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"Now, Catherine. Set fire to the city."
Catherine looked to Rhea with an expression of utmost shock- mirroring Cyril's own, certain that he'd misheard her. The city was still filled with its civilians; Rhea had specifically ordered it as such. Cyril had wanted to believe that she was trying to keep them safe from the approaching army, though Catherine had held the darker interpretation that they were to serve as a shield to dissuade the enemy's charge. Neither of them could've possibly imagined that they'd been kept from retreating just so that they could be immolated in their own homes. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of civilians, of children...
It was evil. Cyril didn't know another word to describe it.
"You can't do that!" It was perhaps even more unnerving to see the unshakable Thunderstrike Cassandra with panic in her eyes and a dent in her resolve. Years back, when the flames of war had been but embers, Cyril had harboured something of a one-sided animosity towards Catherine and her touted devotion to Lady Rhea. He had thought her obsession to be artificial; she had barely seemed to regard him at all, let alone as competition. And yet, as Edelgard stoked the fire and served up the Seiros Knights as its kindling- Flayn and Seteth, Alois and Shamir, Cyril hadn't been there when they fell yet their screams haunted his nightmares- there had been no place for conflict within the ranks. Catherine had remained as the only person left that Cyril could trust.
Yes, that was the truth of it. For all that he had tried to ignore it, pushed away the little voice in his head that only spoke the truth, Cyril didn't trust Rhea anymore. With that in mind, he couldn't say with honesty that this new act of malice was completely unprecedented.
Still, she had been the one to save him from the Gonerils. The one who gave him a home when he'd had none. She had taken the Remire children into the church when they had nowhere else to go. The dissonance between the woman of virtue that he'd known then, and the cold-hearted beast standing before him now, was too great for him to handle. The Rhea that Cyril coveted still had to be inside her, somewhere... "Lady Rhea," he spoke, his voice weak, "there's still people in the city. We have to evacuate them first-"
"Quiet." Though Rhea whispered the word Cyril felt it in every part of his body, a single sharp hiss that froze his blood cold. She snapped her head around and affixed the duo with a glare that Cyril could never forget, for he'd seen it too many times before: on every Goneril that sneered and shoved him out of their way; on the church members who whispered about 'that shifty Almyran' when they thought he wasn't listening; on the hardened features of the squadron leader as he commanded the gaggle of Almyran orphans out onto the battlefield. You are an object, those cold eyes said. You mean nothing to me.
Cyril's words died in his throat, as did any hope he had left.
"I shall sacrifice as many lives as it takes!" Rhea continued, turning back to the city that sprawled out before them. Like an animal that had just averted certain death, Cyril's body was overcome with a shiver the second that he was free of her gaze. "Those apostates took everything from me, and I will crush them with my own hands!"
You still have us. Cyril wanted to say, but he knew she wouldn't care. He knew that now. It felt like a hole had opened in his stomach and emptied everything out, leaving him hollow and wanting.
He looked to Catherine pleadingly, not to try and reach out to Rhea but at least to change her mind about the fire, but only found his despair growing deeper as the light disappeared in the swordswoman's eyes, leaving them as cold and sharp as the blade hung upon her hip. "As you wish."
Rhea nodded, and then a harsh green glow began to envelop her body. Her figure grew indistinct but Cyril could hear the cracking of bones and stretching of muscle as she reverted to her true form. He couldn't watch, bile rising in his throat.
"Get out of here." It took a second for Cyril to realise that Catherine was addressing him. He turned to her desperately, green light blazing across her dead eyes. "Get out of the city while you can, Cyril."
"But- but what about y-"
"Go!" He flinched as if the word had struck him physically. His feet skittered back but he hesitated a moment longer, looking from Catherine to the draconic beast, hoping somehow that something could fix what had been wrought.
But he knew better than to believe in miracles. Cyril spun on his heel and ran, nearly tripping over the cobbled ground, air already struggling to enter his lungs. He counted his good blessings that his instinct was able to guide him where his mind could not, as within the minute he was all but collapsing atop his wyvern. Underneath its leathery skin he could feel the creature tense, picking up on its master's distress. "It's alright." he tried to mouth but he couldn't find the sound. He scrambled up and onto the saddle, forcing himself to calm down enough to remember the basics of riding. Back straight, reins held loose, muscles relaxed. He took a large gasp of air and nearly choked on it.
Somehow, he was able to get up and into the air. He had barely steadied his ascent when the night sky was ripped apart by a terrifying roar, rattling his bones and causing his wyvern to panic. He clutched the reins and squeezed firmly with his legs, even though 'firm' was far from how he was feeling. The wyvern cried out but settled again, and he navigated it towards the city's walls.
It wouldn't have been the worst thing for him to leave. He held no allegiance to the citizens of Faerghus, and really, what was he supposed to achieve on his own? But even as he was overcome with the desire to escape from this hell, he knew he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he allowed the children below to succumb to the flames. He squeezed his eyes shut, muttered a curse- to himself, Rhea, he didn't know- and then tugged the reins so that the wyvern descended again in a downward spiral.
He landed down where he'd spotted two blots of orange and silver. By the time he'd unsaddled himself, again nearly tripping on his way back to the ground, Ashe and Annette had hurried to the wyvern's side. "Cyril?" Annette asked, and he felt something hot well in his face at the sound of a friendly voice. "What's wrong?"
"R-Rhea- the, the city- she's-" The hollowness in his chest had filled up with words that were desperately tumbling over each other to escape.
"It's alright Cyril. You're okay." Ashe's hand came down on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Take a deep breath, you're shaking-"
He was? He hadn't noticed, but as he looked down now he could see how badly his hands were trembling. Since when... since Rhea had glared at him? Had he been shaking all that time?
Annette took one of said hands and wrapped it in her own. Her warmth spread from there up to his shoulder and then blossomed across his chest, gentle white light following its path. "Did something happen to Rhea?" she asked, her brows furrowed in spite of the calmness her healing power was creating.
Cyril was more grateful for their presence than words could describe, but now was not the time to try and find them. He took a breath like Ashe had suggested and then started again. "Lady Rhea ordered Catherine to set the city on fire."
Both of their eyes widened in shock. "What?!" Ashe yelled. "That can't be, the citizens haven't been evacuated!"
"I know, I tried to tell her that-" he winced as he remembered her eyes, as brilliant as an emerald and just as hard, "-but I don't think she cares, and I think Catherine's going to do it. Ya have to believe me, I don't know what to do-!"
"Of course we believe you." Ashe's voice was certain. Cyril felt the hotness behind his eyes again; when had he ever had someone who trusted in him? Shamir, maybe, but she... "To be honest, Lady Rhea hasn't seemed quite right for years. I didn't want to believe she was a monster like the rumours all said, but-"
While Ashe was talking, Annette reached up with one hand and swiped under Cyril's eye. Her thumb came back wet. He raised his own hand to his face and was shocked to find tears there. "It's alright Cyril." she soothed, her words gentle but her eyes determined. "There's still time. Ashe, you hurry into the city and start spreading the word that the people need to evacuate. I'll talk to my father and get his help."
"Do you think he'll listen?" Ashe asked.
Her lips pursed into a thin line. "If he won't then I'll make him."
Cyril wiped his eyes clean, their plan of action helping him to calm down. "I'll-"
"Don't push yourself." Ashe said.
"You just need to escape." Annette said at the same time.
Cyril didn't know why, but he chuckled. "No, please, let me help. Maybe I can let the Empire's army know what's happening? If it's just me that approaches them... they'll probably hear me out instead of attacking."
"They did say they were offering us a chance..." Ashe mumbled, then shook his head. "No, Cyril, it's too dangerous for you to go alone."
"But the two of you have got important stuff to do too." Cyril was set in his idea now that he'd voiced it. He reached up to the wyvern's saddle, hoisting himself up into it. "And we don't got the time to argue about it. Let's try and meet back here after we're all done."
Ashe looked like he wanted to argue further, but Cyril's argument was strong and he was forced to accept it. "Alright, but you get away the second that you sense danger. I'd rather have you alive than the Empire on our side."
"Took the words out my mouth." Annette said, a little of her usual pep back in her step. "I'm expecting to see both of you back here, safe and sound. Don't let me down!"
Both of them nodded. Cyril could feel a pressure in his throat, and knew his words would wobble if he tried to talk. They wanted him to be safe. He meant something to them.
He was a person, and he mattered.
And so did every single civilian who was about to see their homes go up in flame. Cyril squeezed his wyvern's neck and it took to the skies, its flight as confident as its owner's newfound resolve. From up in the sky he could see the blood red of the Empire's banner. He would not just speak to them: he would make them listen. For the citizens, for Ashe and Annette... and for himself.
With a victorious cry, Cyril and his wyvern soared beyond the city's walls.