chest tighten as though the creature could see straight through him, but Felix grit his teeth and forced himself to press on, placing his palm firmly against the Crest.

Almost immediately, his mind was flooded with images, flashing in rapid succession like a broken mirror piecing itself together. At first, they were chaotic and incomprehensible, but gradually, they began to take shape.

He recognized some of the scenes. They were vivid, almost painfully so. He saw Miklan, his face twisted in anger as he hurled insults at Sylvain, blaming him for every perceived failure. He saw a younger Sylvain cowering beneath his brother’s shadow, fists clenched in frustration as Miklan shoved him, humiliated him, over and over again.

The memories came faster now, and with them came an overwhelming wave of emotion- rage. It wasn’t his own anger, Felix realized. But… it also wasn’t Sylvains?

The beast roared beneath Felix, its movements growing more erratic as though reacting to his intrusion. The sheer force of its struggle caused it to pull its back foot free from the icy bonds holding it to the floor, followed shortly by the front leg Marianne had been freezing.

Marianne gasped, caught off guard as the Black Beast suddenly lurched forward. Iit swiped one massive clawed hand at the group, the strike catching two priests and flinging them violently to the side. They hit the ground hard, groaning in pain as the rest of the unit scrambled to retreat.

The beast then looked at Marianne directly, and once more, she found herself unable to move as Sylvain’s demonic form loomed toward her.

Acting purely on instinct, Dimitri threw his spear with all his might, the weapon whistling through the air before impaling itself deep into the beast’s shoulder. The Black Beast let out a deafening roar, its glowing eyes shifting to focus solely on Dimitri. 

The beast lashed out in retaliation, swinging its massive claw at the prince. Dimitri barely had time to raise his shield before the impact sent him flying backward, landing hard on his back. He gasped, the air knocked from his lungs as the creature turned its full attention toward him.

It rushed forward with alarming speed, closing the gap in seconds. The beast loomed over Dimitri, raising its massive, reptilian hand high above its head, ready to crush him beneath its weight.

“Your Highness!” Gilbert could be heard yelling, but he was too far away to stop what was coming.

“NO!” He heard another feminine voice cry out from nearby.

Through his dazed vision, Dimitri saw Marianne appear between him and the beast, her hands outstretched. Her face was pale, her expression not only of fear and desperation, but also fierce determination.

With a desperate cry, she slammed her hands to the ground, magic surging through her, and the floor right in front of her erupted with ice. As the ice accumulated, Marianne molded it upward, forming a jagged icicle as if she were sculpting clay. Her hands pressed together, fingers pointing upward as she shaped the ice into a sharp, pointed spike.

The massive claw came crashing down just as the spike completed its formation. The sharp icicle pierced the underside of the beast’s hand with a sickening crunch, and the creature let out a deafening, painful roar. It thrashed wildly in frustration, its movements growing more erratic, and head whipped back and forth violently, its skeletal maw snapping at the air in rage.

Marianne’s shoulders drooped as fatigue overwhelmed her. She was about to lose consciousness as Dimitri appeared by her side and caught her before she could fall over.

Meanwhile, Felix gritted his teeth as he tried to maintain his hold on the beast, but the erratic movements proved too much. With a sudden jolt, the Black Beast bucked, and Felix lost his grip. He yelled out as he was thrown through the air, tumbling uncontrollably before landing hard on his right leg. The sharp crack of bone breaking echoed through the chamber, followed immediately by his pained cry. Felix clutched at his leg, rolling to one side as he tried to steady his breathing, but the pain was overwhelming.

The monster let out another roar, pulling with all its might against the ice. With one final, shuddering movement, it broke free, shards of ice scattering across the floor. The Black Beast turned its attention toward Felix, its glowing red eyes locking onto him as it began to lumber forward.

Felix struggled to push himself up but collapsed again, his injured leg unable to bear any weight. But before the monster could reach him, Edelgard stepped forward, her axe glinting in the stormlight from the broken wall. She planted herself firmly between Felix and the beast as she raised her weapon.

“That is enough,” she said firmly. “This ends here. I’m going to put an end to this- permanently.”

The Black Beast let out a low snort as if scoffing at the Empress’s words. With its head low, its glowing red eyes fixed on her, it charged. But Edelgard held her ground. She tightened her grip on her axe, preparing to strike the insignia on the beast’s head once it was close enough. The creature closed the distance rapidly, opening its toothy maw as it bore down on her. 

But just as she began to raise her weapon, a massive figure with ashen skin and red tattoos suddenly entered her line of sight; and before Edelgard could process what was happening, Kratos collided with the beast’s head from the side. His muscular arms wrapped tightly around the creature’s thick neck, and with a bellowing roar, he wrenched the Black Beast off its feet.

The chamber shook as the Spartan wrestled the monstrous creature to the ground, slamming it onto its side with a force that sent cracks splintering through the stone floor. The beast thrashed and roared in defiance, its limbs clawing at the air, but Kratos held firm.

As he tightened his grip on Sylvain’s monstrous form, he raised his head and bellowed, “Now! Hurry!” before the beast managed to turn its head just enough for one of its protruding to knick his shoulder, drawing blood.

Edelgard was momentarily stunned by the man’s sudden appearance, which was natural given the fact that he should’ve been dead. Yet not only was Professor Kratos very much alive, but he also appeared completely unscathed, despite having been tossed through a stone wall earlier. The sight only deepened her confusion, but there was no time to dwell on it.

She instinctively began to move, believing he was speaking to her. But before Edelgard could reach the beast, it became clear what he meant as Annette dashed past her and toward the creature. Without hesitation, she placed her hand directly over the glowing Crest insignia on the beast’s head.

“Come on!” Dedue shouted, rallying his unit. The hulking Duscan broke into a sprint toward one of the jagged spinal columns jutting off the beast’s back, now hanging precariously off the ground. With a leap that belied his size, he grabbed onto the column, using his weight to add leverage and pin the monster further.

Rorie, Dedue’s sergeant, looked around at his fellow soldiers, who were at first hesitant to follow their officer’s order. “You heard him, lads!” he yelled. “Get stuck in!” Without waiting for a response, Rorie followed Dedue’s lead, running toward the beast and leaping onto the same spinal column, with the rest of the unit now doing the same with the others.

Meanwhile, Felix, still on the ground nursing his injured leg, turned his attention to Annette. She was standing over the beast’s head, her hand trembling as it rested on the glowing Crest insignia. Her expression was pale, and Felix knew instantly what was happening.

Gritting his teeth, Felix pushed himself upright, forcing himself onto his good leg. Pain shot through his body, but he ignored it, hobbling toward Annette as determination overtook him. He reached her side, placed his hand over hers on the Crest.

Annette looked up at him in surprise, but before either of them could say a word, a third hand rested gently over Felix’s. He turned his head, only to see Dorothea standing there, smiling as she winked at him.

Felix rolled his eyes in exasperation. Really? Now ?

Annette, her confidence bolstered, nodded as her magic began to surge. “Alright, together on three,” she said, her voice shaking but resolute. “One... two... THREE!”

All three pressed their combined energy and poured everything they had into the Crest. The insignia began to glow brighter and brighter, pulsing erratically under their hands, until finally, a powerful force erupted from the Crest, knocking them all away. 

The pulsating wave threw Felix, Annette, and Dorothea backward, sending them sprawling across the chamber floor. Even Kratos, still holding the beast down, was knocked loose by the shockwave. The Black Beast roared, louder and more agonized than ever, its thrashing growing more violent and erratic. Its movements became desperate, almost as though it were suffocating. 

The gathered students and soldiers held their ground, their eyes locked on the creature as its massive body began to slowly disintegrate. The jagged, armor-like plates flaked away into ash, revealing sinewy flesh that soon followed suit. Piece by piece, the monstrous form dissolved, its movements growing weaker and more sluggish with each passing moment.

The deafening roars of the beast began to shift, morphing into something more human. The guttural cries softened, turning into the unmistakable groan of a boy in pain. When the last of the ash faded into the air, all that remained was Sylvain. He lay on the cold stone floor, the Lance of Ruin held loosely in one hand, while his other hand bore a nail-sized hole.

Mercedes was the first to come to his aid, followed swiftly by Kratos as the nun checked his pulse, and then his breathing. After triple checking everything that could be used to determine whether someone was alive or dead, she let out a deep, heavy sigh of relief before saying out loud for everyone in the room to hear, “He’s alive.”

The tension in the room seemed to break all at once. A collective exhale swept through the group as relief replaced the anxiety that had gripped them moments before. Some lowered their weapons, while others dropped to their knees, overwhelmed by the outcome.

Kratos remained by Sylvain’s side, his eyes methodically scanning the young man’s battered form as he checked for any additional signs of injury. Aside from the hole in his hand, a knife-sized wound in his shoulder, and the cut on his cheek, nothing else appeared to be life-threatening. 

“He will need proper treatment,” he said plainly, but there was the unmistakable hint of worry and concern in his voice.

Then, a shadowy figure appeared by his side. “Professor Kratos,” Hubert said with concern, touching the gash on his shoulder. “You are bleeding.”

The Ghost of Sparta shrugged him off. “It will heal.” He told him rather forcefully, and Hubert bowed with respect before backing away.

“The nearest hospital is in Conall, less than a day’s ride north from here.” Gilbert knelt down beside him. “Once we ensure that he’s under no real threat from that transformation, we’ll take Miklan to Sengann and deliver him and the Relic to Lord Gautier. In the meantime…”

The knight’s gaze fell over the spear in Sylvain’s unconscious hands, and once again, tension filled the room as the reality of having to take the spear with them settled in their minds. Nobody made a single move to grab it, but eventually it was Kratos who’d decided to be the one to do so. It was the very first time he’d held such a weapon from these lands, and he’d half-expected to get some kind of reaction out of it. Thankfully, however, there was not.

“Brother?” a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.

Kratos looked up to see Edelgard standing before him, Mimir’s head dangled from her hand. She held it out to him, her gaze steady and expectant.

With a grunt and a nod, Kratos rose to his full height, the Lance of Ruin in one hand as he took Mimir’s head with the other. The two regarded one another silently for a moment before glancing toward Sylvain’s unconscious form, now being carefully lifted by two of Dedue's soldiers. 

After a long, painful silence, Mimir finally said something in a low voice that Kratos knew very well he was going to say.

“Brother… I think that it’s about time that we and the Archbishop had a little talk.”

Chapter Text

It had been two days since the monstrous encounter at Conand Tower, and a day since Kratos and the rest of the company had arrived in Conall.

While the company had set up camp just outside the town, the wounded were moved to the town’s church, which also served as a hostel for the elderly and sickly. There, an unconscious Sylvain rested on one of the many cots lining one of the walls, with Annette, Mercedes, and Kratos sitting nearby as one of the priests gave the redhead a routine checkup to see if there were any changes to his health.

After taking a moment to ensure that his findings were accurate, the priest stood up straight and cleared his throat. 

“Master Gautier’s condition remains the same as when he first arrived,” he began as he pulled the sheets back over the boy's torso. “His wounds are healing well and showing no signs of infection. There are no abnormalities that would suggest other complications.”

Annette let out a small sigh of relief, though her hands remained tightly clasped in her lap. “So… is he really going to be okay?”

The priest nodded. “Yes. As I’ve stated when you first arrived, the only notable issue is that he’s suffering from an extreme case of exhaustion. His body is recovering, but the strain he endured was severe. I wouldn’t expect him to awaken for at least another day.”

He stood up straight. “In the meantime, I must tend to the other soldiers. But before I go, I would like to thank you all once again for what you’ve done. Now that the scoundrels have been scattered to the winds, I doubt we or the nearby villages will have to worry about any future raids from bandits.”

“We were happy to help, Father Gaston.” Mercedes told him sincerely. “And we are also grateful for your aid and hospitality.”

The older man offered her a warm smile. “It’s no trouble. After all, you have all done us a great service, so it’s the least we could do to accommodate you and your troops. Now, with that said, I must be off, and may the Goddess’ blessing continue to smile upon you.” He gives them a final nod before turning and leaving to tend to the other soldiers. The room grew quiet once more, with only the soft breathing of Sylvain and the distant murmurs from the church staff filling the silence.

Kratos remained seated beside Sylvain’s cot, his gaze fixed on the unconscious student while Mercedes and Annette continued to sit awkwardly without saying a word. From their professor’s perspective, there was no doubt that his students had been plagued with questions over what exactly happened at the tower. Why did the Lance of Ruin try to consume both Sylvain and Miklan? Why did it turn him into a demonic beast? How was their professor even still alive and sitting across from them right now as they speak?

They knew that Kratos was strong, but never in their wildest dreams had they expected him to not only survive getting crushed by a wall of stone, but to also stand toe-to-toe against the supposed power of a Relic. It was insane. It was illogical. 

Yet, despite this, neither Mercedes, Annette, or any other students voiced their questions. After the dead were buried and the wounded loaded up on wagons, Gilbert had made it crystal clear that no one was to speak of what happened until Lady Rhea had been briefed, and that failure to do so would lead to dire consequences.

This in turn had only added to both Kratos and Mimir’s suspicion as to what exactly was going on, yet they’d both decided it was best to leave it at that until they’d returned to the monastery. Eventually, they would have their audience with the Archbishop, but for now, the important thing was to ensure that their students recovered before completing their mission.

In the meantime, there was nothing else for him to do here, and Kratos slowly rose to his feet. The two girls looked up at the man, though he couldn’t tell if they were relieved or worried that he was leaving. But that was no concern of the Spartan. Whatever they thought of him now, only time would tell as to how his relationship would change after the Black Beast encounter.

Kratos turned and took only a couple of steps toward the exit before Annette abruptly shot to her feet. “Sir Kratos, please, wait!” she called out, her voice filled with urgency.

The Spartan stopped in his tracks and slowly turned to face her. His expression was neutral as his attentive eyes settled on the young mage. Annette hesitated, her hands clasping and unclasping nervously. She knew she had to choose her words carefully, yet her emotions demanded she speak.

“...Th-thank you, Professor,” she finally managed, her voice trembling with sincerity. “Sylvain is alive because of you. And what you did for him- what you did for us … is something I won’t ever forget. I… I hope you know that.”

Kratos regarded her for a moment, though his expression remained unchanged. Then, with an acknowledging grunt, he nodded slightly before turning away; and moments later, he was gone. Annette watched him go, and the emotional high eventually gave way before finally sitting back down in embarrassment.

“Is everything alright, Annie?” Mercedes asked her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

The young mage stammered. “Y-yeah, I’m fine! Totally fine!” She chuckled nervously, pulling a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s just that… Well, so much has happened recently, and I thought things would go differently. Everything seemed fine, and then, out of nowhere, it all went south so quickly.” Her gaze then fell on the unconscious boy beside her. “Sylvain, Felix, Professor Kratos… I thought we were going to lose them.”

Mercedes offered her a warm, reassuring smile. “I thought so too. Thankfully, Sir Kratos turned out to be much tougher than he looks. As you said, it’s thanks to him that all of us are safe and sound, so I see no reason to have to worry now.”

Before Annette could reply, another voice spoke from behind them. “Indeed. You and your class are very lucky to have him.” Both girls turned in their seats to see Edelgard making their way towards them before stopping at the foot of Sylvain’s cot.

“Lady Edelgard,” Mercedes greeted softly, inclining her head out of respect.

Edelgard nodded at the two of them. “It’s good to see that you’re both holding up well.” She told them sincerely, her gaze flicked briefly to Sylvain and then back to the two students. “I know this hasn’t been an easy time for any of us. I hope he recovers quickly.”

Annette hesitated before speaking, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “Thank you. We all do.”

An awkward silence hung in the air after her response, and the three women exchanged brief glances. None seemed eager to break the tension, but eventually, Mercedes spoke up. “Lady Edelgard… did you need something from us?”

Edelgard’s composed expression softened slightly, and she inclined her head. “In a way, yes. I came to apologize.”

Mercedes looked at her with surprise. “Apologize? For what, if I may ask?”

Edelgard exhaled quietly, her gaze steady as she addressed them. “For what I was about to do before your professor’s last-second intervention. You remember, don’t you?” Another silence followed as the two Lions recalled the sight of the Empress putting herself between Felix and the Black Beast, and Annette shifted uneasily in her seat.

Sensing the discomfort, Edelgard continued, her tone calm but firm. “I admire all of you for your courage, for being willing to risk everything to save a friend. But you must understand… I was prepared to act to ensure no more lives were lost. Sometimes, hard choices must be made in the moment, and unfortunately you can’t always predict what the outcome of said choices will be.”

Mercedes tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful. “You mean… you were prepared to do what you thought to be necessary, no matter the cost?”

“My intention was to prevent further suffering,” Edelgard clarified rather pointedly, before taking a moment to speak more softly. “Listen, I don’t ask that you agree with me. Instead, I would ask that you understand why I was prepared to make such a difficult decision.”

Mercedes and Annette exchanged a glance, each searching the other’s expression for a reaction to Edelgard’s words. The silence between them was telling, neither one fully accepting nor openly rejecting what had been said.

Edelgard’s sharp eyes caught the exchange, and she soon realized that her current approach wasn’t reaching them before deciding to switch tactics. Letting out a heavy sigh, she leaned forward, resting her hands lightly on the foot of Sylvain’s bed as she gazed at the boy’s resting face. 

“It’s frustrating, isn’t it?” she asked solemnly. “To feel so powerless and unable to protect those whom you care about?” Annette looked up, startled by the shift in Edelgard’s demeanor. Mercedes’ expression softened as she regarded the Empress with a mix of curiosity and sympathy.

The leader of the Black Eagles shook her head, keeping her eyes forward. “We all saw it happen. Between Sylvain and his brother- it was all dictated by forces beyond our control. And yet, we’re forced to go along with the very system that led to this moment, and we were all unable to do anything about it. Well, everyone except for your professor, anyway.” 

She then locks eyes with both women before concluding, “Your classmate didn’t deserve this. None of us do.”

Mercedes absorbed everything Edelgard had said in silence, and after a moment, she cleared her throat softly and stood, her hands clasped in front of her as she addressed the Empress. 

“Lady Edelgard,” she began, her tone firm yet respectful. “I believe you are correct when you say that Sylvain didn’t deserve what happened to him, and I pray that the rest of us don’t fall victim to this kind of phenomenon either.” The nun narrowed her eyes. “However, with all due respect, I simply must disagree with your assumption that we were as helpless as you believe us to be.”

Edelgard listened with intrigue as she waited for Mercedes to continue.

“Perhaps before Professor Kratos became our instructor, I might have shared your sentiment.” Mercedes admitted, gazing over sadly at Sylvain’s unconscious form. “I might have believed that the circumstances we’re born into dictate everything and that we have no choice but to follow the path laid before us. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from our time under his guidance, it’s that we, as individuals, decide what to do with the circumstances we’re given, no matter how daunting they may seem.”

She paused, her gaze steady and unwavering as it met Edelgard’s. “If we’d truly believed we were powerless in that situation, then we wouldn’t have tried to save Sylvain in the first place, regardless of whether Professor Kratos had been there or not. Despite the risks, we made a choice to act and do everything we could to change the outcome. That was what he taught us.”

Annette looked up at Mercedes, her eyes wide with admiration, while Edelgard’s expression remained carefully neutral. After a beat of silence, the Empress inclined her head slightly, a faint flicker of something unreadable in her eyes.

“It seems we hold fundamentally different beliefs, Mercedes.” Edelgard said in what the girls could barely make out as sounding disappointed. “While I may not share your optimism, I can respect the conviction you’ve found under both your professor’s guidance.”

And perhaps had they chosen me instead, things might have turned out a lot differently for all of us. Was what she wanted to say as well, yet it remained an echo in her thoughts.

Mercedes tilted her head slightly, as though concerned by the finality in the girl’s words. “Is something wrong, Your Majesty?” 

Edelgard shook her head, her expression softening into a reassuring smile. “No, it’s nothing,” she replied. “Please, don’t pay me any mind. It’s about time I get going, and I think Professor Mimir would appreciate the help in ensuring that the camp is in proper order.” She stepped back before she added, “Take care of your classmate. I hope for his swift recovery.”

With that, Edelgard turned away and made her way to the exit. Annette watched her go, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Do you think she’s upset?” she asked, glancing up at Mercedes.

Her friend sat back beside her and shrugged. “I wouldn't worry too much about her, Annie. I'm certain she's still weary by everything that's happened as of late.” She then brushed aside some of Sylvain's hair before finishing, “And at this point, I think we all are.”

x-x-x

When Kratos had left the church, he’d originally been intent on heading straight towards the camp and checking up on their one and only prisoner. As far as he was aware, Miklan hadn’t uttered a single word ever since his close encounter with the Black Beast; and the Spartan didn’t expect that to change until they’d finally delivered him to Lord Gautier, who he suspected would be secretly relieved by them having retrieved both the Relic and bringing his disowned son alive.

As he approached a quieter stretch near one of the merchant stores, a faint rhythmic sound could be heard from nearby. The Spartan paused, and his eyes scanned the area around him until they fell upon Gilbert. 

The older knight sat on a wooden bench just outside one of the shuttered stores, a small knife in one hand and a piece of wood in the other. He didn’t even notice the Spartan passing by, as his entire focus was on the carving he was working on. It wasn’t until Kratos’ curiosity got the better of him that he stepped closer and his shadow fell over the sitting man, who looked up and offered him a pleasant smile.

“Ah, Professor.” Gilbert greeted him. “It’s good to finally see you out and about. I presume that young Sylvain’s condition had not yet changed?”

Kratos gave a grunt in confirmation, his expression unreadable. 

Gilbert let out a heavy sigh, lowering the piece of wood and knife to his lap as he paused his work. “I see,” he said, his tone tinged with quiet resignation. He leaned back slightly, his eyes briefly scanning the evening-lit street before continuing. “It’s a pity he’s not yet woken up, but I suppose it’s better than the alternative. Waiting like this… it must be taking its toll on your students. Young minds rarely cope well with uncertainty, especially when it concerns someone they care about.” He glanced back at Kratos. “And how are you holding up, Professor? Even for one as composed as you, this situation can’t be easy.”

The Spartan grunts once more. “The boy lives.” He replied in his usual measured tone. “That is what matters.”

“Indeed.” The knight agreed candidly. 

Gilbert frowned slightly, his expression thoughtful as though something weighed on his mind. After a moment, he reached into his cloak and pulled out a spare piece of wood, holding it up as he looked at Kratos.

“Tell me, Professor,” he said, his tone inviting. “Have you ever done any woodcarving?”

Kratos gave a small nod. “I have. Though not for some time.”

At that, a faint smile tugged at the corners of Gilbert’s mouth. He shifted on the bench, moving over to make space. “Then perhaps you’d like to join me. It’s a fine way to pass the time, and it might give you a chance to refamiliarize yourself while us elders have a friendly chat.”

He extended the spare piece of wood toward Kratos, who stood still for a moment before reaching out and taking it. “Very well.” he said simply, pulling out his own knife and settling onto the bench beside the knight.

Gilbert then refocused his attention on his current project, and soon the rhythmic scrape of blades on wood resumed. “By the way, Professor,” He stated after a minute had passed. “It appears we may need to make some changes to our original plans.”

“Hrm.”

“Professor Manuela has proposed that if young Gautier is not awake by next morning, then we’ll have to split the company and allow the Black Eagles and I to deliver Miklan and the Relic while you and the Blue Lions remain here. Ans once he's finally up and about, you can head back to the monastery and report to Lady Rhea.”

“That is acceptable.” The Spartan answered plainly, and already the discussion had reached its conclusion.

After another minute or two, the orange-haired man looked over to check on Kratos’ work, and was shocked to see how much he’d already accomplished.

“My, my, it seems that you haven’t lost a step at all, Professor.” The knight complimented. “What is it that you’re making?”

Kratos continued carving without looking up. “I am… not quite sure yet,” he admitted. “I once carved for my son. Usually, it was things for him to play with. But as he grew older, I found I could never decide what to carve anymore.” He then paused for a moment as his thoughts went to Annette before adding in a low voice, “And before him, I… also used to carve for my daughter as well.” 

Gilbert said nothing for a moment before stating, “...I see.”

Neither man spoke after Gilbert’s subdued response, the silence between them filled only by the steady scrape of blades against wood. After a moment, Kratos glanced over, his gaze shifting to the piece of wood in Gilbert’s hands. “Your carving- what is it?”

Gilbert hesitated, his knife pausing mid-stroke. He stuttered slightly as he began to answer. “I… well, it’s-” He sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping slightly as he looked away. “It’s a doll. For my daughter.”

He avoided Kratos’ gaze, his tone carrying a faint edge of embarrassment. “I usually do this on a whim… when I’m thinking about her.”

Kratos regarded the knight for a moment, his knife still against the wood. “Do you intend to give it to her once it is finished?” he asked plainly.

“...Perhaps I might,” Gilbert admitted with uncertainty. “But… I do not know.”

 “Do you not wish to see her?”

The question made Gilbert pause entirely. He let out another deep sigh, his shoulders sagging as he stared down at the partially carved doll in his hands. “I do,” he said softly, his voice tinged with both longing and regret. “I truly do. But I’ve lost that right to face her. Both Annette and her mother.”

He glanced at Kratos, his eyes searching for something in the Spartan’s expression. “I imagine there’s someone in your life, Professor. Someone that you feel you don’t deserve forgiveness from?”

 “Of course,” he replied without hesitation, and Gilbert was momentarily taken aback by the directness of the response. Before he could say more, Kratos continued,  “Every day, I wish I could be given the chance to make amends with them.” 

The Ghost of Sparta then resumed his work before finishing, “But that chance will never come.”

The conviction in Kratos’ tone caused Gilbert’s brow to furrow in confusion. “Surely the merciful Goddess would one day grant you that opportunity,” he said cautiously, as if trying to make sense of the Spartan’s certainty. “When the day comes that we finally part from this world?”

Kratos stopped once more and his gaze remained fixed on the wood in his hands, his expression as unmoving as stone. “There is no Goddess where I come from. The ones I hurt are gone. I will never see them again.”

The old knight sat silently for a moment, processing the Spartan’s words. “I suppose it’s only natural for you to feel that way,” He said finally, his tone thoughtful. “Given that you’re not from here, it makes sense that you might not see things the way we do. But I believe, with all my heart, that the Goddess’ influence is vast- far beyond what any of us can truly comprehend. Whether you see it or not, her light touches everyone in some way. And I am certain that one day, you will find the atonement that you seek.”

By this point, Kratos had completely forgotten about the carving before facing Gilbert fully and asked, “And you? Do you also intend to wait until you die to seek atonement?”

Gilbert blinked. “I… I’m not sure I understand what you mean, Professor.” 

“I did not share my experience with you to seek atonement or pity. I told you because as of this moment, you still have something I no longer do. You can still confront your daughter. You can make amends while you still have the chance.”

The church knight stiffened, his hands tightening around the carving and knife. “It’s not that simple,” he said defensively. “I don’t even know if she would want to see me after what I’d done.”

Kratos however was not deterred. “It is simple. You are her father. Whatever wrongdoing you believe you’ve committed, whatever pain you think you’ve caused her, I know this much: she wants nothing more than to see her father again.”

Another pause. “You speak as if you know exactly how she feels,” Gilbert told him inauspiciously.

“I do not. I can only speak on behalf of myself. As a father who has failed before.”

“And what do you propose that I do?” The knight shot back, having clearly become irritated with having been the one put on the backfoot in the discussion. 

Having decided he'd had enough of the conversation, Kratos stood, sheathing his dagger. “Go to her. Tell her that you still think of her, as you’ve already told me. And if Sylvain does not awaken by morning, then there is the possibility that this will be the last time you will have that opportunity.”

Gilbert’s grip on his carving knife tightened, his eyes narrowing as he responded sharply. “I will not allow anything to happen to myself the next time we part ways, much like you will not allow anything to happen to my daughter. I will see her again.”

Kratos’ expression remained unchanged, but sympathy seeped into his voice as he replied, “That is your choice to make, and I will not attempt to convince you otherwise.” He turned to leave but paused briefly, glancing back over his shoulder. “But remember this: the longer you wait to tell her, the more damage you do. Eventually, she will resent you, and you may lose her forever.” With finality, he added, “That is all I have to say.” He then turned and left, leaving Gilbert alone on the bench as his gaze fell to the partially carved doll in his hands.

x-x-x

The soft glow of the evening sun painted one side of the stables, casting an orange-gold light that filtered through the shuttered windows. From where Dimitri stood outside, the warm light spilled onto the ground, and he could hear the faint rustle of movement within. He paused briefly before stepping toward the entrance, certain that the one person he was looking for would be inside.

Sure enough, as the old wooden door creaked open, he was greeted not only by the sight of horses belonging to the students, but also by the only other occupant in the large room. From the inside, Marianne had been busying herself with moving from one stall to the next, a basket of apples tucked under one arm as she tended to each horse.

She’d been at the far side of the room when the fading sunlight from the open door reached her. Noticing the light, she turned and saw Dimitri standing in the doorway. For a brief moment, she tensed, her usual apprehension surfacing, but as soon as she recognized him, her posture eased, and she let out a quiet sigh of relief- a reaction Dimitri couldn’t help but notice was markedly different from the last time he’d seen her under similar circumstances.

“Oh, hello Dimitri,” she greeted him with surprising openness, her lips pulling up ever so slightly. Not quite a smile, but enough to convey the sentiment that she actually appreciated his sudden appearance.

“Good evening, Marianne,” Dimitri replied, his tone polite but warm. “I hope I am not intruding.”

Marianne quickly shook her head, “No, of course not,” she said softly whilst giving the horse another apple.  “I was just… giving our friends some treats after the hard work they’ve done. They deserve it.” 

For a moment, she fell silent, her fingers nervously fiddling together as her eyes dropped to the ground. Finally, in a shy, almost hesitant tone, she asked, “W-would you care to join me?” Her cheeks turned a faint pink as soon as the words left her mouth, and she glanced up briefly, her expression both hopeful and embarrassed.

Dimitri’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face at her unexpected invitation. The moment passed quickly, and a genuine smile spread across his lips. “I would be honored,” he said humbly. He closed the distance between them and stood beside her. “How may I assist you?”

Marianne reached into the basket hanging from her arm and retrieved an apple and held it out delicately to the prince. “Do you remember our last conversation?” She asked him softly. “About how some of the horses were spooked by you when you broke your weapon?”

“I remember,” Dimitri replied, his voice calm yet thoughtful as he met her gaze, causing her to blush even further.

“W-well, in case some of them are still weary of you, then... perhaps you could help me feed them so that they feel more comfortable around you?”

The prince couldn’t help but feel his chest swell at the girl’s bashfulness as he reached out and tenderly took the apple from her hand. “It would be my pleasure, Marianne,” he said warmly.

Together, they began moving slowly from one stall to the next, offering apples to the horses. The quiet rustle of the animals and the occasional crunch of a horse biting into an apple filled the air, and eventually, after offering an apple to one of the horses, Dimitri broke the silence. “You did remarkably well the other day, Marianne,” he said, his tone sincere.

Marianne hesitated, her hand pausing over the basket. She lowered her gaze and shook her head slightly. “I… I don’t think so,” she replied softly. “Two of my troops were hurt trying to restrain Sylvain. I should have done more to prevent that.”

Dimitri turned toward her, his eyes narrowing slightly, though not in anger. “Marianne, you did everything you could have done- and more. You kept your composure and gave clear orders. That is nothing to be ashamed of.” He then added, “Besides, you were simply following the instructions I gave you. If anyone is to be blamed for what happened, it should be me.”

"I don't 'blame' you, Dimitri. I just… I don't understand how it's always someone else who gets hurt instead of me.”

“I almost got hurt." The prince persisted, his voice gentle yet firm. "But you were there when I needed you most. Once again, you put your own life in danger to protect me, and for the second time, you managed to pull through. That ought to mean something, shouldn't it?”

“I… I guess so,” she murmured, her tone uncertain but slightly more assured.

Dimitri paused, a faint glimmer of dry humor entering his expression. “I would think so too. Because after all, I did tell you that you are extraordinarily lucky.”

Marianne blinked, surprised by his shift in tone, before a small, fleeting smile broke through her usual reticence. “I suppose you did.” she admitted quietly. 

They’d finally reached the last stall near the door, and by the time the last horse had been fed, a single apple was all that was left in the basket.

“Oh,” said the blunette as she took the fruit and set the basket down on the floor. “There’s still one left.” Marianne held up the last apple, glancing at Dimitri. “Would you like to have it?”

Dimitri looked at the apple thoughtfully for a moment before nodding. “Sure, why not?” he replied, his tone light. “But, perhaps if I…” He trailed off as he took the apple from her hand. With a swift motion, he pressed his thumb into the apple’s notch and split it cleanly in two.

Marianne’s eyes widened slightly, and Dimitri couldn’t help but chuckle at her reaction before offering her one of the halves. “Here. It wouldn’t feel right to take the last one entirely for myself.”

She hesitated for a moment before accepting the piece with a small, grateful nod. “Thank you,” she said quietly, her fingers brushing his for the briefest moment as she took it.

Both of them bit into their halves of the apple, and as they chewed, Marianne was the first to swallow. “It’s so sweet,” she commented pleasantly. 

The prince also swallowed, tilting his head slightly as he replied, “Is it now?”

Marianne looked at him with mild confusion. “Can you not taste it?” she asked him.

The prince hesitated for a moment, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “Well… no. Not really,” he admitted. “In fact, I’m not able to taste much of anything nowadays. At least, not since…” His voice trailed off and his face darkened somewhat.

For a fleeting moment, the girl in front of him thought she’d caught a glimpse of something else behind Dimitri’s charming demeanor, and almost immediately, her thoughts went to the conversation- or warning, rather- that she’d received from Felix back in Conand Tower. However, instead of feeling put off by what she’d witnessed, Marianne found herself more curious than anything, much to her own surprise.

"Is... everything alright?" She asked him worriedly.

In an instant, Dimitri’s expression shifted back to normal, and he looked at her with his usual warmth, though not entirely. “Marianne,” he began, his tone steady but sincere. “If I may… could I confide in you about something?”

The blunette suddenly became mesmerized by the look of deep-seated pain in the prince’s eyes, unable to look away. She didn’t react when he took a step closer, closing the small distance between them. The faint sweetness of his breath reached her as he stood before her, and she felt a strange mixture of unease and calm.

Gently, Dimitri took her free hand into his. His gaze dropped to their joined hands, and in a low, almost hesitant voice, he spoke. “There is... something I must confess. Months ago, when I saved you in Magdred… I’d hoped that would have been the moment I died in your stead.”

Marianne’s head shot up, her eyes wide with shock as she looked at him. “What…?” she managed to whisper, her voice trembling.

Dimitri raised his eyes to meet hers, his voice steady yet increased with intensity. “But when I reached you in what could have been your final moment,” he continued, “I could see in your eyes that you too wished for the same thing.”

He squeezed her hand a little tighter, his brow furrowing deeply as he asked, “Why? Why do you value your life so little? Why do you continue to throw yourself into peril for my sake?”

Marianne swallowed hard, her throat tightening as she struggled to find the words. He'd seen right threw her, and she now knows it is pointless to deny what he'd already knew. Finally, in a trembling voice, she confessed, “I… I did it for the same reason you came to my rescue. Because at first, I believed wholeheartedly that your life was worth living more than mine.”

His expression softened, though a flicker of something thoughtful crossed his face. He tilted his head slightly, catching the subtle shift in her words. “At first?” Dimitri repeated quietly, his voice laced with curiosity and concern. “Do you still believe that your life is not worth living, Marianne?”

She didn't immediately answer, and Marianne’s face twisted in anguish. Her lips trembling as fresh tears welled in her eyes and began to fall, her free hand clenched at her side. For a moment, she seemed on the verge of crumbling entirely. But then, as if drawing on a hidden reservoir of strength, she narrowed her eyes. With burning defiance, she looked straight into Dimitri’s piercing gaze, her voice cracking but resolute as she asked in return: 

“Is yours, Dimitri?”

The prince was taken aback by Marianne’s sudden forwardness. For a moment, he faltered, realizing that her answer now hinged entirely on his own. Without breaking eye-contact, he placed his other hand gently over hers, enclosing it completely.

“Marianne, I…” he began, his voice uncharacteristically unsteady as he searched for the right words.

Her expression softened, and the rigor she once had gave way to something more vulnerable as she gazed at him. Before either of them realized what was happening, they began to lean toward one another. A soft beam of golden sunlight filtered through one of the shuttered windows, casting a warm glow over their faces as their lips finally met in an awkward, yet tender kiss.

The world seemed to fall away at that moment, and all Marianne could sense was the taste of sweet apples and the softness of the prince’s lips. But as the seconds stretched, a gnawing fear crept into her thoughts. Was she already messing this up? After all, this was the first time she’d ever kissed a boy.

When the two finally parted, their faces were both as red as the apple they’d shared, their breaths coming in quick, uneven bursts as they kept their foreheads pressed together.

After a fleeting moment, Dimitri whispered, “Was that… your first kiss?”

Marianne felt her face ignite, her blush deepening as she gave a small, almost indiscernible nod while not daring to lift her head away from his.

“...Mine too,” he admitted softly, his voice carrying a mix of bashfulness and sincerity.

If Dimitri had believed Marianne to be the luckiest person in the world, then at this moment, he would have considered himself the second luckiest; because what followed after was the young priestess breaking into a fit of uncontrollable giggling, and the smile she gave him as a result of that would stay with him for the rest of his days.

x-x-x

When Edelgard left the church, she didn’t head toward the camp. Instead of taking a left on the road that would have led her straight there, she turned sharply to the right and made her way toward the secluded meeting point just outside of the town’s perimeter. 

When she arrived, she leaned back against the tree and waited patiently for Hubert’s arrival. Thankfully, she didn’t need to wait very long at all, as the tall raven-haired mage stepped from the shadows in front of her and bowed deeply. 

“Lady Edegard.” He greeted her smoothly.

“Hubert,” The Empress said as she pushed herself away from the tree and walked up to the older boy expectantly. “I trust that our ‘friends’ received their precious cargo?”

“Indeed, they have.” Hubert confirmed, revealing his hand from his long dark sleeve to reveal a vial full of crimson liquid. “I was unable to procure much from Professor Kratos’ injury, but I gave our ‘friends’ just enough to conduct research on while holding on to the rest for ourselves. Ideally, they won’t be able to do much with it, but once we finally understand what we are up against, then perhaps this sample will prove to be of great use to us.”

He held the vial of blood out to Edelgard, who took it with great care as though it was the most important relic she’d ever laid hands on.

“And speaking of which,” Hubert continued with a sinister smirk. “Have you had any luck in attempting to recruit the others?”

Edelgard shook her head despondently. “I’m afraid not. It would seem that none of the other students has displayed any interest in our cause.”

“That is… most unfortunate.” Her right hand frowned. “Our situation has become quite dire, Lady Edelgard. Our list of potential allies grows thin.”

“I know.” The Empress said firmly. “And if Sir Kratos is to remain here by the time we intend to enact our plan, everything that we’ve built up towards will have been for naught.” She pauses in thought for a moment. “However… there is still one last candidate we can still try to reason with before… they attempt to try anything drastic.”

Hubert raised an eyebrow. “Do you mean…?” He makes a gesture with a finger across his throat.

Edelgard nodded. “In the meantime, we must be getting back. I do not wish for anyone to become suspicious of our whereabouts.”

“That should not be a problem, Lady Edelgard.” Hubert said with finality before stepping up beside her, placed a hand on her shoulder, and teleported themselves away.

Chapter Text

When the Blue Lions and their soldiers had finally arrived back at Garreg Mach, it came as no surprise to both Kratos and Mimir when one of the guards informed them that the Archbishop wished to see them as soon as they passed through the giant wooden doors. Once the matter at Conand Tower had finally been dealt with, Gilbert had sent a messenger straight back to the Monastery to inform Rhea on the success of the mission; and both professors had suspected that she’d also been made aware as to what exactly happened in their confrontation with Miklan and his gang. 

Their suspicion was quickly confirmed as they made their way upstairs toward the Audience Chamber. Down the long hallway, the Archbishop and her right hand were seen speaking with church soldiers before the sight of the white brigand caught Seteth’s eye, who turned and began whispering into Rhea’s ear. At once, the Archbishop straightened, standing more attentively as the newly arrived professors marched heavily toward them. Yet, despite the furious scowl darkening Kratos’ face, Rhea showed no sign of worry or concern.

Their conversation came to an abrupt halt as Kratos entered the chamber, his gaze locked onto the Archbishop. Some of the soldiers exchanged uncertain glances between the towering, tattooed man and their leader. One of them hesitated before stepping forward.

"My Lady, would you like us to escort this man away-"

He was abruptly cut off.

"No." She said coldly, her eyes narrowing derisively at the man and the head he carried. "Everyone- leave us."

“M-My Lady?” Another soldier spoke.

Seteth needed only to look once at the Spartan’s reproving expression before turning to face the Archbishop. “Lady Rhea, perhaps it would be more prudent if we discussed this at another-"

"That will not be necessary," she interjected, her sharp gaze cutting off any further protest. "In the meantime, I wish to speak with Professor Kratos and Professor Mimir. Alone, if you would, my dear Seteth."

Seteth’s lips pressed into a thin line, his hesitation barely concealed. His gaze flicked between Rhea and Kratos before he gave a slow, reluctant nod. "As you wish, Lady Rhea," he said stiffly before turning to the gathered soldiers. "You heard her. Dismissed."

The knights exchanged wary glances but obeyed without question, filing out of the chamber one by one behind Seteth. Rhea remained still, watching the last soldier disappear down the hall where the stairs waited and silence filled the air.

Finally, she then turned to Kratos and said in a low voice. "Follow me." Without another word, she began walking toward a door off to the right of the Audience Chamber where her personal quarters awaited. Kratos watched her for a brief moment, his expression still rife with suspicion before letting out a grunt and began to follow her.

Once he passed through the door, the Archbishop closed it softly behind her, despite how clearly eager she was to secure as much privacy as possible. Kratos turned and unclipped Mimir from his hip, the two gods watching as Rhea remained still, her gaze fixed on the door she had just closed. Yet, she said nothing, as though waiting for them to speak- knowing full well what was on their minds.

It was Kratos who was the one to do so.

“You have withheld information.” He said in a manner that only someone close to him would consider to be calm. “Why?”

Unbeknownst to them, Rhea closed her eyes for a brief moment, letting out a silent breath before finally speaking. "What you saw," she said, her voice steady but laced with something unreadable, "was supposed to have never happened in the first place."

“Aye, but it did.” Mimir spoke up with equal strain in his voice. “And this whole time, you knew. You were aware it was a possibility, and yet, you knowingly and willingly denied us that information.”

The Archbishop suddenly turned on the two men, her eyes narrowing even further. "I was not obligated to share what was never meant to occur. What I choose to disclose is at my discretion, not yours."

"It almost cost the life of one of my students!” Kratos snapped, taking a step towards her. “We. Had. A deal."

Rhea did not flinch, nor seem to react at all. Instead, she continued to meet the Spartan’s gaze with contempt before marching stiffly past him. “Our deal was that I would ensure your student’s safety here within the Monastery.” She told him venomously as she walked to the center of the exquisite room before turning on her heels. “And if my reports are accurate, you were the one who allowed the younger Gautier to engage with his brother. It was you who stood aside and let him take on a battle that was never his to fight alone.”

Mimir let out an incredulous huff. "Oh, that is rich, My Lady. You withhold information, Kratos makes a call with what little he knew, and now you act as if this was all on him?"

Rhea’s eyes flicked toward the severed head, her expression still eerily composed. "I sent him to stop Miklan. Had he done so swiftly, none of this would have happened. Instead, he chose to indulge his student, and in doing so, he put himself and everyone else at risk."

Kratos’ fists clenched, but his voice remained steady. "I trained them to stand on their own. You would rather they be kept weak?"

"I would rather they never faced such horrors at all.”

“Then why the secrecy?”

“Because,” Rhea said bitterly. “Should the people discover that using a Relic would turn its user into a monster, they will lose faith in the nobles, and all regions of Fodlan will descend into chaos.”

Mimir let out a dry, sarcastic chuckle. "Ah, of course. And that, I suppose, just gives you all the more reason to hold on to your petty little secrets in order to maintain power, eh? Because clearly, we could not be trusted to act accordingly if we actually knew what was at stake."

Rhea’s expression twitched. Even Kratos turned his gaze toward Mimir, who instantly regretted the words the moment they left his lips. The composure the Archbishop had so carefully maintained began to crack, the edges fraying as her gaze darkened. Kratos’ eyes narrowed as he caught the faint flicker of something he had seen once before during the first time they’d sparred.

Her voice carried a sharp, biting tone as she seethed. "And what, pray tell, makes you entitled to the knowledge I possess? Do you, a couple of outsiders, truly believe yourselves worthy of understanding the full extent of what I know?" She took a step forward, her emerald eyes burning. 

Tension filled the air, and by this point, Mimir did one of the rare sensible things by opting not to speak after what he’d just said. However, the fire in Rhea’s eyes soon flickered and faded, as if struck by sudden realization. Her expression shifted, and she slowly recomposed herself before closing her eyes and inhaled deeply.

"Seteth," she called out. "Come in, please."

A brief pause followed before the door creaked open. Seteth stepped through cautiously, his gaze shifting between Rhea, Kratos, and Mimir. He closed the door behind him, his posture stiff as he cleared his throat.

"My apologies, Lady Rhea," he said carefully. "I was… merely concerned about your well-being."

Despite the recent surge of emotion that had momentarily cracked her composure, Rhea managed to offer Seteth a small, reassuring smile.

"Thank you, my dear Seteth. But rest assured, I am by no means in any danger." Her gaze then lowered to the severed head still clutched in Kratos’ hand. "Professor Mimir," she continued, her tone steady, "I would like to speak with you in private." She then added, sounding as though she were on the verge of pleading. “Please.”

Mimir, who had been resting in Kratos’ grasp, looked as though he had just realized he may have gone too far with his accusations earlier. His usual sharpness dulled, and after a brief pause, he let out a small sigh.

"Aye, no trouble at all," he said, his voice unusually subdued. Then, raising his gaze to look up at Kratos, he added, “Don’t worry about me, brother. I’ll be just fine.”

The Spartan, who at first seemed completely against the idea of leaving Mimir alone with the Archbishop, reluctantly made a noise as if to capitulate before setting the Norse god’s head down on the rich and exquisite vanity table near the door.

“Thank you.” Said the woman. “Seteth, Kratos, you may go now.”

With a slow exhale, the Spartan finally turned and stepped through the door without another word, with his heavy footfalls echoing through the chamber. After a brief hesitancy, Seteth soon followed suit and the door behind them, leaving the Archbishop and the Norse god alone in the room.

The moment Mimir heard the door click shut, he grimaced. "Lady Rhea, about earlier," he started apologetically. "I was out of line with that remark, and for that, I-"

"You do not need to apologize," Rhea interrupted, her voice softer than before. She finally turned to face him fully, her hands clasped in front of her. "I am the one who should be sorry… for allowing all of this to happen."

Mimir studied her for a moment before his eyes fell to the floor. “Nay. Despite the situation, I was in the wrong," he admitted. "It is unbecoming of a professor to lose his temper like that, no matter how justified I may have felt."

"Even so," the Archbishop told him, "you had the right to be upset."

She turned away and approached the stained glass window overlooking the monastery. "I want to be as transparent as possible with you and Kratos. You have both more than earned that much." She clasped her hands together, her fingers tightening slightly. "But when you have kept a secret for so long… when its very nature has the power to undermine the faith of an entire society…" She trailed off, exhaling quietly. "It is not so simple."

Rhea remained silent for a moment."I know what it is that upsets you, Mimir."

Mimir arched his brow. "Oh? And what might that be, Lady Rhea?" He paused before adding, "Or should I say… Lady Seiros ?"

A small, amused smile tugged at Rhea’s lips. "You are rather cheeky for a man in your position."

"Aye, well, I do try," Mimir quipped, though his tone carried no bite to it. "Now go on, humor me."

Rhea’s smile faded, and she turned her gaze back toward the window. "You believe I am complicit in the structure of Fodlan’s hierarchy- the nobility, the Crests, the belief that those who bear them are superior to those who do not." She let out a quiet breath. "But the truth is… I never wanted Crests to play such a role. Not in the church, not in the nobility, not in Fodlan itself."

Mimir remained quiet, listening.

"In fact," The Archbishop continued, her voice sharpening, "I resent that they exist at all." Her fingers curled slightly against her palm. "Crests were not meant to be a gift to humanity. They were the remnants of something far worse that should have never happened." Her expression darkened, old bitterness creeping into her tone. "And yet, humanity clings to them as a blessing; exalting themselves and perverting them into something that I would never have allowed-" She stops herself before taking a deep inhale through her nostrils. By this point, Mimir could feel a strong aura emanating from the woman, whose face tightened and her pupils contracted. 

Mimir took a moment to weigh his words carefully, watching the way Rhea’s breath steadied and the tension in her frame barely eased.

"Tell me, then, Lady Rhea." he finally said. "Is there something you wish to get off your chest?”

At this, the Archbishop scoffed, a small, suppressive smile pulling at her lips. "Are you offering me counsel, Professor?"

The head chuckled lightly. "Given my current state, I have had a long time to become a good listener." He smirked, though his voice remained steady. “And besides, you are not the only one who once believed that shouldering your burdens alone is the only way forward.”

Rhea crossed her arms and her brows furrowed. Her gaze still fixed on the fortress beyond the stained glass, and a long silence stretched between them before she finally spoke.

"Humanity took everything from me," she said outright, her voice steady at first but quickly laced with growing vitriol. "My mother… she tried. She tried to tame them, to teach them, to guide them away from their selfish and violent nature. She gave them wisdom, she gave them grace. And how did they repay her?" Her fingers dug into her arms as she clenched her jaw.

"They butchered her. Slaughtered my people with no hesitation, no remorse. Indiscriminately. Without reason beyond their own greed and arrogance." Her breathing had grown heavier, her chest rising and falling as the raw hatred in her voice became impossible to suppress. "We were gods to them, yet they treated us no differently than beasts to be hunted and poached. And now, they have the audacity to use their remains as mere tools in their never-ending squabble for power-!”

From Mimir’s point of view, the fire in Rhea’s eyes was unmistakable. Rage, grief, and centuries of unresolved anguish spilled forth as though a dam had finally cracked open. But beneath all of it, he saw something else. For just a fleeting moment, past the seething hatred and righteous fury, he saw the expression of a small child staring into the abyss left behind by everything she had once known, as though reliving the moment she witnessed the desecration of a loved one’s corpse for the first time.

Then, she turned toward him.

The second her eyes met his, realization struck. As if snapping from a trance, she blinked, and in an instant, the mask was back. The fury smoothed into composure once more and Rhea exhaled through her nose, closing her eyes briefly before shaking her head.

"Forgive me," she murmured, her voice calmer, though still laced with exhaustion. "Seteth is the only person I have ever confided in… but never to this extent."

Mimir didn’t respond immediately. "Aye… that much, I can tell."

Rhea let out a quiet sigh. "Seteth has always been willing to listen when I needed it," she admitted distantly. "But… he could never truly understand the pain I have suffered all those years ago. Not fully." Her emerald eyes darkened. "He was not there when Zanado had been sacked and pillaged. He did not see what I saw. And so… he does not bear the same hatred that I do."

Her fingers loosened slightly and she spoke again. "This may be a redundant question, given your condition, But have you ever felt nothing but hatred toward those who did this to you?"

"Aye," Mimir admitted, albeit reluctantly. "I won’t lie to you, My Lady. I feel nothing but contempt for the man responsible for my ordeal.” His voice tightened with old bitterness. “I had been wronged, cast aside, and tortured in ways that would drive any pure heart to madness.  

"But…" he continued, his tone shifting, "that man- he’s long since paid for his injustices. Whatever vengeance I may have once sought, it has already come and gone. And all I can do now…” He paused before finishing, "All I can do now is try to make up for my own mistakes; to make sure I don’t inflict that same pain onto others.”

The Archbishop tilted her head curiously at the horned man resting on her vanity desk. 

"Apparently, you and I have more in common than I had anticipated," she said in a way that  almost resembled amusement, but the moment passed quickly, and was replaced by something more solemn. "However," she continued, "I am well aware of how vehemently you disagree with my way of governing.” She turned back toward the window. "When the Church of Seiros had been founded, my intention was to mitigate the damage that Nemesis had caused.”

Her gaze lowered slightly. "The people of Fodlan needed something to unite them. A belief that could stabilize what had become of this land after the war. But… over time, its influence has waned significantly.” 

The Norse god continued to watch the Nabatean as she closed her eyes and lowered her head solemnly. But then, a genuine smile suddenly crept across her face as though a thought suddenly came to her, and she said optimistically, “But very soon, none of that will even matter.”

Hearing this caused Mimir to raise a brow at her sudden turn and subsequent comment, and he couldn’t help but make a coughing noise before speaking up. “And, em, if I may, Lady Rhea… What exactly do you mean by that, exactly?”

Rhea’s expression had shifted completely. Gone was the solemnity, replaced by something akin to an eager-like composure . Mimir couldn’t place why, but the sudden shift unsettled him. She cleared her throat, straightening her posture as she turned and strode toward the vanity desk so that she was standing directly in front of him.

"I understand," she said smoothly, "that I have not yet fully earned your trust, nor Kratos’. And I do not expect you to give it freely now."

Mimir remained silent, eyeing her warily as she continued.

"But there will come a time when I must make a decision- one that you and Kratos will not like . " She met his gaze, unwavering. "However, I will remind you of the terms we agreed upon. You both swore not to meddle in my affairs so long as they did not affect your students."

Mimir let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "Aye, that we did. But forgive me, Lady Rhea, if that is not exactly what I’d call reassuring. "

Rhea did not react to the skepticism in his tone. "When the time comes, you will have nothing to fear. Of that, I can reassure you."

Mimir narrowed his eyes. "And why, pray tell, should I believe that?"

Rhea’s smile returned, serene and pleasant. "Because, when that time comes, you and Kratos will be able to return to your home world… just as I had promised."

Chapter Text

"You know, as far as missions go," Hilda said in bemusement as she dropped a sugar cube into her steaming cup of tea. "That one had to be the absolute worst.”

Beside her, Claude let out a half-hearted chuckle as he leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. "Which part, exactly? Was it the fog? The humidity? The sound of you complaining about the mud getting into your greaves?" 

"Hey, for your information, it took me half of yesterday to get all of that stuff out!" His aide told him, "Do you have any idea how hard it is to scrub dry dirt out of those creases?"

"I wouldn't know, because I tend to be light on my feet most of the time." Her class leader smirked. "And I don't think you would know either, since you suckered Lorenz into doing it for you. Come on, it couldn't have been that bad. At least we were only dealing with the aftermath of Lonato's rebellion. After all, it was the Blue Lions who got the tougher end of that deal.”

He took a moment to watch as Tomas, the librarian, slowly shuffled his way toward the exit while other students passed by him.

"Besides," he continued, leaning forward to pick up his own cup of tea, "even by those standards, you got off easy. Don't forget, you ‘volunteered’ yourself and your battalion to guard the Archbishop and conveniently avoid chasing down those renegades from the Western Church."

Hilda paused, her teacup halfway to her lips. "Well, can you blame me? All that running, searching and commanding sounded like way too much work. I'd rather deal with Lady Rhea's awkward silences than slog through those woods. And besides, Lady Catherine was the one who wanted to lead the charge in flushing them out, therefore somebody had to stay behind.” Hilda then paused as a thought came to her. “Speaking of which, have you seen her and Lysithea training together lately?”

“You mean Catherine training Lysithea?” Claude Shrugged. "Of course, it only makes sense that she wants to be as prepared as possible for the tournament in a few weeks.”

“A tournament you signed her up for without her consent.” The pink haired noble reminded him.

The boy waved off the comment casually. "Consent is such a strong word. Let's just say I took the initiative she wouldn't."

Hilda shook her head. "You better hope she does well. You know how much she hates being put on the spot like that.”

"I have faith in her," Claude said confidently as he took a sip of his tea. “Besides, you saw Catherine in action the other day. If there's anyone who can teach even a legless dog to swing a sword, it's her.”

"Yeah, about that,” pondered Hilda, “why did Lady Catherine suddenly take an interest in Lysithea, anyway? They're complete opposites. The former is like a mad bull charging at anything that moves, while the latter likes to plan everything out meticulously.”

Claude set his teacup down gently. "Honestly, your guess is as good as mine. Most of the knight captains are a strange bunch anyways, especially Alois with his incessant dad jokes.”

“Ugh, don't remind me.” Hilda rolls her eyes before finishing hers. “I don't know how our professor can listen to that kind of lame hunor without feeling the need to put your ear to a grindstone.”

“Well, to be fair, Teach doesn't feel much of anything, really.”

The girl next to him scowled. “I mean, technically, I guess?” Hilda looked over at her classmate. “But you don't actually believe that, do you?”

Claude shook his head. "No, not really. At least, not anymore."

"What do you mean 'anymore?'"

He leaned forward slightly, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "Think about it. Teach hardly reacts to anything, sure, but after the past four months, it seems pretty obvious that she cares, considering how she always taken our problems seriously.”

"I suppose that's fair," Hilda admitted, swirling her tea thoughtfully. "By the way, are you still disappointed that we ended up with our current professor instead of Kratos and Mimir?" She paused, eyeing him curiously. "Particularly Professor Mimir?”

"I'd be lying if I said Professor Mimir wasn't the one I wanted to pick the brain of the most.” He admitted. “A talking head with knowledge about other worlds? That's just too intriguing to pass up.” Claude then added, “and the wealth of life experiences he has to share… who wouldn't want him as a professor?”

Hilda raised an eyebrow, amused. "Yeah, I suppose that'd be interesting. Still, I can't help but think. With Professor Mimir as our teacher, we would've also ended up with Sir Kratos. Can you imagine how exhausting that would've been?”

Claude laughed openly. "Oh, absolutely. With Kratos in charge, you'd never be able to slack off again. Imagine all that extra training and responsibility. Your worst nightmare.”

“You say that as though our own professor isn't doing that already, but…” The young Goneril's eyes furrowed slightly as she lowered her teacup to her lap. “Since we're on the topic of weird teachers, have you noticed that our fencing instructor has been acting really strange lately?”

“Who, Jeritza?” Her classmate shrugged nonchalantly. “As far as I'm aware, he's the same as he's always been since he came back the other day. Though, he did seem to be a bit more on the grumpy side with that coughing fit of his.”

“True, but it’s not just the coughing, though.” Hilda insisted though. “Ever since he got back from that border dispute, I've noticed that he pays extra attention whenever Flayn is nearby. Wouldn't you find that to be a little bit disturbing?”

Claude cocked his head. “That's… well, I'm not exactly sure what to make of that, though I'm more surprised by the fact that you were able to pick up that sort of thing.”

Hilda rolled her eyes. “Come on, Claude. With all the harmless flirting I do, I've always had to be mindful of the actual creeps. You get pretty good at spotting the difference. That's how I noticed Jeritza occasionally glancing at Flayn whenever they're within eyesight of each other.”

His playful expression shifted into something more thoughtful. "Alright, you've got a point there. But honestly, Jeritza? He's more of the ‘stay the hell away from me unless you've come to pick a fight' type than a creep. Then again, I don't think that mask that he constantly wears around helps much either, but still…”

His aide had just started pouring herself another cup of tea when a couple of students could be seen walking through the large front doors. A familiar shade of blue hair caught Hilda's attention, and she looked up to see Marianne and Dimitri walking together side by side before eventually coming to a halt just beyond the garden gates where she and Claude were having tea beneath the pavilion.

The two students came to a halt just outside the gates. Marianne's back was facing Hilda, blocking her view of her best friend's expression, but the prince's face was clearly visible, brightened by his usual charming smile.

Hilda's eyes locked on the two individuals as Dimitri spoke, his expression warm and earnest. Marianne shook her head slightly, uncertainty visible even from a distance. Dimitri's smile faltered momentarily, replaced by a thoughtful frown, before he seemed to ask her another question.

This time Marianne's head bobbed up and down enthusiastically, causing Dimitri's grin to widen visibly, his eyes glimmering with relief.

It was then when Hilda heard Claude's voice say, "Um, Hilda…" and she looked down to see the tea overflowing from her cup and spilling Across the wooden table.

"Oh! Oh no!” She exclaimed as she hurriedly placed the teapot down. “Claude, I'm so sorry!”

Claude sighed dramatically. “Look, it's alright. All we have to is grab some rags-”

He didn't get to finish as his classmate quickly pushed her chair back and stood up. "Sorry, Claude!” Apologized again feebly. “There's something I've got to do that absolutely can't wait!”

Already, she was hurriedly making her way towards the gate, leaving Claude behind who continued to sit as he let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh, don't worry, I'll just clean this up myself…”

Hilda turned and flashed him a playful wink. "Thanks, Claude, you're the best!”

Dimitri had already turned and left towards the interior of the monastery, with Marianne still standing by the gate as she watched him leave swaying slightly in place. Seeing her chance, Hilda quietly opened and stepped through the gate behind Marianne.

She crept silently forward until she was right behind her best friend and, without warning, leaned close and said playfully, "Soooo, what was that all about?”

The blunette jumped and spun around, eyes wide and face quickly reddening. "Hilda, don't do that to me!" she exclaimed, clearly embarrassed and flustered. Her face continued to deepen in color as she struggled to compose herself.

Hilda paused, slightly taken aback by Marianne's reaction. Normally, Marianne would have immediately become apologetic or shrunk away whenever confronted like this. Instead, however, the sharpness of her tone and the clear annoyance in her eyes made Hilda momentarily speechless.

Recovering quickly, the pink haired noble tilted her head curiously. "Wow, Marianne. Since when did you get so bold? Usually you'd apologize for breathing too loudly.”

Marianne instinctively opened her mouth to protest, but her expression softened as her irritation faded. "I'm sorry, it's just... you startled me.”

Hilda grinned reassuringly, crossing her arms. "Hey, it's a good look on you! In fact, I don't remember you being like this a week prior before you left for your mission.” She leaned forward slightly, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Not only are you coming out of your shell, but now you're openly interacting with the Crown Prince of Fearghus? Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend?"

Marianne’s blush deepened further and she stammered, "I-it's not like that, Hilda. We're just- he was just-”

Hilda smirked mischievously. "Oh, come on, Marianne, please! You can tell me! Something must have happened during your mission to cause this, because you certainly weren't like this a week ago.”

Her best friend shifted anxiously, eyes glued to the ground as she struggled to respond. "Well, it's just… during the mission, he- well, things got out of control, and we ended up having to help each other amidst the fighting. Once it was all over, we started talking, and…”

Goneril's eyes widened and she eagerly leaned closer in. "Wait, wait, wait, don't tell me: did you two kiss?" Marianne froze, clearly mortified, and she turned her head away and covered her face with one and gave a single nod. This causes Hilda to immediately squeal in delight. "Oh my goddess, Marianne! You kissed Prince Dimitri?!”

Marianne could offer no other response as her best friend practically bounced in place. “Oh, this is so exciting! I swear, I always knew that the Blue Lions was the right choice for you! So what happened then? What were you two talking about just now? Do you think that maybe you'll become-”

"Hilda!” Marianne suddenly snapped, giving her former classmate an irritated look. “I don't- it's too early for me to even talk about such things! Also, please, keep your voice down!”

Hilda paused, slightly embarrassed. “Ok, ok, you're right, Marianne. I'm sorry, I just got a little excited, that's all.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm herself before going right back to smiling. “So… what exactly did Prince Dimitri ask you earlier?”

Marianne hesitated briefly before responding in a hushed voice. "He asked if I was interested in going to ride with him some evening once we get settled back in, and… I happened to accept.”

Hilda's eyes widened again, her voice rising slightly. "Oh. My. Goddess. You're telling me that the prince asked you out on a date?”

"N-no! It's not like that! It's just horseback riding- it's not a date!"

"Uh-huh. Sure, Marianne. I guess evening rides alone with the prince of Fearghus don't count as dates, apparently.”

“It really isn't!” The blunette insisted.

“Well then,” Hilda said teasingly, “if you're going to deny that, then perhaps you're going to explain to me how your first kiss wasn't actually a kiss?”

At this, Marianne couldn't help but get defensive at her best friend's assertion, even though she knew what she was fishing for. “I mean, it was nothing special, truly. During the mission, we were caught off guard by Miklan's gang, and the situation became dire very quickly. Dimitri protected me, and I ended up helping him as well.”

The girl knew that she could've stopped then and there, but the unfamiliar desire of wanting to share the moment with one her closest confidants caused Marianne to want to keep going. “Afterward, we started talking. It was just nice to feel comfortable around him, you know? And then, we were standing beside Dorte, and it just… happened. One moment we understood one another, and the next thing we knew, we were-" Marianne hesitated and she blushed again. "Well, you know. I didn't even know what I was doing; my heart was still racing from dealing with that Demonic Beast, and at the time I wanted nothing more than to-”

Hilda, who'd been listening intently as she imagined the entire scenario playing out in her head, suddenly perked up and couldn't help but cut off her friend as she said, "Wait, wait, wait- back up a second, Marianne. What is this about a Demonic Bea-?”

Realizing her mistake, Marianne's eyes widened in panic, and without thinking, she lunged forward and pressed her hand firmly over Hilda's mouth. The gossiping girl was shocked at first, and simply stood there with pink eyes widened as the blunette prevented her from speaking any further. 

Marianne quickly realized what she'd done and pulled her hand away, immediately looking apologetic. "I'm sorry, Hilda! I-I didn't mean to-"

Hilda blinked several times, still visibly startled by Marianne's sudden action. Before she could respond, Marianne anxiously glanced to the side past the gate that led into the garden to see if anyone else had heard them. Hilda followed their gaze, and they both watched as Claude continued to mop up the mess she'd made earlier with his back facing towards them, giving zero indication as to having heard the discussion.

Marianne seemed relieved by this, but she turned her attention back to her best friend before hurriedly taking her hand. "We need to talk somewhere quieter," she whispered urgently.

Without waiting for Hilda's response, she guided her toward a secluded corner nearby, hidden behind a stack of crates and dense shrubbery. Once safely out of sight, Marianne turned to face Hilda again.

“Marianne, what's this all about?” The youngest Goneril asked in exasperation.

Marianne’s expression grew serious as she leaned closer. "Hilda, before I tell you anything, you have to promise me- promise me that you'll never speak of what I'm about to say to anyone. Ever."

Hilda hesitated, clearly unsettled by Marianne’s urgency. "Alright, Marianne, you're starting to freak me out. Can't you just-"

"No." Marianne interrupted firmly, almost scarily so. "You have to swear it. Swear it by the goddess that you won't tell."

Hilda's playful demeanor had vanished entirely, and eventually she relented with a heavy sigh. "Fine. I swear by the goddess I won't tell anyone.”

Satisfied, Marianne took a deep breath and told her story. And by the time she'd finally finished, all her friend could do was place her fingers over her own head as she tried to process everything she just heard.

“You mean to tell me…” Hilda began in disbelief, “that the Relic of Gautier turned Sylvain into some kind of monster?”

Marianne nodded slowly, her expression grave. “Yes. None of us were prepared for it. One moment Sylvain and Miklan were holding the Lance, and the next…”

Hilda couldn't help but let out a dry scoff and shook her head. “ok… This is all so… sudden. And does that mean that the other Relics are also prone to transforming their wielders at any point?”

“I don't know.” The heir to Edmund territory admitted despondently. “We'd been told that we weren't to share what had happened at the tower under any circumstances, unless we were to suffer the wrath of the goddess’ divine judgement.”

“‘The goddess’ divine judgement'?” Hilda said flippantly as she slapped her hands on her hips. “Marianne, from the way you described it, it sounds more like the Church is just desperate to keep people from panicking over their precious Relics going rogue,” she concluded bluntly, letting out a sigh. “And to think, my brother wants me to inherit one of those stupid things one day…”

Hilda took a moment to shake her head once more. "Look, Marianne, with everything that's happened as of late, you really should be extra careful from now on. Though, from the sound of it, you shouldn't have anything to worry about as long as you and the prince keep looking out for each other, but still.”

Marianne nodded firmly, visibly relieved by Hilda’s reassurance. "Of course we will. But please, Hilda- remember, you can't tell anyone about this. Not a single soul."

"Don't worry, Marianne," Hilda assured her gently, "my lips are sealed." However, her expression turned hesitant, and she glanced sideways with an uncomfortable look. "Although, there is one small problem."

The other girl narrowed her eyes skeptically at her. "What problem?"

Rather than answering directly, Hilda turned towards the bushes nearby and said loudly, "Claude, I know you're there. Come on out."

Marianne's eyes widened in horror at her best friend suddenly giving away her hiding spot, and was further dismayed when the bushes rustled and Claude stepped out, hands raised apologetically.

"Sorry, ladies," he said with an awkward smile. "I wasn't trying to spy. I mean, not exactly, but you weren't exactly subtle.”

“More like you couldn't help but pry into other people's business, as per usual.” Hilda commented with a roll of her eyes. “What gave us away?”

“Well, at first you had my curiosity when I heard our former classmate sharing a kiss with Prince Charming,” the class leader said jokingly, causing Marianne to turn her head in embarrassment. “But then you had my full attention when I heard you, Hilda, mention the word ‘Demonic’ loud enough for the entire room to hear, and- put simply- I couldn't help myself.”

Marianne's expression darkened slightly, clearly unhappy with Claude's admission. "So you heard everything from the start then," she muttered, anxiety creeping into her voice.

Claude quickly shook his head, raising his hands defensively. "Actually, no. I didn't listen to anything that I didn't already know."

Both girls looked at him, surprised by his casual admission.

"What do you mean you already knew?" Hilda asked, confused.

He gave them a knowing look. "Come on, do you really think the Church expected at least two hundred soldiers to keep quiet about something like what happened at Conand Tower?” The two friends looked at each other but said nothing, and Claude continued. “Eventually, some of them are going to let it slip, and rumors get out. However, in this instance, I wanted to make sure I got it from the horse’s mouth.”

Marianne stared at him in disbelief. "Claude…what exactly did you do?”

He raised his hands defensively. "Relax, Marianne. All I did was invite one of the soldiers out for drinks. After a few rounds, he loosened up enough to fill me in. Though, it did cost me a sizable portion of my allowance. And turns out, seeing a noble turn into a Demonic Beast isn't something anyone forgets easily."

Hilda shook her head, amused despite herself. “You know what, Claude, I shouldn't even be surprised by this point, yet somehow I still am.”

Meanwhile, Marianne remained visibly uncomfortable as her eyes cast downward and hands nervously gripping the fabric of her skirt. Claude notices this.

"Hey," he said reassuringly, "everything’s going to be fine, Marianne. You've got nothing to worry about. Your secret stays right here. I know we were only classmates for less than a couple months, but you know that I'm always true to my word.” The blunette didn't give an audible response, and she looked him briefly in the eyes to give him a brief nod. 

Satisfied, the leader of the Golden Deer concluded. “But in the meantime, I'll be taking a little detour to the monastery's library. Now that I've verified what's happened, I want to see what I can dig up about these Relics and their connection to Demonic Beasts.”

“You really think you expect to find anything?” Hilda asked with uncertainty. “Considering how eager the Church is to everything all hush-hush, I doubt that they'll have anything aside from the usual sermons about divine blessings, tomes, and sacred bloodlines."

Claude shrugged lightly. "Maybe. But you never know what might have slipped past them. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that every hidden truth leaves some kind of trail. All we have to do is find it.”

“Just be careful, alright?”

“Always.”

“Pffft. Get out of here.”

Claude turned to leave, and just a short distance away, Tomas stood hunched over behind one of the thick shrubs as he listened intently to the student's conversation. He wore a deep scowl, his expression darkening and his knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip on his cane.

"That damned fool!" he whispered bitterly to himself.

Without wasting another moment, he extended his free hand, quickly summoning a magic circle beneath his feet. In an instant, the magic surged upward, enveloping him completely. A second later, Tomas vanished from sight, leaving no trace behind.

Chapter Text

“Lift your arm up like this…” Manuela said, inspecting Sylvain's shoulder as the red haired boy did as he was instructed. “Good, now, press down against my hand." He obeyed wordlessly, and Manuela frowned slightly but continued checking the muscles and joints where the worst of his injuries had been.

On the other side of the room, Mercedes and Annette sat next to one another as they watched the Black Eagle’s professor conduct her examination on their shirtless classmate. From their perspective, they could see that he hardly reacted at all without so much as a glance or word in return.

Everyone had noticed the change in Sylvain’s behavior the moment he awoke from his deep slumber. He had stirred slowly, wincing at the aches in his body, confusion written across his face as he tried to piece together what had happened. When they’d finally sat him down behind closed doors to explain everything, he didn’t react the way anyone expected. No laughter, no denial, no accusations of a tasteless prank.

He just sat there, listening. By the time they’d finished, he attempted to put on a genuine smile and reassure everyone including their professors that he was ready to head back to the monastery to prepare for the next mission. 

Instead, however, over the past three days, he’d proven to be either unable or unwilling to display anything more than just pure apathy.  

Professor Mimir had tried to speak with him more than once during the return trip, but Sylvain never opened up. Each conversation ended the same way. Vague responses, vacant expressions, and a polite excuse to walk away.

Now, with the Black Eagles having just returned from delivering Miklan and the recovered Relic to Margrave Matthias, Manuela insisted on performing one last medical checkup before the boy could be formally cleared; and still, Sylvain couldn’t seem to bring himself to indulge in his usual flirtatious behavior despite ample opportunity to do so.

“Now then, how does your hand feel?” The songstress asked him as she gestured for him to flex palm where Marianne’s ice had pierced him in his Black Beast form.

Sylvain looked down at his hand, slowly curling his fingers into a fist before relaxing them again. “It’s fine,” he said flatly.

Manuela watched his hand, then his expression. “Any numbness? Tingling?”

“No.”

Annette shifted slightly in her seat, her brows drawn. Mercedes kept her gaze on Sylvain’s face, quietly noting the way he avoided looking at any of them directly as he’d always done in recent days.

Manuela let out a slow breath through her nose, stepping back. “Well, physically, you’re healing just fine.” She gave a half-hearted smile, clearly trying to lift the mood. “And with a body like yours, you shouldn’t have any trouble getting every woman here at the Monastery to line up for you- especially after all that rigorous training your professor puts you through.” She finished with a wink.

Sylvain didn’t even crack a smile and said nothing in return.

As if on cue, from the corner of her eye, Mercedes noticed movement near the entrance. She turned her head and looked up to see a tall figure of their professor standing at the door.

Unbeknownst to them, Kratos had just left Mimir behind with Rhea so they could continue their private conversation alone and his presence immediately drew the attention of everyone in the room.

Kratos stepped in, his voice low but noticeably softer than usual. “How are you feeling?” He asked Sylvain.

He gave a small shrug. “I feel fine.”

The Spartan’s eyes lingered on him for a moment longer before turning to Manuela. “Has he been cleared?”

Manuela gave a short nod. “Medically, yes. Everything’s healing as expected.”

Annette stood up from her seat, trying her best to put on a cheerful smile. “Hey, Sylvain… since you're cleared, how about joining me and Mercedes at the dining hall? We were thinking of grabbing something to eat. You know? As a way to… celebrate?”

Sylvain shook his head gently. “Thanks, Annette… but I’m not hungry.” He then turned to Kratos, his gaze more focused. “Sir Kratos… could we talk for a minute? Just the two of us?”

Kratos gave a small nod, saying nothing.

Manuela picked up on the implication immediately. “Well, that wraps up the examination.” She moved toward the door and gave a look to Mercedes and Annette. “Come on, girls. Let’s give them some space.”

Annette hesitated, eyes still on Sylvain, but Mercedes gently took her by the arm, and together, they followed Manuela out of the infirmary without another word. The shirtless student remained sitting on the cot as he watched the three women pass by the Ghost of Sparta, with Annette being the last to leave and giving one last concerned look at Sylvain before closing the door behind her.

The professor turned his head slightly at the sound of the door clicking shut. His eyes settled on Sylvain, who sat motionless on the cot, his gaze cast downward, arms resting limply over his legs, and the silence lingered for a moment.

Without a word, Kratos stepped toward the boy and he lowered himself slowly onto the cot beside him, his eyes fixed straight forward.

Kratos drew in a slow, heavy breath through his nose. “Do you wish to speak of what happened?”

Sylvain didn’t respond at first. His expression remained empty, eyes still fixed on the floor. The silence dragged on until slowly, something shifted. His brows drew together, and for the first time in days, a deep scowl took shape across his face. His fingers curled slightly as his jaw tightened and Sylvain finally lifted his gaze from the floor, staring straight ahead.

“…Have you ever known someone you truly despised,” he asked quietly, “but couldn’t help feeling sorry for what they became?”

His professor remained still as he considered the question. He drew in another slow breath. “No.” He’d finally admitted. “There was not.” He then added, “However, there was someone who had once felt that way… towards me.”

Sylvain turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he looked at the man beside him. “Who was it?”

At first, Kratos’ initial response was to say it does not matter, but then his thoughts lingered on the conversation that he and Mimir had had after their encounter with Lonato’s rebellion before answering in a low voice, “My brother.”

The young man’s brow furrowed, caught off guard by the simplicity of the answer. “What happened between you two?”

Kratos was quiet for a moment, his gaze still fixed ahead as though he were recalling distant memories.

“We were born in a land called Sparta. A world where you either became a warrior… or you perished.” He paused, then continued. “We both aspired to be great protectors of our land. But Deimos was too kind, and too softhearted. And yet, as boys, I did everything I could to shape him into someone who could survive in such a world.” 

Sylvain remained silent, watching him closely.

“Then, one day, our village was attacked. I did everything I could to protect my brother, but it was not enough. All I could do was watch as he was being taken away before my very eyes.” Kratos exhaled slowly through his nose. “And ever since that day, I had always presumed him to be dead. But i t wasn’t until many years later that I learned the truth… that he had lived.” His gaze hardened slightly. “However, the boy I had known was gone. In his place was someone shaped by bitterness and pain. Hatred had been the only thing keeping him alive, and when I finally found him, he tried to kill me.” 

There was a brief silence.

“It wasn’t until he was clinging to life by his fingertips that he finally called out to me, like he had when we were boys. At that moment, we found peace. But it was too late; and by the end, he had sacrificed his life to save mine.”

Sylvain continued to sit in silence as he absorbed everything the Spartan had told him. After a long pause, he finally spoke. “Was it… the right thing? Saving Miklan, I mean.”

Kratos turned his head slightly, looking at him. “Do you still care for your brother?”

He set his jaw. “Right now? I still see him as the same piece of shit who put us in this mess in the first place.” He exhaled sharply through his nose. “But… in that moment, when I thought that was the end for both of us… I just kept thinking about how our father would hear about it. That neither of his sons were coming home alive.” 

Kratos gave no response, letting the silence stretch until he asked quietly, “Then why were you so insistent that you be the one to settle things between the two of you?”

The heir to House Gautier didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was low and reluctant. “I guess… I was hoping that maybe, before the end, I could get even a single iota of regret out of him for everything he’s done to me. But he never gave me that. And now, as far as I’m aware, Father is going to continue protecting him in the hopes that he might change his ways, and I can’t help but take him for the absolute fool that he is.”

“Then you believe your brother is beyond redemption?” Kratos asked.

“Yeah, I do.” Sylvain said with a dry exhale. "He’s shown no desire to change his entire life. Not once. Not when we were boys. Not when he got cast out, and presumably not after what’d happened in Conand Tower.” 

“Presumably?”

“Yes. Especially since he’s-” He stops him after a thought to mind, and he turns fully towards his professor. “What about you, Sir Kratos?” He asked with the kind of boldness none of the other students had confronting the Spartan. “Do you think that my brother can be redeemed?”

“That is not for me to say.”

“I’m not asking you whether or not he should be,” The redhead persisted. “I’m asking you whether or not you think he can be. I mean, you’ve fought in countless wars, haven’t you? That has to mean you’ve seen the worst of what mankind has to offer. And if that’s the case, do you truly believe that someone like Miklan was worth saving?”

Kratos let out a low grunt, his jaw tightening as he looked away, eyes narrowing slightly. "Yes," he said plainly. "I do."

Sylvain stared at him, caught off guard by the bluntness of the answer.

“You assumed that I have seen the worst of what man has to offer. I have. But not in the same way you might expect.” The Ghost of Sparta then shifted on the cot so that his body was mostly facing towards his students, and Sylvain now bore witness to the kind of expression he’d never seen in his teacher before. A blend of sympathy, sorrow, firmness, and even contentment filled the man’s bearded face as he lowered himself down low enough so that he was now eye-level with the younger man.  

“Humanity is capable of enabling great acts of evil. Yet, at the same time, we have the power to find hope when all else is lost. It is easy to become cruel, bitter, and arrogant; especially when the world gives you every reason to. But there must be something left within us that refuses to become the very things that we hate.

“As to whether or not your brother was worth saving and deserves redemption… no one can decide that for him, much like how I could not choose for Deimos to forgive me. But the moment we stop believing that even the worst of us can change, we begin to lose whatever good remains in ourselves. You may never get the regret you wanted from your brother, and he may never ask for forgiveness. But if there is still something in you that hopes for him to be more than what he is… then you are not lost. And neither is he.” He then finished with finality, “Not yet.”

Sylvain didn’t seem to be entirely satisfied with Kratos’ answer, as evidenced by the small frown he wore by the end. Instead, with a sigh, he stood up from his cot and grabbed the white shirt hanging off the back of a chair and began putting it back on. Once that was finished, he began making his way towards the door to leave before suddenly stopping in his tracks as though Kratos had ordered him to stop. 

However, Kratos hadn’t said a word ever after having finished his speech, and the Spartan continued to remain seated as he watched his student go in silence. He perked up a little upon seeing Sylvain come to a sudden halt, and the redhead turned around to reveal a look of deep uncertainty.

“Sir Kratos…” He said quietly, as though unsure of what to say. “There is… one more thing I wanted to ask you about.”

His professor stood up attentively. “What is it?”

“During my transformation…” Sylvain began. “I remember being vaguely aware of what was going on, but at the same time…” He paused and then shook his head, his voice breaking. “I heard a voice in my head, and I felt this overwhelming urge to let out every drop of anger I was feeling in the moment, as though someone came in and hijacked my consciousness and replaced it with their own.” 

Kratos stopped and considered this for a moment. “And what did the voice say?”

Sylvain’s fists tightened as he recalled the memory, his expression twisted. “It kept saying the same thing over and over again… ‘Kill them. Kill them all.’ ” He hesitated before continuing shakily. “Then, all of the sudden, I could feel the voice being ripped away from me, like something just tore it out of my mind. Then everything went black and then… nothing. And everything became so quiet, I thought I was…”

“Enough.” Kratos said firmly as he made his way over to the boy, placing a reassuring hand over his shoulder and looking him straight in the eye. “It is over now. I know not what it was you’ve endured during those moments, but I will not allow any harm to come to any of you so long I am around. Of that, I swear to you by my brother's name. But moving forward, you must promise me in return that you will hide any of this from me no longer.” 

Sylvain met his professor’s eyes, surprised by the rare force of reassurance in his voice. “You are my student. Come to me. Come to any who will listen. Do not allow this thing to fester in silence. Will you promise me that?”

The boy was silent for a moment, eyes locked with his professor’s. Then, after a brief moment’s hesitation, he hardened himself and stood up straight before replying, “Alright… I promise.”

The Spartan gave a faint nod. “Good.” He said, gesturing to the door. “Now go. Rest. You have done enough for now.”

Sylvain exhaled, some of the tension finally leaving his posture. “Thank you… Professor.” Without another word, he turned and made his way to the door. This time, Kratos watched him disappear out of sight before allowing himself a satisfied grunt, and followed suit.

x-x-x

Felix was pissed.

Even with the kind of healing that Faith magic had available, it could only do so much for a broken fibula before any practical medical treatment had to be utilized. His leg throbbed with every minor shift in position, and the brace wrapped around it, which had been hastily applied by one of the church healers at Conall, was barely holding together. The wrapping was uneven, too tight in some places, too loose in others. 

To make matters worse, he’d already burned through his supply of vulnerary the night before, and with no spares left in his room to help make the pain go away. He knew he could just get more from the infirmary, but that would require that he 1., hobble his way across half the monastery with a splint biting into his skin, and 2., endure the looks from every gawking student and staff too polite to ask what happened.

None of those options really appealed to him.

Felix let out a quiet, frustrated breath as he lay on his bed, glaring at the ceiling like it was to blame. The idea of asking someone else to help never even entered his mind, because it wasn’t an option. But at the same time, the throbbing in his leg refused to let up. The brace itched, the wrapping pinched, and every breath only reminded him how sore everything still was.

After a long, silent moment of glaring upward, he gritted his teeth. Screw it.

He pushed himself upright with a grunt, swinging his good leg over the side of the bed, grimacing as the broken one soon followed, and carefully stood up before hobbling towards the door.

He made it halfway to the door when a knock came from the other side.

Felix froze, scowling. “Now what…” he closed the remaining distance, placed his hand on the handle, and cracked it open just enough to see who it was.

Standing on the other side was Dorothea, smiling casually, and it only grew as she turned back around to look back at him through the crack. “Hello, my hero~” She said lovingly with a wink.

“What do you want?” Felix asked her dismissively. 

Her smile didn’t falter. In fact, it widened. “Just checking in on the man who saved my life. Thought I’d see how the ferocious Fraldarius is recovering from his mighty duel with the Big Bad Lizard to save his damsel in distress.” The mage then asked casually, “So… you mind if I come in?”

Felix snorted. “No, not at all.” Dorothea immediately moved to open the door wider for her to step in before her savior added, “Do you mind if I leave?”

Dorothea paused, then crossed her arms indignantly. “Really? After I came all this way just to check on you?”

“You’ll recover.” 

She gave an exaggerated huff, then uncrossed one arm just enough to hold up the bottle between her fingers. “Well, I suppose I could leave… but it’d be a shame to waste this perfectly good vulnerary.”

Felix eyed the vulnerary, his scowl twitching as another throb pulsed through his leg. “...Tch. You just happened to have that on you?”

“I had a feeling you wouldn’t go asking for help,” she replied with a shrug. “So, I figured I’d come prepared.”

He started to reach for the bottle, but Dorothea smoothly pulled it back out of reach. “Ah ah ah. If you want it, you’ll have to humor me first.”

Felix narrowed his eyes. “You do know that boys and girls aren’t allowed in each other’s dorms, right?”

Dorothea leaned forward slightly, smirking. “Relax. We’re both grown and responsible adults, remember? I’m just here to help.”

He stared at her for a moment longer before letting out a sharp breath through his nose. “…Fine. Get in.”

She stepped past him with a satisfied smile, shutting the door behind her as Felix hobbled back toward the bed.

“And since I’m already here…” The girl said as she pulled his desk chair up to the bed and sat on it. “How about you let me take a look at that horrid brace of yours, and the two of us can have a friendly chat in the meantime?”

Felix lowered himself back onto the bed with a wince. He glanced over at Dorothea, then down at his leg. “Fine. It couldn’t possibly get any worse than it already is.”

“Oh, we’ll see about that.” She teased, handing him the vulnerary and then proceeded to place his broken leg carefully on her lap.

The room fell into a brief, comfortable quiet as she unwrapped, adjusted, and began re-aligning the brace. Then, in a quieter voice, she spoke.

“What happened at Conand Tower… I still can’t stop thinking about it.”

Felix didn’t answer, but his eyes shifted toward her slightly.

Dorothea continued, her tone sincere now. “You didn’t have to protect me the way you did. I know you probably see it as just doing your job, but… I’ve seen enough to know when someone steps in because they mean it. So… thank you, Felix.”

He stared at her for a moment before looking away, voice low. “I didn’t do it for thanks.”

“I know.” She smiled gently, still adjusting the straps on his brace. “That’s why I mean it.”

More silence.

“And by the way,” Dorothea said incredulously with a sideways glance. “Early before our attack on the tower, I couldn’t help notice your little conversation with that Edmund girl back in the camp.”

“What of it?”

“Well, I didn’t hear what was being said, but I did see the look on her face while you were talking to her. And believe me- when a girl’s that anxious, it doesn’t take words to figure out something’s going on.”

Felix didn’t respond right away.

“I mean, I’ve seen Bernadetta get less rattled after being dragged into a crowd,” Dorothea went on. “So, I figured I’d ask: what exactly was going on between you two?”

“It’s none of your business.”

In response, Dorothea gave a particularly firm tug on one of the straps, jerking it tighter than necessary. Felix's jaw locked, a growl rumbling in his throat as his fists clenched and he bit down hard to keep from shouting.

“Let’s be clear,” Dorothea said sweetly, her hands still adjusting the brace. “This conversation can go as pain-free, or as pain- full as you want it to be. But it all depends on whether you start answering my questions.”

Felix shot her a sharp glare. “You know, eventually, the vulnerary you just gave me is going to kick in.”

Dorothea smirked. “Oh, I’m sure it will. But by the time I’m done here, it’ll wear off just in time for you to limp all the way to the infirmary with twice the pain you started with.” She gave another light tug, not enough to hurt—but just enough to remind him she had the upper hand.

“Now then,” she said, glancing up at him. “About you and Marianne…”

The boy let out a frustrated groan. “What about us? Could you be a little more specific?”

“Oh, I just wanted to know exactly what it is you two were discussing, that’s all.”

Felix stared at her, jaw tightening as the realization sank in. He’d let himself get cornered- like a damned amateur.

With a scoff, he fell back onto the bed, arms crossed on top of his chest. 

“Tch. Fine. I was warning her about the Boar.”

The mage blinked. “‘The Boar?’”

“Dimitri. I told her not to go anywhere near him. He’s unstable.”

Dorothea tilted her head in curiosity. “That’s… quite the accusation.”

“The hell do you mean, accusation?” The swordsman snapped, pushing himself upright with a wince. “I’m stating a fact.”

Dorothea kept her tone even, unfazed by his reaction. “All I’m saying is, you make it sound like he’s dangerous. Has he done anything to hurt her?”

Felix scoffed. “No. Not yet, anyways.”

“So then, what’s the issue?”

The boy stared at her. “You know, for someone who enjoys a tortured gossip session, I’m surprised you haven’t even heard the rumors.”

“Ah, so those rumors are true, are they not?” Dorothea paused her work on the brace to look him in the eye. “Is the prince of Faerghus as dangerous as the stories make him out to be?”

Felix held her gaze, his expression hard. “Yes.”

Dorothea didn’t flinch. “That’s a serious thing to say.”

“It’s not said lightly,” he replied. “You weren’t there during the Western Rebellion. I’ve seen what he turns into when the leash comes off.”

She studied his face carefully. “And you think Marianne being around him is going to set him off?”

“No. I think he will set her off.”

Dorothea crossed her arms and shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

Felix narrowed his eyes. “I’ve seen that look in her eyes. The same one he had before the rebellion occurred. She’s quiet, withdrawn, and always second-guessing herself. But underneath all of that is something that’s just waiting to break loose once under enough pressure.” He leaned back slightly, his voice lowering. “If she gets caught up in the kind of bloodbath that the Boar had found himself in… then pretty soon, we’re going to have two mad animals on our hands. And believe me- he is more than capable of creating that kind of scenario for her.”

“That’s…” The young woman said in disbelief. “...a hell of a thing to say about someone who just risked her life to save others.” She paused. “You… didn’t actually say that to her, did you?”

“Of course not, what kind of man do you take me for?”

Dorothea gave him a flat look. “One who just compared her to a ‘mad animal.’”

“I’m not saying she’s like that now. I’m saying I’ve seen where that road leads. And if no one stops it, if no one keeps her away from people like him , then that’s where she’ll end up.”

“You say that like she has no will of her own. Like she’s just going to snap because of who she stands next to.” 

Eventually, she stops working on his brace entirely. A part of her wanted to simply walk out after having heard enough from the boy who saved her life, but since she’d agreed to properly fix it, she decided to move the conversation elsewhere.

“But since we’re on the topic of ‘mad animals,’” she said, forcing her tone to stay even as she resumed adjusting the brace, “I’d like to ask you what you saw in that Beast’s head when we rescued Sylvain.”

Felix snorted. “I would presume that you saw the exact same thing I did.”

Dorothea didn’t look up. “Maybe. But I didn’t get the opportunity to look inside his mind for the same amount of time as you did. From my perspective, all I saw was unfiltered rage and the instinct to tear everything apart. But also…” The mage pursed her lips as she said in a quiet voice. “There was so much… I don’t know, anguish, behind all of that fury. Like a soul who'd been trapped and all alone for so long…”

Felix didn’t respond at first. His expression didn’t shift, but his gaze lowered slightly. “…Yeah,” he said after a long pause. “That’s what made it worse.”

Dorothea looked up at him.

“That thing wasn’t just angry,” Felix continued. “It was suffering. Lashing out because it didn’t know anything else. Like pain was the only thing it had left to feel.” He clenched his jaw. “And knowing it was him in there the entire time…” He shook his head. “To be honest, I’d rather not think about it.”

Dorothea gently secured the final strap. “You know…” she said softly, her tone shifting as she carefully lifted his leg and lowered it to the floor. “You might not have the best choice of words when talking about other women,” she said with a small smile, “but I can at least take solace in knowing you still care about your friends… even if you go out of your way to hide it.”

Felix looked at her briefly, the corners of his mouth twitching in a way that wasn’t quite a frown, but also wasn’t a smile either before he turned away from her. “…Don’t go spreading that around.”

The mage chuckled lightly. “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t dream of ruining your cold and brooding reputation.”

She stood up, brushing her hands together. “Well, your brace is fixed, your pain should ease up soon, and I’ve gotten my fair share of conversation out of you for the day. I’d say that’s a win on all sides.”

The blunette gave a quiet grunt, “You done now?”

“For now,” she replied with a wink as she moved toward the door. “But I reserve the right to check in on my hero whenever I please~” He didn’t respond, but he didn’t object either as Dorothea opened the door and glanced back at him one last time. “Take care of yourself, Felix.”

“…Yeah,” he muttered. “Whatever.”

With that, she stepped out, closing the door gently behind her.

Chapter Text

Dimitri had always prided himself on being on time.

Well, technically, it was expected of him, given his position as the leader of the Blue Lions and the future King of Faerghus. But unfortunately, the church staff member in charge of issuing training gear that afternoon decided to give him a hard time over some equipment that had “presumably” gone missing from the training ground. The back-and-forth had taken longer than it should have, and it had already left him in a testy mood before he’d finally gotten the matter resolved.

Now, because of that delay, he was running far later than he’d intended for his usual sparring session with Marianne. It was one of the few things in his daily routine that he genuinely looked forward to, considering that he could only squeez in so much spare time for her in his already busy schedule, and so the last thing that he wanted at this point was to keep her waiting long enough for her to think he’d forgotten.

He stepped through the archway leading into the training grounds, ready to apologize for his lateness.

Then he stopped.

A little ways past the double doors, Marianne stood with her practice weapon lowered at her side, looking visibly uncomfortable. Opposite her stood Lorenz, one of her former classmates, striking a pose that could only be described as… well, insufferable.

Without thinking, Dimitri instinctively pulled back behind one of the nearby stone pillars next to the archway before he could be seen. He wasn't exactly sure as to why he did this, given that he could have simply walked up and made his presence known, but another part of him wanted to witness what exactly was transpiring and see how Marianne would handle herself in the situation she'd evidently found herself in.

“I see that the prince has yet to arrive,” Lorenz said with a flourish in his tone. “In that case, allow me to step in and oversee your training.”

Marianne, standing a few paces from him, shook her head meekly. “That won’t be necessary, Lorenz. Prince Dimitri will be here soon, just as we'd agreed.”

Lorenz waved off her concern with a smile. “I have no doubt he means well, but it is no good to keep a fair noble such as yourself idling about while time slips away. Training should never wait. And I am, of course, more than happy to oblige you in his absence.”

“I appreciate the offer, truly,” The blunette attempted to decline once more, “but I’d rather wait-”

“Nonsense,” Lorenz interrupted with a confident step closer. “If I may be so bold, I would argue that between myself and the prince, I am the more refined option for a training partner. And more importantly,” he added, bowing slightly with an affected smile, “a delicate flower such as yourself deserves a hand that can guide with the utmost grace.”

He straightened just enough to add, in a clearly backhanded tone, “As opposed to one who is perhaps more… brutish in his approach.”

From behind the pillar, Dimitri’s expression tightened and he could feel something igniting in his chest.

The absolute audacity…

Dimitri had always known Lorenz to be something of a well-known pompous blowhard, but hearing the noble speak so condescending and so presumptuously about him towards Marianne while taking underhanded jabs at the prince was another matter entirely. 

To make things worse, the fruit-headed snob wouldn't even take the hint that the girl in front of him showed little interest in him. Twice, Marianne had tried to politely decline, and still, Lorenz pressed forward with all the grace of a man utterly convinced of his own brilliance.

And somehow, that was what burned the most. The sight of Lorenz standing before her, spouting romantic nonsense with smug confidence, acting as if he had any right to her attention…

He stepped forward from behind the pillar.

"Marianne,” he said calmly, yet was noticeably tense as he walked up to the conversing students, practice spear in hand. “I hope you will forgive me for my tardiness. Unfortunately, I'd gotten sidetracked against my own will.”

Marianne turned toward him, relief flashing across her face. “It’s alright, Dimi- I mean, Your Highness. I was just-”

“We were just about to begin today's practice.” Lorenz cut in smoothly, placing a hand on his chest. “Given your delay, I took the liberty of offering my assistance in the meantime.”

Dimitri turned to face Lorenz fully. “I appreciate your… enthusiasm, Lord Gloucester,” he said in a tone that was almost polite. “But your services are not required.”

Lorenz narrowed his eyes slightly as though he'd felt slighted by the assertion. “I believe you misunderstood, Your Excellency. Miss Edmund here has already agreed that we would proceed with our sparring session, and I merely stepped in to ensure her training would not be neglected due to your unfortunate delay. Surely, you would understa-”

By this point, Marianne had opened her mouth to protest what had obviously never happened. However, she didn't even get the chance to speak out before a dark scowl crossed Dimitri's features, taking a step forward as he interrupted Lorenz.

“I heard what you said,” Dimitri replied grimly. “And I assure you, there is no misunderstanding.”

Lorenz’s posture stiffened. His confident stance faltered as he looked into the prince’s eyes, and whatever bravado he carried began to erode. Dimitri’s cold and unflinching stare had stripped away any sense of control Lorenz thought he had over the situation. 

Despite this, however, he tried to maintain composure while straightening his back with forced elegance, and was about to speak again before the prince finished in a low, almost threatening voice. “It would be best if you found someone else.”

At this, Lorenz couldn't help but bounce his gaze between Marianne and the Crown Prince, until finally, realization dawned on him as his face drained of color,  and a bead of sweat could be seen making its way towards his brow.

“I… yes.” Lorenz stammered, his voice faltering. “Of course. My deepest apologies, Your Highness. Lady Marianne, I hope that you will forgive me for my insolence. I shall be going now.”

He gave a rigid, shallow bow and stepped back in a hurry. Without another word, he turned and quickly walked off in a tense posture. He didn’t look back as Dimitri watched him go.

For a moment, all was silent. 

“Dimitri…” He heard Marianne say softly.

He turned to face her, and the moment he saw the concern written across her face, the darkness immediately lifted as it had done the last time she'd witnessed that expression. His hardened look evaporated, and guilt quickly took its place.

“I… forgive me,” he said, voice low, almost hurried. “That wasn’t- what I meant to show you. I don’t know what came over me. I had no right to speak that way, even if-” He stopped, unsure of how to finish. 

Marianne didn't say anything in return and continued to gaze up worriedly at the prince, who exhaled and turned slightly away. “Perhaps…” He muttered, "It would be best if we canceled for today.”

He took one step before he felt a hand catch his own. Without thinking, Marianne had reached out and caught him before he could go any further, and he turned to face the girl once more with a look of genuine surprise.

“Please… don’t go,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I… I still wish to train with you.”

Dimitri furrowed his brow slightly, caught off guard by the sincerity in her voice before glancing around the training ground.

A couple of female students loitered near the equipment racks, casually chatting and leaning lazily against their training weapons. Off to one side, Annette was focused on a set of swings with the practice axe that Professor Mimir had had her start on months prior.

And just behind her, Lorenz, still rattled, but clearly trying to save face, was now approaching Annette with that same rehearsed posture he’d tried earlier. Dimitri’s eyes narrowed briefly, but the thought was dismissed just as quickly. 

No one was paying them any mind, and he turned back to Marianne who continued to hold his hand as he met her gaze.

“Marianne,” He began awkwardly. “I don't know exactly what you saw in me just now, or back in Conall, but…” He paused, glancing down for a moment before looking back at her. “By now, you have to know the kind of darkness I’ve been holding back. It is something I can hide from you no longer, and so I must ask: am I someone you truly wish to be around?” 

“I’ve seen it,” she admitted sympathetically. “And I know what you’re going through.” Dimitri’s eyes searched hers, uncertain.

“But I don’t care,” she continued, letting go of his hand to cup his cheek in hers. “Because ever since I started spending time around you… things have always turned out better than I expected. Even if just a little. That’s why…” Her cheeks turned pink, and she managed a small smile as she finished, “That's why I don’t want to waste the time we still have today. Even if it’s just sparring together.”

Dimitri stared at her, stunned by the warmth of her touch and the honesty in her voice as he slowly raised his hand and placed it over hers. There was a shift in his eyes, though Marianne couldn't tell as to exactly what it was aside from him seemingly coming to a small realization.

“If that is your wish,” Dimitri said at last, his voice low and sincere, “then I would be honored to stay and do so.”

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to them, Hilda Valentine Goneril had been peering past the double doors from one side as she watched the conversation between the two unfold.

She couldn't quite hear everything that had been said, but the moment the pink haired noble was passing by and saw the prince looking as though he was about to pound Lorenz into paste in front of Marianne, she knew she was witnessing something serious.

By the time Lorenz turned and made his quick escape, Hilda had already come to two conclusions.

One: Dimitri had possibly one of the scariest expressions she'd ever laid eyes on.

And two: He and Marianne were absolutely a couple now.

She watched as the prince reached up to cover the blunette's hand, and across the yard, a pair of students were already whispering while glancing toward them.

“Lorenz, you sure know how to pick your battles.” Hilda said under her breath.

But before she could get the chance to see what her best friend would do next, a smooth, chilling voice spoke up behind her:

“Do you always make a habit of observing others so intently, Miss Goneril?”

Hilda’s body tensed. She turned on her heel and found Jeritza standing there- closer than he had any right to be. His posture was relaxed, but his presence was anything but. There was no hostility in his tone, or any visible aggression.

But something about the way he stared at her behind the mask, on top of already being way too physically close for comfort, sent a chilling wave down her spine.

“Oh, Jeritza!” She told him innocently, forcing a nonchalant smile and letting her arms dangle as she swayed from side to side. “Don’t mind me, I just happened to be on my way to the greenhouse until I happened to stumble on some of your typical teenage drama. Have you ever had one of those when you were our age, sir? Honestly, it’s like everyone here’s caught up in some romance novel half the time.”

Jeritza remained silent. His masked face didn’t so much as tilt, and the lack of response only made the silence stretch longer. Hilda kept her sway going as she attempted to excuse herself, “Anyways, I should be going now. I have tons to do right now, and I’m sure you’ve got your own lessons to attend-”

“Why would you be going to the greenhouse?” He asked bluntly.

Hilda seemed caught off guard by the sudden question, but she quickly recovered as she tried to make an excuse. “Oh, why, there’s a bunch of beautiful and cute flowers that need nourishment, and I’m going to need them for my next set of flower cro-”

“You never go to the greenhouse,” Jeritza said flatly, cutting her off. “If you were, it would be the first time I’ve seen it.”

Hilda froze for half a second before flashing another forced smile. “W-Well, you know how it is. First time for everything-”

“You don’t spend time near the greenhouse,” he continued coldly. “Instead, you get your flowers from the market.” The young noble started. How in Fodlan would he know that specifically?

But he didn’t stop there. “You spend your free periods behind the dining hall. You sleep through morning drills. You cut across the gardens only when you think no one’s watching. Two days ago, you lied about a weapons check to avoid cleaning duty. And yesterday, you spent fifteen minutes pacing around the library before deciding not to go in.”

Her mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out.

Jeritza himself remained absolutely still as he allowed the student to mentally flounder over everything he’d just told her, until finally he took a step and lowered himself to eye-level and said in a cold, threatening voice.

“Tell me. Do you find me… creepy?”

The terrified girl shook her head. “I-I- um…”

“Because let me tell you something, Miss Goneril.” The fencing instructor’s eyes locked onto hers from behind the mask. His tone never rose, but the edge behind it was loud and clear. “Those who cannot learn to mind their own business often find themselves in more trouble than it’s worth. Trouble that usually ends… at the other end of a blade.”

Hilda’s breath caught in her throat. She didn’t move.

“I do not take kindly to prying,” he went on. “If you value your safety, you would do well to control that tongue of yours- as well as your curiosity.”

Before he could say anything else, the man suddenly turned away and buried his face into his elbow before letting out a heavy, nasty fit of coughing. When he’d finished, Jeritza gazed back at Hilda with what she could only presume was that of a bloodthirsty look before finishing.

“Because after all…” He said coarsely, though the edge in his voice was still evident. “Those with loose tongues and wandering eyes often find themselves in places they were never meant to be.”

With that, he walked briskly past the girl and into the training ground, and all Hilda could do was try and stop herself from trembling as she placed a hand over her agape mouth.

x-x-x

It wasn't often that Kratos found himself alone in the Blue Lions classroom, but with Mimir having insisted on being left in the library for longer than usual, it now fell on him to decide on how to grade the backlog of written assessments for the week.

It was an odd thing, really. Even after five months of having been torn from his leadership position back in the Norse realms alongside Freya, it still never felt entirely normal to be sifting through papers in a classroom full of teenagers. Kratos had led armies, fought monsters, and buried gods, but deciphering adolescent handwriting remained one of his more tedious challenges.

Not that any of their handwriting was bad, but a man who’d always appreciated print form over the flourish cursive that his students- particularly the ones from noble class- had practiced (hence why he favored Ashe Ubert’s writing over everyone else’s) and simply had Mimir tell him how to grade them instead.

He was just about to turn over the parchment to move on to the next essay when he heard the classroom doors creak open. The Ghost of Sparta looked up to see Annette stepping in hesitantly, her hands clasped in front of her and her expression unsure. She glanced at him, then around the room, before slowly approaching his desk.

“Um, hello, Professor Kratos.” She said quietly, “I, um…” 

Immediately sensing her distraught, Kratos put his quill pen down and gave her his undivided attention. “What is it?” He asked, trying his best to sound as though he was genuinely concerned about whatever problems the girl may have. (Which, to his credit, he was)

Annette hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. “I didn’t want to bother you over something like this. I mean, I know you’re busy and it’s probably not that important but-”

“If it troubles you, then I will do what I can to handle it.” He told her reassuringly. “But first, you must start by telling me what it is.”

Annette blinked, then nodded, her shoulders relaxing just slightly. “It’s, well… it’s about another student from the other classrooms…”