Chapter Text
“Father!”
Byleth screams as Jeralt collapses, her feet frozen to the ground, unable to move as Kronya and the other man vanish in a flash.
No, please, not him!
She tries to move, to run to his side, but her legs won’t obey her. Something moving on the other side of the clearing catches her eye. A woman? The figure steps out of the shadows, dark hair and empty eyes–!
Byleth gapes, watching in horror as someone (or something ) wearing her face crosses the open ground to kneel by Jeralt. No! She tries to scream, but nothing comes out. No, don’t touch him!
The thing with her face grabs Jeralt roughly and turns him over. Jeralt coughs, blood springing to his lips. He looks up at the imposter, staring at the expressionless face. “By...leth...” her father chokes, lifting one hand to stroke its hair.
It’s not me, Father! Father, please! I’m right here! Father!
She can almost feel Jeralt’s hands there, his fingers removing briars and sticks from her hair after a long trek through the woods, as he so often had when she’d been a child. She can still hear his rough voice, singing off key as he helps her get ready for bed, their mingled voices singing an old song together.
Father!
“Byleth... why?” Jeralt whispers horsley, looking up at the creature, pleading. “Why didn’t... you save... me?”
No! Father! Please, I tried, Father, I tried!
Byleth sees the thing’s face - her face? - split into a smile and it cackles, but its eyes remain opaque. “Stupid old man,” it hisses, its voice a terrifying parody of her own. It leans down close to Jeralt’s face. “You thought I would save you?! Ha! I feel nothing for you!” It’s fingernails dig into her father’s arm, drawing more blood, and Byleth tries again to move, to run, or scream or do anything, but she is useless, useless, useless. “Fool! I am the Ashen Demon!” the thing snarls at her father, its spittle flecking his cheeks. “I have walked away from bloody battles without feeling a thing! If you had been my enemy, I would have killed you myself!”
No, Father, no, no, no! I wouldn’t I’d never I lov–
A tear drips down Jeralt’s cheek, his hand dropping from the creature’s hair, and Byleth lets out a wordless scream as her father dies in the arms of a monster that he believed to be his daughter. She collapses to her knees all at once, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“No!” she sobs, unable to tear her eyes away from Jeralt’s still anguished face. “No! Please no... Papa... I love you...”
“Ha!” She stiffens as the monster turns to sneer at her, its mouth too wide and filled with too many teeth. “Love?” It stands, dumping Jeralt’s body onto the ground unceremoniously, and stalking toward Byleth, one clawed hand reaching out to grip her shoulder. “Liar. You don’t love anything. You’re a monster.” It smiles viciously in her face, its emotionless eyes pinning her down. “You are incapable of loving anything , because you can’t feel anything, Ashen Demon!”
“I can! I can, I can feel–!” Byleth presses a hand to her chest, unable to look away from the thing’s grotesque simulacrum of her own face. “I’m not a demon! I have feelings, I love my father, I–”
The creature cackles, a grating sound of mad glee. “But this,” it reaches out with one long talon and presses it into her chest, “doesn’t beat.” It giggles, pressing its finger harder into the skin over her still heart. “What kind of creature doesn’t have a heartbeat? No heartbeat! ” Byleth chokes, and the monster presses harder at her chest, blood welling as it sinks a second claw into her chest. “You’ll never be anything but a monster, Professor.” It shoves its whole hand in and grabs onto her heart, squeezing it between its claws. Squeezing, squeezing, its other hand wrapping around her neck, staring her down with her own empty eyes as she chokes.
Its smile widens a fraction more, and it hisses, “DIE!!!”
Byleth bolts up, tumbling over, drenched in sweat. Let go! She writhes, her hands scrabbling at her chest and throat, desperately trying to claw the creature’s hands away, but no matter how hard she scratches, the tightness in her chest and throat won’t abate. She sobs desperately.
I’m dying! I’m dying, that’s the only thing that could possibly hurt this much! Please, make it stop! Save me! Father! I’m sorry, help! Help me! I can’t–! I can’t breathe!
She is dimly aware of a sound somewhere nearby, but she can’t think of anything besides getting its hands off her throat–!
“Professor!”
She chokes in fear as someone’s hands grab her arms, physically yanking them away from her chest and throat, so strong, and no no no she has to stop it from choking her she has to stop it she’s going to die can’t breathe can’t breathe CAN’T BREATHE! She struggles against the new attacker, flailing her arms at them, trying to escape their grip.
“Professor! Professor! You need to - oof! - You need to calm down! Professor! Pro- Byleth!”
Wha-?
Her vision clears, and she finds herself staring into Dimitri’s wide blue eyes, his fair hair a disheveled mess. She can feel his hands gripping her upper arms.
“Di-?” she tries, but what comes out is more like a croak and she wheezes in panic, unable to fill her lungs with air.
“Breathe, Professor. In through the mouth, out through the nose. Focus on me.” Dimitri instructs, demonstrating. “In-one-two out-one-two, in-one-two out-one-two , in-one-two–” He takes her trembling hands in his and squeezes them gently.
She imitates him shakily, trying to focus on the color of his eyes, the solidness of his hands on hers, the sound of his breath. One-two, one-two, one-two. Slowly, they work up into counts of three, four, and five before she feels like she can breathe around the tightness in her chest. Dimitri keeps hold of her hands the whole time, his much larger ones completely dwarfing hers. He doesn’t grip them tightly, instead cradling her wrists in his palms as though she’s made of glass.
Her whole body is shaking, and there are still tears on her cheeks when she finally finds her voice again. “Dimitri- I- what... happened? I was...”
He looks her over with a furrow in his brow. “I was walking past your room when I heard a noise,” Dimitri explains, his voice tinged with uncertainty. “When I got closer, I could hear you... crying.” Hesitantly, he lets go of one of her wrists and lifts a hand to brush a lock of hair away from her forehead, but he drops it just as quickly, his ears red and eyes downcast. His voice is very quiet when he says, “I... I must apologize for entering your room without permission, Professor. Please forgive me.”
She blinks dumbly. “My... room?” Byleth looks around and sees that she’s on the floor beside her desk, dressed in her simple white nightgown, with the prince of Faerghus kneeling before her. Her desk chair lies on its side beside her, and she concludes that she must tumbled out of it when she woke. There is an open book on the desk, and a jumbled mess of exams, half graded, which is the only other outward sign that things are not as they should be. Byleth has always been diligent about her grading. But Hanneman and Manuela had taken charge of her duties the past few days in light of... well. She swallows, her throat dry and raw.
Father...
Byleth ducks her head, bunching the bottom of her nightgown in her fist, realizing how she must appear. “Dimitri, I...” Her hair is matted to her head with sweat, her cheeks are still damp with tears. She can’t seem to stop shaking. She notices how her too-large nightgown is hanging lopsidedly on her form, exposing one shoulder. She reaches up to straighten her clothes, but notices angry red marks on her chest. She blinks, cautiously brushing her fingers over the scratches. “Did I...?”
Dimitri shifts, still frowning. “You were having a panic attack,” he replies softly, reaching out to pull her hand away, as if he’s afraid that she’ll continue doing it if he doesn’t hold on to her. She stares at him, uncomprehending. “Sometimes... sometimes it feels like you can’t breathe,” he offers when she doesn’t say anything.
Byleth bites her lip. “I... yes. It felt like... it had its hands around my...” she trails off, dipping her head to indicate the scratches on her chest and the ones she can now feel on her neck. The scratches sting, but they don’t hurt as badly as the ache in her chest. She feels a tear roll down her cheek.
It still hurts. It all hurts. So much... Father... I’ll never see you again... what do I do, Father? You’re gone, and I’m all alone...
More tears follow, streaming down her cheeks soundlessly. Dimitri stiffens slightly and she hears him swallow. “...Professor?”
Father... you always knew me best... did you know? I’ve never hurt like this... I want the pain to stop. It hurts so much, Father. Papa...
She squeezes her eyes shut. Pathetic , she scolds herself, but it seems that now that she can cry, she can’t seem to stop. “I’m sorry,” she whispers weakly, and isn’t sure who she’s apologizing to, or for which sin.
She can still feel it’s hands on her neck, still hear it calling her a monster. What am I, Father? Am I really a monster? Am I-?
Her only warning is a slight squeeze Dimitri gives to the hand he’s holding before he reaches out and wraps his arms awkwardly around her. She sucks in a surprised breath, and he starts to pull away, but she stops him with a quick shake of her head and fists her hands in the back of his shirt, burying her face in his shoulder. Her tears soak into his shirt, but Dimitri merely lifts a hand to her head, his fingers inexpertly carding themselves through the strands. He is warm and solid and so kind , and something flutters in her stomach.
She shouldn’t be holding onto him like this, it isn’t proper given their positions, but she can’t seem to force herself to let go. Somewhere deep down, some part of her is afraid that if she does, the pain in her chest will shatter her into a million pieces.
Just for a minute, she begs the Goddess, or any deity that might be listening. Please just let me hold on to him. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t... I... Dimitri...
She doesn’t even fully understand these feelings that have taken root in her chest since the ball, and the almost promise that made her breath catch in the darkness of the Goddess Tower. Together forever, right? She doesn’t have a name for this feeling, doesn’t understand how it can be as strong as it is, doesn’t know what to call the emotion that fills her chest when she thinks of that night. Together forever. A wish.
But even with all her strength, with all her power, she is useless. Jeralt is gone, and no force in this world can bring him back. What good are wishes against reality?
Still, she cannot stop wishing, Please, don’t take anyone else. Don’t take anyone else away from me. I can’t... I can’t...
Byleth pleads with fate until the world fades away.