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There was something to be said about how easy it was to fall into the rhythm of battle—where the thudding of hooves matched the pounding of your heart; where bolts of lightning shot past your ear, mimicking the electricity humming through your veins; where you had to strike your enemy down before they so much as raised a blade against you. Your body was nothing but a tool, a weapon forged from experience and honed into a razor-sharp point. You knew fighting better than you did your breathing, your thoughts—because those things were overridden in favour of survival.
Byleth had approached the Lions that morning, the lightest smile on her face—a lovely addition to the blankness she usually wore. She was apologetic when she let them know that they were to set out in a few hours to dispatch bandits loitering around the northern forest of Garreg Mach. Of course, her students were eternally eager to get up on their feet and use the skills their professor had given them. What went unspoken was the staggering lack of energy they’d have on Monday. Byleth made a note to take pity on them should they fall asleep in class.
They’d done this before; corner the thieves, don’t let them get away with whatever they’d looted, cut down anyone who stood in your way. No one questioned it, for everyone knew how to fight side by side as they did on their own. Ashe could send a perfectly timed arrow past Dedue’s shoulder to finish off an enemy. Mercedes knew the perfect spells to heal small cuts as she ran past to take care of her own bandit. Ingrid circled above, javelin in hand as Felix parried blow after blow on the ground. There was an undercurrent of trust and admiration that didn’t need words to be acknowledged.
That wasn’t the issue. This, right now, was a simple case of being disgustingly outnumbered.
Escape wasn’t an option. While there were a few gaps in between the bandits, making an effective escape with all eight of her students in tow wasn’t plausible. Ingrid could fly away with only a few arrows deflected off her armor, but she stayed put, hands tightening around the shaft of her lance after sending her mount back to the monastery. Byleth nearly cursed her out for her loyalty, but there was a silver lining; suspicions would arise when the students and staff saw a mount without its rider. Perhaps they’d receive backup before anyone got seriously hurt.
“Well, this got interesting.”
Annette made a noise under breath. “Felix.”
She and Mercedes were planted in the middle of the circle they’d loosely formed, magic looping around their fingers like wisps of smoke, crackling and humming. Weapons were drawn on both sides, Byleth’s only reassurance that the bandits had one ranged unit—an archer. Still, should they advance . . .
“Professor,” Felix said, voice low with trepidation, “I hope you know that if we die here, it’ll be your fault.”
Byleth bit back the bile that rose up in her throat at the thought. If anything happened, she could reach a hand into her heart and change it, manipulate time as if it were nothing more than pure gold. She could erase the deep gash below Sylvain’s rib or the arrow lodged into the side of Dedue’s head, but even then—this power she had was not without limits. There were only so many deaths she could remove from history, so much pain she could undo. If she led her students with anything less than a perfectly formulated plan, she knew there wouldn’t be enough divine intervention in the world to keep them safe.
“We slowly move outward. We keep Mercedes and Annette guarded until their numbers diminish.”
A chorus of acknowledgement rang out, and, just as Byleth commanded, everyone took tentative steps forward. The two mages in the centre of their circle were the first to react, casting spell after spell to deter extra forces.
Dedue landed the first kill, bringing his axe down with devastating power and cutting the man in front of him almost in half. Blood sprayed, landing in Byleth’s hair, but there wasn’t time to worry about how she’d get it out; instead, Byleth drew her sword, steadying her stance and driving her blade into the jugular of the thief approaching her. She pivoted, leaping away from the lance that came close to embedding itself in her shoulder. She gripped onto the shaft of the polearm, dragging her enemy forward and onto her blade. When her opponents grip relaxed, she disarmed him and buried her sword his heart—she shivered when she felt steel grate against bone.
Byleth heard Dimitri grunt and cuss from somewhere behind her, and with a jerk to loose her sword, readied herself to help the prince.
“Professor!”
Stopping and turning around was an instinct; Mercedes didn’t scream like that unless there was a genuine, horrible threat to one of her classmates—though, in this case, her professor. Byleth easily caught the axe coming down on her against the hilt of her blade, grunting as her arms screamed from the impact. The pressure vanished, though Byleth was not foolish enough to think that meant the end.
And she’d been right. The woman who’d taken Byleth on was coming at her again, weapon raised and battle cry at the ready. Byleth barely managed to knock the monstrous blade away form her face—and had to supress a wince when she felt the skin of her wrist split and bleed under the steel. This woman may not have the technique Byleth prided herself on, but there was brute strength to compensate for it. How was she to fix this?
If you get us killed, I’ll make sure your suffering lasts as long as possible.
Byleth had long since gotten used to that windchime-bright voice in her head, but truly, now was not the time; the formation she’d put her students in was slowly falling apart.
An arrow whizzed by her head. A small, useless hope bubbling in her chest said that it may have been Ashe, but a quick glance around the clearing quelled it; Ashe had a sword caught in the wood of his bow, Annette making quick work of the bandit with one of the newest spells she’d learned. Fear and pride intermingled somewhere below the chill of battle digging into Byleth’s bones.
But back to the task at hand.
The axe the bandit was wielding was nothing short of gargantuan. Byleth had to wonder why this woman thought it’d be an appropriate weapon for the fast and uncertain lifestyle she led. The professor steadied her grip, lowered her center, and ducked below the singing arch of the blade as it passed overhead.
While the woman was occupied trying to swing again, Byleth made to cut into her the same way she had her first opponent, drawing her sword back—but such wasn’t fate, it seemed. The bandit forfeited the weapon, driving her fist into Byleth’s throat.
Stupid mistake. Byleth herself fought like this; how could she have been so careless as to forget? Only nobles seemed intent on making use of one weapon at a time, and only those crafted from iron and steel.
Byleth couldn’t breathe. She was trying her best to get past the swimming colours on the edges of her vision, but coughs were raking against her throat and tears were springing to her eyes. Sunlight glinted off the axe as her opponent got ready to attack once more. Byleth jumped back, lacking the confidence to stay and defend herself—not when she couldn’t see properly and her lungs were fighting for enough air to even stand.
Her foot caught on a root—and really, this was all going horribly wrong. Her students were locked in their own battles, fighting just as she was to stay alive.
I did this. And because she was the reason they were stuck, she wouldn’t give up. She stood, prepared herself to fight until the skin fell form her bones in order to stay by her students.
“You don’t give up, do you?”
She’d been in a position much like this before, with an opponent too big for their breaches thinking they’d bested her. They’d see her on the ground—rare as the occasion may be—and think they’d finally won out against the woman that struck fear in the hearts of many. Up until this point, Byleth had let them have their fun, let someone else in Jeralt’s crew aid her and think they’d saved the day. She couldn’t find enough effort to care, but this woman—this reckless, sorry excuse of a fighter posed too great a threat to those Byleth held dear.
So, as heavy boots thudded against the soil, empty and imposing, Byleth’s face remained passive.
The Ashen Demon had come to play.
Disregarding the clenched pain sitting low in her throat, Byleth moved like lightning, dancing on the wind and light filtering through the trees as if she were one of the arrows Ashe had loosed. The axe coming her way wasn’t a surprise this time, and instead of simply ducking out of the way, Byleth scythed her opponent’s legs out form under her. Wasting no time, Byleth stomped on the woman’s wrist, finally finding her breath when she heard a snap. The bandit’s scream didn’t get to finish ringing off the trees before Byleth’s blade pierced her heart.
I’m sorry, she thought, as she always did—but she was never sorry enough to hold back, to spare the lives of everyone who begged or cried. That was how you lost your life—how you became the one calling out for mercy on the wrong end of a blade.
Most of all, she would never be sorry enough to keep from saving her students. Not for anything.
The stench of blood stung her nose, metallic tang clinging to her tongue, her lungs. It fastened to her mind like a cloud, unwilling to let her see or smell anything else. Bodies littered the ground of the clearing, now more crimson than the rich brown of the soil. Her ears ached as metal collided with metal, grunts and pants and shouts ripping her heart to shreds.
One in particular stood out to her.
Mercedes.
Sothis seemed to share her terror and rage, because when she lunged to deflect the blade nearing the back of her gentle healer, light flooded her veins, washing out everything except the instinct to survive—no. No, this was the instinct to protect.
She recognized the pattern that formed in front of her as her Crest, the Crest of Flames. She couldn’t care less for its novelty, barely even noticed as her blade turned white hot from the power surging from her heart. Step, doge, thrust. The bandit’s blade cut her arm, but by whatever holy power these people believed in, she did not care. The pain was nothing against the inferno that had filled in the hollow spaces of her chest, the scream of the man nothing compared to the white noise in her mind.
My students, a voice said—though, if it was Sothis’ or her own, she’d never know.
The noise around them dulled, and the last bandit looked ready to soil himself as Dedue whirled on him. With an efficiency only someone who thought himself a weapon could manage, he swung his axe, leaving a deep enough gash for the fallen man’s innards to spill out.
Mercedes breathed a thanks, placing a gentle hand on Byleth’s upper arm and healing the cut there.
“You idiot!”
They turned to Felix, who was shouting loud enough for Almyra to hear him, and Sylvain, who was wincing as his foot pressed against the ground the wrong way.
“What the hell you were thinking?”
Sylvain smiled, small and timid, at the swordsman. “You were in trouble.”
“And what do you have to show for your display of chivalry? A sprained ankle?”
“Felix, I’m fine. Professor Manuela can take a look at it.”
No one paid any mind to the quiver in Felix’s voice. “If you keep pulling stupid stunts like this, you’ll have to hope Professor Manuela can pull you back from death.”
A touch dramatic, considering the underwhelming nature of Sylvain’s injury, but no one could say anything about the look on Felix’s face. Furious light made his eyes shimmer like ambers. His lips parted, another cutting remark no doubt sitting on his tongue, but there was a pair of boots thudding towards them before it could be spoken.
“Professor,” Dimitri said solemnly, worry evident in his tone. “Felix, Mercedes. Are you alright?”
“I’m sure this will be the highlight of your month, boar.”
Byleth didn’t miss the way those ambers raked across Dimitri’s frame, checking for injuries. Judging by Dimitri’s soft sigh, he didn’t either. Before Felix left Byleth’s sight, he pivoted to Sylvain.
“Don’t do that again,” he said.
“I’m not going to make a promise I can’t keep.”
Felix bared his teeth and stalked off, but that twitch of his brow, that hitch in his chest—Byleth knew better than to think any of it was in anger. He had one of the biggest hearts Byleth had ever seen.
Dimitri’s laugh was shaky at best. “That . . . could have gone worse.”
“I—Fuck, Dimitri, I’m so sorry.” She lifted her eyes to take in every one of her student’s appearances. “To all of you. I’m—” The tears in her eyes hurt—but nothing could rival the worry and agony at the thought of losing one of them, of being the reason they got hurt.
“You couldn’t have planned for this, Professor.” Ashe gave her a tentative smile, though it faltered under the pain of his split lip. “Any one of us would have made the same mistake.”
“I’m supposed to be better,” she whispered. No one heard her—or, at least, no one spoke out against her.
Mercedes went around healing everyone’s wounds, offering up vulneraries to fix up the cuts and bruises. When she circled back to Byleth, the professor’s breath hitched; so many people insisted her own gaze was piercing, unwavering and demanding all secrets be exposed. But Mercedes—her eyes made you want to share them, to allow someone into your life because it felt right.
“We’re okay, Professor. Our injuries aren’t your fault.”
Physical affection had never been something Byleth craved, content with the small pats she’d get from her father, but right now . . . it seemed all her heart wanted was to sink her head onto Mercedes’ shoulder and let out all the tears she was struggling to understand.
She couldn’t, however, allow herself to indulge in such silly whims. She was still their professor. Byleth smiled at Mercedes as the mage went about healing her wounds.
“We’re all so glad you’re okay, Professor.”
Byleth nodded. Any sort of talking and she’d break down. Sothis offered up a sleepy comfort, a warmth along the back of Byleth’s consciousness.
As they walked back to the monastery, slow and not caring for what absurd time they got back, Byleth fell in step with Dimitri, lingering at the back of the group.
“Do you remember how we talked about things we can’t accept?”
Dimitri stepped closer to her so their conversation wouldn’t be overheard. “Vividly.”
“I thought . . . I thought that the one thing I couldn’t accept was my father’s death. I’d—I’d never felt pain like that before.”
Dimitri’s hand twitched, the both of them standing so close to each other that Byleth felt the movement. She didn’t feel as close to a group of people as she did the Lions, but Sothis help her, she also didn’t feel farther away from anyone.
Don’t drag me into this, Sothis mumbled tiredly. Byleth silently apologized, urging the girl sharing her body to rest.
“But I know now I was wrong.”
The prince turned to her, curiosity sparking off the cobalt of his eyes. “And? What is the one thing you cannot bear?”
“Any of you getting hurt.”
Byleth would make herself mad trying to save her students, her Lions. She would turn her sword against the heavens, curse whoever lived up there until something changed, until she could count eight heads in front of her, alive and well. She wouldn’t stop until she exhausted herself, would welcome any punishment sent her way if it meant helping those she loved so much.
How strange, love. Byleth would deal with that little revelation when her bones weren’t creaking from exhaustion.
“Professor . . .”
She turned to Dimitri, smiled. Maybe because she knew he loved it so much. Maybe because she couldn’t contain herself. “It’s true.”
“It—You—” Dimitri’s face looked incredibly warm, but the tender softness in his eyes stopped Byleth from enjoying his embarrassment. “I think I can speak for the entirety of the Blue Lion House when I say that we couldn’t have been more fortunate to have you as our professor.” He frowned. “No. As someone to look up to, someone to lead us.” Byleth’s breath hitched when Dimitri smiled something lovely and timid. “Someone we’d follow through anything.”
And wasn’t that wonderful? Byleth’s fingers tingled and her throat closed too tight to breathe, but it was so much more wonderful than the helplessness she’d felt in battle. No, this was a tidal wave of adoration she had no chance of escaping, because Dimitri was averting his gaze with his telltale blush, shy smile curling into his lips, and Byleth—she was completely content to let that wave consume her.
Dedue looked at her form over Dimitri’s head, and while he seemed to have his own feelings about the blushing prince, Byleth could find it in herself to recognize the gratitude mirrored in his eyes.
“Professor,” Annette called, “why don’t you join us in the dining hall?”
Byleth frowned. “Why?”
“Well, it’s been a long day, and we’ve managed to rope Felix into joining us—”
“You said if I didn’t, you’d hide my swords in the stables.”
Annette beamed sheepishly at Felix, who blushed almost crimson and stomped forward until he as just behind Sylvain and Ingrid. Mercedes giggled at the whole ordeal.
“Anyway, we wanted to relax with us. You deserve it.”
But Byleth did this to them. The reason they were so exhausted, the reason they’d all brushed with death is because she didn’t have the sense to plan for something like this. Planning was her job, and more importantly, her students’ safety. She’d failed at both in less than three hours.
“Annie and I plan on baking some sweets; I’ll be insulted if you don’t eat with us, Professor.”
Damn Mercedes and her . . . everything. “I suppose I have enough energy to enjoy a meal with you all.”
Perhaps Byleth was exhausted beyond what any words could express, but pleasant chatter filled her ears now, soothing and something familiar, and there was nothing she could have done to decline. Ingrid and Ashe talked about a book they were both enjoying. Sylvain made harmless passes at a laughing Mercedes, Annette cursing him violently with her gaze alone. Felix shook his head sometimes, no doubt in reaction to something he found oh so stupid. Dedue talked quietly with Dimitri, both occasionally roping Byleth into their conversation.
This, she loved. Here, she didn’t have to worry about the incessant chatter of those around her blocking out the warning signs of incoming enemies. With them, it didn’t feel like she was some sort of misplaced teacup from the wrong set. Maybe Lorenz would be proud of her for such a comparison, but it was the closest emptiness Byleth could name.
But also, just maybe, it made sense she was here. There was a commoner who’d found himself dropped right into the boiling waters of nobility. There were two kind hearts with Crests that did them more harm than good. There was a fractured piece of a knightly family that wanted nothing to do with the ideals of his homeland. There was a girl who’d morphed her life around finding answers unknown. There was a knight-to-be who used the fuel of her dreams to fight past the shadows that nipped at her heels. There was a prince who did not know how to fill what was lost inside of him, and his vassal who despised everything about where he was—except for the prince himself and, perhaps, his education.
When she thought of it like that, she almost felt . . . normal. Though it could be, quite simply, that she was content with being just as strange as her students.
Yes, these students she loved so dearly. It would be strange to say such things aloud, but what other word could she possibly use? She knew how Felix’s jaw clenched when he had to be near his father, how Sylvain’s eyes were painfully empty to all save for a select few, how Annette teared up when Gilbert passed her without so much as a glance. She knew how Dimitri fought against whatever tired so hard to pull him under, what it looked like when Dedue took too many verbal lashings because he felt he must—the way Ashe bent over backwards to help anyone and everyone, that set to Ingrid’s shoulders when she had to burn yet another engagement letter. But beyond those struggles were gentle souls, tied together more tightly than they all realized, knots too intricate to bother taking apart.
They were all strong, she realized. Byleth had never experienced things like this before, but she knew they’d all loved fiercely, sometimes more than once—and yet, here they had the courage to stand, to fight, to continue on after those loves passed and shattered and burned away. She was proud of them for that.
Sothis seemed to have been listening in on her thoughts. They are your pride and joy, then, no?
Her pride. Byleth smiled to herself. How fitting.