Chapter Text
He dreamed of war yet again: vast armies clashing on a muddied field as dark twilight skies bore witness to an aerial clash between scores of dark wyverns and pale pegasi. Steel glittered in a thousand earth-bound stars while men and women alike heaved against one another in bloody, brutal violence, blood turning soil and stone red.
Then came the burning meteor that slammed into a vanguard of mounted knights, erupting in a firestorm that engulfed all unlucky enough to be around it. The screams were maddening, man and beast alike being consumed by bright, blazing death. Then a great figure slammed into the apex of the firestorm, pulling a weapon from the earth as the flames died out. Yellow eyes burned as the titan rose, cape billowing behind him and chains rattling from his waist as scarred arms bulging with muscles lifted his sword towards the army surrounding him.
Then the violence, the screams and the ringing of steel on steel came to a halt as the titan’s eyes found those of the one watching, his scarred face hard and ruthless as a cold grin formed on his cracked lips. The world was still, frozen in time, soldiers on both sides paused in the midst of violence and destruction.
“You want answers, don’t you, boy?” his voice was deep and ancient, grating and rough yet filled with the air of a king, commanding attention. “The truth? Open your heart to me.”
“Wake up!” a familiar girl’s voice jolted Byleth from the dream, replacing the blood-soaked battlefield with the small square room that Byleth called home in Garreg Mach.
Byleth sat up, blinking slowly to clear his blurry vision as he peeled his cheek off of the sweat-stained pillow. Sothis was hovering just to the side, her youthful face screwed into a concerned expression as her brilliant green gaze bore into the man whose mind she resided within.
“What was that dream?” she asked, her voice unusually somber. “I feel as if I know that man... or if I’ve seen him before.”
Byleth shook his head as his vision finally cleared, stretching to awaken his stiff muscles as he pushed the lush covers off his chest and swung his legs out. Bare feet hit the pale rug taking up much of the floor, the scratchy fabric rubbing against his flesh as he put his weight on his legs and stood.
He took a moment to examine the room once again, his gaze falling on the desk and cabinets laden with books and paperwork, filling the air with the scent of ink and musty leather.
“Was he actually talking to you?” Sothis continued musing, resting a delicate hand against a porcelain cheek. “I’ve seen that dream before, but not like that...”
“I don’t know,” Byleth shook his head, glancing out the lone window at the dark skies. “It isn’t daylight yet.”
He brushed a lock of dark hair out of his sight, frowning at the pile of papers he’d have to distribute back to his students come morning time. Their assignment had been to compile an essay of mixed unit tactics when faced with certain entrenched enemies in unfamiliar territory, and the results had been varied to say the least. Let none say that the Black Eagles were a boring class...
Edelgard had, of course, presented a near-perfect solution to the problem by thoroughly compiling a strategy combining scouts and sappers alongside the other available units. Hubert had suggested a diversion combined with shadow tactics, although not nearly as intricate as his liege’s, but it was enough to make him pass. Bernadetta and Petra relied on archers and bombarding from a distance, although the latter kept putting an emphasis on hunting and flushing out her prey.
It was passable, he supposed.
Caspar was a disappointment: he’d just thrown everything forward while Linhardt... well, Linhardt was better off not being mentioned. At least Ferdinand had gotten some point across through his flowery attempt at one-upping Edelgard. Dorothea had been quite devious in her idea in having soldiers disguise themselves as civilians and hail the enemy from a distance, begging for succor as a distraction while the main force went forward. It was impressive, to say the least.
“Who was that man... and why do I feel such dread when I consider him?” Sothis kept talking to herself, the heavy feeling now filling Byleth’s own chest as he pictured the gaunt, battle-scarred face of that titanic warrior king.
“Maybe it was Nemesis?” Byleth asked, glancing over at the weapon leaning up against a nearby bookcase. “He was using the Sword of the Creator, and I believe I heard Seiros calling him that in one of the earlier dreams.”
The pale, ancient blade seemed to call to him, silently willing him to carry it into battle once more. It had only been two months since he’d retrieved the weapon from the Holy Mausoleum, yet he’d already mastered the use of it. It was all just an instinct at this point.
Earlier, in Conan Tower, fighting against that massive Black Beast that had once been Miklan had been hardly a challenge with the Sword of the Creator slicing through his armored hide as if it was nothing. Even the Death Knight had been unable to stand against the legendary Relic: The Reaper had been brought down with ease before that mysterious Flame Emperor had appeared and ordered a retreat.
“Nemesis... the King of Liberation,” Sothis hummed, shaking her head. “I feel as if there is more about him that Rhea and the others have yet to tell us about. If only my memories weren’t so muddled!”
She kept griping in the background as Byleth went about peeling off his sweat-stained nightclothes and replacing them with his mercenary armor. He smoothed the black fabric and metal as the familiar weight once again settled upon his body.
“At least have the presence of mind to warn me when you’re going to undress like that!” Sothis snapped, Byleth turning to see the girl scowling at him. “It’s common decency!”
A smile tugged at his lips. “Sorry.”
She huffed and folded her arms, shaking her head and sending waves through her long green hair. Byleth reached out to the Sword of the Creator and wrapped his fingers around the cracked, ancient hilt, the strange material warming at his touch.
“I feel you,” the ancient voice from his dreams rumbled in his mind, making Byleth and Sothis freeze.
“W-what was that?” the girl squeaked. “That voice?!”
The sword glowed red, emanating ancient power as Byleth lifted it up to examine it. He’d heard whispers of that voice before, but he’d thought it had simply been his imagination given that Sothis had never reacted. Until now.
“You heard it too?” he asked the ghost.
“Of course I did!” she declared, her expression going unusually somber. “Have you heard it before?”
“I have, when fighting the Black Beast and when we found Monica and Flayn a few days ago,” Byleth nodded, hooking the now dim sword to his waist.
“What did it say?” Sothis hovered closer, her presence mere inches away from him as she cocked her head in curiosity.
“It said ‘insolent child’ when Miklan transformed and ‘You aren’t fooling me’ when we found Flayn,” Byleth answered, holding a hand to his chin as he pondered. “I thought I was just imagining it.”
“How curious,” Sothis frowned. “But what does it mean?”
Byleth shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t have any more answers than Caspar does for this assignment.”
He looked despairingly at the essay in question, at the sea of corrections and suggestions he’d inked upon its surface. Hopefully the boy wouldn’t take it too hard, especially since he’d put so much effort into the paper. He had a good heart, just not a very good brain.
If Byleth was being honest, he could see Caspar going quite far in life once he graduated. The boy had heart.
He gathered up the papers, shifted the sword buckled to his waist, and gathered himself for another day of being Professor.
“So, what is the Academy’s favorite professor lecturing about today?” Sothis stifled a yawn as she floated lazily at Byleth’s side, her eyelids already drooping shut.
“Siege warfare,” he answered, stepping out of his room and into the brisk early morning air.
Byleth shut the door behind him and made his way down the stairs right in front of the room, taking a moment to look at the dew-slickened grass, bushes, and flowers growing around the paved path.
“Morning, Professor!” Catherine was standing outside the training hall, Thunderbrand ever at her waist and a beaming smile on her lips. “Looks like it’s going to be a good day for training!”
“Hey, Catherine,” Byleth raised a hand in greeting, pausing as he heard footsteps approaching.
“Hey, Professor! Catherine!” Monica walked towards them, her face set into that too friendly smile as she waved.
“Monica,” Byleth froze as the Sword of the Creator pulsed a warning on his waist, the power of the ancient weapon flooding him with the desire to fight. “Are you going to come to class today?”
The young girl shook her head, pouting as she did so. “I’m not caught up on what you’re teaching, Professor. I’m afraid I still have a lot of studying if I’m to even be able to re-enter your lectures.”
Byleth fought the sword’s desire to lop her head from her shoulders as he nodded back to her, wondering yet again why the Relic was so jumpy around her. “Just take your time, okay? It couldn’t have been easy getting back into your studies after what happened. Do what you can.”
The girl nodded, that forced smile almost too radiant to be normal. “Aw, thank you, Professor! You’re the best! I’ll do my best to catch up!”
She practically skipped off, Byleth releasing the pent-up tension with a slightly heavier exhale before turning back to a stiff-backed Catherine. “Catherine? Is something wrong?”
“Does your Relic act strangely around her, too?” the normally cheerful swordmaster was tightly wound and ready to fight, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of her Relic. “I almost cut her head off with Thunderbrand when it reacted to her the first time I met her.”
Byleth nodded. “The Sword of the Creator is the same way. Every time Monica’s around, it fills me with power the way it would if I was on the battlefield and if she was an enemy.”
“So, it’s not just me,” Catherine sighed, shaking her head as she raised her hands in exasperation. “I don’t know if it’s what those bastards did to her when they had her or what, but constantly being on edge whenever that girl’s around is driving me crazy.”
“I wish I could help,” Byleth was almost relieved when the Relic on his waist finally relaxed.
Catherine laughed. “I appreciate the thought, but I’ll just work it out by training! Have a good day, Professor!”
“You too, Catherine,” Byleth made his way past the ramparts lining the training hall towards the Officer’s Academy, surprised to hear voices coming from the Black Eagle classroom.
He turned the corner and found the classroom doors open with his students all gathered within, their voices hushed as they conversed. Except for Linhardt, who was fast asleep on his desk and Bernadetta, who was covering her head with a book at her own desk.
“You’re here early,” Byleth didn’t want to eavesdrop, his students jolting as they turned back to face him.
“Ah, Professor!” Edelgard smiled warmly as she greeted him, followed by a stiff bow. “I had asked everyone to come here so we might discuss the essay topic further before you handed them back to us.”
“I think she was merely afraid I would outperform her and wished to pick my brain for my brilliant ideas!” Ferdinand laughed, shaking his head.
“You can dream, I suppose,” Hubert muttered, he and Edelgard sharing a quick, indiscernible glance. “I have the utmost faith that Lady Edelgard performed far above you.”
Well, he wasn’t exactly wrong.
“My teacher, have you seen Monica?” Edelgard asked, stepping closer as those piercing eyes of hers bore into him. “I’ve been trying to encourage her to attend a lecture just to see how she feels, but she keeps refusing.”
“I just ran into her outside,” Byleth made his way to his desk, discretely studying his students’ faces as he set the pile of graded essays down. “I told her to take as much time as she needed to study on her own until she felt ready to attend classes again.”
Edelgard’s expression softened, although there was something in her eyes he couldn’t yet read. “Very kind of you, my teacher. I’ve been looking out for her ever since you rescued her, and I was concerned that she was pushing herself too hard in an attempt to catch up.”
“Thank you for keeping an eye on her,” Byleth nodded: the two had become nearly inseparable ever since Monica had recovered. “Well, since we’re already here, I suppose I’ll pass out your essays.”
Bernadetta let out a little whine of despair and cowered further under her book, the action tugging a bit at whatever it was that was in Byleth’s chest.
“Bernadetta and Petra, I was very impressed with your ideas,” he began, holding up their papers. “Well done, both of you.”
The princess of Brigid beamed as she took the paper, bowing to Byleth. “You are having my thanks, Professor! I am pleasing- er, pleased, that you thought so highly of my work!”
“R-really? You were impressed with me?” Bernie was next, her fear-fueled expression replaced by relief as she took her own. “Thank you so much, Professor!”
“Caspar, you had really good ideas, but I’m afraid they wouldn’t work well in this sort of scenario,” Byleth lifted the paper in question. “If you’d like some help with this subject, I’d be glad to help you find some books or tutor you on it.”
“Aw, man...” Caspar sulked as he took in the writing on the paper. “I’ll just have to try even harder!”
“Linhardt, did you even try to stay on the subject?” Byleth glanced at the paper in his hand, then sighed as he looked at the sleeping noble. “Will someone...?”
Dorothea smacked the back of Linhardt’s head, making the boy jolt upright with a pained yelp.
“Ow! Was that really necessary?” he complained, rubbing his newest injury.
“Thank you, Dorothea,” he held her paper up. “I was impressed by your use of disguises to distract the enemy, although I’m not sure whether or not they’d buy it. Good work, regardless.”
The songstress smiled brightly, a more genuine smile than the fake ones she gave her many dates, and took the paper. “Thank you, Professor! It’s all thanks to you!”
He nodded back to her and turned to Hubert and Ferdinand. “You two did pretty well, although, Ferdinand, I’m not entirely certain how well the situation would be handled by nobly throwing yourself on the front lines. Seems like suicide, to me.”
Ferdinand groaned and looked at the paper. “But... but it’s my duty as a noble to...”
Hubert gave a low, menacing laugh at the noble’s expense, not seeming too interested in his own paper as his attention honed onto the last essay resting on the desk.
“And, Edelgard, I have to say your paper was quite impressive,” Byleth didn’t play favorites, but Edelgard was the brightest student he had the pleasure of teaching. “I can safely say that your proposal would have easily driven the enemy from their fortifications if we ever end up in this scenario.”
The Imperial heir nodded as she took the paper, an embarrassed smile curving her lips. “I... thank you, my teacher. I am flattered that you think so highly of me.”
“Just saying the truth,” he shrugged. “A good mercenary needs to know just what could lead to success on the battlefield, especially against a foe like this.”
“I’ll need to work even harder...Professor!” Ferdinand jumped up, his eyes bright with defiance. “I demand that you tutor me as often as you do Edlegard! No, twice as much!”
Byleth sighed. “Those tutoring sessions are booked ahead of time, Ferdinand, and my schedule is already full. If you wanted to be tutored, you should have asked me earlier, when I told everyone about them.”
The young noble deflated, earning another sinister chuckle from Hubert.
“Take your seats, and we’ll begin,” Byleth ordered, the young men and women he was training as soldiers and officers hurriedly obeying. “This week’s topic is going to be on siege warfare.”
He did his best to block out the sound of Sothis’s snoring from where she hovered behind him as he started the lecture, pausing once to smack Linhardt’s desk with a ruler when the boy dozed off for the third time. By the time the lunch bell rang, Byleth was almost relieved to stop talking. He wasn’t an expert on siege warfare, knowing only what was in the books he’d crammed into his head the few days before, but it seemed he’d covered the subject well enough.
“My teacher?” Edelgard remained behind, Hubert retaining a respectful distance at the entrance of the classroom. “Might I ask you something?”
“Of course,” Byleth set down the book he’d been looking over. “Is Ferdinand challenging you to another duel? Do I need to ask Shamir or Catherine to beat the tar out of him in training again?”
Edelgard raised an eyebrow. “That was you? I thought you only did that to Sylvain?”
“Or Lorenz, if I hear that he’s also harassing girls,” Byleth shrugged. “The knights seem to enjoy beating them up.”
Hubert snorted from the entrance, the closest Byleth had ever heard him be to howling with laughter. “Well done, Professor.”
Edelgard stifled a laugh of her own and hardened her composure into the serious Imperial heiress she had to be. “Well, Professor, I have to ask: do you think we are ready for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion?”
“I do,” he nodded to his student, noting how satisfied she was with his answer. “You’re all thrashing every single bandit contract I get from my father’s sources, even the ones that have been terrorizing entire villages for years. The monsters aren’t even real threats, either. I’m proud of how far you’ve all come.”
“We have you to thank for that, my teacher,” Edelgard smiled. “Your guidance has been nothing short of spectacular. I must admit that I had my doubts at first, but you have more than put them to rest.”
“Thank you, Edelgard,” his chest warmed with pride, one of the few moments in which he was actually feeling something. “You have all been working hard, so do not forget to give yourselves credit as well.”
She smiled. “Thank you, my teacher. I just had to ask what you thought, given that you have more experience on the battlefield than all of us combined.”
And now he had to teach Flayn how to stand on her own two feet on the battlefield. Speaking of Flayn...where the hells was she? Did she not remember that she was part of his class now?
“I hope I’m not late, Professor!” said the green-haired girl who came bursting into the classroom, panting as she clutched a freshly caught, dripping fish to her chest.
“Why are you carrying a fish?” Byleth raised an eyebrow at the sight, although it wasn’t entirely unusual, given her obsession with the creatures.
“You didn’t hear?” Hubert asked, his thin lips curved into a scowl. “Seteth has declared there to be a fishing tournament this month for Flayn, to catch the fish she wants.”
“Why am I always the last to hear about this kind of stuff?” Byleth frowned, again raising an eyebrow at the growing stain the wet fish was leaving on Flayn’s odd dress. “Flayn, is that fish still alive?”
It wriggled in response.
“Yes.”
Even Edelgard mirrored her professor’s expression at that. “And your first thought was to bring it to class with you? While everyone was off for lunch?”
Flayn hugged the fish tighter. “I have not been to this sort of institution in a long time! I do not remember everything regarding the scheduling of such a place!”
There it was again: Flayn stating that she was apparently much, much older than she appeared. How many times did that make, now?
Was it Byleth’s imagination, or did Edelgard’s face harden with rage just for a brief moment before the cool mask returned?
“Even though you live here?” Byleth asked, if only to distract himself from his student’s odd expression.
“Oh, never mind!” Flayn griped, plunking herself into an empty seat. “I shall just wait here for everyone to return!”
“Suit yourself,” Byleth shook his head slowly. “Was there anything else you needed, Edelgard?”
It took the heiress a moment to register his question as she tore her gaze away from Flayn. “No. Thank you, my teacher. Come, Hubert!”
The two Imperials departed, leaving Byleth to look over his lesson plan in silence.
“Say, Professor?” Flayn finally spoke up from her seat. “Do you think I can use the fireplace to cook this?”
Her fish wriggled again in her grasp, those bright green eyes of hers gazing down upon it with a predator’s hunger.
“If you eat that in here, you’re cleaning up the mess,” Byleth warned her. “And that’s Edelgard’s desk, by the way.”
Flayn paused in her slavering adoration of the poor, possibly dying creature clutched to her chest to look at the dirty water dripping onto the clean wood of the desk.
“You have about fifteen minutes to clean that up before everyone gets back from lunch,” Byleth pulled a rag and a glass bottle of cleaning solution from a drawer and placed them on his desk. “I’d move quickly if I were you.”
By the time the after-lunch bell rang, Edelgard’s desk was gleaming and freshly polished by a red-faced Flayn, leaving Byleth to get his lecture materials ready as the youthful girl hurried over to another desk.
“Is this one occupied by anyone, Professor?” she asked, and Byleth shook his head. “Oh, good!”
She sat down, her lack of a fish about to draw a question from Byleth’s lips before the chattering of approaching hordes of students made him pause. A flood of black and gold streamed by the open doors, his own students mere droplets in the sea of somewhat eager younger minds that separated from the tides in order to enter his classroom.
Edelgard frowned in confusion at her freshly cleaned desk before sitting behind it, Hubert taking his seat beside her after quickly examining the desk for potential traps. Caspar looked as if he were struggling to swallow something he’d hastily shoved into his mouth, his puffed cheeks the target of Linhardt’s world-weary gaze as the sleepy noble did his best to increase the distance between them. Even the other students sitting beside Caspar looked nervous as they took their seats next to him.
Byleth opened his mouth to start the lecture when a shadow fell across the doorway, a familiar blue-clad lord rapping his knuckles against the wood.
“I’m sorry if I’m interrupting, Professor,” Dimitri bowed. “Um... I hate to ask, but...”
Byleth sighed through his nostrils, slowly shaking his head as more of the students in the Blue Lion house came into view. “Manuela’s drunk again, isn’t she?”
“Her lunch date stood her up,” Dedue rumbled, shaking his own head. “She is currently passed out on her desk.”
For what felt like the thirtieth time this year.
Byleth sighed. “She had not even a half hour to get that drunk. I’m actually impressed... alright, go ahead and pull out the extra desks.”
“Thank you, Professor!” the Blue Lions poured into his classroom, hurriedly pulling out the extra chairs and desks from the sides of the room.
As soon as they were settled, Byleth quickly conferred with Dimitri to confirm what Manuela had been lecturing on before she’d passed out. Luckily, the former songstress was in the same place in the Academy’s curriculum as he was: siege warfare.
“Alright, it appears we are on the same page as far as the lecture material goes. Now-”
“Yo, Teach!” A yellow form appeared at his classroom doors this time, holding up two fingers to his forehead in greeting as a shameless grin curved his lips. “Hanneman’s locked himself in his laboratory again, so we need someone else to lecture us!”
Again? By the goddess, man, have you no sense of timekeeping?
Byleth sighed through his nostrils once more. “Alright, you know the drill by now: extra desks are over there.”
“Thanks, Teach! You’re the best!” Claude laughed as the Golden Deer poured into the room, filling it with a cacophony of wood grinding against stone as they rearranged the desks yet again.
“Professor, perhaps you could have Captain Jeralt help with the lectures?” Leonie asked as she plunked herself down in a desk in the middle of the room.
“Jeralt, Jeralt, Jeralt,” Felix muttered from his own seat between Marianne and Annette. “Is he all you ever think about, Leonie?”
“Professor! Help me!” Bernadetta wailed as she burrowed further into her chair to escape Sylvain, who was currently trying to discretely murmur sweet nothings into her unwilling ears.
Ingrid slapped the interloper, then dragged him to a desk placed directly in front of Byleth’s own before throwing the red-haired noble into the chair.
“Can you all quit acting like fools for five minutes?” Lysithea griped, her little fists clenched on her desk. “We need to let the professor start!”
Byleth sighed yet again, wondering what he did to deserve this madness, and then Raphael’s booming voice cut through the chaos.
“That smells great! Who’s cooking fish over here?”
Fish?
Byleth’s gaze immediately swiveled to the fireplace, where Flayn was crouching as she held a wooden stake into the flames.
“Flayn, what did I tell you?”
Seteth’s little sister looked up from where she was cooking her catch, a sheepish smile turning her face into a deceptively angelic mien. “I’ll clean it up, I promise!”
Well, Byleth supposed this was what he signed on for.
“Alright, if this is everyone, let’s begin!”