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The main hall is filled with students, dressed impeccably, nerves at their proverbial peak, as the illustrious Garreg Mach ball begins. The chandeliers high above sway in the breeze, shimmering with golden light which pours over the dance floor.
Dimitri pulls at his collar, nervous for another reason. He knows his time tonight is limited, yet there’s something he still wishes to do. He pushes past Sylvain, brazenly flirting with a rotating cast of girls from the academy, and waves graciously at Ingrid, who’s dragging Felix out to the dance floor with her. A few students from the academy summon up the courage to ask the prince to dance, only to be met with a polite rejection. Dimitri only intends on having a single dance tonight.
However, once he’s able to spot her, a head of blue hair in the fluid crowd, it’s too late. Claude, ineffable, charismatic, has beat him to it. He pulls their professor out onto the dance floor as the waltz begins. The orchestra’s strings swell and he clenches his fist.
He turns on his heel and leaves the hall, before Byleth can see him fuming.
He rushes up the steps of the Goddess Tower, impatient, ravenous, and a little scared. He climbs it in leaps and bounds, from one step, to two steps, to four at a time. The Ethereal Moon climbs even higher in the sky just as he makes it to the top floor, and there isn’t a second to waste.
Dimitri knows that, inevitably, a deluge of couples will appear in the belfry, hoping to espouse their undying love and seek the Goddess’s blessing. Every hair on his arms stands up and his neck tenses, as he wonders why he chose the Goddess Tower as his hiding place.
He knows the answer. He knows that, for all his posturing and fear, his desire is much stronger. And it’s only more justified when she takes a tentative step into the belfry, exhaustion painted on her face the same way it surely is on his. But as the ethereal light washes over her face, sparking alight each feature on her face, Dimitri believes the risk he’s taken to be worth it.
He smiles casually, though there’s nothing casual about the moment. “Professor!”
Byleth takes another step toward him, his shadow enveloping half of her. “Hi, Dimitri.”
Dimitri takes another risk and clasps his right hand in hers. His fingers lock up for a moment before he looks at her. He pushes a loose hair behind her ear. “The quiet up here is wonderful, don’t you agree? I feel as though I’m fully able to think in the silence.” He omits the effect her presence has on his thoughts. “Though that’s not why I asked you here.”
Her eyebrow lifts slightly, a telltale sign of the professor’s suspicion. It’s somehow less troubling, now, when it’s far removed from her assessment of him as a student. “Then why are we here?”
“There’s a bit of a tradition associated with the Goddess Tower. They say that if a man and a woman pray in tandem, on the night of the ball, their wish will be granted.”
Byleth is silent as she thinks. Her silence is typically comforting, reliable even. Tonight, it’s nerve-wracking. His joints flare up in pain and he winces, but transforms it into an awkward smile before she can notice.
“I didn’t take you for a believer in myths and legends, Dimitri.” He runs his thumb over her knuckles and his grip tightens involuntarily. She tightens her grip in reply. “Though I suppose there is no harm in it. What shall we wish for, then?”
Dimitri bites his tongue. A part of him wants to wish for justice, another, revenge. All of him wants to wish for her. “I shall wish for a world in which nothing will ever be unjustly taken from us, ever again.”
Byleth’s eyes cloud for a moment, then regain their steely sheen. “I’ll wish for the same.”
They both turn to face the grounds of the monastery, fingers still intertwined, and pray quietly. He looks towards her, only slightly, so as to not rouse her attention. Byleth’s mind is a mystery that Dimitri is still incapable of working out. However, on this night, there is only so much time to consider it.
Two voices battle inside his mind— the first, the heir to the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, the exalted heir, the calm, calculating face of the Blue Lions. That voice wishes for justice, an ambition greater than the whole of Fodlan. The other voice, that of the blood-hungry monster, is wilder and the full moon only amplifies it.
That voice wishes to break free.
Dimitri’s eyes are open when Byleth finishes praying. He plasters on a massive smile and turns to her with his arms open. “Sent your wish to the goddess?”
“I did.” She eyes him inquisitively, seeking the chink in the armor. He considers coming clean, spilling all his secrets to her, on this night beneath the full moon. But he’s known enough suffering to keep his achilles’ heel hidden, at least for now.
“Good.” He glances towards the moon, almost at its peak in the sky, and almost panics. But he can’t let himself panic in front of her. “Anyhow, I’m sure everyone is looking for you. Thank you for meeting me here. Save me a dance, before the night ends?”
Byleth takes one last knowing look at him and nods. “You’re probably right,” she says, then puts up a finger. “Though no promises on the dance,” she says, laughing playfully,
She disappears around the corner of the staircase and Dimitri can no longer fight the beast within. He writhes in pain and falls to his knees as the moon reaches its peak. His blonde hair falls into disarray, strands dangling in front of his eyes as his vision blurs, focus shifting from his hair to the stones beneath him to the moon. His shoulders and back seize up, vision jerking to the steel bell above him.
The stitches in his uniform give out, threads snapping first at his triceps, then his forearms, and all culminating between his shoulder blades. Dimitri’s limbs thicken and jolt outwards; he only keeps his balance somewhat due to his newly-developed claws tearing through the floor of the belfry.
He’s finally able to stagger to his feet, his grip crushing the arch’s vertical supports, turning concrete to dust. The Ethereal Moon calls to him, at its zenith, and the beast within him crushes all inhibition.
The bell tolls, the students dance in the hall, and Dimitri rips the remnants of fabric from his expanding chest and howls all of his pain, his fear, and his desire into the depth of the night.