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Byleth had encountered many who begged in their final moments of life. The Ashen Demon had heard pleas, bargains, desperate cries for mercy. Sometimes she accepted if the offer was good. Most of the time, she ignored the words spoken to her. Sometimes, her victims had the honour in them to die with dignity, speaking not a word and merely holding her impassive gaze as she struck them down.
She had never heard anyone plead to take their life. Until now.
The Emperor’s breath came in harsh, agonized gasps. Blood oozed from her wounds, spilling on the marble floor around her. Her shoulders sagged, her body buckled, as she struggled to prop herself up with her sword. The immense weight of the world on her shoulders had finally crushed her.
Byleth met those violet eyes that were once so filled with fire and passion, that reflected the strength and courage of the woman she once called her student. But her heart clenched seeing those eyes now. They were dull, and fearful. The fire had gone out, instead just a smouldering pile of ash in the dark. Even the colour seemed weaker.
Seeing Edelgard like this stirred something in her silent chest.
“Claim...your victory,” Edelgard told her through heavy breaths, struggling even to speak. Their battle had been hard on both, but worse on her. “Strike me down. You must.”
Her voice trembled. Weakness. Sadness. Fear. Such things were all present in a voice that once had so much power and authority. Byleth finally could see past the horned crown, the monstrous axe, the royal regalia - Edelgard was so small.
“Even now, people are out there killing each other,” Edelgard continued, a new desperation creeping into her tone, “You must put an end to this.”
A flash of rage surged through Byleth, then. She thought about demanding whose fault that was, pointing out that the war never would have happened had it not been for the Emperor with a power complex. But then the rage subsided, and she was able to see it: guilt.
‘She thought she could win,’ she realized, ‘That it would all be worth it if she just...’
“Please...” Edelgard whispered, “My teacher...” Those violet eyes met hers again, and Byleth could see the tears forming in them. “Your path...lies across my grave.”
‘This must be done,’ a voice in her mind reminded her, ‘She’s not that little student anymore. She’s made peace with it. Do it now, before she changes her mind.’
Byleth tightened her grip on her sword, and took a step forward. Her feet felt heavy, dragging against the ground in protest. But she closed the distance, and lifted the Sword of the Creator high above her head, preparing to bring it down and extinguish the life of the Flame Emperor.
She closed her eyes. She couldn’t look, didn’t want to look. Never had she been forced to kill someone she so desperately didn’t want to kill.
But she didn’t have a choice.
“I wanted...” Edelgard’s voice came out so small, so helpless, so mournful. “I wanted to walk with you...”
Byleth’s eyes opened, just a crack, and she dared a glance down.
It wasn’t the Emperor who knelt before her. It was a girl, a mere child, beaten and broken by a life of darkness and war and loneliness. She had her eyes screwed shut, waiting, waiting for her miserable life to end.
Byleth let the Sword of the Creator fall to the floor with an unceremonious clatter.
Edelgard’s eyes opened at the sound, but before she knew what was happening, someone was down on their knees before her, pulling her into a tight embrace.
Byleth heard her breath hitch. Edelgard had become a statue in her arms, frozen in shock and confusion. Byleth merely held on, and waited. She waited for the protests. She waited to be pushed away. She waited for the struggle against her. She waited for another fight, for that sword to surge toward her.
For a few, agonizing seconds, nothing happened.
“Why?”
If she wasn’t holding the Emperor so close, Byleth wouldn’t have heard that question.
“I’m sorry, Edelgard,” she uttered, feeling tears forming in her eyes for the first time since she had lost her father, “There must be another way...”
“No.” Edelgard’s response came too quickly, too harshly. “There is no other way. I must be destroyed. I...I deserve nothing better.”
“I don’t believe that,” Byleth told her softly.
“But...” Edelgard struggled against Byleth’s hold, and managed to push herself away just enough for Byleth to see her face. Lilac eyes filled with pain and sorrow met cool, ethereal green. “I can’t do this anymore,” Edelgard admitted quietly, breathlessly, “Please. End this. I...I’ve lost...”
Words went unsaid. Byleth didn’t know the whole story but she knew some of it. Edelgard had lost the war, she lost her Empire, she lost her armies and commanders, she lost her people, she lost the few who supported her - some of them to Byleth’s own blade. She grimaced: Hubert had put up an especially fierce fight.
Guilt surged through her. Edelgard was alone. Largely because of her.
“I don’t deserve it. To live. I...” Edelgard’s voice was so small, so helpless. “If you truly wish to grant me mercy, then you will end my suffering now. Please, my teacher. If no one else, let it be you.”
Byleth wished with all her heart that she still could use the Divine Pulse. Because she would have, in that moment, sent herself all the way back to the Holy Tomb, back to her decision that changed everything.
‘I would have chosen to protect you,’ she thought, ‘I should have chosen that.’
But maybe it wasn’t too late.
“Edelgard... I want to help you,” she said, taking the Emperor’s chin in her hand and tilting her head up, “My biggest regret is hesitating when you needed me. I...I didn’t know where my heart lay then, and I’m sorry it took so long for me to realize... But it’s not too late for you.”
A dry, humourless chuckle escaped Edelgard’s lips. “Have you always been so blindly optimistic?” she asked in a low voice, “It’s been far too late for me for some time now.” Their eyes met, and there was no life left in hers. “You and I both know that this isn’t how it really happened.”
Byleth felt her blood run cold as the realization struck her. The delusion began to fade, and the nightmare began to shift into a memory. A memory of what really happened.
A drop of blood slipped out from under her crown, right in the centre of her forehead. Then the crown itself split, as if it had been cleaved in two. More blood began to flow.
Byleth woke up before the grisly truth was revealed in full.
-- -- --
“Morning Professor!”
Byleth smiled as best as she could at the chipper security guard. His name was Alex, and despite the seemingly mundane nature of it, he loved his job working at the Imperial Palace. He was always there at the start of her day, when she would sign in to work. And his big smile and eager energy always helped get her through the day, especially after rough nights.
“You sure you’re sleeping ok?” Alex asked with concern, taking note of the dark bags under the Professor’s eyes, “No offence, but you look like a zombie.”
Byleth couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony. “Just the usual stress keeping me up,” she lied, “There’s that new exhibit about art and the Empire opening soon and we’re not nearly ready, yet.”
“Well, don’t work too hard!” he said teasingly.
She swiped her keycard and gave a confirming nod. “I’ll try,” she said with a wave, “Oh, before I go: any news? I think Frank mentioned something about a new hire...”
Alex thought for a moment. “Nope. Nothing to report,” he stated confidently.
Byleth blinked, and for a brief second, she was back in the past. Eight hundred and fifty-five years. Talking to another cheerful guard with a similar dedication to his job.
“You...ok, Professor?” Alex asked with a tilt of his head, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I... Never mind. Just need some coffee,” Byleth replied, snapping out of her memories with a shake of her head.
She gave Alex a wave in parting, and headed off to her office.
The Imperial Palace was Enbarr’s most valued museums. Each day, thousands of tourists would flock into its elegant halls, taking in magnificent paintings, ancient weapons and tapestries, or wandering the extensive manicured grounds. Not long after the war, it fell to ruin. The Last Emperor was dead and buried, and the opulent grandeur of the marble palace seemed to spit in the face of every peasant in Enbarr. So it was ransacked. Priceless artifacts were stolen, banners and tapestries set ablaze, stone and metal smashed just to let out the anger at those selfish rulers.
Byleth saved what she could at the time. It would be centuries later that she would set foot in the palace again, this time as a generous donor of a large collection of historic artifacts and paintings to the new National Museum. Now the Palace was a gift back to the people of Adrestia, having been restored to its former glory and many of its treasures brought back through gifts and expensive purchases. It would be free to enter, operating by donation and a healthy sum of money granted by the government. And suddenly it was no longer a dark and gloomy ruin sitting on a hill, looming over Enbarr like its shadowy history. It became a point of pride, a place that showed off exactly how powerful Adrestia had once been, and how anyone could see it with ease.
The Old Empire was dead, but this new Palace represented the heart of the New.
The next couple centuries passed for Byleth in a blur. She lived all over Fodlan, each life bringing a new job, a new home, new friends. She had long gotten over the strangeness of immortality. Moving onto a new life was easy for her now, though some things still hurt her un-beating heart. She had friends, but was never truly close to anyone. The odd romance had sprung up from time to time, but they never lasted.
She couldn’t bear to weather another heartbreak like her first.
She would occasionally visit the Imperial Palace sometimes, once or twice in a lifetime. It became easier to do as the world modernized. Travel to such a large and important city like Enbarr had aways been prioritized. But she could never have fathomed to the extent.
The first time she took the train right into the heart of the city was exhilarating.
Enbarr was one of the first cities to install streetcars, making transit much more accessible for everyone.
Then came cars, making travel within the city even easier.
And then there were airplanes. To think, humanity could create something so big and so heavy but able to carry so many people and bags across the whole continent in a mere couple of hours! All without magic, at that.
She never thought she’d find herself living in Enbarr until it just...happened. A couple of years ago, she relocated to start anew once again, and like some kind of twist of fate, ended up as a tour guide for the museum. And she built herself such a stellar reputation as a well-researched academic of the place, she was promoted to curator in no time.
And she was happy, for the most part.
She got to her office and pulled out her laptop from her bag. She sat down at her desk, glancing briefly out at the beautiful view of the fountains sparkling in the sun, before getting to work.
Several hours later, and it was time to go home. But before she did, there was something she had to do, first.
It was the anniversary. A date no one celebrated, but also one only historians knew or cared about. It happened so, so long ago now, and though a pivotal moment in Fodlan’s history, it had so little impact on modern society that no one was ever really aware of it. To everyone else, it was just a date on a calendar.
To Byleth, it was the worst day of her life.
The Throne Room was one of the Palace’s most renowned locations. It had been largely kept preserved as it was, its massive grandeur shown off in its original glory. Obviously some things had been done - the tapestries and banners needed to be replaced, electric lighting had been installed to better illuminate the cavernous space, and the intricate marble floor needed constant restoration work.
But there was one thing that had been added to the space that never was there before. It was a strange thing, something so small and simple, sitting alone in the centre of the floor, before the throne.
A candle, burning with an enchanted flame that would never extinguish.
The museum was closed, so the hall was empty when Byleth arrived. And that solitary candle was alone in the vast, looming space.
Byleth stood before that candle. The floor under it was clean, reflecting the small flame in the multicoloured tiles. Eight hundred and fifty years ago, there was a pool of blood there instead. Eight hundred and fifty years ago, Byleth fell to her knees after pitching her bloody sword as far away from her as possible. Eight hundred and fifty years ago, she held onto the body of a woman she had once loved, still loved, until it had long gone cold and Byleth had cried until she physically couldn’t anymore. Eight hundred and fifty years ago, Byleth realized she had made a terrible mistake there was no going back on.
Eight hundred and fifty years ago, Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg, last of her name and warmongering tyrant, was killed by the saviour of Fodlan, the Enlightened One.
“I’m sorry,” Byleth whispered to the candle, “I wish things had been different. I wish I could have saved you.”
Every year since she started working at the Palace, Byleth would visit the candle on this day and make the same wish. Sothis was long gone, having been merged with Byleth for centuries. And yet even with the divine power of the Goddess mixed with her blood, there was nothing Byleth could do to make that wish come true.
But then the lights flickered. Odd. There must have been a power surge somewhere...
They flickered again, then shut off completely, plunging the Throne Room into darkness. Only the minimal light from its ancient windows and that solitary candle chased away the darkest shadows.
And then all hell broke loose.
There’s a flash and the world seems to spin on its axis. The candle at her feet is blown out by a strong gust of wind. And as Byleth recovers from the initial shock, she practically falls over when something even more insane registers before her.
It’s the Emperor, on her knees, breathing heavy and body battle-worn. Just like she looked when…
Through her heavy breaths, Edelgard pants, “There you go, again…my teacher… Hesitating…”
She looks up, finally, to see a completely different Byleth standing before her. No Sword of the Creator, shorter, styled hair, strange-looking clothes. And completely dumbfounded.
“Professor… What’s going on?”