Chapter Text
I wish for a world in which no one would ever be unjustly taken from us.
She treads up the stairs with light, careful steps. She has to tiptoe and maneuver around dead bodies and old carcasses strewn over the floors, follow dried blood stains splattered across the walls. Her nose crinkles at the smell of metal, iron and blood. Byleth wonders what horror these Imperial soldiers must have seen before they were killed.
That’s a wonderful wish.
The last time she visited the Goddess Tower had been a joyous event. The ballroom filled with life and holiday cheer. Students dancing in step. Professors indulging in fancy drinks. Even Byleth herself, watching it unfold with curiosity, because the party had been the first she ever attended. Every single one of them oblivious, and too swept up in excitement that besides Edelgard herself, no one predicted the foreboding war, or suspected what lurked underneath.
She finally reaches the top of the stairs and catches the view from the open window – a peaceful dawn on the horizon. She only revels in it for a second before she shifts and finds him there, sitting in dark shadows. She suspected it briefly, having identified the mortal wounds on those soldiers as pierces slashed with angry lances and biting force, cutting through even the toughest armour.
Her lips form a frown. For a moment, she thinks ‘please’ and considers ‘maybe it’s not him’, because she doesn’t want to believe. But he looks up to the click of her heels and the blue of his single eye is the same as she remembers. Her breath cuts short and she almost falters in her step.
Oh, Dimitri.
His hair has grown, lathed with gunk and dried blood. His cheeks are dirty and muddied. Confusion and blankness cloud his visible eye, where she once saw determination burn bright so many years ago. His body is dragged and worn and scarred from battle. Even as she steps into the light, his expression is unchanged. She doesn’t know how to explain with gentleness the reason she’s been gone for so long, especially when she barely understands it herself.
She reaches an open hand out to him, tries to share her light, but he doesn’t take it. He groans when he moves, and turns away.
“I should have known…” His voice is raspy, like it hurts to speak. “…that one day, you would be haunting me as well.”
Her face falls, and she cannot fathom the swirl of emotions that course through her mind, beat at her heart. Above all else, sadness lingers foremost. She’s almost unable to bear it, not used to such strong emotions that she has to cast her gaze elsewhere. With it comes a sudden, phantom pain throbbing in her chest she doesn’t fully understand.
He gets up eventually, gripping his lance for balance and stands his tall height. She observes him more carefully, and can’t help but think of a creature in the night. Swathed in blood and dirt. Disheveled and dressed with coarse furs. Tall and looming, bloodlust in his eye. She imagines him prowling the grounds, cold and unfeeling. No less than the beasts they’ve fought as teacher and student. Humanity all but intact, and underneath all that metal armour, she knows he is hollow.
He demands she not look at him with scorn, even though she feels nothing of the sort, and then swears darkly to himself that he will sever Edelgard’s head himself. Threats of death and destruction roll so easily off his tongue. She wonders briefly when this violent and uncontrolled temper had taken root, but even after his angry tirade, she can’t bring herself to stop him. Not yet, at least. Her words won’t find their mark, not when she knows nothing of the missing years.
Instead, she says the only she thing she knows for sure, “I’m glad you’re safe.”
He only scoffs at her, “Am I?”
Byleth opens her mouth and nothing comes out. Her hesitation betrays her, and her silence is more than telling. He walks off without a second thought, and before following after him, she quietly reminds herself of the wish she’d made here years ago.
I wish one day I could see you freed from your darkness.
Everybody remembers their promise.
As they work to defend the monastery from a band of thieves attempting to steal what little is left, they show up. Even five years past, they fall back to their old battle formations and await her command. She hardly has the time to register their new faces and growth, only fathoms the reunion as painfully bittersweet. After all, Dimitri had been the one to suggest the idea.
She keeps a close eye on him in particular, watches as he strikes down his foes with no mercy. He’s out for blood and terrifyingly violent. The honour of battle is lost on him, even though she knows she taught him better than that.
They gather at the centre afterwards and Byleth finally inspects each and every one of her former students. She’s most surprised to find Gilbert here, who claims he’s been tracking down Dimitri for a while now. When he asks the prince how he managed to escape the fortress prisons of Fhirdiad, the worst is confirmed.
Dedue is allegedly dead.
She closes her eyes and offers a silent prayer. There’s a collective silence from the group and at this point, she doesn’t know if she can stomach much more. After all, a teacher shouldn’t have to mourn their student.
She leaves them in another room to catch up with one another. Some of them take the time to grieve. Mercedes marches straight for the church afterwards, followed closely by Ashe and Annette. For her, that time will have to come later. She doesn’t even wholly believe it.
Eventually, Gilbert approaches her in the council room. She keeps busy after the battle, rigorously polishing and sharpening her sword with a whetstone she found on the training grounds. As a former mercenary, or a Professor even, she was never one to remain idle. What little emotion she feels throughout the day is taken out on grinding the dull edges of her blade.
Gilbert narrates the events of the past and present – who’s taken control of what territory, what vast expanse of lands the Empire has already conquered, how his search for Dimitri has led him here, and why he set out to accomplish a seemingly impossible task. From his explanation alone, she gathers that Gilbert carries his own ghosts and unfulfilled promises.
“Thank you,” she says softly, chancing a glimpse of the tired man. “For finding him.”
He shakes his head. “It was not me who found him. It was you, Professor.”
She stiffens in her seat, but says nothing.
Gilbert sighs and scratches the back of his head. He casts his tired gaze towards the window. “I’m sure you find Dimitri has…changed, over the years.”
Clack!
The whetstone slips from her hand, almost cutting an edge of her finger. Gilbert alarms at the sight, but she quickly waves off his concern. She puts the weapon down immediately, deeming her mind unfit for the task. Instead, she leans her elbows on her knees, buries her hands in her face and rubs at her temples.
He is not the same.
After practicing much restraint and disbelief, the truth finally surfaces and the pain is akin to a hard punch to her gut. The gravity of his situation and character finally weighs down on her. All of a sudden, she finds herself missing him, of all things.
The boy wise enough to notice a young girl being dragged around, because her path had been decided by adults in a drawing room. And so he gifted her a dagger so she could carve a future for her own, one that she wanted for herself. Even back then, he understood well that your life was yours to live.
The student who desired to teach orphans, even when he still had much to learn. She watched from the sidelines as he showed them how to hold their ground, corrected their stances, practiced with dull wooden weapons and repeated several times that weapons were tools for protection and nothing else. He already knew all too well how quickly the world could turn.
The young man focused so rigidly on his studies and training. His compassion had been enough to elicit a few small smiles. She’d gotten loose with herself, slowly easing out of her stoic demeanor and mercenary mentality. It was an uncomfortable, but not unwelcome change. He willingly called her out when she slipped, saying her smile was ‘mesmerizing’. He always said it with encouragement. She thought nothing of it back then, but realizes now it meant so much more. Jeralt commented once how her students brought out her humanity in ways even he couldn’t.
And now.
Five years have passed and she struggles to feel anything beyond the melancholic haze surrounding the monastery. Perhaps none of this would mean so much if she hadn’t made that wish. Or perhaps he’s still the same person she met so many years ago. She just didn’t know him at all.
He always had that lingering darkness, even at the best of times. Underneath that façade festered a hunger for vengeance. Young Dimitri phrased it so clearly. Sometimes the darkness takes hold, and becomes impossible to suppress. The five years he spent unhinged and wandering in darkness nurtured his lust for revenge. Nowadays, people only laid hands on him with the intent to kill, and he had no choice but to do the same.
Gilbert clears his throat, drawing her out of deep thought.
Forgetting her place, Byleth straightens her spine. She tries to mirror his tired expression.
“Dimitri has lost himself,” she says, following up on his earlier comment. She doesn’t know how else to put it.
The man shifts his weight to the other foot and rests his chin in one hand. “Yes. I fear his deep hatred and solitude have consumed him for far too long,” he explains with a downcast expression. “We must bring him back from the edge on which he stands.”
She nods in agreement, unable to word it better herself.
He hums with uncertainty. “It will not be a quick or easy task. In truth, I’m not even sure if my words will…” he trails off, but eventually shakes his head. “Never mind, it must be done, regardless of whatever circumstance. He is still needed in his Kingdom.”
She finally looks up at him, assurance in her eyes.
“I’ll do it,” she offers, even as she sees dark times awaiting them in shadowed corners.
“Are you sure, Professor?”
She nods. For his sake, she would have to.
Later, everyone is gathered in the council room. She stands to one side, casting inspecting gazes to each of her students as Gilbert and Seteth discuss strategies between themselves before presenting it forward. There is much on the agenda. Talks of battle tactics, recruiting soldiers, rebuilding the monastery and more. Everybody has agreed the Empire needs to be stopped.
Eventually, Annette calls out the elephant in the room. Her leg hasn’t stopped fidgeting since she sat down.
“Erm, perhaps we should wait for Dimitri?” she pipes up anxiously. “He should be here, right?”
There’s a scoff from Felix, and the gesture is oddly nostalgic. “Hmph. The boar is holed up in the cathedral right now, talking nonsense to himself. I don’t see him getting out anytime soon.”
No one says anything, much less argues with him. Byleth just assumes everyone has seen for themselves how the years have hardened and changed their former house leader. The air is stricken with gloom now.
Naturally, Gilbert turns to her.
She promised to handle affairs concerning the wayward Prince. She figures most people are rather…fearful in discussing Dimitri’s condition. The way she sees it, it matters not. At the end of the day, their end goal is the same: Halt Imperial conquest and take back the Holy Kingdom. Somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind, she is certain Dimitri feels the same way.
She straightens up from her spot and gathers the attention of the room. “We can resume in his absence. I can debrief him of our plans afterwards.”
People have always flocked to the church in times of need. Although their numbers have dwindled, guards, monks and merchants alike have all paid a visit at least once.
Dimitri is here all the time. From morning till night. Akin to a lost soul wandering in limbo or purgatory, waiting for judgment to strike down like lightning. He occupies the space in front of the rubble, frequently muttering to himself. Sometimes, he speaks of destruction and violence. When the voices get too loud, he pleads and begs for forgiveness. Sometimes he says nothing at all.
For him, there is only one end in sight. Edelgard’s death and after that, his own. A preposterous notion – as if she would ever let him get that far.
She’s spoken to him a few times. Tried is a better word. He tells her to scurry out of sight and curses to himself when she doesn’t. He is still unreachable. She holds her words in her tongue because they won’t find their mark. He didn’t even attend the vigil they held in Dedue’s honour.
“Look at the creature,” Felix is saying, standing a fair distance away. “It’s pitiful to watch. Professor, do what you have to in order to fix him.”
Byleth, distracted by her own thoughts, rests her eyes on the prince. The wide berth everybody gives him makes it easy to observe. No one dares approach too close. Her eyes shift to Felix next. He wears his perpetual scowl, but underneath she knows he’s trying to figure out an end to this situation. She recognizes it as his way of showing he cares.
A familiar face treads towards the academy.
Byleth remembers his face. General Randolph. He stood beside Edelgard as they destroyed the monastery. Dimitri remembers too, because he’s more difficult to direct. He’s determined to ravage his foes and sort out his problems with senseless violence.
She keeps a close eye on him and the others. None of them are her students anymore, but old habits die hard. Five years of sleep catches up to her too – her body is not yet hardened from rigorous training and everyday battle – and she slips up. A fast-flying arrow is shot deep into her left thigh and she grits her teeth and hisses in pain. Before she finds cover, she knocks her own arrow towards the perpetrator before he can deliver another blow.
When she looks up, Dimitri has already caught up to Randolph. She curses to herself, quickly assesses the blood-stained grounds to find most of the Imperial soldiers either dead or subdued. She has to force herself against her own threshold, musters up strength because someone must stop him, and she limps over to him unerringly. The arrow is forcefully removed by her own hand, leaving a trail of blood in her wake as she ignores the biting pains.
She watches as Randolph is brought to his knees, on the verge of his death. Dimitri is smug and bloodlust festers in his visible eye that it sparks angers in her. Randolph pleads senselessly, claiming he must live for his family before he has the gall to call Dimitri a heartless monster. It only feeds her ire, because he knows nothing about what he’s taken from so many people, including herself.
Byleth draws the line at Dimitri carving out his eyes, and kills Randolph herself. From behind, straight through the heart, swift and decisive. She considers it mercy, because anything by Dimitri’s hand would have been ruthless and even her worst enemies don’t deserve that kind of brutality on their deathbed. She quickly sheathes her sword afterwards, because even after all this time, it’s still not easy.
Dimitri laughs heinously at her actions, telling her she should kill him herself if she doesn’t approve. Fierce anger burns so hotly that for a second, she would earnestly consider challenging him if it meant dragging him away from his bleak and corrupted cravings for vengeance. But of course, she would never condone that. Instead, she cools down the foreign, unfamiliar rage burning inside and reminds herself there is no need for more violence in a world already plunged in war and turmoil.
What he says next is atrocious. Claiming to use her and her friends to exact his revenge until the flesh falls off their bones. Shock removes all blankness in her face, and she watches him storm off towards the monastery. The rest of them are mortified, having watched in horror of what he’s become.
Byleth patches up her wounds on her own. She wraps her thigh in gauze and bandages, rubs salve on her wounds and hides the discolouration of her bruises with sleeves. News will spread to the Empire that they’ve made the monastery their stronghold, and she prepares for another onslaught.
She wakes up confused on some mornings. There are times when she picks up her sword and gets ready to complete her mercenary contract. Sometimes, she goes over to her desk to review lecture notes, only to find there are none. She’d also gotten used to hearing Sothis’s voice as the goddess flitted about in her room. She has to remember these things belong in the past now.
When her mind is too hazy, or things get overwhelming, she trudges over to Jeralt’s grave. In bright mornings, late nights, rainy weather or cold winds, she kneels down on the patchy grass and solemnly wishes for a world where she didn’t have to bury him. Time is forgotten when she sits in front of his headstone, but reality always hits its inevitable stride and she remembers this is hardly the time to grieve. Not before long, she schools on a blank and vacant expression, not minding the familiar faces that watch over her in concern.
“Professor! Over here!”
Byleth looks to her left, where Mercedes, Annette and Ashe are beckoning her to sit at their table. She approaches over somewhat sheepishly, because she knows she should be spending more time with her students and honing them for battle.
“Mercedes managed to convince the chefs to let her bake a few sweets. You should try some,” Annette says excitedly, pushing forward the tray of small cakes and confectionaries in her direction.
She hesitates for a brief moment before taking one of the jelly squares in her mouth. Although she never had a sweet tooth, she manages a small smile, just for them. For some reason, they all seem to breathe a sigh of relief.
“Did you know? Dedue used to help me with kitchen duty. Have you ever tried his cooking? I’d say it was his hidden talent,” Annette strikes up conversation, taking one of the small cakes into her mouth in one bite. For a small girl, she’s always had a ravenous appetite for sweet foods.
Ashe lights up brightly. “I’ve tried his cooking too! You can really taste the Duscur inspiration. He was always a much better chef than I am, that’s for sure.”
Byleth gazes over them with fondness. She’s glad they’ve forged these unbreakable bonds. Even if one of them is gone, they choose to remember the good he’s done. As the two of them continue to reminisce of Dedue and his cuisine, Mercedes quietly turns to her.
“Professor, I must say. You seem rather…sad, as of late,” the soft-spoken girl remarks, a gentle smile gracing her features. “Are you also thinking of Dedue?”
Her eyes settle on the wooden table underneath her hands. “Always.”
Mercedes waits for a moment before speaking again, “And Dimitri, as well?”
Byleth still cannot look her in the eye. “I think of him too.”
“We figured as much…” Mercedes leans back in her chair and looks up at the ceiling. Ashe and Annette have quieted their conversation in favour of listening in. “I don’t think either of us have ever seen you show so much frustration as you did in our recent battle.”
She shrinks in her seat as shame tugs at her. Perhaps she got carried away back there.
“I’m sorry,” she prioritizes first. “I hope you understand I’m not angry with Dimitri, but rather the circumstances that have led him here. He’s much different now, as you know, and I ask that you be patient with him.”
Ashe nods his head. “Of course. He’s always been good to us, just like Dedue. When we were students, he refused to let me address him so formally.”
“Me too! And he used to tell me stories of my Father even before I connected with him. It was nice, actually. He said it felt like he knew me already before we entered the academy, because Father always spoke of me.”
Mercedes hums in agreement. “Dimitri also helped me with sword training. Although I’m still lacking in that skill, I think it was sweet of him to help, especially since I almost swung at him. In return, I taught him how to mend his clothes. He was a very good student.”
Byleth softens at the stories shared around the table. She shares her own too. It’s hard to equate the man he is today to the person he was before, but if her students have no problem seeing him as such, even with his cruel and callous behaviour, then she should do the same.
“We’re confident he’ll come to his senses one day. Until then, we should help him however we can,” Mercedes pipes up, with a sense of assurance.
For the first time today, she fills with hope.
He still spends most days and nights at the cathedral. It’s almost reassuring, because she expects to find him there, instead of searching the monastery in fear he has gotten up and left. The only worrying thing is that he barely leaves the church grounds. He denies himself sleep, evidenced by the darkness under his eyes. But she thinks of his health, having never seen him take a ration from the kitchen, much less eat a morsel of anything.
She swipes a couple of things from the kitchen one day and wraps it in paper. A small loaf of bread and dried fruits. Someone told her one day he doesn’t care much for taste anyway. Her boots click and echo as she draws nearer, and he turns his head away from her when she kneels on the ground beside him.
Byleth prods her offering towards him, lays it on the ground where he can see with his good eye and utters out a simple command, “You should eat.”
He closes his only eye, still turned away from her. “Go away.”
She shakes her head and doesn’t get too caught up in his brusque words. “You’ll waste away and grow weary if you don’t,” she counters.
He groans to himself. A rough, grating sound, and says nothing else. He’s rather subdued today. The last time she visited, there was no stopping the slew of threats that escaped his tongue. She’s gotten used to that side of him, knows not to indulge in his murderous fantasies. Instead, she treats him with a level of hardness, because he doesn’t recognize comfort or kindness when it’s given to him. She redirects his thoughts instead. Questions his motives with caution and reminds him to take care of himself. Never engages in a fight or argument when none is needed.
She says nothing else and leaves him for the day. Later when she checks on him again, she notes with some measure of gladness that the plate is empty.
The next war council meeting goes awry.
They are short on soldiers and resources, and there are talks of requesting backup from the Fraldarius house and joining forces with them. When Gilbert asks Dimitri if they should dispatch their troops to the Imperial capital or the Kingdom capital, his answer is predictable.
“We will take the Imperial capital. There, I will kill her. Nothing could be more to the point.”
The group remains divided on the subject, but Seteth passes her the final say as the stand-in leader of the church and she chooses the opposite. For the army’s sake, and especially Dimitri’s sake, they should take back the Kingdom capital. There are so many people awaiting his return to Fhirdiad.
He turns to her, a cross look on his features. “If Lady Rhea is being held prisoner in the Empire, we don’t have time to waste taking back Fhirdiad. Can you deny it?”
He is only testing her, making her out to be foolish in front of the council. She doesn’t bite. Gilbert senses the foreboding tension and cuts in before anything can ensue. “Either way, we are in need of numbers. It is essential we secure backup.”
When the meeting ends, Byleth keeps her ground and waits until most of them have filed out of the board room. Dimitri remains, sharp and cutting words waiting in his sleeve, intended just for her.
“We’re not ready to march into Enbarr,” she says point blank.
“You understand nothing,” he scoffs, jaw clenched and hands balled into fists at his side. “The time we spend in wait only grows her power. She will have taken all of Fódlan before you finally decide to fight back!”
Byleth furrows her brow and presses her lips into a thin line. “You would rush in haste to fight Edelgard instead? You would fall on her doorstep before you even get the chance to see her.”
“That woman must be stopped!” he grounds out in exasperation, slamming a clenched fist on the desk and alerting the attention of the room. “I will go alone if I have to!”
She drops her hands and narrows her eyes at him, face lined with hardness. A bitter sensation settles in her mouth at the thought of him wandering off on his own.
“No. I won’t let you.”
Dimitri laughs. A maniacal, delirious laughter. He steps one foot forward as a crooked smile finds his lips, like a man possessed. “You, Professor? Are you going to be the one to stop me?” His voice is mocking. A taunt, above all else. And she understands he means to intimidate her when he draws closer with a crazed look in his eye. “Be my guest! I dare you to try!”
When he gets too close, she shoves him backwards with both hands, just enough to afford her some distance. The sword of the Creator hums and hangs at her hip, but she makes no motion to withdraw it.
“Don’t challenge me,” she warns and her voice is mostly even. Intimidation isn’t her strong suit, but her eyes stay fixed on his single one with a stubborn determination. Even still, she steels herself should he ever reach for the lance at his back.
He shakes his head and at her adamant insistence, takes a step back. “Then I swear to you this, my dear Professor.” The hissing voice that comes out of that mouth is a poor mockery of Dimitri’s own, dissonant to her ears. “If you ever get in my way, or you dare to stop me from severing that woman’s head, I will not hesitate to kill you too.”
With a huff, he turns his heel and gruffly storms out the room. She waits for the wave of shock to pass, and then her brave face is gone, replaced with an old and tired expression. She finally lets out the breath she didn’t know she was holding and suddenly, disappointment weighs heavy on her shoulders and she forces herself to sit down. Her breaths even out slowly.
Footsteps draw near, and she glances up to the waiting eyes of Felix and Sylvain, who’d been privy to that uncomfortable exchange. Felix is the first to speak.
“There’s no use talking to him when he gets like that. Nothing is going to reach him,” he offers rather brusquely, even though his words carry some ounce of sympathy.
She looks to Sylvain, who appears quite lax despite their circumstance.
“What he means by that is Dimitri’s had his rough patches before. Today was just one of them, so you shouldn’t be too hard on yourself. Besides, dark expressions don’t really suit you,” he remarks loosely. She raises a small brow at his nonchalance and as inattentive as Sylvain appears, he seems to read her cue. “Even I still have a hard time accepting who he is, but everyone has their faults, right? And he’s my friend, first and foremost. All I’m saying is, I’m not worrying just yet. As much as I hate seeing him like this, I have faith he’ll turn around eventually.”
“Tch. He’ll be grovelling when the time comes.”
Groveling?
She creases her brow, tries really hard to understand, but the redhead just shakes his head. “For now, the most we can do is keep a close eye on him and make sure he’s safe until he figures it out.”
“Hmph. That mind of his though. So consumed with the dead. The boar has no control of himself. I’m this close to being done with him.”
For some reason, Sylvain gets a laugh out of that one. It confuses her wildly, because they don’t seem to grasp the weight of the situation. Dimitri is on the brink of madness and they jest as if it were another day at the academy.
She thinks it over again though. They’ve known him longer. They’re more familiar with his patterns of behaviour. She remembers questioning it frequently then. The way Felix constantly muttered his distaste for the Prince and his ‘monstrous’ qualities, even going so far as refusing to call him by name. Or when Sylvain raised a brow and kept a worried expression throughout their battle in Remire, because of all the chaotic violence they witnessed. She didn’t know what all of that meant back then. His darkness had been kept a heavily guarded secret between nobles.
Sylvain is the more perceptive one once again. “I know it’s hard to forget all the awful things he says and does, but I ought to give him a chance. We’ve been friends since we were kids. I owe him that much, at least.”
She pauses her train of thought. “What makes you so sure he can change?”
The redhead shrugs, but it’s not without a level of uncertainty. “He’s done it before. Besides, he has you helping him this time. To be honest, he never meant for you to see this side of him, but the fact that you have, and you’re still willing to see him through it…well, he should consider himself blessed.”
Blessed? Mild confusion washes over again. She tries to wrap her head around it, the idea as clear as mud. And even when they leave, the thought sticks with her for the rest of the day.
The meeting scheduled at Aillel isn’t without complication. Besides the scorching heat and blistering fumes in the land said to be born of the goddess’ rage, it turns out there was a spy among them and soldiers awaited their arrival. Somehow, and Byleth still isn’t sure how the goddess is carrying her this far, they make it back to the monastery relatively in one piece. Rodrigue has chosen to come with them, along with several of his troops and men. She is glad to see their army and resources growing in number.
She’s avoided clashing with Dimitri in any way she can. Their last conversation is still a fresh wound. Besides, Rodrigue’s presence seems to draw out some sense in the prince. She would be foolish to tamper with that. If she recalls correctly, this man had taken him in, even treated him as his own, when the King had passed.
Once again, she cleans her wounds on her own. She douses her burns and blisters in salt water, hisses at the searing contact, and pulls the sleeves over her arms when she leaves her quarters. Later that night, she ambles up the stairs of the Goddess Tower.
On their way back from Aillel, she came across a…revelation, so to speak. She’d been sitting with her former students, sorting out inventory of weapons and medicinal supplies. The routine has a soothing, meditative effect on her, so she was minding her own business for the most part. Somehow, they started reminiscing about their academy days – a frequent topic of conversation – and what they had done on the night of the ball. She’d been partially listening at that point, and only glanced up when they addressed her.
“Professor, are you aware of the legends associated with the Goddess Tower?” Ingrid piped up, features friendly.
She nodded. “My understanding is that wishes made in that tower will come true.” Briefly, she mulled over the innocent wish she made there five years ago and as an afterthought, she added quietly, “I’m not sure if I believe it.”
“Aww, come on. That’s only a small part of it. The tower is supposed to be a place where lovers meet, and the wishes represent the vows and promises you make to one another. That’s why the person you bring there should be important to you, like someone you love,” Sylvain explained. Ironically, he then went on to list all the girls he had taken there, much to the chagrin of the others.
Her face did not imply as much, but the information was new to her. When Dimitri asked her to meet him there, she thought nothing of it. She was clueless, even as he explained his disbelief for the old legend and still made a wish. For the sake of tradition, she made her own as well.
Afterwards, he considered if it would make more sense to wish they were together forever. By her own logic, that would cross the boundaries of their professional relationship, so she offered him a blank stare in return. He followed up nicely saying he improved in the art of joke telling.
Aware now of the romantic implications of the tower, he was right. It would have made more sense. She simply didn’t understand back then. As a Professor and even to this day, she's socially inept at times, often failing to understand human conventions and emotions. Her students, and even other Professors, teased her often or said all kinds of crazy things to get her to emote anything besides her blank gaze.
“Professor, did you ever meet anybody at the Goddess Tower? Or made a wish of your own?” Annette had asked, giddy with a dreamy look in her eyes.
“Yes. I suppose I have,” she tells truthfully, not expecting the collective shock that flash across their faces. Much to their disappointment, she’d gotten out of that conversation courtesy of Rodrigue, who requested to speak with her.
Byleth remembers that conversation. That’s how she got here.
Resting her hand against the stone wall, she stares out at the open window and gazes out into the starry sky and white moon. The same view from five years ago, when she made a promise to Dimitri. She understands now it wasn’t a wish, but more like a vow.
She repeats it to herself again, but with more hope this time.
I wish one day I could see you freed from your darkness.
And instead of relying on old legends to make it happen, she’s determined to see it through for herself.