Chapter Text
The thunder of battle roared in Ferdinand’s ears as he fought back against the mysterious soldiers that tried to impede his and his classmates’ progress forwards. Byleth had forged ahead to go confront the one who had killed Jeralt (Kronya, she had called herself, and Ferdinand struggled to figure out why the name struck a chord within him), leaving the students to clean up the remaining enemies.
It wasn’t a terribly difficult task, which was a good thing as Ferdinand found himself distracted by some inner voice yelling that he was forgetting something important, that the name Kronya was significant somehow.
With another sweep of his lance, he felled another enemy, rushing forward to assist the professor in their current battle — only to suddenly freeze up.
The sight before him was hardly unexpected. Kronya and Byleth were locked in a vicious duel, sparks flying as metal clashed against metal. It was clear the professor was going to emerge victorious, fatigue written into every line of Kronya’s face. Pain bloomed across the smaller woman’s expression despite her best efforts to conceal it — and as she was sent stumbling to the ground by an unforgiving strike to her ribs, Ferdinand’s memory clicked into place.
Without thinking, he screamed, “Do not kill her!”
Byleth didn’t look over to him, but he could tell they heard him as the Sword of the Creator slowed midswing, the point of the blade hovering just a hair’s breadth away from his beloved sister’s heart. Ferdinand’s heartbeat roared in his ears as he rushed closer, excitement and relief starting to take root within him. Could it really be true? After all these years of praying, of hoping against hope, had Kronya really been returned to him?
Kronya was scowling, but she seemed to understand when she was beaten, as she made no move to get up. “You’ll pay for this, you-” She stopped dead as her gaze fell upon Ferdinand. He had no way to know for sure what was different now, compared to every time they’d interacted at the monastery, but recognition flickered across her features, her eyes widening. “...Ferdie?”
“Yes, it is I!” Tears filled his eyes and he made no effort to wipe them away — this was a momentously joyous occasion for him, after all. “Sister, I have searched high and low for you. There has not been a day I have not prayed for your safe return to us. Please, lay down your blade and-”
“Kronya, you’ve disappointed me.” An entirely unwelcome voice interrupted Ferdinand’s speech as Solon materialized a few paces away, a discontented expression twisting his harsh features. “Not only have you failed to defeat the Fell Star, you have fallen prey to foolish sentimentality. I thought we had torn that particular weakness from you — it seems I was mistaken.”
Kronya gasped, and her evident fear ignited a burning rage deep within Ferdinand. “Solon-”
Ferdinand cut across her, bringing his lance to the ready. “That is enough! I will not permit you to speak to her that way.”
Solon’s low laugh rang out, sinister and mocking, and Ferdinand bared his teeth in an uncharacteristic display of aggression. “It is not a matter of whether or not a naive, powerless little minister such as yourself will permit it. Kronya has outlived her usefulness to us. Try and change her fate if you truly desire, but there is nothing you can do.”
Ferdinand bristled and took a step forward, but before he could advance any further, Solon extended a hand, a dark energy crackling at his fingertips. Ferdinand didn’t know what was about to happen, but he figured there was no way it was anything good.
He leaped back just in time as tendrils of shadow blanketed the area he’d just occupied, obscuring both Byleth and Kronya within. Moments later, a high-pitched scream pierced the air, and Ferdinand felt his heart stop. “KRONYA!”
Silence.
It was over too soon, the darkness receding to reveal the most agonizing sight Ferdinand figured he’d ever witness. Solon had not moved, unchanged except for the fact his smile seemed to have somehow grown more wicked. The professor was nowhere to be seen, and Kronya lay crumpled in a heap on the ground.
Ferdinand, frozen to the spot with horror as he was, could only watch as Kronya lifted her head with the last vestiges of her strength, locking eyes with him. “Ferdie… please… help me…” she whispered, before she collapsed back against the ground.
She didn’t move again.
“Kronya… KRONYA!”
To say Ferdinand was devastated was an understatement. His heart felt like it was shattering apart, and the tears that trickled down his cheeks were now ones of mourning. Raw pain and grief lanced through his very being, chest tight as he choked on any words that may have tried to form.
He didn’t notice he had collapsed until his knees hit the ground, his lance slipping from his hands as he grappled with his emotions. There was panic all around him, confused shouts from his classmates and a Bernadetta who seemed on the verge of an anxious breakdown, though everything sounded faint to him, as though he was underwater. This wasn’t happening, this couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t have lost both Kronya and the professor within moments of each other.
“Get up.” Ferdinand stared up at Hubert’s cold, impassive face through watery eyes. “You’re of no use to the professor or your sister in this pathetic state.”
Indignation boiled Ferdinand’s blood despite his grief. “Pathetic? Do you have no tact at all in that blackened heart of yours?”
Hubert, as was expected of him by now, was entirely unruffled by the insult. Damn him, damn him to Hell. Ferdinand wished he’d give a normal human response to something for once. “I am viewing the situation objectively, as you seem incapable of doing. Do you truly wish to tarnish their memory with your weeping?”
Ferdinand grit his teeth. Hate was a strong word, but he was absolutely certain he hated the man before him. “I am mourning, Hubert, which seems to be something you have never done before.”
Hubert scoffed but otherwise did not react. Ferdinand did not usually stoop to such vulgar language, but some part of him really wanted to tell the mage to get fucked. “I find that such a topic is hardly relevant. The simple truth of the matter is that if you continue to bemoan your losses, you will be trampled underfoot by the enemy. They have no interest in waiting for you to be ready. In fact, they will most likely see this as a perfect opportunity to take your life.”
He had a point, and that only made Ferdinand all the more frustrated. A scathing retort formed on his lips, but before he could voice it, there was a shriek from Bernadetta, accompanied by Dorothea shouting, “The sky, look!”
Ferdinand looked at the same time Hubert did, and he was struck silent by the impossible phenomenon unfolding before them. A very familiar blade seemed to tear open a rift above them, widening until it was large enough for a person to pass through. An equally familiar figure followed through a moment later, landing on their feet with catlike grace and slowly rising to their full height. Their eyes shone green, sunlight filtering through the forest canopies to highlight hair of the same hue, but even so, with the Sword of the Creator firmly wielded in their grasp, Ferdinand was obviously going to recognize them–
“Professor?” Edelgard called across the battlefield. “Your hair, and your eyes…”
Byleth glanced over at her, but before they could even begin to offer some kind of explanation for their transformation, the trees shifted, Solon’s reserve forces crawling out of hiding to confront them. Immediately, Ferdinand’s classmates stirred to action around him, weapons being readied and spells being prepared.
“Do you understand what I mean now?” Hubert asked him, dark magic pooling at his fingertips. “It turns out that the tears you shed for the professor were in vain. They will not help your sister either. If you truly wish to do something, then avenge her. Her murderer stands right before us, after all.”
The smug, almost taunting tone of the mage’s voice almost made Ferdinand want to ignore his advice out of spite. Almost. But… he was right. There would be plenty of time to mourn later, in the privacy of his own room, away from judgemental eyes (Hubert). Right now, he was going to avenge his beloved sister who had been stolen from him twice, and that meant killing Solon.
Slowly, Ferdinand rose to his feet, readying his lance once more as a fire of conviction began to burn within his being.
Kronya… I hope you can forgive me for not saving you.
He charged back into the fray.
Thunder crashed as lightning split the sky overhead, clouds darker than the twisted heart of Duke Aegir blotting out any natural light. It was impossible to tell whether it was day or night in this kind of weather, though she found it hardly mattered. She scarcely noticed the frigid raindrops that stung her bloodless skin, kept warm by the flame of revenge that burned within her and only blazed brighter with each shallow breath she drew.
Revenge. Revenge against who? It seemed a pertinent question to answer. In fact, it was the only question to answer, the sole reason life flowed through a body long since dead.
She raised a hand in front of her face, flexing her fingers in curiosity. All her motor functions seemed to be in order, which meant that her only priority was to kill the one who had caused her so much suffering. The needs to eat and sleep were but a distant memory now; vengeance kept her alive.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a river. She made her way over to it, finding that despite her newfound status as one of the undead, she moved just the same as she did when she was truly alive. That suited her purposes just fine, and as she stepped closer, the clouds parted just enough to allow a sliver of moonlight to shine on the water’s surface.
Messy ginger hair fell in such a way that one of her eyes was covered, but the one that was revealed was a faded red. It lacked the subtle gleam a living person would possess, perhaps the most telling sign that her heart would never beat again.
If it had beat at all to begin with.
That was a strange thought, she mused to herself as she studied the strange tattoo around her visible eye. It resembled a teardrop, which she supposed was ironically fitting for someone who had bled as she had. But what was it about her heart that was so important?
…
Ah, yes. She remembered now.
She had lacked a heart for most of her life, stolen from her by her killer, Solon, and his ilk. The last time her young, fragile heart had beaten had been… Had been...
…
It had been with her little brother, Ferdinand. Ferdinand von Aegir. All sunshine and smiles, always, she had adored him, and wanted to be just like him, even though he was the younger sibling. He had loved her just as much, or so said her hazy recollections, and it was in the memory of his laughing voice that she recalled her name.
“Kronya,” she whispered. The word that fell past her cracked lips did not come easy, years of simply not existing at all having decayed her vocal chords. Her voice was a weak, pathetic thing, but she quickly found she did not care. “Kronya.”
Kronya von Aegir. The illegitimate child of Duke Aegir. For the simple crime of being born without a Crest, her father had torn her away from the brother she loved, the brother who had loved her in return, handing her over to the mysterious mages. The horrifying mages who had used and abused her, torn out her heart in a failed attempt to replace it with a Crest Stone.
By her father’s cruelty, Kronya had become less than human to her former group, nothing but a test subject with no real value. It was with these memories that Kronya understood why she had been gifted with this second chance at existence.
“I’m coming for you. I will kill you.” Her almost silent vow was swept away by the howling wind, but she hoped that somewhere, Duke Aegir felt a chill down his spine with her grave promise. The flames of revenge licked at her core as her fingers curled, nails digging into her palm. “Be ready for me… father.”
She lifted her gaze from the river, cold stare sweeping across the area, now illuminated by the pearly light of the moon, once more. With her purpose known, memories flooded back to allow her to gain her bearings; she was currently in a village situated at the base of the mountains that housed Garreg Mach monastery.
The monastery. Ferdinand would be there. He could help her.
…
The professor would be there too.
…
It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the death of the cruel man she had been cursed to be born to. If she had to associate with an old foe to make that a reality, then so be it.
Thunder rumbled and lightning lashed the sky, the earth beneath her feet muddy as she began to head for the monastery. It didn’t slow her in the slightest, the revenant unbothered by the weather and driven by a single-minded purpose.
To finally claim her vengeance.