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Magic sigils sizzled under the heavy downpour, their healing effects rendered useless. The prince of the Kingdom couldn't issue another order. His mind echoed his first 'Save him!'
Nothing was set ablaze. Nobody else was in danger. Orderly commands that seemed to be from his childhood friends were being delivered in the background. Yet, why was his skin prickled with stinging burns? That his people were crying for rescue? As if he was witnessing that dreadful tragedy once more?
Suddenly, somebody grabbed both of his armoured shoulders. "Your Highness, you must- You must save the professor!" his voice cracked, devoid of the usual cheerfulness he had.
Dimitri's blurred vision refocused on the classmate in front of him. His mopped, grey hair was stuck onto his face, his tears mixed with rain.
While they both knew the Captain was beyond saving, the person clinging onto him wasn't.
The prince mustered a nod and a weak apology to Ashe. His strained voice reminded him of the battle with his classmate's foster father. He could've reassured him better back then, yet now, he still couldn't.
Dimitri dragged his feet towards the professor. It wasn't due to the extra weight of the rain-soaked cape that he was being pulled back. Physical strength was never an issue for him.
His heartstrings were tugged. Even as he got to her side, he was speechless. All he could think of was, At least she is still in one piece.
Wordlessly, his hand hovered over her arm. She was surprisingly steady, until he saw her trembling hand. Dimitri bent down, reaching for it instead, lessening its tremors. Her fingers were dead cold, but her stare was colder. He raised his other hand just above her, sheltering her from the rain with his cape.
Dimitri never prayed, not even at times like this. False hopes and promises were never his thing. However, in the faintest hopes that the Goddess was listening, he offered a silent prayer for Captain Jeralt's soul to rest in peace.
The following day, Dimitri stood outside of the professor's quarters, adding another to the trays of untouched food on her doorstep. He chose porridge again for her dinner. Soft and convenient to eat. He doubted she could taste anything at the moment.
He called out, "Professor, dinner is here."
There was still no response. He couldn't blame her. Alas, he wasn't sure whether hearing her sobs or silence was better.
The Prince had previously considered writing a letter. However, each quill he held had kept breaking. Rage was consuming his grip, yet this was certainly something he didn't want anyone else to write on his behalf. He had to tell her himself or else there was no point to it.
The words he spouted at the Goddess Tower came to mind. I suppose my wish... is for a world in which no one would ever be unjustly taken from us.
The professor was so happy that day, and the days before that. Yet, it only took one devastating moment to turn it all around.
He vowed to himself that he would seek revenge.
Monica's whereabouts were still a mystery. Dimitri had interrogated the Black Eagles students for clues, but none of them had any. They were all shell-shocked, save for Edelgard and Hubert, who he couldn't find anywhere. And while Lady Rhea and Alois had nothing significant to report to him, he'd been keeping a close eye on them. He had begun to question his trust in others.
Especially in himself. Why was he not by his Professor's side when it happened? How could he have let his guard down after battling the monsters? He knew that they could be anywhere. Yet... Dimitri had spent the whole night, replaying the scenario of rushing to Captain Jeralt's aid. He was supposed to be different from four years ago. He already had the power to save others, yet he was still unable to save his allies. He still needed to get stronger and faster.
How would he be able to exact his revenge if he was still this weak?
The sun was now setting, dyeing his Professor's door in an orange hue. He released his fist, his gloves embedded with crescent markings.
At least it's not raining , he thought.
It had taken him ages to get accustomed to fires again, no matter how small they were. He used to love warm baths, too. But after the tragedy, every meal had to be cooled down first. The simple joys of life had been taken away from him. He used to think he'd grown an irrational fear of heat. However, upon thinking that the Professor might start fearing the sound of rain due to yesterday, it didn't sound ridiculous at all.
He would welcome anything to stop her from triggering that awful memory. Although, he knew she might still recall it, no matter the weather.
Dimitri heaved a sigh as he leaned against her door. He didn't want to leave yet. He had a feeling that she wasn't alone, that she might be hallucinating him. The ghost of Captain Jeralt.
He closed his eyes, picturing the mournful captain's grave. He had paid his respects earlier. It was full of flowers from his classmates and the Knights of Seiros. Dedue had selected the flower for him. A lily. But to him, all the flowers looked the same. Transitional beauty that would eventually wilt.
Her father deserved better. Dimitri's family received a royal funeral service that lasted for weeks, but this was the best that the Knights of Seiros could do. They claimed they had to prepare for impending battles with the mysterious group and didn't have time for luxury.
"Your Highness?"
Dimitri snapped out of his thoughts and realised his classmates were standing in front of him. Each of them were carrying a comfort item - flowers, snacks, and even Felix brought tea!
Felix scoffed and hid his Four-Spice Blend box. "What? She seemed to enjoy this the last time we had tea."
At least it was clear that the professor and her father were well loved.
It was past lunch time when Dimitri received an important task from Lady Rhea. His failed attempt in eavesdropping on the Archbishop and her second-in-command resulted in him getting caught. He rolled with the excuse of wanting to learn brawling from her, which she declined, but asked a favour from him instead. He felt Seteth's skeptical look on his back as he walked away. Dimitri then grew newfound respect for his Professor, who dealt with these nerve wracking, green-haired authorities often.
The trays were gone, hopefully cleared by the professor. It took him a while to gather his courage and knock on her door, only to be met with silence once again. With a couple of deep breaths, he announced, "Professor. It's me, Dimitri. I'm coming in."
His stomach plummeted at the vacant quarters. Quickly, he shut the door behind him and closed his mouth; the stench of spoiled leftovers inside almost got him gagging.
Panic raced through his mind. Professor, where did you go?
His rigid legs moved on their own accord. Pulsing throbs in his temples drowned his furious gasps. His eyes darted everywhere. Alas, the familiar shade of blue hair wasn't anywhere in sight. Not even at Captain Jeralt's gravestone.
The Prince's eccentric behaviour drew concern from his classmates. Shock flitted across everyone's faces upon news of their professor's disappearance. With determination and discretion, the pride of Blue Lions dispatched, searching high and low for her.
The girls even checked all the washrooms, but the professor wasn't in there.
As the Blue Lions re-grouped without their Professor, despair loomed over them. Clutching onto her scarf, the oldest among them spoke up. "Does anyone know who the professor usually chats with?"
Silence consumed them. However, a persistent, thudding thought came onto Dimitri's mind: Everyone.
The professor was often seen talking to everyone she met. The prince assumed she was mainly exchanging pleasantries or searching for quests. Thinking about it now, Dimitri never really knew much about the professor. Who were her friends? Did she also have any outside the monastery? Or was everyone similar to a mercenary for her? Bound by contracts? Even her students? Even him?
He hated the thought of it.
Annette fiddled with her hair, curling it over and over. Gazing at the gantry, she asked, "C-could the professor have gone out?"
Their other ginger-haired classmate followed up, "The Gatekeeper might know. He's a friend of the professor too, right? I've seen her talking to him often."
Dimitri's stomach dipped at this new information. How did Sylvain know that? And... often?
Nevertheless, he volunteered to find the Gatekeeper on his own. He sprinted over to the marketplace, his heart hammering against his chest.
"Greetings, your Highness! I believe I saw Professor Byleth going upstairs hours ago," the man in question reported.
Confusion coloured the prince's face. Why would she be upstairs?
If she already was, Lady Rhea wouldn't have asked him to find her in the first place. Then, as if Dimitri was hit by a powerful combat art, a thought hit him. Captain Jeralt's quarters.
Politely, he requested the Gatekeeper to inform his classmates of the professor's whereabouts, to which he happily obliged. The prince's whisper was laced with worry as he ascended the stairs. "Professor, please be there."
The very sight of her left him breathless. Through the narrowly opened door, a tiny candle illuminated the gloomy quarters, or more specifically, the weary book that she was holding. The professor had her face buried into it. Occasionally, she put her book down, as if taking in the heavy contents. Her eyes were glazed, and soon enough, the waterworks started.
Dimitri sucked in the musky air at her rubbing her reddened eyes. Her tousled hair stuck onto her face. Her disheveled cloak slid down her back, making her appear smaller. Each sob tugged his heartstrings. His leather gloves squeaked from the pressure of his fist.
Yet somehow, she still remained beautiful. Sad, but beautiful.
The prince released the breath he didn't know he was holding. Biting his quavering lips, he raked the quarters with his eyes. While the prince hadn't stepped into the captain's quarters before, he had passed by it numerous times. Fortunately, it seemed that it was still left untouched.
Memories of the sleepless nights after the Tragedy of Duscur came forth. The young prince had trapped himself in his late father's chambers. He climbed onto the bed, bigger and colder than he remembered. It was undeniably due to the missing, warm pair of hands that used to cuddle him to sleep.
The castle was in an uproar at his disappearance. His caretakers found him clutching onto the bed damp with his tears. It took a whole team of caretakers to pry him out of it.
Despite the countless warnings to stay away, he couldn't, even though it brought him more pain than comfort. His futile attempts in stopping his father's belongings from being cleared away only caused him to look at his uncle with disdain. He couldn't fathom another man living in the room of his beloved father, and why everyone else allowed it to happen.
While the prince was displeased that the Archbishop wasn't including him in their secret plan to track down the murderer of the professor's father, he was thankful that she was, at least, giving the professor time to heal.
He cast his eyes away, wishing he could protect her remaining memories of her father. He had already failed to safeguard the village where he first met her.
Alas, duty came first. He couldn't forgo the Archbishop's task, and he'd rather be the one to inform the professor. Calming his nerves the best he could, he knocked.
The professor jolted and sat up straight, throwing her book on the table. Then, as if someone told her to, she hastily wiped her tears away with her shoulders. He felt like punching himself. He could have knocked softer.
Motioning her to remain seated as he entered, the prince dutifully informed her of the Archbishop's summons. An invitation to dinner with him rolled off his tongue as well. Etiquette had been drilled into him ever since he was a child, but more than that, he yearned to see her eat again. It was one of the rare and precious times he got to see her enjoying herself, prior to the incident.
Unfortunately, his invitation fell flat. She seemed to be staring straight at him, not registering what he'd just said. The stench of the trays in her quarters earlier suddenly haunted him. How selfish of him to wish she'd accept it.
Dimitri had been longing to see her all this time. Yet, it felt as if he was still standing outside her quarters. Strings of apologies ensued, from his thoughtless invite, to his helplessness in saving her father. He was making a feeble attempt to protect her remaining world, and it seemed to break as she said, "If only."
Her voice was so dry and devoid of emotion. Dimitri watched her chapped lips move slowly, twitching into a forced smile.
The prince's gloves kept squeaking. All traces of the cool and collected professor were long gone. He knew he had to accept that. But he couldn't. His chest was boiling with rage, and he found himself gravitating towards her. He sat beside her and adjusted her cloak, placing his hand over her shoulder as if he was afraid she'd fall apart.
She smelled of rain.
In a twisted way, they were kindred spirits. Dimitri understood the grievance of losing family very well. Channeling the kindest voice he could muster, akin to his stepmother's, he spouted the words that the young Prince would have wanted to hear. Everyone grieved differently, at their own pace, and so he emphasised her to take her time.
The Professor flinched at the mention of time. Noticing her hand starting to shake with tremors of grief, he reached for it and squeezed it. No doubt that the excruciating and endless possibilities of 'what if's were eating her. She shouldn't. She needed to move on eventually. She needed to find another reason to live for.
She asked that dreaded question. "What am I living for?"
False wishes and promises threatened to spill from his lips just to see her smile again. That this was just all a nightmare. That her father was still breathing. But of all people, he knew better. He shouldn't offer false hopes, even though the young Prince had wished to hear that his father was simply on a long business treaty, that his stepmother was occupied and lost in a sea of books, and that his stepsister, Edelgard, was ready to surprise him with another nightlong dancing lesson.
Then, it was as if a ray of healing light lanced in from the windows, falling onto the bookshelves. It made the room give off a different vibe from the usual late nights Dimitri had at the library. For one, he wasn't here to investigate grim conspiracies about his step-uncle. He was here to provide comfort to someone, someone important to him.
Wasn't the professor reading earlier?
His gaze shifted to the book in front of them. Something big was written neatly with flourishes.
A signature? Ah... Jeralt Eisner.
To think she was also reading up about her family's past; it left him speechless. Her father's diary lay closed and stained, its bindings seemingly loose. He wouldn't have guessed it belonged to the captain from his handwriting. That would've explained her tears. Then again, he didn't think the captain would have a vast collection of books. Who was he to judge a book by its cover? Especially when he had suspected the professor as someone who felt no strong feelings about killing her enemies. But here she was, reading about her father without ill-intentions, genuinely wanting to know how much he loved her, unlike him who was doubting his relative.
How glad he was to be wrong about her.
Dimitri gave her hand another squeeze. His gulp was audible.
Had the possibility of her being an orphan ever crossed her mind? That her father would leave her one day? Perhaps she had; she grew up as a mercenary after all. But had she already made any plans if the worst ever happened? Would she have had the strength to execute them?
The prince's mind was assaulted by myriads of appalling questions with her pending question at the back. What am I living for? He wanted to answer her just like how the professor answered his questions brilliantly during lectures.
However, Dimitri knew she had to find the answer herself. He gave her hand one more comforting squeeze, not minding his squeaking gloves this time. No matter how difficult her path may be, he decided he would gladly guide her through it.