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The statues of the Four Saints cast looming shadows over the professor. Flayn insisted that he tended to the statues, to which he had previously paid no mind, and he couldn't bring himself to refuse her even with other obligations at hand.
Byleth wasn't terribly familiar with maintaining bronze statues, but he figured starting with dusting would be his best bet. He started with Saint Indech, reading the inscription carefully.
It is said that he was known for his wisdom and dexterity. Though unskilled in the art of human interaction, he used his gifts to help those in need. He was also an indomitable warrior who slew countless foes on countless battlefields.
Impressive, he thought. Indech reminded him a bit of himself—very much not a verbose individual, but a demon on the battlefield. …Perhaps that was a bit too arrogant, but he had been given the name "Ashen Demon" for a reason. The intricate bow was a bit of a struggle to clean effectively, but he managed nonetheless.
Next was Saint Macuil, who appeared to be a mage judging by his outfit.
It is said that his gift for strategy was unparalleled. He served as chief tactician of Saint Seiros and was a pioneering figure for and master of the magical arts.
So the outfit was indeed telling, but also curious! As a mercenary, Byleth had known most mages to be healers, not tacticians. Many also served as deadly allies in battle, but rarely did he see tacticians performing much magic.
Saint Cichol… He had a familiar air about him, but Byleth couldn't pinpoint exactly what. That spear was so intricate, it nearly looked like wyvern wings jutting out the sides.
It is said that he was a compassionate, yet stern figure whose faith was so true he was able to perform miracles. He is the father of Saint Cethleann.
Faith… performing miracles? Byleth knew faith was certainly an element of magic, and had his students studying it, but this intrigued him. Perhaps his loyalty and faith in the goddess granted him this ability? He would have to ask Lysithea sometime.
As he draped the cloth along Cichol's face, he was drawn to how handsome the brass figure's features were. His eyes stern, his face chiseled, his lips confidence radiating like the reflections off the metal…
Without much thought, Byleth intertwined his fingers with those of Cichol's extended hand, taking hold of the other that grasped the spear, as if they were dancing. He began humming a tune that was reminiscent of the church bell's chimes as he imagined the two of them waltzing across the reception hall together, gazing longingly into each other's eyes, inching closer and closer together…
"PROFESSOR! What, praytell, in the goddess's name are you doing defiling the statue of Saint Cichol?!" Seteth's voice boomed through the small room.
Byleth froze, lips locked with the statue, face hotter than the sun, too embarrassed to turn around to face him.
"Professor, I demand an answer this instant!" Seteth commanded.
Quick under pressure, Byleth answered as stone-faced as he could muster, "Flayn asked for me to tend to the statues. Saint Cichol looked like he needed some extra attention, and I obliged."
Seteth flushed, hearing his true name associated with needing dances and kisses. What an absolutely ridiculous idea.
Squeeizng his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose, Seteth remarked, "If you are quite finished Saint Cichol here, see to it that you finish your task and clean Saint Cethleann's statue, as well. However, if I catch wind of you defiling her statue in any way, there will be extreme consequences."
Seteth's about-face was poignant, his cape breaking the air loudly as he huffed out of the small room, his fingers absentmindedly traveling upwards to brush across his lips.