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Chapter Text

Enbarr’s Imperial Palace. A small silhouette rushes through the empty corridors with purpose. Quick, quiet steps. The boy knows where he’s heading and why. With no courtesans scheming in the hallways and no guards on patrol, his discretion seems almost superfluous in the oppressing silence. There is no one to stop his unflinching walk past the grand windows which let in the sunset sun. There, even his hair blends in the twilight. Suddenly, he stops at an intersection, peeks left and right, and satisfied with his observations, proceeds.

Part of himself screams for him to go back. It is ignored.

The boy has been told countless times to stop snooping around; his conscience won’t hold him back now. He presses on, wary of the unnatural silence that surrounds him, ready to pounce on him with hidden daggers and agendas… Thankfully, he knows his way around the palace. Minutes pass by in an instant – he’s already arrived. The double door stands as the last obstacle between him and his goal. Though it isn’t as much of a challenge as one may think. The boy confidently reaches for the handle and closes his eyes to visualise something in his mind’s eye. A familiar green halo envelops his hand before the Crest of Cichol flashes and fades from view. The door opens with a soft click.

Indeed, that door can be opened by anyone bearing that particular Crest. But for how rare it is, there is no danger of anyone outside the Prime Minister’s closest circle to enter. Like his first-born legitimate son, for example. What an outrageous thought. A true noble wouldn’t sneak inside their esteemed father’s office, would he? The young intruder doesn’t care about monikers and slips inside the office completely unnoticed.

The boy briefly scans the room basking in an ominous scarlet glow. There is nothing unusual about the ostentatious decoration cluttering the room. Moved by an unknown purpose, he walks without pause to an opaque display cabinet on the right side of the imposing desk. He crouches down to look under the display and retrieves a key taped under it, as if he had rehearsed it many times before. Then, he stands on his tiptoes to open the cabinet.

The cabinet doors creak open; at first, the smell of iron and rust grates the back of his throat, so he squeezes his eyes shut in displeasure, before reopening them for the pulsating light to reveal the cabinet’s contents.

A dozen colourful butterflies are nailed to the back panel through their stomach. But, looking closer, the bodies don’t have enough limbs to be actual insects. Two dangling legs, two limp arms. He focuses harder. The red light seems to drip from the small bodies, face hanging down, unrecognizable. Part of him vaguely feels he ought to react in horror, but his body is already reaching out to free one of those poor creatures. It is still moving–

“What have we here?”

A jolt goes down his spine before he slowly turns around – he knows that voice. Dread pools in his limbs like lead. He can’t run, not that it would make a difference. It’s over.

His father looms over him, gaze cold and distant, making him feel as insignificant as an ant. The Prime Minister’s dwarfs his puny form from above. His small, insignificant, powerless form from which black and yellow wings sprouted. Now reduced to the size of the other winged humanoids, his tiny arms can’t fight the giant lifting him in his fist. Then the hand opens and he is slammed against the wood panel, limbs flailing to break free. A silver glimmer is the only warning before pain strikes him like thunder in his abdomen.

Blinding agony freezes his limbs mid-motion. He can’t cry out for his breath is mercilessly taken away. The world is flipped upside-down, his mind shoved around like coins in a piggy bank. Nonsensical scenes flash before his eyes – a battle in the woods, a town ablaze, a cathedral collapsing, a slaughter on a river bridge, corpses piled up in a cell. This isn’t the time and place for such memories.

But his feelings overlap. Anguish, fear, revolt. His body writhes with bittersweet familiarity. Yes. The pain feels as real as the real deal. The nail skewers him like any lance would. Memories leak into that nightmare he can’t run from.

“No more snooping around, understood?” says the distant voice of Duke Aegir.

The cabinet doors close on his futile struggle.

…

His mind can’t decide on making the dark cabinet hot or cold in this dying dream. Eventually, the trivial logical inconsistency infuriates him enough to force the sequence of events to flash forward. Why dwell on the terror of dying in a locked room when you can conveniently skip it? Regardless of the elapsed time, his situation is still dire. Death is near.

It comes as no surprise that night has fallen when the cabinet doors open again. Lukewarm blue blood runs down his legs. Cramps pin him in place as surely as the nail tearing his insides apart. Exhaustion numbs his body and mind.

The young teen painfully lifts his head, hoping his ordeal would come to an end. Unfortunately, his hopes are dashed again when a pair of glowing green eyes look him up and down like prey on the cutting board. A gloved hand reaches toward him like a claw, presses him against the wall without bothering to leave him some breathing room, and proceeds to take out the metal pin holding him captive in one go.

Blue goo pours out of his wound, although no sound escapes his exhausted lungs. Pulled by the collar, the teen’s body dangles in the air for a few confusing seconds where he notices the bodies in the cabinet have all gone still. He falls on the man’s open palm. Unfeeling eyes stare down at him and in an instant, the butterfly wings in his back are ripped from his flesh.

Even though the boy slumps down in a pool of midnight blood, the sheer menace in the man’s eyes keeps him painfully awake. And before his world fades into darkness, the man speaks, his voice crystal-clear.

“Promise me, Ferdinand.”

___

Imperial Year 118?, ?? Moon

The words rippled across the flow of time to haunt the dreams of the noblest of nobles. Every time, they startled him out of his nightmare and left him in confused horror. Ferdinand had long given up on making sense of dream symbolism, although in his opinion, bees would have made more sense than butterflies, just to twist the knife further. Still, he found the colour of his imaginary wings darkly entertaining.

Ferdinand tentatively laid on his side to distance himself from the dream. In the darkness, he could barely make out the furniture of the room. Bit by bit, the warmth of the cover calmed his heart. He looked over his shoulders at Bernadetta, still sound asleep – she was used to him tossing and turning a lot in his sleep. Nothing struck him as out of the ordinary. He had to calm down.

But his mind was still racing. Part of that dream was, as terrifying as it was to admit, real. He remembered the death threat in that man’s eyes, his tone that chilled him to the bone. The exact words he pronounced as well as the knowledge of the answer he gave him, despite it being disturbingly cut out from this nightmarish recollection. Ever since the fall of Garreg Mach, that incomplete memory always came back to haunt him on moonlit nights.

Curling up in his bed, Ferdinand searched through his memories again, to no avail.

What did I promise Marquis Vestra?

Chapter Text

Imperial Year 1180

If someone had told Byleth a fortnight ago that she would become Professor at a noble’s academy, she might have let a rare laugh escape her lips.

Now that reality had proven to be wilder than fiction, she had to answer the Archbishop’s question. Which House would she teach? Honestly, each class presented a fair challenge. Thankfully, Manuela seemed to sense her discomfort and came to the rescue. She was an interesting woman, for sure, one who had led many lives.

“Don’t be afraid. Even if these students are meant to lead their nation one day, they are merely students today.”

“And yet, all of them deserve the best learning experience”, said Hanneman. “Please, choose the House you feel you can teach the best.”

“Ugh, Hanneman, how insensitive can you be? Give her some reassurance!”

They were getting side-tracked. Byleth tried to ask something else.

“I know very little about the Houses. Which one would you like to pick?” she offered.

The former mercenary made a terrible, terrible mistake. Both sides had strong opinions and no patience to hear the other out. Once the argument started, even Rhea could do nothing but wait for the storm to pass. For the next fifteen minutes or so, Byleth just stared blankly at the Archbishop, who was surely questioning the very meaning of life and the universe itself for putting them through this.

They did reach a compromise at last. Manuela wanted to take her former pupil, Dorothea, under her wing again, while Hanneman was interested in the graduates of the Royal School of Sorcery, Annette and Mercedes. Both were from the Empire, but it only helped make their choice abundantly clearer. The Crest Scholar wanted to study new Crests and the Divine Songstress wished to reconnect with Adrestian gossip. Many moons later, Byleth would learn how Hanneman had renounced his peerage in the Empire and avoided its nobles like the plague. (And although their quirky personalities hid it well, they were incredible teachers too. Hanneman nurtured the Blue Lions’ latent talent in sorcery while Manuela developed the passions of her Black Eagles with an open mind.)

Once the professors had cooled down, they pointed out how Byleth’s experience would be beneficial to the nobles and merchants of the Alliance who often hired mercenaries. In the back of her mind, she did want to get to know Leonie, the unlikely apprentice her father had taken in and failed to mention for years. All things considered, it was a pretty satisfying arrangement. Rhea politely recapped their choice.

“So for this year, Manuela will teach the Black Eagles House. Hanneman will teach the Blue Lions House. And our new Professor, Byleth, will be in charge of the Golden Deer. Do you have any objection?”

Although her sweet and serene voice held no particular threat, the three professors most hurriedly confirmed the Houses’ assignments.

___

On that day, Byleth’s fate was put into motion. She embraced her life as the teacher of the “House of Schemes” and, as the months went by, came to love every one of her students. Her interests turned into hobbies. Gardening, fishing, drinking tea, all ways to get to know her students better, to spend time with Jeralt, to let go of her days as the dreaded Ashen Demon.

She taught Claude how to command a battalion, and he taught her something even more valuable in return (while making poisons in is dorm room, but that wasn’t the point). “When devising schemes, it’s best to have as many options at your disposal as possible.” She decided to put his words into action and to learn about all the students beyond her class.

Sadly, she only found that resolve after witnessing Ashe’s distress after asking him to help their class the month they fought off a rebellion. Against his own adoptive father. For the first time in her life, Byleth felt numbing guilt and regret. She vowed to actively seek out her students’ “secrets” in advance so she could better protect them.

The following month, Byleth and Claude didn’t fall for the letter planted on Lord Lonato and chose to patrol the Holy Mausoleum during the Goddess’s Rite of Rebirth. She bribed Bernadetta into helping her House with cakes carefully chosen by Lysithea and slowly earned her trust. Hearing her story, Byleth felt rage and protectiveness. Sothis looked proud, if a bit puzzled by the Sword of the Creator so quickly entrusted to her ward.

Byleth’s return to reality was a brutal one. Unaware of the importance of Crests, she asked Sylvain to come to Conand Tower the following month. He would persuade his brother to surrender peacefully and… That plan seemed grotesque now. They only confessed their undying resentment before Miklan turned into a monster. She never saw Sylvain mourn him, but how could he forget such a horrifying sight?

“When devising schemes, it’s best to have as many options at your disposal as possible.” She repeated the wise words that had escaped her favourite prankster’s lips. So she delved into the mysteries surrounding her students. Speaking of big brothers, she finally heard about Glenn Fraldarius and… She had brushed up her History of Faerghus after the Lonato affair. But this… No one in the Kingdom seemed to be able to properly mourn their dead since the Tragedy. It made the visit to her mother’s grave with Jeralt all the more special.

When Flayn went missing, the Professor frantically began searching for clues. A myriad of emotions budded in her heart: anger at the racist priest accusing Dedue, amusement at Linhardt’s sarcasm and Ferdinand’s tales, pride in Felix for noticing a key information… While they were playing detectives, Manuela actually figured out the mystery all by herself and ran to save Seteth’s little sister. Running out of time, Byleth walked right into the lion’s den with her students – and Caspar, who was passing by. If not for the enigmatic Flame Emperor’s interruption, Lysithea might have gotten answers from the Death Knight. No matter. Flayn returned safely to them, Seteth was obviously relieved, and it warmed Byleth’s heart more than the thought of revenge.

Half a year passed in the blink of an eye. Byleth had a newfound respect for the teachers, including Seteth who was always busy counselling students (like the only sane adult he was in the Monastery). The professors frequently exchanged classes, and the former mercenary took it upon herself to go on surprise field assignments. The heated adventures of Ingrid and Dorothea left tongues wagging for weeks. Finally, the Three Houses’ rivalry ended with a fanciful feast after the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. The Golden Deer won against all odds, save for Alois betting on his favourite professor’s House. She couldn’t help but smile.

After the battle, she overheard Lord Arundel and Dimitri back at Garreg Mach. The prince admitted to feeling relieved he didn’t have to fight his stepsister during the mock battles thanks to Byleth’s quick tactics. Amused, the Professor thought about how wrong Claude was about Edelgard’s and Dimitri’s relationship. Even a schemer couldn’t predict the unpredictable, it seemed.

Now driven by a true sense of camaraderie, the students split up to help quell three uprisings in Duscur, Gautier and Fraldarius. The ongoing crisis in the Kingdom did raise a few eyebrows, but mercenary life had taught Byleth not to question the perpetual state of unrest Fódlan seemed to be locked in. All things considered, unrest might have been the best way to describe this month as increasingly alarming reports came from Remire Village…

Remire was the only place Byleth could call home. It was the mercenaries’ home base since she was a toddler, and the one time she got injured and was put on dull accounting duty, the villagers pampered her while Jeralt went to work in the Alliance. There, he changed the course of Leonie’s life.

It truly was a dear, fateful place. Edelgard and Dimitri offered to tag along for this mission. Their help was welcome, so Byleth indulged the House leaders.

But now, her home was burning. The loving villagers were killing each other. Tomas turned out to be a monstrous puppet. In the midst of this chaos, the Flame Emperor promised retribution, but how could Byleth believe them?... After the tragedy, she couldn’t find the words to console the orphans in Garreg Mach. Instead, she resolved to teach them swordplay with Dimitri. It obviously didn’t keep their mind off things. Next time, I won’t watch helplessly, was what the kids truly thought.

The despair was quickly swept under the rug, though. Winter decorations and dances soon overcame Garreg Mach Monastery, pulling even the most morose of students into the festive mood. As soon as Byleth realised the White Heron Cup was a dance competition, even her worries flew out the window to find the perfect candidate. She hesitated between the girls – the boys were absolutely out of the question: Claude would find a way to pull a prank, Lorenz had two left feet and too little time to practice, Raphael had too much presence and no elegance, and Ignatz would get stage fright. For similar reasons, she didn’t want to pressure Marianne too fast as she was coming out of her shell and practicing her smile with Sylvain. Hilda had all the qualities required of a dancer, but she was only trying to slack off on weeding duty for the month. On the other hand, Leonie had little interest in the skillset of powdered nobles and preferred to train to make her village proud. With little alternative, Byleth finally settled on Lysithea – a good choice nonetheless. The mage needed to take a break from studying and enjoy her youth, plus she proved quite handy with a sword. But despite their efforts, Dorothea owned the dancefloor, leaving even her competitors, Annette and Lysithea, breathless. Still, the Professor considered the operation a success: no one would dare treat Lysithea like a child after seeing her dance so gracefully.

On the night of the ball, Byleth left the festivities to watch the stars from the Goddess Tower. There might have been rumours circulating about the place, but she didn’t pay them much attention. Once she leaned on the balcony, she was surprised to find Edelgard gazing at the stars too. The regal princess let down her mask to recount the story of how her parents supposedly met there, all these years ago. True, it sounded like a fairy tale… but fiction imitated life, didn’t it? Nevertheless, the Professor was delighted to find this romantic side to the model House leader. It was such a lovely night… As she went back to her quarters, she overheard the Archbishop singing a nostalgic tune on the Star Terrace. She listened in for longer that she ought to have, pulled in by the strangely familiar melody. Sothis’s memories stirred, and the night ended on a whimsical note.

___

Tragedy strikes when she least expects it.

Byleth turns back the hands of time, once, twice, ten times, to no avail. Her tears flow unbidden, a sob wracks her body for the first time. She clings to Jeralt’s body, his imposing yet calming presence the only constant in her life.

“You are just a pathetic old man.”

The foul words ring in her ears. Nothing could be farther from the truth.

He is her hero. He is the pinnacle of chivalry. He is her father.

He was.

Byleth mourns her father for an entire week before she gathers the strength to follow his parting words, one month ago, and visits his office. There, she finds the ring he wished to pass onto her. Sothis gently pushes her to look further. The hidden cache reveals the Captain of the Knights’ journal, its last entry dating back around 21 years ago.

She is too numb to feel anything for the truth of her origins. All she sees in this delicate handwriting is a father’s unconditional love for a silent new-born without a heartbeat. Paradoxically, her heart aches even more.

When Claude asks to read her father’s journal, she hands it over wordlessly. Of all people, she has come to trust the “embodiment of distrust” the most in the Monastery.

And when he returns the journal, he calls her “Friend” for the first time.

Sothis spots Byleth’s first smile in weeks.

Byleth needs power to avenge her father’s murderer. Caught in a whirlwind of feelings she has yet to learn how to name, she is blinded by revenge. Edelgard and Dimitri’s steadfast support only exacerbates her obsession.

In her quest for answers and power, she marches alone to Zanado, the Red Canyon. To her surprise, her Golden Dears follow her and come to her rescue. She was foolish, just like Manuela when she followed the trail of the something-knights. She promises her students to wait for her chance to strike. Hanneman looked unconvinced.

Her chance comes much quicker than expected. One month after Jeralt’s demise, they find Monica in the Sealed Forest. All three houses of students volunteer to avenge the Blade Breaker. Byleth’s heart swells.

Maybe she’s learned nothing. She’s just become a teacher, after all.

She literally runs into Solon’s trap.

She feels nothing but horror when the dark mage plunges his hand in Kronya’s chest, ripping out her beating heart to harness the power to unleash the Forbidden Spell of Zahras.

There is no escape.

Only darkness.

Chapter Text

Imperial Year 1180, Guardian Moon

They had expected this battle to be a trap. The demonic beasts and otherworldly mages cemented their fears. Nevertheless, they had promised to assist their eccentric Professor in her quest for revenge.

Claude marvelled at the impossible enigma that was Byleth. A mercenary without any knowledge of the Church of Seiros had become the sole wielder of the Sword of the Creator, and perhaps most surprisingly, a competent and beloved teacher at the Officers Academy. Her blue sea eyes held no malice, and once you learned to recognise the tell-tale signs, she actually showed her emotions pretty openly. For a schemer like him, Byleth was a friend worth fighting for. The eclectic Golden Deer House thought the same. They all followed her into the sealed forest.

But to their surprise, when the time came to investigate the enemy sighting, the Black Eagles and Blue Lions promptly volunteered for this impromptu mission, along with Professor Hanneman. The possibility that it was all a trap didn’t deter them in the slightest.

It wasn’t all that surprising. This year had brought the students of all three Houses closer than ever before. Members of the Black Eagles kept getting involved in their crazy shenanigans and the Blue Lions had a friendly disposition toward the Golden Deer. Granted, Eagles and Lions still kept their distance, but they seemed to find a neutral ground when resting on the peaceful antlers of the Golden Deer.

Still, this strange alliance went beyond newfound friendships and sympathy for the Professor. Claude could almost believe in Dimitri’s rightful lie, yet something wasn’t right. The other House leaders had been far too quick to pledge their sword to Byleth following her father’s death. It was merely a gut instinct, but both Edelgard and Dimitri must have had a hidden agenda.

He was unknowingly spot on.

It all came down to the Remire Calamity.

The flames grazing his cheeks. The shadowy figures sowing death in their wake, to the tune of a cacophony of agony. The innocents crying out from beyond a veil of heat.

It was another Tragedy. Same perpetrators, same innocent victims. Sky and earth burning with unfeeling cruelty.

He came all this way for revenge. It was all a twisted joke. His enemies, lining up before him on a platter, killing the people he grew to care about once more. But he wasn’t a powerless child anymore. It was high time he avenged the fallen.

It was all a game of cat and mouse, where the hunter became the hunted. Whenever she thought she knew what was coming, every time she tried to pull her strings, the puppet masters shocked her with new atrocities.

Noble crested children weren’t enough to satisfy their lust for power, it seemed. They turned to the vilest of experiments: one with no expected result but unfathomable pain for their test subjects.

She needed to get answers, leverage… trusted allies. Anything to put a leash on her burdensome “partners”.

And so, they all fought on.

___

While Byleth charged ahead with the Golden Deer, the other Houses dealt with the bulk of the reinforcements. On the right flank, the Blue Lions assumed their usual positions with Dedue holding the frontline, followed by the lancers and the lone swordsman.

“Slay those wicked beasts!” ordered Dimitri, wildly pointing at Demonic Beasts and black-robed mages.

“Team up and never underestimate an unknown opponent”, tempered Hanneman, who was setting up a gambit boost with Ashe and Annette.

Mercedes provided back-up from the relative safety of the forest. Meanwhile, the Black Eagles awaited Edelgard’s instructions. The Adrestian princess raised her voice.

“We’re taking the left flank. Petra, get that chest. Ferdinand, Caspar and I will fight on the frontline. Hubert, you back me up. Bernadetta, you stay behind Ferdinand. Dorothea, you will assist Caspar. Linhardt, get up and stop leaning on that tree!”

“Oh, should I wake him up?” Mercedes offered between two Physic spells.

“Nah, he’s just resting his eyes!” Caspar laughed it off.

“Surely you jest?” Edelgard said while sporting a menacing glare. “We cannot count on Professor Manuela’s guidance or healing. I need you all to stay focused on the battle ahead.” Their teacher was busy resupplying the infirmary after this eventful year, and they all had left for the Sealed Forest too abruptly for her to tag along.

And so they were off to a great start. The other Houses were already tearing through the enemy while they were still going over their battle plan.

“I will get the victory,” Petra boasted before setting off on her own.

Edelgard took a deep breath. “What are you all waiting for? We must prevail!”

The rest of the class finally moved out, ready to destroy the first Demonic Beast.

___

Claude cursed himself for not foreseeing the tragedy unfolding before him. The Professor’s stoic face hid roaring anger, which he shouldn’t have underestimated.

And now she was gone. Swallowed by… what was even that? Purple flames, a mist of darkness, an abomination summoned from whichever secret Kronya’s beating heart – ripped out of her chest! – held.

The foul mage smirked at the sky. “Be gone with you… Fell Star.”

Solon looked pleased, too pleased with himself. Claude wanted nothing but to skewer him with arrows… so he cooled his head. Unless he could gather information, there was no saving Teach from her terrible lapse in judgement. Fortunately, the Golden Deer instinctively rallied behind him to confront the dark mage.

“Wh-what was that? Where did you go, Professor?!” Hilda asked first.

“They were swallowed by the mystical darkness of the forbidden spell,” Solon gloated. “An eternity wandering in a void of nothingness, never to return to this world… To think we almost had the Sword of the Creator…”

“I don’t believe anything you say!” Lysithea cut him off with a raised fist, ready to argue – and blast some foes. “Our Professor is still alive!”

“That’s right,” Flayn concurred, “our Professor is no ordinary human!”

Claude was endlessly proud of his classmates. Shrugging off the old man’s threats, he added: “I refuse to believe that Teach would die in a place like this.”

Interestingly, Solon didn’t start cackling about futile hopes or the like. Instead, he lightly tapped his neon blue staff, as if the wrong answer was testing his elderly patience. It made their skin crawl at how wrong it was. “It is possible that death has yet to find your friend,” the dark bishop wilfully admitted, “but there are worse things than death.” He put a hand to his chin, basking in his victory. “Drifting through the darkness with no chance of escape… Eh eh eh… Overwhelmed with hopelessness… It must be torturous.”

There it was, the evil cackling. Claude barely maintained his composure. “Hey, all I hear is good news,” he joyfully retorted. “Teach is still alive, obviously.”

Down the hill, Edelgard didn’t have the time to warn the Golden Deer. Don’t provoke them, she internally pleaded. There was no telling what Those Who Slither in the Dark might do with so many future leaders gathered in one place… They might just decide to wipe out everyone that stood in their way, Children of the Goddess and noble scions alike… Unfortunately, no one could read her mind, save maybe for Hubert. And they couldn’t stand out so close to their objective. Apprehension flooding her mind, the leader of the Black Eagles extended her hand to order her classmates to stand still.

Unfortunately for the Adrestian princess, Claude wasn’t the only one with a bone to pick with the likes of Solon. Hanneman was mighty pissed about nearly losing his hot-headed colleagues to baseless rumours and obvious traps. Behind him, the honourable students of the Blue Lions house were already raising their weapons rather than their voices like the Golden Deer did. Emboldened by their teacher’s presence, they stood by the Deer – and their stances made it abundantly clear that peace was not an option.

Still, as much as Edelgard wanted Solon to pay for the atrocities he gleefully committed in Remire village, they had all walked into a trap. Now was the time to fall back. But… To send the Professor into an endless void of lonely agony… She couldn’t deny the urge to claim names right then and there.

It was a foolish hope, but she tried to attract Dimitri’s attention, her fellow house leader and last authority figure able to defuse the situation or stall for time. To her surprise, he did look in her direction for approval. Unfortunately, history had a way to repeat itself in the most ironic ways possible. When Claude had fled the bandit attack at the start of the year, Dimitri had naïvely followed him, blind to potential threats lying in the dark. This time, he would fight Solon and avenge the Professor alongside his class.

Like the bell ringing on the dot, Claude would throw her plans off the rails, Dimitri would blindly – or so she thought – follow him, and she would have to play along for the sake of keeping up appearances. Again. Nevertheless, she knew she was asking for trouble; after all, the Professor wasn’t there to save them anymore…

Resigned, Edelgard curtly nodded her support to Dimitri for if – when – Solon would call for deadly reinforcements.

Then, without his smile faltering, she watched Claude’s gaze turn murderous. “And if that’s true, then there’s only one thing to do. We’ll defeat you while we wait for Teach’s triumphant return!”

“Prepare yourself,” Leonie gritted between her teeth, ready to slaughter. “We will avenge our leader here and now!”

The Golden Deer girls in particular were about to snap. Edelgard fount a bit of solace in Hubert’s irritated eye roll. This battle was going to suck for everyone involved, and there was nothing they could do to stop it from happening.

“How trite. But if you wish for pain, I shall oblige,” Solon said with a gravelly drawl, like a vulture drawn to the scent of blood. “If you prefer it so, you shall also be added to the ranks of the dead!”

Edelgard’s blood ran cold. In this forest of death, only she was safe.

___

The battle turned into a mess just as Edelgard had predicted.

Raphael, Ignatz, Lorenz, Leonie, and Flayn charged ahead and split up from the rest of the Golden Deer. While they could hold their own, this increased the workload on Claude and Hilda to keep Lysithea and Marianne, their squishiest members, unharmed. From Claude’s perspective, splitting up on an unknown battlefield was asking for trouble, but fate had other ways to taunt him. The enemy never overwhelmed his friends – a stray beast sneaked on Lysithea instead. Caught by surprise, the young mage struggled to cast Seraphim on time, dodged once, readied her spell again… and was promptly shoved to the ground by Professor Hanneman who was sent flying by the demonic beast in her place. She screamed as the professor rolled to the roadside, leaving a trail of blood on impact.

Dimitri roared a battle cry and charged with complete abandon into the enemy’s ranks, tactics be damned. Suffice to say, this incident destabilised Claude’s team and left the Blue Lions without any reliable leader. There wasn’t a single adult commander left.

Most students banded together to stand their ground on the plaza where Byleth had disappeared. Unable to catch up with his master, Dedue helped the Golden Deer girls carry Professor Hanneman to a safer place where they tended to his wounds, thankfully shallower than expected. Still, the older man was stunned and bruised from the ragdoll treatment. Trying to survey the battlefield, he counted Claude, Hilda, Lysithea, and Marianne from the Golden Deer, and Dedue alone from the Blue Lions. It made for a balanced team, yet it wasn’t reassuring. The four missing Deers were fighting ahead, and he had no idea what the others were up to. Almost two houses out of view…

For the students of Faerghus, abandoning Dimitri wasn’t so much of a choice as it was a neccessity. Armoured foes blocked off their path, shields raised as high as iron walls. Without Dedue or the Prince, they couldn’t break through! And yet, fighting as one, the Blue Lions managed to fend off waves of enemies. Ashe crippled massive threats Annette could safely take down in one hit, Mercedes healed their injuries as they came. Thanks to his mobility, Sylvain covered the grounds and intercepted the assassins with a lance to the face. Felix’s footwork shone like the blade he planted in many a foe’s ribs. Ingrid swooped down on unsuspecting enemies from the skies and retreated just as swiftly.

They were all focused on the role they had to play. They gave it their all. But without Dimitri and Dedue, any competent enemy could exploit the glaring weakness in their strategy. Who guarded their rear? Who had their long-ranged fighters’ back?

The unassuming tactical genius of the Blue Lions easily saw through the enemies’ movements. No way in Hell he would let that happen. Knightly and brotherly instincts mixed with the rush of adrenaline.

The Blue Lions gasped. Felix and Ingrid screamed.

Sylvain jumped in the way of incoming arrows.

Overwhelmed by reinforcements, the situation was quite dire for the Black Eagles who had broken formation back in the forest. On the frontlines, Edelgard’s vision narrowed, leaving vulnerable allies in her blindspot. Almost as War incarnate, she felled the masked foes without hesitation. As always, her shadow moved with her; miasma and flies exploded in purple blotches of corrosive magic, followed with a satisfied sneer. She would never tire of seeing those bastards fall under Hubert’s spells.

Another high-pitched shriek betrayed Bernadetta’s position – allowing Petra to come to her rescue. Edelgard noticed Linhardt camouflaging himself in the bushes and throwing her a distant heal. With a grateful nod, she went back to work.

In her haste, she forgot to look back for the students lagging behind.

Isolated, Caspar and Ferdinand fought the dark mages back-to-back. Sidestepping puddles of blood and purple poison, the two nobles swung axe and lance with dexterity, keenly aware that missing wasn’t an option in their situation. Behind them, Dorothea poured her heart and soul into her dancing to keep them ahead of the enemies’ movements. Red and white sparkles of Fire and Faith floated around the wrists of the Adrestian icon whenever she found an opening to support her classmates, but it was only a matter of time before they run out of weapons or energy.

So when the clearing finally fell into silence once again, all enemies slain, the three exchanged a single nod before running or galloping back to their group. Bernadetta’s cries and Hubert’s grandiloquent magic display clearly indicated the direction to take.

They were almost there when Caspar ran out of breath. Mere metres ahead, Petra, Bernie and Linhardt were cornered…

“I’ve got you!” Dorothea said with an impeccable twirl. A confident smile, smooth choreography; nothing in her form betrayed the pain she felt from the blisters on her feet. So focused yet tired, she missed the flash of light coming from the altar.

Caspar shouted her a thank you before running back into the fray to help out Petra’s group. While Dorothea was taking a deep breath before returning to the battle, she caught a glimpse of movement in the leftmost corner of her eyes – a paladin’s shadow.

Charging straight at her.

She tried to step back, losing her balance when she stumbled on a cloaked corpse. Unable to move, Dorothea watched the rider aim a thunder spear of unknown design to her chest.

It all happened in a blur.

He jumped in the way, shielding her from harm with raised lance and shield. Atop his destrier, her unlikely saviour was the very image of a gallant knight.

“I won’t allow it!” Ferdinand challenged the masked paladin, deliberately blocking the way.

From the sound of hooves hammering the ground, Dorothea knew the enemy still charged forward. She got up, trying to warn him.

The paladin aimed the magic spear at Ferdinand who assumed a defensive stance to parry the oncoming blow, raising his shield in front of him and sitting straight in his stirrups to protect both himself and Dorothea. Right then and there, nothing went as they expected. The buzzing spear flew towards Ferdinand’s chest and ripped along his shield, deviating its course without losing momentum.

He gasped as the air was blown out of his lungs. His lance fell to the ground and rolled out of reach. Unstoppable, the magic spear pierced through Ferdinand’s abdomen with such force it dismounted him. Stunned, Dorothea watched her classmate land next to her in the dirt, skewered by the unknown weapon. This couldn’t be happening. Fury coursing through her veins, she finally understood the Professor’s desire for revenge.

An eye for an eye. To the thunder spear, she answered with a devastating Thoron which left the mysterious paladin a fuming pile of molten iron. Her focus shifted immediately back to her fallen classmate, paralyzed to the ground with a foreign lance in his stomach. She stumbled to his side, shaken not to hear a sound coming from him.

The spear’s crackling dulled with the light in Ferdinand’s eyes. Dorothea held his face into her hands, his ashen complexion far from his usual sun-kissed looks. Like a dying flame, he coughed up blood like so many embers.

Ferdinand’s eyes locked with hers in a desperate attempt to convey something his dying lungs refused to spit out.

“I’m safe Ferdie! I’ll save you now!” she teared up, channelling her white magic into her fingertips. “Please hold on…”

Dorothea started sobbing. She couldn’t pull the lance from his abdomen nor heal him; all she could do was watch as his life leaked out, red like the opera curtains, in her arms, all over her blood-soaked sleeves. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Ferdinand’s hand jolt slightly, and glanced back to his face. He was choking on blood and winced as every painful cough moved the spear deeper in his entrails. And yet… the hurt in his eyes was nothing compared to the silent apology he gave her. His gaze, filled with unshed tears, was sorely focused on her. More blood poured from his lips.

Reflexively, she poured her magic into his chest. He couldn’t fall here, not like this, not for her. The noble son of House Aegir, dying for a mere orphan girl? It just wasn’t possible. He still had his life ahead of him, annoying bee as he may be. He was Edelgard’s sterling rival, a proud and – perhaps – genuine noble. He had promised her a cup of tea after she had won the White Heron Cup – and for once in her life, she looked forward to tea time with a nobleman.

Dorothea took a deep breath to cast another Heal spell and found herself staring into a pair of glassy eyes.

“No… Please, no!”

___

Claude was the first to spot the light. As if on cue, a fierce wind picked up, flowing toward that breach. Battle stopped on the plaza and all eyes turned toward the centre of the altar.

It was like a tear through space and time. A fissure filled with a blinding golden light. An empty eye socket opening the way to the deepest abyss. An anomaly.

A miracle.

The Professor, glowing Sword of the Creator in hand, emerged from the jagged breach. She landed in the grass, majestic and divine, haloed in green and gold like a Saint reborn. Calm and confident, she strode toward the wretched mage who thought, in his hubris, that he could ever contain the “Fell” Star.

With Byleth’s return, the tides of battle turned into the students’ favour. Up ahead, the Golden Deer students who had opened up a path beckoned her. Without wasting a second, the Professor followed the group led by Lorenz to put an end to Solon once and for all.

___

The Professor’s return moved the fight toward the hill, leaving some breathing room to the Black Eagles and Blue Lions.

On the Adrestian side, everyone looked around to check on each other. As a healer and scholar, Linhardt scanned everyone for injuries. When Caspar gave him a reassuring thumbs up, he started looking for the missing Black Eagles.

Instead, he heard Dorothea wail. Alarmed, he dashed with surprising speed toward the sound. Just a few steps back, at the clearing… Linhardt ran as fast as he did to escape Ferdinand’s training drills which ironically made him such a strong runner. It only took a few seconds – not enough to prepare him for the sight that awaited him.

Linhardt took a quick look at the commotion… and immediately regretted it. All this blood… It couldn’t be. Ferdinand wasn’t… As a wave of nausea threatened to send him reeling in the bushes, Caspar soothingly put a hand on his shoulder, grounding him back in the present. Gently, he turned him away and pointed at another cluster of students. “Go help them and send us their healer,” he ordered.

Linhardt didn’t have to be asked twice: he’d never been so glad to rely on his best friend’s instinct. Anything to take his mind off the sight he just glimpsed. On wobbling legs, he went to the Blue Lions and faintly motioned Mercedes to replace him.

It had to be a nightmare.

___

The fighting was coming to a close and they had prevailed against all odds. Hubert looked around to gauge the state of his classmates, when a cry for help caught his attention. He immediately rushed toward Dorothea whose voice was dripping with panic and trembling with tears. After dashing toward the commotion, Linhardt was now running away. Caspar charged toward the altar for help. That didn’t look good.

“Dorothea? What hap–” he started to ask, only for the words to escape his mind all at once before the sobering, gruesome sight in front of him. The songstress was drenched in blood and hunched over the lifeless form of their classmate, impaled with an Arrow of Indra.

But it wasn’t any classmate. A Black Eagle. Someone he had known longer than anyone, save for Lady Edelgard. And he… he just took a spear to the gut? From these vile slithering bastards? When he had looked away for two fucking minutes? Hubert swallowed, refusing to let his emotions take hold of him.

He failed miserably. Panic, anger, contempt, guilt… It swirled in his head, useless. Then he noticed the huge dent in Ferdinand’s shield, Dorothea’s tearful plea, and he felt both pride and heartache at the thought that, of course, the noble Ferdinand von Aegir would shield the one classmate who had so clearly voiced her distaste of him. This was what finally allowed his officer’s instinct to take over.

He realized Marianne and Mercedes had come over during his few seconds of blackout. Good, they would need any healer available.

Hubert unceremoniously stepped on Ferdinand to pull out the spear in one fell swoop, nodding at the healers to ready their spells as soon as he was done. There was no time to give more instructions. The three girls hummed in unison, perfectly focused.

The dark mage grabbed the thunder spear and pulled, pushing past the resistance to tear the flesh once more, and successfully took it out in one go. The alien weapon was thrown aside and, to his consternation, Ferdinand didn’t utter a sound nor moved a muscle as he was impaled backwards. Pressed by the time, Hubert fell to his knees, removed his glove and checked for a pulse. His fingers felt the faintest thump. There was no sign of breathing. Worst of all was the amount blood pooled under his body and staining the songstress’s clothes.

Ferdinand’s body had taken far too much damage. If the blood loss hadn’t already condemned him to a slow death, the magic residue should be boiling him from the inside. Hubert thought none of the kids in their class deserved to die in such pain. He had been ready for years to see Those Who Slither kill people he knew… Well, more people than before. Nevertheless, it was too soon, too sudden, too cruel. But he would do the deed. A quick, painless stab through the heart…

He looked up solemnly at Dorothea.

“It’s too late,” he said.

“No, we have to save him!” she pleaded.

Marianne’s healing spell washed over the noble’s gaping wound and, by some miracle, slowly stitched it back together. There was still life left in him, as evidenced by the clammy, yet warm skin under his gloved fingers. The two pairs of pleading eyes almost convinced him, but it was Mercedes’s unwavering determination that eventually broke his composure.

Fuck Arundel and his minions, he thought, bracing himself.

“I can try,” he told her, although his furrowed brows betrayed his uncertainty.

___

On the other side of the battlefield, another wounded classmate needed medical attention. While Ingrid worriedly kept an eye on the retreating foes, Felix held his hand in front of Sylvain’s eyes and asked the usual question about fingers. Something simple, really. However, the redhead winced and grimaced when his vision started to swim.

“Two and a half hands… th-that doesn’t sound right,” he huffed in pain, unable to find a cheeky reply.

He couldn’t tell if Felix was angry or worried anymore. Hell, he couldn’t remember his question at all… when would he see a smile on Felix’s face again?

“This is bad,” his childhood friend said to someone outside his field of vision.

“He fell pretty hard,” Annette anxiously recounted.

“I didn’t–” Sylvain stammered, a pounding headache stopping him dead in his tracks.

“Yes, you fell from your horse to defend Ashe and Annette. You aren’t a shield, you moron,” Felix hammered in. Funny, he thought, considering the glowing Relic on his back.

“I’m sorry,” said a distraught Ashe, not far from him. “I think I have a vulnerary…” Sylvain forced out a weak, unconvincing laugh. “Nah, I’m good.”

“Your head is bleeding!” Annette stepped in in a no-nonsense manner. No one dared questions her orders on the battlefield. Despite his willpower, Sylvain’s smiled faltered a bit. “I’ll heal what I can,” she said, casting her magic. However, the white sparkles gradually disappeared before her hands. She was exhausted.

“I’m sorry Sylvain! I’ll try something else, just… Wait please!” she apologised in a frenzy, looking for other remedies in her pockets.

Dark spots started appearing in his vision. Felix snapped his fingers too close for comfort, lifting the fog that threatened to overcome him.

“Stay with me,” Felix said, voice sharp but not bitter.

Sylvain tried to reassure him. He really did. Unfortunately, his tongue felt like lead and he barely moaned an answer. While his friends fussed over him, worry clear in their hastened speech, another male voice tersely cut them off. “I’ll take over,” the voice said.

The Gautier heir caught a glimpse of green hair and felt a cool drizzle wash away the pain in his skull. In fact, it felt so much better he fell asleep.

“Thanks, Linhardt,” Annette sighed with relief.

“What happened here?” he asked, stifling his nausea at the sight of a particularly large blood streak on Sylvain’s brow.

“We got caught off-guard and he protected us,” Ashe shamefully admitted. “Then a volley of arrows made him fall off his horse.”

“We’ll ask Professor Manuela if he got concussed or not,” Lin helpfully offered, though his unusual sensitivity immediately rang alarm bells in their heads.

“What about the Black Eagles? Did anyone get hurt?” Annette continued with her interrogation while Felix started bandaging Sylvain’s head.

“It’s… uh… urgh.”

They could see a frantic gathering behind the trees. Paired with Linhardt’s hesitation, they instinctively knew something had gone terribly wrong.

___

Dorothea had reached the limits of her healing magic. It was up to Mercedes and Marianne to save Ferdinand, should Hubert successfully resuscitate him.

Why did he put himself in harm’s way for a vulgar commoner? The gruesome scene played again and again before her eyes.

Meanwhile, Hubert started with chest compressions. Although unaware, Dorothea tapped to the rhythm, biting her lips. Mercedes didn’t wait for orders to cast another healing wave on Ferdinand. Marianne’s fingers were intertwined in a fervent prayer.

Dorothea had let go of her faith long go. But on this unlikely battlefield, she made a wish. For the one person who looked at her with absolute disgust years ago, but whose eyes died holding a sincere apology to her… to be saved.

___

In the meantime, Caspar had called the Black Eagles girls back.

“Where are the others?” the Imperial princess asked.

“Well, something happened,” he said, fidgeting and sweating at the same time.

“What–”

“I sent Linhardt away,” Caspar cut her off, a serious scowl plastered on his face. If he went that far, then…

“Did someone get hurt?” Bernadetta squeaked, hiding behind her bow.

“… Yes. This is serious,” he answered gravely. All the anger he felt toward the defeated enemy had turned into palpable dread.

“Show the way,” Petra urged him.

___

All things considered, physical training was essential, Hubert realised as he continued to pound Ferdinand’s chest with sore arms. His wounds were closed to the best of the students’ ability, the bleeding had stopped… if only he would breathe! Grinding his teeth, he pressed to the rhythm and cursed under his breath.

Hubert hadn’t lost his cool in public for years. Here ended that virtuous five-year streak. Fitting, since his last outburst had been at Ferdinand’s expense at the height of the Insurrection. Well, outburst was an understatement. Their fathers had found them in a blood-stained room trying to murder each other with bare fists, teeth and nails, whatever friendship they might have had as children irreparably broken. It filled his heart with complicated feelings he could easily ignore for five more years. Besides, Ferdinand might not live that long. Even with the precautions he took, he wasn’t sure any air got to his lungs with how much blood clogged his airways.

Again he tried to breathe some life into his lungs. That blasted tea fragrance was gone. Ferdinand smelled and tasted like iron. And contrary to what the rumours said, Hubert didn’t particularly crave blood. He spat it and, without catching his breath, pumped his chest…

He felt it before he heard it. A tremor in Ferdinand’s chest, then a heaving breath a last. The girls shouted something but Hubert kept staring, his hands still hovering over the body. However, it seemed to work. The noble coughed painfully, gargling on blood to swallow air as fast as he could. How excruciating could that be? But Ferdinand had one thing going for him: perseverance. And maybe a penchant to spite him and keep on living to Lady Edelgard’s detriment.

By some miracle… No, Hubert knew it was no otherworldly miracle. The young man came back to life thanks to everyone’s efforts and his own will. He coughed blood and choked and persevered while everyone stared in incredulous joy and horror, as if touching him would jinx him somehow.

After a few seconds, Ferdinand’s eyes snapped open, awakened by unfathomable pain… and closed just as quickly. Just as Hubert thought, his fate would be uncertain for quite some time. Now that he was more or less alive, the future Marquis Vestra coldly pondered the pros and cons of resuscitating Ferdinand. If he was to die in prolonged agony, then he did him a great disservice. And if he lived, he was likely to cause issues regarding Lady Edelgard’s plans.

“He would be better off dead,” he said curtly, the taste of blood lingering in his mouth like a mistake. The students didn’t realise what he truly meant.

No victory had ever felt so unpleasant. He shared a meaningful look with Her Highness who nodded gratefully in return. The other Black Eagles who had just arrived looked as shocked as he expected, yet she remained poised.

But Edelgard grimaced as soon as he turned away. She couldn’t quite shake the horror of seeing Ferdinand’s blood… everywhere… Memories of Hubert and Ferdinand in their youth danced before her eyes, so warm and innocent. A time when Hubert smiled still. A time when Ferdinand teamed up with her older brothers to prank her. Where did all that happiness go?

It had drowned in blood. Her family’s, and now Ferdinand’s. Unbidden flashes of her brother who bled out on the operating table resurfaced to her consciousness. She couldn’t bear to remember. Couldn’t fall apart here. So Edelgard buried all her feelings, the good and the bad, and thought about the future. The fair, painless, godless future she dreamed of. A goal, a path, that was all she needed. She looked around her, forced herself to live in the present – forget the past, don’t cry, walk forward.

Unfortunately, the present was just as unforgiving. The Professor had gotten her revenge, but at what cost? Her classmates looked haggard or sobbed hysterically over Ferdinand’s mangled body. The Blue Lions were hunched over Sylvain who only meekly showed signs of awareness, while Professor Hanneman’s wounds were tended to by Flayn and Lysithea. Up the hills, Claude and Hilda vainly tried to wake the Professor, who slumbered peacefully despite the drastic change in her appearance – and her self-rescue from the eternal darkness.

The soon-to-be Emperor wondered how Byleth and Ferdinand could have such a knack for throwing a wrench into her plans. For now, though, she honestly wanted them to wake up and throw her life into a lively chaos again.

Chapter Text

Imperial Year 1180, Pegasus Moon

In light of Byleth’s awakening, Manuela’s duties as physician, and Hanneman’s recovery, classes were suspended for a whole week. Not even the most studious students such as Lysithea complained. In fact, lazy students didn’t rejoice either. While they were intrigued by the ceremony to be held at the Holy Tomb at the end of the month, their thoughts and prayers went to the injured.

First of all, the Blue Lions were literally without a teacher for the time being. Considering the severity of his wounds, Professor Hanneman was assigned bed rest by the former songstress. Still, many noted how his wounds complemented Manuela’s, cementing their bond through the defence of their students. According to gossipy students, should Byleth sustain heavy injuries too, the trinity of good-willed Professors would be complete – if her transcending space and time to come to the three houses’ rescue wasn’t arguably enough. Conversely, the dreamiest pupils were already picturing the two senior professors in wedding attire.

It was at times like these that the house leaders really stood out as the beacons of their respective nations. And showed that beneath stoic, chivalrous or devious appearances, they shared the same regal poise.

Before her secret trip back to Enbarr, Edelgard managed to keep the Black Eagles calm despite the critical state of their classmate, whose absence was keenly felt in the now quiet classroom. Students from Adrestia showed more camaraderie than ever before, and to everyone’s surprise, didn’t pin the blame on the only commoner of their House. While they talked through their fears, the Blue Lions chose to sweat away their worries in relentless training sessions where no one had to think too long about the string of losses during this dreadful year. Small gestures showed deep empathy within the student body and helped keep up an appearance of order. Finally, the Golden Deer dulled the anxiety by sharing as many activities together as possible for an entire week. Their cheer somewhat helped alleviate the sombre mood, and they pulled along the gloomiest students to “turn that frown upside-down”.

And as the sole available Professor, Byleth became the anchor of many distraught students. Whether they came to her for advice or reassurance, she lavished them with care over a cup of tea, addressed their worries during laid-back meals, or conducted the weekly activities with the students who couldn’t stay still. Her genuine kindness, coupled with her new hair colour, truly made her look like a Saint and boosted the rumours about Rhea’s planned ritual for her.

A few good news did light up the students’ week, Sylvain’s discharge from the infirmary among them. His concussion healed, he tried to lift the spirits of the moping students, to varying degrees of success. Even Lorenz made an effort to be amicable to the wounded womanizer, who toned down the flirting a bit, lest Ingrid send him right back to the infirmary.

When Professor Hanneman returned to his classes, students gave him a warm welcome, until their mood soured at the prospect of homework being back on the menu. To maintain classes, the Blue Lions welcomed Dorothea, Linhardt and Caspar while the Golden Deer took in Petra and Bernadetta since Manuela was still too busy at the infirmary to teach her class. Everyone fell back into their usual routine, as if raising a finger to all the awful disturbances of the year and still making a point to live out their days in peace.

Things went back to normal with a speed born from habit. Sadly, there was still a missing piece to their usual school lives.

Ferdinand had not woken up in a week.

___

Ever the dutiful one, Ingrid left the get-well-soon card on the infirmary’s nightstand. Sylvain paced around the room, happy to be allowed to move on his own, and greeted Ferdinand as if he could respond. Felix tsked at this perfect waste of time that was this visit.

“You’ll be up and about in no time, I know it,” Sylvain declared. After spending days in the sick bay with his comatose classmate, he truly wanted him to get better. While they’d technically fought together in the sealed forest, the road to recovery had brought them closer, awake or not. It was hard to explain, really. “I’m taking care of your stable duties, so you don’t have to worry about your horse.”

“He’s been especially diligent,” Ingrid confirmed. “I hope you can see it for yourself soon.”

“To see an Adrestian noble fancy himself a knight… how foolish,” Felix judged with his usual harsh tongue. “What made him think chivalry was something to emulate? We didn’t need another glory-seeking knight with a death wish.”

“What are you getting at?” Sylvain asked, quirking an eyebrow. Was he really talking about Ferdinand or venting about a certain prince they knew? For her part, Ingrid rolled her eyes. Again with the disdain for chivalry. Although she did find him strangely talkative…

“I don’t know,” Felix hissed impatiently. “Honourable sacrifices are useless to the people you should still be protecting,” he said, crossing his arms defensively. He had already said too much.

“Then what should they do if they can’t fight to the bitter end for what they hold dear?” she argued.

“They train more, and they win,” the swordsman tersely replied. Felix then excused himself to train – what else? – before dinner. His childhood friends exchanged a puzzled look.

“I get that Ferdinand’s sacrifice didn’t sit well with him, but… he took it far worse than I thought,” Sylvain eventually said, passing a hand through his hair.

“Stop talking as if he’s dead,” Ingrid lectured him, sterner than usual.

The Gautier heir reflexively threw his hands in the air to apologise. She hated to hear him talk of getting hurt – and the thought of it, probably – and he’d done just that. Ferdinand’s ill-fated bravery probably reminded her of Glenn, too. All her fears were coming true; not to mention Dimitri drifting further away and Felix clamming up again after months of improvement.

Still, deep down, Sylvain thought he wouldn’t mind going down as the foolish knight who protected his friends ‘til the end. Even if he had promised otherwise to them both.

___

A few students had gathered in the dining hall where conversations tended to all circle back to Ferdinand these days. Among them was one of his closest friends.

“Nobles have a duty to protect the commoners under their rule. It was the only right thing to do,” Lorenz justified.

Leonie sighed but conceded his point. “You’ve told me as much before. It’s just a shame the enemy was so strong…”

“Thanks to his quick judgment, we didn’t lose Dorothea,” Dimitri said. “However, his life is no less important than hers. Losing any of our classmates in this battle would have been a tragedy.” The prince kept to himself the fact that Ferdinand was now another person he wanted to avenge, whether he lived or not. The prospect of another ghost following him didn’t disturb him anymore, he simply accepted it as another fact of life. Lost in thought, he missed Dedue’s brief look of concern directed at him.

“I don’t think Ferdinand did it for noble reasons,” Mercedes piped in, wrapping a fresh batch of cookies in a cloth to leave at the infirmary. When Lorenz seemed unconvinced, she decided to elaborate. “He makes a big deal of his noble duties, but I would put that on his youth. He’s no different than Caspar when you look at it. He won’t stand for injustice. His behaviour would have been the same if he had been born a commoner, don’t you think?”

“Had the positions been reversed, a noble Dorothea would have had the responsibility to keep him safe instead,” Lorenz countered.

“Are heroic acts reserved to nobles?” she shot back with a threatening smile.

“That is not the point I was trying to convey,” he sighed. “Noble or vulgar, we should all strive to protect our classmates, of course.”

“Well said. For once, I have to command your noble wit,” Claude cheekily approved.

Lysithea slammed her book on the table. “Please take your gossip elsewhere, some people are trying to study here.” Unsurprised, the gathered students laughed it off. Dinner wouldn’t be served for another three hours, and a lot of people escaped the gloom of their room or of the library to study in lively places instead these days. It truly felt like no matter what they did, things wouldn’t go back to the way they were before the incident of the Sealed Forest.

___

Paradoxically, the Enlightened Professor had never felt so inadequate to teach the youths of the Officers Academy. Sitting alone in her room, she couldn’t rely on Sothis’s wise banter to guide her anymore, yet the power of a goddess dwelled within her. The ex-mercenary had splendidly turned the tides of battle, they said.

At least she didn’t sugar-coat the truth to herself. She had needlessly put her students in danger. Hanneman, Sylvain and Ferdinand had unjustly paid the price of her recklessness. And now she was supposed to receive a revelation from the departed Goddess? When did her life stop making sense?

Whereas the students grew along with their beliefs, she was riddled with doubts. Only her heart seemed to expand to finally understand human bonds and emotions…  Her rage died down as Sothis’s last gift taught her patience. To her own surprise, the human presences around her had gained so much substance since they had “met”; now, she greeted all students and faculty by name and looked forward to it. Her love for her students didn’t overwhelm her anymore – she was merely power-walking to bring back lost items now. Garreg Mach was not only her home, but also her parent’s resting place.

She had awakened along with Sothis. As her friend said… she was the Beginning, and hers as well.

So this was no time to be wallowing in self-pity. She had students to teach despite her grief. But it was Sunday, and a trip to the marketplace was in order. To the greenhouse as well; she needed flowers.

Later, at Ferdinand’s bedside, she found that her sunflowers did brighten the room, even if her student was still out cold. Now facing her own beginning and perhaps another life-changing event at the month, the Professor reminisced on her days at the Monastery.

It all started when the three house leaders came knocking on her door, mere moments before the mercenaries’ departure. A twist of fate, or destiny in motion? After saving their lives, she earned their gratitude and admiration, and Alois sealed the deal with a recommendation directly addressed to Lady Rhea who mysteriously saw fit to appoint a complete stranger as the main professor of the Golden Deer. Since Jeralt would also stay, she had no further objections and opened her heart to the novelty after years of slumber.

Many students left a strong impression on her, but she also remembered being amazed by the busy yet well-organised life at the Monastery. It was unlike any other city – while most places didn’t leave a lasting impression on her, Garreg Mach was unique. She fondly remembered the first time the Gatekeeper greeted her, a fellow newcomer she immediately felt a connection with. There were also students who proudly told her about their respective country’s emblem and history, Ferdinand included. After teaching him a few times, it became apparent that he was a hard-worker who wanted to prove himself, a trait shared across the whole Black Eagle house – as long as these students focused on their interests or duty. What a shame that Hubert’s duty and hobbies both included assassination, right?

That was why she came to see her student. First, to apologise; and then to offer him a gift as part of the many students who had consoled her last month. That was what the flowers were for, but she had another package from the market. The thoughtful Professor carefully unwrapped it and placed it at Ferdinand’s bedside. A new pair of riding boots fitting for a Paladin. “You are a splendid rider. Don’t let this mistake get you down,” she encouraged him. Hopefully, he would take the gift as a challenge. “I promise you that next time you face danger, your Professor will be by your side. Even if it’s against three demonic beasts,” she smiled warmly. Of course, she made sure to transcribe her words on the note she left him.

___

Ferdinand had been asleep for ten days when Edelgard chose to leave her Academy days behind. News of his injuries had already reached the Prime Minister; it was a question of days before he found out who exactly had almost murdered his heir. Suffice to say, Edelgard had better nip the rebellion in the bud. To that end, she needed to ascend the throne and start her purge of the nobility without delay…

Edelgard pulled up the covers on her wounded classmate. Since the fall of the Southern Church, the children of House Hresvelg didn’t attend the Officers Academy, meaning she’d taken the role that should have been his… Moreover, instead of watching over the student she’d failed to protect, she was already planning to strip him of his title and lands. She made a pretty poor house leader, all things considered.

Unlike her older siblings, groomed to become worthy leaders of the Adrestian Empire, Edelgard had been a carefree child whereas Ferdinand never failed to remind her and her sisters that he would become Prime Minister. Before the end of the month, she would deny him his lifelong dream. Strip him of everything that made him Ferdinand von Aegir.

However, it was for the best. Freed from Duke Aegir’s legacy, his achievements would be none other than his own. Alas, she didn’t know how to tell him how much she wanted him to overcome the grim future ahead of him without it sounding hypocritical. So she settled for a card wishing him a speedy recovery and cursed her carelessness for the umpteenth time in a week.

Next time we meet, I’ll have become your worst enemy. Ah… The truth is, I shall miss your challenges. If I could ensure your loyalty after the coronation, I’d gladly…

She used to tolerate such childish antics from her siblings. Maybe she so harshly turned him down because she wanted him to grow up, unlike the children whose bright smiles faded too soon. As easy as they were to recall, their warmth couldn’t reach her anymore. Her mind trickled down the slippery slope of nostalgia, flashing back to the memory of someone who’d missed Ferdinand in her final moments.

“I like Ferdinand,” said a sickly young girl on her deathbed.

“You barely spoke to him, Alice,” Edelgard teased her. Even though tears streamed down her cheeks, she couldn’t wipe them off. Her hands held something far more precious.

“I did… when you were away, El…”

“I’m sorry. I won’t let you go, I promise. Stay with me…”

She remembered her small body going still, her face finally looking serene, gloved hands ripping her sister from her embrace…

“Lady Edelgard,” Hubert called out to her.

Almost reluctantly, the Imperial princess snapped out of her melancholy. Now wasn’t the time for reminiscing. “Say your goodbyes,” she whispered in the quiet infirmary, “we’re leaving in an hour.”

Once they were done with the coronation, she would send Hubert on a special errand. Unlike most little girls, Alice preferred colourful tulips to romantic roses. Even if she had to stay up all night, she would weave a flower rainbow to adorn her sister’s grave as an apology.

Once alone, Hubert crossed his arms and lazily leaned against the wall. Years of careful preparations ruined because Ferdinand decided to play hero, causing Lady Edelgard’s guilty conscience to postpone their departure. He had had to rely on his spies and family members to set up the necessary steps to the coronation when he could have dealt with everything himself. No amount of overwork would allow him to catch up on a week’s worth of final preparations. Mistakes were bound to happen – worse, some of the nobles they planned to target might slip through the net.

Let this be a lesson to prepare more backup plans in the future, he rationalised. At least he had already secured the route to Enbarr himself while waiting for his liege to embrace the full scope of her ambitions. There would be no more delays on the road to destiny.

But before they set fate into motion, he did have to say goodbye. Without hurry, Hubert walked to Ferdinand’s bedside.

“Here lies the great Ferdinand von Aegir, with no achievements to his name, slain by a nameless enemy,” he snarled, channelling not only the contempt he held for his classmate’s childish delusions of nobility, but also his hatred toward the contemptible people who slithered in the dark. In spite of himself, his voice rose much higher than a whisper, as if it would rouse Ferdinand from his slumber. A futile attempt, yet here he was, talking to a corpse.

Unsurprisingly, the noble son of Aegir laid still and uncaring. His shallow breathing barely lifted the covers. The dimming sunlight filtered through the stained-glass windows of the infirmary, casting the room in a dreamlike orange glow. Under that light, Ferdinand’s coma could have been mistaken for a late afternoon nap, his bandages the result of arduous training rather than a deathly encounter. Hubert couldn’t recall a single time the sight of Ferdinand had inspired him calm and contemplation. It was serene, surreal.

And it was wrong. Like a mute Dorothea, a sullen Caspar, or a lazy Petra.

Ferdinand was a product of Imperial nobility – born to the most corrupt and elitist House, was it his fault? – who would have to embrace change or die in the wake of Lady Edelgard’s revolution. However, Hubert had grown out of believing in miracles. Of all Black Eagles, Ferdinand was the one with the most to lose and the hardest road ahead to embrace Edelgard’s vision. Moreover, if he deemed his Lady’s fight a detriment to Adrestia, he would fight back without reserve.

Because Ferdinand von Aegir never gave up. He knew his classmate would wake up in time to see his pathetic dreams crushed. Hubert’s frown deepened at the time he could be better spending elsewhere, furthering Lady Edelgard’s ambitions. Before he opened the door to leave, he spared one last glance at the young man’s unmoving form.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

Without waiting for an answer he knew wouldn’t come, Hubert left the infirmary to carry on with their delayed plans.

___

On most evenings, Dorothea came by the infirmary to lend a hand to Manuela who was busy caring for three patients. Eventually, Hanneman and Sylvain were discharged, but she still came to pass the time. The fight in the Sealed Forest had achieved to convince her to continue working on her Faith studies and Manuela was more than happy to provide tutoring in her forte. In exchange, the young songstress cleaned up the infirmary.

Still, there was a place she couldn’t begin to attempt to tidy up: Ferdinand’s nightstand. How could so many things pile up in two weeks’ time? A formal card from each House leader – and a plethora of cards from quite a few students, even those that didn’t usually seek his company. Flowers as colourful as the stained glass of the Cathedral. Freshly-baked cookies from Mercedes – eaten one by one by visitors. A poem penned by Lorenz tucked under the pile to hide it from Manuela’s eyes. An assortment of tea boxes. To top it all, Dorothea almost tripped on the boots left by the Professor!

Nevertheless, it was a heart-warming sight. The students had fought together on so many battlefields in such a short time; it was no surprise they had grown so close, just like performers rehearsing day-in, day-out, in the last stretch before the premiere. All these gifts reminded her of the good-luck charms they would exchange before the big performances – artists had their superstitions.

Life at the Officers Academy had slowed down so much everyone had too much time to think. For Dorothea, that meant reflecting on her status as a commoner and her lack of a noble fiancé two months before graduation. Once her beauty and voice faded, what would she have to offer them…?

And yet… at the Officers Academy, she had met nobles far from her expectations. There was Bernadetta, her first noble friend, a nervous wreck with a heart of gold who could craft about anything with her hands. Surrounded by hard-working princesses, Dorothea had felt strangely at ease. Although no marriage material, the boys still managed to challenge her views. Some lived for duty rather than pleasure, like Hubert, others lived disconnected from gossip and noble expectations like Caspar and Linhardt. And to her displeasure, she met again with a certain bee… who went above and beyond to bridge the gap between them, a future Prime Minister and an insignificant commoner. It boggled her mind why he still tried so hard to uphold his noble front.

The enduring sadness in her chest whispered it might not be a lie while her mind smothered that hope. By chance, her gaze landed on a card, and she mechanically read it out loud. “Get well soon.” Maybe that was the only truth she could cling to for the moment. Just like everyone else, she wanted him to be safe and sound, back in class as if nothing happened.

If the integrity you showed me was genuine, then see how your efforts are rewarded! Everyone wants you back. Dorothea cast down her eyes in defeat.

“Even I do.”

As long as he was sleeping, she couldn’t properly thank him. The next best thing was keeping him company, and she knew no better way to pass the time than singing.

___

“♪ Wake up, get up, get out there… ♪”

Ferdinand picked up the sound of Dorothea’s voice. It was a catchy tune he didn’t recognise, probably improvised. In that state, he could barely process the words and simply enjoyed the melody carried by a heavenly voice. Slowly, the music gave his mind a foothold into reality and brought him back from the void.

Between those brief moments where he was barely aware of himself, Ferdinand felt a hint of the passage of time in the melancholy settling in the singer’s voice. How long did it take him to recognise Dorothea, who never hummed so quietly during choir practice? Somehow, it felt like his soul floated between light and darkness, painless but caged.

After a while, Ferdinand could focus a bit longer, not quite awake in a physical sense, but sufficiently aware to think. That day, Dorothea could only sing a few sentences before falling silent, sounding a bit disheartened. Eventually, she sighed. “… Hey, Ferdie. Why did you save me? Everyone’s speculating, and I still don’t have a clue.” The bedridden noble’s thoughts had cleared up a little, thus he pondered the question, albeit restricted to a sluggish pace.

The truth of Ferdinand’s selfless sacrifice was… that it was neither a sacrifice, nor a selfless act.

The noble recalled the entrance ceremony, where he proudly wore the colours of the Black Eagle House. On that day, he recognized many familiar faces from Enbarr’s high society. Although he had had few occasions to greet the other nobles in the last few years, he easily placed a name on their faces. Edelgard and Hubert, inseparable as always. Linhardt and Caspar, joking as old friends did after months apart. Petra, taking in all the sights new to her. Even Bernadetta, whom he only heard odd rumours about, attended the ceremony to avoid detention. Familiar names and faces.

Until he met Dorothea. As expected of a lover of the arts such as himself, he had heard of the talented Mystical Songtress, Manuela’s protégée and successor. An unfortunate twist of fate had made it so he spent the Mittlefrank Opera’s two performing seasons, Spring and Autumn, away from Enbarr – meaning he had never seen the prodigy on stage before. He was quickly blown away by her skill and charisma; and just as quickly realized how much she seemed to despise him for some unknown reason. When challenged, she readily admitted her aversion. Although he had no clue on how to redeem himself to her, he tried and failed. Many. Times.

She kept challenging him nonetheless – and dismissed if not outright rejected his lacklustre or misguided efforts. Unlike Edelgard, she never caved in to his stubbornness. Unlike Hubert, she didn’t sneer at his trial and error. She smiled, and every time she challenged him again, the contempt veiling her eyes lifted over the fragile trust building between them. Whatever he had done to wrong her, he would rectify it with uncompromising ethics. One day, he would reach this milestone, for her smile to turn genuine.

And then, they fell into the trap of the Sealed Forest.

Even before the battle started, Ferdinand had noticed Dorothea’s apprehension with the Professor’s vengeance plot. He wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of fighting for someone else’s revenge either, but they couldn’t let Kronya escape – after stealing Monica’s identity, no less! As the battle unfolded, he remarked Dorothea’s unease against the unknown enemy force, then her confusion in the melee that followed their teacher’s disappearance. Her eyes darted all over the place, looking for allies to reinvigorate with her dancing. Too preoccupied with her new supporting role, she neglected to keep her own guard up.

When the paladin charged at her with the unknown spear of lightning, Ferdinand was already moving to shield her. More than living up to Dorothea’s expectations, he wanted her to live. So he defended her.

He had never meant to become a martyr in the process. He wanted to shield the attack meant for the unguarded dancer then fight back in tandem. To his credit, he couldn’t have known that weapon was strong enough to pierce all his defences…

“I’m sorry,” he desperately wished to say.

But, most importantly, he had never meant to make her cry. Had she hated him, she could have shrugged off his ill-fated rescue as the final blunder of a noble scion well over his head. But they had started bridging the chasm of misunderstandings between them – and these months of efforts, of back and forth, they were enough for her to start caring about him. As he laid in the dirt with a magic spear through his gut, powerless and voiceless, he watched her mourn a spoiled noble brat who didn’t deserve her forgiveness yet. Blood poured out of his mouth, his life spilled into her hands…

How long had he drifted away in the blanketed silence of his mind, removed from the physical pain? Dorothea’s voice pierced through the void. It reminded him of the life he had left behind, of all the things he had yet to achieve, all the things he had left unsaid…

Now, he listened to her quiet sobs and apologies, somewhere, sometime he couldn’t place, and wished for nothing but to console her, remind her it happened through no fault of their own, that it was his mistake… If he told her he was a careless bee, her tears would dry – from anger or laughter, he couldn’t say, but her voice wasn’t suited for tears, ever.

But his body refused him.

He struggled to stay conscious, if not awake. If he focused a little harder, he could almost make out her words… Alas, he was fighting a losing battle. Soon, Ferdinand’s consciousness slipped back into the realm of darkness.

___

When Manuela looked back on the school year, she found herself mourning the loss of students who had their lives ahead of them, but also cherishing the bonds she’d formed with her class and colleagues. There had been hope amidst the tragedy.

Maybe she was more affected than she let on to be cleaning up the infirmary in the middle of the night, alone with her thoughts. And sober. She peeked a glance at Ferdinand resting in the infirmary bed, still as a statue. Flowers, cards and cookies cluttered the nightstand, full of the students’ worries. Touchingly, Byleth had left another bag of tea leaves too, as if to apologize. Manuela’s words had done nothing to assuage the young professor’s guilt, unfortunately.

Still, cleaning was an insurmountable chore, even when she had nothing better to do. The former songstress began singing to pass the time.

♪ Verdant rains soothe… My aching heart like a cherished friend… ♪

♪ Amid time’s flow I mourn… Bonds I’m not sure I can ever rend… ♪

♪ As my mind clings to desperate thoughts… Here it comes, Horsebow Moon and summer’s end… ♪

She sighed. Her voice wasn’t what it used to be. She’d need to train more to properly honour Lorenz’s writing talent.

A murmur. Yes, she heard it right. Hopeful, she rushed to her patient’s side. “Ferdinand, can you hear me?” she asked in a soft voice.

And to her delight, his eyes fluttered open for the first time in two weeks. Manuela brushed his bangs out of the way and waited for him to focus. Although awake, the strain of keeping his eyes open seemed too much for the moment, and he closed them once he recognised his surroundings. That was good enough for the physician who gently reassured him. Everyone was safe, the Professor returned, Kronya had been defeated. Holding his hand, she counted him the many visits of his classmates and described the many gifts they’d left him.

To her surprise, Ferdinand himself eventually spoke up. And although his voice was barely a whisper, she understood his plea.

“Can you sing some more?”

It was so unexpected, and at the same time so characteristic of him, that Manuela teared up. “Of course,” she said. Anything for her beloved student and admirer.

Stroking his hair in a slow, soothing rhythm, Manuela’s arias filled Ferdinand’s head full of dreams.

Chapter Text

Imperial Year 1180, Pegasus Moon

News of Ferdinand’s recovery spread like wildfire the following morning. At last classes resumed with a semblance of normalcy as the students’ smiles returned, with the Black Eagles still assigned to different houses for the time being.

The Knights of Seiros had to stop many students from sneaking in the infirmary the next few days, however. Ferdinand’s condition was still heavily monitored. Consequently, another week passed by until his classmates were allowed longer visits.

In the meantime, Ferdinand went through the get-well-soon cards and examined the thoughtful gifts at his bedside. Honestly, he never thought they would all care that much… For someone who didn’t want to be pitied, the Professor’s gift was something to look forward to. Despite everything, he really wanted to ride again. Luckily, Prince Dimitri and Ingrid were always ready to ride in their spare time, so he wouldn’t be alone while he hadn’t fully recovered. Amusingly, before all these cards, he had to resist the well-ingrained urge to reply at once in flowery style on premium writing paper when he ought to thank them in person, like a normal human being.

However, one thing vexed him still. He had expected to find a letter from Hubert in the pile. Whenever they got into fights in public in their youth, their parents would force them to sit down and write an apology letter. Those letters sounded so little like them that it made them laugh and forgive instead, until they got into another heated debate. Nowadays, they just ignored each other for a week – no, not even two days before they started another spat – and called it a truce.

But Hubert had left with Edelgard without an afterthought for him. It stung more than it should have – and Ferdinand found it very strange that the Vestra heir didn’t rub his failure in his face. This was the perfect opportunity! Or did Hubert grow a conscience while he was in a coma? No, obviously not. Hubert would find a way to aggravate him even on the verge of death – as if he needed to be reminded of his inferiority to Edelgard. Unlike him, she had kept the rest of the class alive throughout the fight, all the while commanding them on the frontlines…

A quiet knock brought him back to his senses. Manuela entered with an apologetic smile.

“You have a visitor, Ferdinand.” Before he could reply, she added: “Your father came to see you.”

“What.” He blanked. Did he hear that right?

“He came straight from the Capital to check on you. Can you receive him?” she asked with a supportive smile.

Alarmed, Ferdinand frantically started to finger-comb his bed-hair and smooth out his rumpled shirt. His father expected nothing short of perfection from his heir under all circumstances. Which lead him to remember…

He had made a lot of blunders in a year. And he didn’t doubt that the knights and pilgrims from Aegir probably informed his father of every single one of them. There was that time he failed to fight three Demonic Beasts to impress the Professor, the many times Edelgard beat him to the top score of the class, his failure to win any tournament – how was he supposed to beat prince Dimitri in lances? –, the loss at the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, the menial work he did to earn flour in town – supposedly so unbecoming of his status –, the catastrophic failure in the Sealed Forest… And Goddess, if his father found the mess in his room afterwards… He would throw out his armour collection!

Ferdinand’s head started to spin, not helped by the loss of his sense of priorities. Still, he was so often reproached that last point it seemed to take precedence on the one-off mistakes at the Officers Academy – up to and including a near-death experience. Nevertheless, he was in for the scolding of a lifetime.

The noblest of nobles took a deep breath. Nothing else to do but own up to his shortcomings, right? “Please let him in,” he said with a radiant smile. He might still get out of this in one piece if he played his cards right… maybe…

At Manuela’s invitation, Duke Aegir finally entered the infirmary. He didn’t look any different from the last time he saw him, at the beginning of the year. It was his father, short and plump as always, wearing his Prime Minister attire in a subdued version of the Aegir House colours. Unlike his colleagues, he was balding – Ferdinand remembered that it had always been this way, ever since his father took up the position of Prime Minister when he was around 4 years old. There was a beat when they locked eyes at last.

“Thank you for coming all this way in spite of your busy schedule–”

“Give it a rest,” his father cut him off with relief washing over his face. His son was as talkative as ever: that was a good sign. “How are you feeling, Ferdinand?”

“I feel fine. How about you?”

The Duke sighed and took a seat next to him. Then, to Ferdinand’s surprise, he gently held up his face in his hands, as if soaking in the sight of his son being safe and sound before him.

“Don’t scare me like that again,” he said, looking him in the eye.

At a loss for words, Ferdinand couldn’t handle such a precious statement. It was him who broke off eye contact to sheepishly look down. “I’m sorry,” was all he managed to answer in a whisper. He had never felt so ashamed to fall short of his father’s grand expectations and love for him…

Putting an end to his embarrassment, the Duke ruffled his hair once and let go of him.

“Always a troublemaker, my eldest one. Professor Manuela, thank you again for looking after him. I will not fail to thank the others who contributed to his rescue. And you, no more snooping around, understood?” he added with measured severity.

“I never make the same mistake twice,” Ferdinand defended himself with pride.

While they were talking, the former songstress took a seat beside them as well. “Let’s put this behind us,” she offered. “How was your journey, Prime Minister?”

Ludwig von Aegir never missed a chance to talk – monologue – about himself. He mentioned the work he left behind in the middle of a conference all Imperial Ministers were attending, and how fast he made it to the Monastery after receiving that alarming letter.

Lulled by the two familiar voices of his childhood, and with no more input to give in the conversation, Ferdinand’s mind wandered into the weird things he thought he heard his classmates and professors say at his bedside. Did Sylvain actually try to wake him up with a line, or did his muddled brain make that up? Did Dorothea say she missed him? Now that was wishful thinking.

Some time passed until his father’s voice roused him from his reverie.

“Are you sure he won’t suffer from the after-effects of this wound?”

“There will be no adverse effects apart from general fatigue for the next few weeks,” Manuela indicated to them both. “Thanks to the quick judgement of his classmates, the scar is clean. He just needs not to overexert himself until the year is over. I might have to adapt his final exams to his condition, but there is nothing to worry about in the long term.”

Duke Aegir nodded, apparently reassured by the physician’s words. He then looked expectantly at Ferdinand to give his opinion, who remembered to act as a noble should, bright and positive to a fault.

“Rest assured, I had a full recovery while I was asleep,” he said.

Now that was an overstatement. And a bold-faced lie. Manuela knew full well he couldn’t take the stairs yet without his legs feeling like jelly. It would be another few, slow days until he was allowed to walk around the Monastery on his own.

“It’s true he made a remarkable recovery for such a short time. Thankfully, he was unconscious through the worst of it,” Manuela told his father.

Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise. His memory only registered the feelings going through his head during the attack, not the pain. His protectiveness of Dorothea, his horror when he was sent flying, his desperate need to utter his last words… and the emotion in the voices singing to him from the other side. He still had a hard time believing how close he came to dying. All the kind words and attention he received felt disproportionate and surreal.

But the gap in time, and the gap between how he was supposed to feel and how his body was responding… it couldn’t be chalked up to a dream. Most importantly, he didn’t even remember the strange lance that pierced him – or perhaps his mind had deleted something too upsetting to remember…? If there was no pain to speak of, there was no injury, no spear… Nevertheless, he remembered the blood staining Dorothea’s hands and choking him as he tried to speak. It was definitely real.

“Do you have any recollection of this?” they asked.

Too focused on separating fact from fiction in his mind, he had forgotten all about what they were talking about. He wasn’t even sure who had spoken to him just now.

“Er, no, not at all,” he stammered, because it was probably true anyway.

“According to the report your classmates submitted to your professor, Hubert also saved your life. Unfortunately, he fled the premise before I could… express my gratitude,” his father explained. He probably found it mightily suspicious. Why would a Vestra pass up an opportunity to have another House indebted to them? Especially the rival House Aegir?

But Ferdinand’s mind wasn’t able to think so far at the moment. “Why did he not tell me?” he asked instead, dumbfounded. “How uncharacteristically modest of him.”

Professor Manuela stared at him, looking surprised. “Hubert isn’t the type to fish for compliments,” she commented based on his chores reports and general attitude.

“No, but he is the type to put others down when they make careless blunders he warned them about,” Ferdinand said, bitter. Something he deserved, for once, which made his silence that much more unusual – scathingly so. Still, Ferdinand would rather have a fight and be acknowledged as a noble buffoon than to receive Hubert’s condescending pity.

Duke Aegir had seen enough. Ferdinand was thankfully in better health than expected – a small miracle, perhaps granted by the late Duchess – but he was still juggling with conflicting feelings. How couldn’t he notice? Ferdinand couldn’t be more distracted and confused. He stared off into space, disengaged from the discussion he was the subject of, and still unconsciously patted his stomach as if to check that he was, indeed, alive and well. Thankfully, Ludwig had plenty of means to take his mind off painful things. There was a time and place for reprimands, however now the time was for recovery.

Without effort, he steered the conversation toward lighter topics. And he knew exactly how to keep Ferdinand engaged in it.

“From what I’ve seen, your talent as a physician equals, if not surpasses, your skill as the Divine Songstress. I believe my son is in good hands. He must be delighted to have his first love all to himself as well,” he casually pointed out.

Just as planned, Ferdinand gasped in disbelief at what had just been said. Amused, Duke Aegir cast him a glance daring him to say otherwise. With nothing to retort, his son slowly turned pink. Much better than that sickly look from before, he thought.

For her part, Manuela was enjoying the laidback atmosphere. Duke Aegir used to be her patron once, so she wasn’t all that surprised by his playful banter. To add insult to injury, she recalled: “Is that so, my Lord? I am deeply moved. And if I remember correctly, Ferdinand himself told me he never missed a single one of my performances. What a lovely reason.”

“Can you believe he was a rambunctious boy once, always getting in trouble?” Duke Aegir continued relentlessly. “And yet, he always sat mesmerised at the opera. He’s always had a thing for beautiful songstresses.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” she mercilessly played along. Oh, if only the Duke knew to what extent that statement held true…

Ferdinand slowly sank under his blanket while his father catalogued his opera crushes, one by one, to his idol. Of course, Ludwig did not fail to mention his undying love for the Divine Songstress’s legend, to which Ferdinand answered with a dying squeak and Manuela with the cheerful laughter of a diva entertaining a captive audience. The former songstress, bless her, didn’t mention how he woke up thanks to her singing, or the fact that he picked up a sword to emulate her and dance rather than fight; otherwise, his father would never have let him live it down.

But the spilled beans were all part of a ploy his father had mastered to a T. For the most frightening thing about Duke Aegir wasn’t his political acumen – it was his complete adoration of his children, and his talent at weaponizing this only true weakness of his. By sharing embarrassing – albeit completely harmless – stories about House Aegir as a whole, he made them appear more human. Thus nobles would either grow fond of them or see them as lesser threats, making them that much easier to manipulate. After all, how could they see the treachery for what it was, when the love he poured into these stories was undeniably real?

The master plan held no significance to Ferdinand who merely wondered how he could walk into class next week now that his reputation was forever ruined in the eyes of his favourite teacher.

When the Duke eventually took his leave from the infirmary, he had achieved his goal. His son was back in the present, ashamed but wide awake, and wasn’t that all that mattered? Better to fill his son’s head with old shames than let him stew on recent tragedies. Still, would anyone believe him to have so noble a goal for once?

___

Of course, his visit to lift his son’s spirits was no reason to slack off on intel gathering. There was still some time until he was discharged from the infirmary – and that much time he couldn’t be spending dissecting his testimony for clues leading up to this tragedy. Pressed for time, he would have to question his classmates and teachers instead. Manuela wasn’t a direct eyewitness, unfortunately.

His first order of business was to discuss the happenings of the year with the other teachers – who were chatting in the office right across the infirmary. Ludwig knocked and was almost immediately invited to enter. In his memories, the room used to be a non-descript teacher’s office, but it had been entirely remodelled to suit the purpose of Crest research. Two people got up to greet him, with the green-haired teacher struggling to recognise him. Of course, the Prime Minister was more than happy to answer her doubts.

“Don’t you know who I am?” he asked, theatrical and debonair. “My name is Ludwig von Aegir! You stand in the presence of greatness! With that said, it is a pleasure to meet you, Professor Eisner.”

Byleth’s eyes widened just a bit – which was the equivalent of a jaw drop for anyone else. I should have known he got that from someone, she sighed internally.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Byleth Eisner, and I teach the Golden Deer house.” They shook hands. Nothing could wipe the haughty yet outgoing smile off of the Prime Minister’s face. Not even the sight of that noble who turned tail on his peers and fled the Empire.

“I haven’t seen you in a long while, Hanneman. How have you been?” he asked, jovial as usual.

“Indeed, it has been a long time,” the older Professor said, rightfully wary of the present company. “As you can see, my research is going well, thus I am in want of nothing.” But before he could apply a bit more balm to the Minister’s ego, the oblivious ex-mercenary barrelled right into the thorny topic at hand.

“I apologise for the injuries Ferdinand sustained. The blame lies sorely on me. I steered my students into a trap with blind disregard to Professor Hanneman and Lady Rhea’s rightful reservations. This tragedy came to pass through no other fault than my own,” she said, acknowledging her liability as an instructor. To conclude her apology, she bowed – the military way, yet…

It was rare for the smooth orator to be silenced – and by a sincere apology, at that. This teacher had the makings of a leader people would die fighting for. Now it made more sense why this particular girl had become the Archbishop’s protégée within a year…

But despite her charisma, Byleth was still responsible for what happened. No father would forget that fact.

Duke Aegir crossed his arms, thinking. If Ferdinand hadn’t recovered by the time he arrived, it would have been a very different story indeed. However, he deemed the sincere apology and the care his son received to be enough for now – or maybe teasing his son after months apart and weeks of worry uplifted him more than expected. All in all, he was in a good mood. And the ones who put a lance through his son’s stomach were not the professors, but shady individuals he needed to unmask at once. Everything else could wait – and who better than him could attest that revenge was a dish best served cold…?

Eventually, he let go of the idea of lashing out at the professors. Byleth was an interesting case, and a deserter like Hanneman von Essar not worth his time. In a calming gesture, Ludwig showed no ill will toward the Golden Deer teacher. “… Mistakes are deadly on a battlefield,” he conceded. “Perhaps the enemy was stronger than what Ferdinand expected. It was an unfortunate accident. Still, I heard some crazy stories about this battle, to say nothing of the strange reports during the year. Would you care to recount all these incidents in detail?”

Two hours later, the “little” interrogation confirmed that the teachers, whose testimonies matched even in the tiny details, were trustworthy. It seemed like they were hiding something from him, but he had other sources of information to tap into yet. Ludwig von Aegir could go from there, even though he already had a clear picture of who the culprits might be… Armies clad in black, masked from head to toe… Now, he only needed more information on the magic and weapons they used to reach a conclusion. And once he did, there would be hell to pay.

The Prime Minister wasn’t above shaking the foundations of the Empire again to avenge his kin.

___

His quest for answers led him to question the people who saved Ferdinand’s life in the Sealed Forest. Somehow, that group included the Vestra rat who was conspicuously missing. Alas, as much as he liked to be the centre of attention, he would have to be discreet.

Which is exactly why he didn’t wear a cape or anything of that effect when he went to the reception hall. Students from the Black Eagles house gasped at the sight of him; a growing murmur filled the room. There would be time to chat with them later. The one he wanted a word with was…

“Are you Miss Mercedes von Martritz?” the Duke asked the girl with strawberry-blond hair and the Blue Lions brooch pinned to her cream shawl.

“Yes, that’s me. How may I help you?” she asked, turning to greet the stranger.

Before he even opened his mouth, she thought: Oh, I definitely know who you are. The suffocating aura of grandiloquence and prestige couldn’t be mistaken. She braced herself for an exhausting exchange, and lamented that Annette was away on an expedition with the Golden Deer at the moment. She couldn’t back out of this.

“You stand in the presence of Ludwig von Aegir!” he loudly introduced himself to absolutely no one’s surprise. Mercedes bowed a bit stiffly.

How ironic to stumble into two former Adrestian nobles in a row. To add insult to injury, they were both licking the boots of the Church. Nobles outside his influence, denying their service to the Empire, were worthless to him. Nevertheless, the Martritz girl was an interesting case, and he owed her a great deal now.

He made a point to thank her properly in front of so many witnesses. Mercedes knew the honour was wasted on her, for she didn’t plan to ever return to the Empire – even in the good graces of the Prime Minister himself. Afterwards, Ludwig moved to a more laidback topic about her ongoing studies.

“I’m having so much fun in the Blue Lions house,” she said with a dainty smile to the very face of the Prime Minister of Adrestia.

His eye twitched. “You seem content despite your predicaments,” he observed with sour displeasure. “Your tenacity forces admiration.”

“Does it, really? Isn’t Ferdinand more worthy of such high praise right now?” she said with a gentle tilt of the head. Ludwig marvelled at how smoothly she shifted the attention somewhere else with genuine humility… and how adamant she was to get him off her back.

“Of course. You see, I didn’t want to burden him so soon, so would you kindly recount me that battle in his place?” he finally asked.

“I can, but I was fighting alongside my class. I didn’t see Ferdinand’s attacker.”

“It will do. Your viewpoint is still very valuable to me.”

The Prime Minister mentally matched her testimony with Hanneman’s, with no glaring inconsistencies. However, when the time came to describe how she found Ferdinand, she hesitated to continue. Could she really describe him such a gruesome scene?

“Professor Manuela told me he would have died without your intervention,” Ludwig pressed her. “There is no need to spare me the details.”

Mercedes held onto a side of her shawl for comfort. It had been such a close call, even she had a hard time processing it. Thankfully, knowing this trial had a happy ending allowed her to speak. “Caspar and Linhardt found him,” she started with measured words. “They called for help, and Dorothea, Hubert, Marianne, and I arrived. We poured all our faith in our spells to save him,” she recounted vividly. “Hubert took out the spear… and we continued to heal while he resuscitated Ferdinand. That’s pretty much it.” She wanted to highlight the group’s efforts, but she feared it would fall on deaf ears.

“You have my heartfelt gratitude,” Duke Aegir said, and a genuine smile illuminated his face at last, letting Mercedes breathe easy. “I do have a question. Was it any spear that…?” He couldn’t finish that sentence. The Blue Lions healer shook her head.

“It was a magical spear,” she specified. “It ripped past his shield and pierced his armour like butter,” she added, still awed by the horrific power it held. “I had never seen something like that before…”

After excusing himself, Duke Aegir left Mercedes to find the next providential healer on his list: Dorothea Arnault. He didn’t need to go very far to find her, reading on a bench in the courtyard adjacent to the dining hall. With the scent of freshly baked bread and the cool shade, it was one of the students’ favourite spots to have a picnic.

Dorothea quickly noticed him and put down her book. Of course, they knew each other – Duke Aegir was the biggest patron of the Mittlefrank Opera Company. He hired her on more than one occasion to sing at private parties for noble guests. Unlike other patrons, he didn’t make any passes at her, which made him a passable customer. The revenues of her troupe depended on her performance – as an artist, and as a socialite.

“Aah, the Mystical Songstress herself!” the Duke greeted her with open arms.

Even at the Officers Academy, that fact still held true. She was an artist at the mercy of noble trends and desires, fighting for her future and her colleagues’ livelihoods. And the line drawn between nobles and commoners such as herself wasn’t one to be crossed with this particular man. Not once was she allowed to stay during political or business talks after her singing was done.

They were worlds apart. Just because she was a temporary visitor in his world didn’t mean she could outsay her welcome.

Everyone kept silent in her involvement in Ferdinand’s injury for her sake. She had made truly invaluable friends… It would be a shame to ruin their efforts with poor acting. Thankfully, she was an entertainer at heart.

“My Lord, what a pleasure to meet you here!” she cooed. She glamorously threw her hair back with her hand, a half-dozen bracelets tinkling and twinkling on her wrist.

Duke Aegir led the conversation with gossip from Enbarr. They talked about this and that for a little while, until he felt it right to ask about the battle that changed the course of the Black Eagles’ year. At the mention of the Sealed Forest, Dorothea couldn’t help but pale. Her trained voice didn’t waver, however. She flawlessly recounted the altered story they had agreed upon with Mercedes and Marianne. Until she finished describing how she “found” Ferdinand… Then, her will finally faltered.

“I… I was really afraid we would lose him,” she accidentally let slip, a blink-and-you-miss-it glimpse of her heart. How could she pretend to be fine? As she told the Professor, she often sang about the death of loved ones without ever having experienced it… So to feel death claim the life of a friend agonizing in her arms was…

“Ah… My apologies,” she said, putting on a brave face. Her smile wasn’t enough to fool Duke Aegir who saw the pain that remained in her emerald eyes.

“No, pray forgive me for making you recall such painful memories. Know that you have my gratitude for your help. Ferdinand is still alive thanks to you.”

“I did little compared to the others, though,” Dorothea continued to genuinely undermine herself, riddled with guilt on top of her self-loathing. However, her mask still didn’t crack – it would take far more pressure than that to put a dent in her mental armour.

“I had hoped to thank Hubert as well for his unexpected help. Unlike Her Highness, he actually managed to uphold his duty to the Black Eagles,” the Prime Minister bitterly praised him.

“He left for Enbarr with Lady Edelgard just a few days ago,” Dorothea said, dodging the negativity. “You didn’t miss him by much, and he should be back before the end of the month. That reminds me,” she exclaimed, a manicured finger on her chin, “Hubert was away last month too.”

Really now? Duke Aegir mentally noted. Now that was interesting. Worrying, even. He made the right call to exchange with Dorothea: artists were more perceptive than most, and she quickly got to the point. It was a talent worthy of the Divine’s Songstress successor. Nevertheless, noticing how drained she looked from their exchange, he chose to quickly wrap up their conversation.

“It was a pleasure to chat with you in this lovely place.”

“Oh no, the pleasure is all mine,” Dorothea lied skilfully. She was happy to help the opera company, at least. They parted on good terms, which was good enough.

Last but not least, Duke Aegir found Marianne von Edmund, the healer of the Golden Deer, dutifully praying in the Cathedral. Her unwavering devotion reminded him of Count Varley’s yawn-inducing sermons. He cared little for faith himself, though, especially since the dissolved Southern Church bequeathed that much more power to the Imperial Ministries – mostly his own.

Thankfully for all involved, Duke Aegir realised he had to quiet down in the Cathedral and speak more softly to the delicate-looking girl. He waited until she noticed him to speak up. “I am Ludwig von Aegir, Ferdinand’s father,” he briefly introduced himself. Thanks to the lack of outlandish titles and gesture, she didn’t back away.

“Marianne von Edmund. It’s an honour to meet you…”

“I apologise for interrupting your prayer. I only need a moment of your time,” he calmly assured her. He went to explain what he wanted to learn and Marianne complied. The battle sounded very familiar by now. Lack of leadership led the students to scatter and find themselves in dangerous positions. The more he heard the story, the more he found it strange for Ferdinand, who was on horseback, to be lagging behind the rest of the Black Eagles… No matter, he could ask his son later what it was all about – he wouldn’t dare lie to him.

Eventually, Marianne reached the end of her testimony. There were a few loose ends she could help him tidy up, however. “I heard the assailants were masked. How so?” he asked.

“Well… They had long robes or gloves. Their faces were hidden under masks with a very long beak. Hum… We faced foes dressed like that several times with the Professor.”

The Duke prompted her to explain further, which she did after a moment of reflection. The unknown enemies had been fought at the Holy Mausoleum, in Garreg Mach’s underground passage, and at Remire village. At the last mention, Duke Aegir doubts were all dispelled. Remire was part of that territory. And as if that clue wasn’t decisive enough, Marianne explained how these people had stolen the face of Solon, a scholar from Ordelia. The answer he had reached turned to certainty.

“Was I… helpful?” Marianne tentatively asked, looking away.

Duke Aegir solemnly bowed to her.

“You were a tremendous help, my dear.”

___

Like most nobles, Duke Aegir looked back fondly on his time at the Officer’s Academy. And ever since the imperial family had stopped attending it after the Southern Church rebellion, House Aegir reigned supreme on the House of the Black Eagle. So how come the year that advantageous tradition was broken, incidents plagued Garreg Mach Monastery and Ferdinand was almost killed…

All this mess could have been avoided if only the reckless pampered princess had just taken her role as house leader seriously. Worse, she had left before he could rightfully scold her for her careless leadership. If that wasn’t suspicious already, cloaked dark mages were sighted on multiple occasions wreaking havoc around the Monastery…

But he already knew them and what they stood for. Dark mages, or in other words, the private militia of Lord Arundel, Regent of the Empire, who helped take control of the Imperial Palace during the Insurrection of the Seven. They were known in closed circles to engineer ground-breaking magical weapons. They also infiltrated House Ordelia after the fall of Hrym as punishment for their hubris. Furthermore, Remire was a remote village from Arundel territory where they could have conducted said dark magic experiments far from prying eyes. Everything added up. Turncoats after all, he thought with a bitter smile. Now that the Princess was coming of age, was Lord Arundel getting rid of burdensome co-conspirators? Worse, he couldn’t denounce him without more solid proof. After all, he was in league with Arundel on more sordid affairs than that… You could call it mutually assured destruction, if their bloody business ever came to light.

That very night, the Prime Minister had reached the logical conclusion to his investigation: a power struggle was in the works in Enbarr, if not already underway right under his nose. It was too late to regret not paying attention to the reports from Garreg Mach. There was no point thinking back on the contextless hints scattered in Ferdinand’s letters throughout the year. The time called for swift action.

Ludwig tapped his dry quill on the parchment, aware that he ought to choose his words carefully, for these words would seal his fate.

On the backstabbing scene of Adrestian politics, nobody could be trusted, be they friend or foe. Feelings and promises weren’t enough to move your friends to war if they had nothing to gain from it, but they did influence their eventual allegiance. The Insurrection of the Seven stood as proof. Could you imagine the depth of the trust these ruthless nobles shared, the depths of their hatred for the Emperor, to plan such a flawless coup? However, alliances are wont to be broken; it was time to reshuffle the cards. And Ludwig, in this guest room of Garreg Mach Monastery, couldn’t help but reminisce about the past.

For one year, he led the Black Eagle House with pride and led them to victory at the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion. He disciplined the future Marquis Vestra, settled disputes between the bickering heirs of Hevring and Bergliez, took the Varley boy under his wing. And von Hrym… Well, the House was gone now… Gone and avenged.

Unlike Lord Arundel and Duke Gerth, these four were more than accomplices: they were friends and classmates. For every time they betrayed each other, they teamed up to take down competition. It was all a part of the game. This friendship that could overcome years of political intrigue was the bane of their enemies’ and Edelgard’s ambitions.

Ludwig von Aegir had these four aces up his sleeve. Now, it all came down to profit. Could he offer them a bigger incentive than Edelgard’s or Arundel’s – whichever it was pulling the strings – to make them take his side once again?

“Celian von Varley. Heinrich von Hevring. Otto von Bergliez. Hugh von Vestra. Will you fulfil the other half of the promise we made within these halls, I wonder?”

He sealed the four missives with red wax.

“Let’s roll the dice.”

___

The next two days were spent waiting for answers, or a lack thereof. During that time, the Duke managed to have a few words with all the Black Eagles present and was delighted by the group’s cohesion, unaware of the chaotic mess they started with.

He was having lunch with the Knights of Seiros coming from his territory when he overhead the students’ gossip in the queue to return their meal trays. It was a group of girls from all houses speaking in hushed voices and giggles a few steps behind him.

“I heard he jumped in the way to protect Dorothea!” a Black Eagle girl said in awe.

Ludwig almost dropped his fork.

“Are you sure? I have a hard time imagining Ferdinand falling from his horse,” a Blue Lion girl couldn’t help but doubt.

“Even the best of riders can’t stop the momentum of a spear thrown at them at full speed, you know?” the first girl deadpanned.

“I would at least try to dodge it!” a Golden Deer argued.

“You wouldn’t if someone without a shield was standing behind you!” the Blue Lion reasoned.

“Do you think they could be…?”

Before he could hear the end of the last sentence, the students left the dining hall. Both resigned and satisfied at once, the former Black Eagle thought: why bother looking for intel when schoolgirl gossip literally brought you the answers on a platter? Secrets were always in the open in days at the Officers Academy, that fact never changed. And now, it all made sense. Ferdinand had taken his military studies seriously from a young age – the injury was no stupid accident. He was struck down protecting a classmate in need – but not any classmate. An opera singer.

Of course.

Duke Aegir’s sigh ended in a resigned smile. This boy has a type, he noted again, still thoroughly entertained after all these years. Wondering whether he favoured their voluptuous figure or their voice, the Duke headed toward the infirmary for an… amicable visit. He needed to draw the line before Ferdinand threw away his life on inconsequential crushes. His son was destined for far greater things.

However, as soon as he opened the door, the voices inside stopped him in his tracks. The small opening was enough to peek inside where – speak of the devil – Ferdinand and Dorothea were sitting side by side on the infirmary bed. The noble was wearing his uniform, minus the jacket and boots. Things were almost back to normal.

The two Black Eagles were still tiptoeing around the subject of the Sealed Forest, as if delaying that talk would make it any less difficult. In the meantime, they could just pretend everything was fine and carry on. Luckily, it wasn’t all doom and gloom; they still had plenty of happier things to discuss. As long as it didn’t get too deep, they could talk about anything in the privacy of the infirmary.

Usually, Ferdinand told her about the people who came to visit in-between her check-ups. The songstress was still helping out Manuela at the infirmary whenever she had some free time – and not to see him, obviously.

“Sylvain comes to visit often,” Ferdinand remarked. All year long, he had always been too embarrassed to get really close to him in spite of all the classes they attended together, only for that barrier to shatter ever since the incident. Now, Sylvain came to chat as often as Lorenz did, all awkwardness forgotten. The noble of Aegir wondered if that was what it felt like to have a big brother watching over you; not that he would ever know, as the eldest in his family.

“To think it would take a nobleman to make him settle down,” Dorothea joked. “I think prince Dimitri feels in your debt. You’ve earned Ingrid’s gratitude, by the way.”

“I’ve done nothing but sleep,” Ferdinand stated humbly. He couldn’t accept praise for the consequences of his screw-up, even if they proved to be surprisingly… wholesome?

Their conversations continued for a little while about the strange routine of the Officers Academy, with Dorothea mentioning her current studies with the Blue Lions. Professor Hanneman’s tutoring in black magic was so much clearer than Manuela’s… With a guilty chuckle, they both agreed not to speak of it to anyone else.

On the outside, they looked pretty close. Only they knew the distance they had yet to cross to open up to one another… And after such an incident, they needed to bridge that gap at last. With that hope in mind, Ferdinand finally asked the question that had been on his mind.

“And does our tea party still stand? I have yet to properly congratulate you for winning the White Heron Cup,” he reminded her with a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“And you have yet to inform me of a place and time,” she also reminded him, teasing.

“It is nothing so formal!” he hurriedly assured her. However, Dorothea’s consideration wasn’t lost on him. Since she was aware of how tired he still felt, she left it up to him. “Let’s settle on the details after the ceremony in the Holy Tomb. I should be able to entertain a guest outside of the infirmary then,” he said lightly, since that day was just a handful of days away. They might be able to have a true heart-to-heart at last.

Duke Aegir quietly closed the door on the two lovebirds.

Walking down the storied halls of the Officers Academy brought back too many memories, of unfulfilled youthful hopes and dreams of impossible love. The Prime Minister didn’t feel concerned. Let them dream for a year – graduation is already on the horizon. When the bell tolls, they’ll be brought back to reality. After all, these two know very well their place in society.

Dorothea was a clever girl. She wouldn’t overstep so far above her condition. And Ferdinand was a dutiful son and heir, the finest of Adrestia’s children. He wouldn’t do anything that could destabilise the country or put their House in peril.

Like every other Black Eagle before them, they too would readily yield their happiness to the Empire’s everlasting glory.

___

Two more days passed until Ferdinand was discharged from the infirmary. That day, the Archbishop would be holding a special audience to discuss the unrest in the Monastery. And according to Duke Aegir, visitors were to be expected. Careful, the Prime Minister didn’t let his suspicions against the Crown be known. He could only hope that as many Ministers as possible would have answered his call.

Thus, the Black Eagles were quite surprised to see a soldier interrupt their first class with Professor Manuela. According to him, one of them needed to come and receive an unexpected noble guest. And as soon as his name came up, Bernadetta shot up from her seat.

“Why is he here?” she squeaked, her heart beating in her ears.

“You can leave class,” Manuela said. “I will give you the material you missed out on later.”

The guard was still waiting for Bernadetta to make a move towards the door, yet she stood frozen in place, nervously fiddling with her hands. Why was her father here, and why did they need her to greet him? She faintly remembered that Ferdinand and his father would attend the audience with Lady Rhea and the other professors. Only Manuela was still teaching to make up for lost time with the Black Eagles.

From the row in front of her, she suddenly noticed Dorothea who whispered to her: “Psst, Bern. Don’t be afraid of your father. Go before he gets impatient,” she firmly encouraged her. Thanks to her friendship, Bernie found the resolve to meet her true nemesis. She hurriedly apologised for leaving class and followed the guard to the entrance hall.

And there, her father was waiting for her.

The Minister of Religious Affairs was a man of average height, with straight hair slicked back on his head. To be exact, purple hair not a shade lighter or darker than Bernadetta’s, and eyes of the same deep amethyst colour – the hallmark of nobles from the north-east of the Empire, most notably Houses Arundel and Varley. To the elders’ chagrin, Bernadetta had inherited her mother’s wide steel eyes instead.

Furthermore, the Count wore a perfectly trimmed, thin beard outlining his jaw and reaching under his lower lip. It was a modest look which, coupled with his nondescript travel cloak, helped him travel incognito. However, his clothes gave away his fortune. He wore an elegant costume not unlike Hanneman’s but still found a way to flaunt his wealth thanks to the dark purple dye and exquisite fabric perfectly tailored to fit him. The sleeves were trimmed with silver thread, with delicate embroideries of the Crest of Indech and religious charms which shimmered like the moon’s reflection on water, rippling along his arms whenever he moved. Even under the brown cape, draped around the shoulders in typical Adrestian fashion, the traveller’s social status couldn’t be mistaken. Still, he wasn’t wearing the more traditional Adrestian regalia with asymmetric sleeves and long robes reminiscent of the togas of old, or he would have been immediately recognised like Duke Aegir was. It was an efficient disguise to make travel coaches go faster on his whim without revealing his true identity.

Count Varley had set the bar for Enbarr’s elite absurdly high for the past decades, to the extent he shaped the fashion standards and expectation of decorum for the young Ferdinand and Edelgard. It was one of the many ways he used to keep House Varley relevant in the absence of the Church on Adrestian soil and to remind nobles he still stood above them as a Minister. And elegance was in the details. From the tip of his hair right above the high collar, to the fitted waist of his coat, and the lustre of his shoes despite his express travel, his appearance was nothing short of the perfection expected of someone of his rank. He stood above Bernadetta whose fluffy hair floated like a curly cloud above her head, in a uniform tailored to be cute and comfy rather than modest and straitlaced. Even though students were allowed that degree of personalisation in their yearly outfit, when the Count spotted his daughter, a brief downturn of his lips immediately warned her he didn’t approve of it.

Having noticed his heiress at last, Celian von Varley left the hall’s entrance to meet Bernadetta – and she swallowed thickly at how fast he closed the gap between them. She couldn’t hope to reach such a confident stride in her lifetime – even though he painstakingly trained her to walk like a lady, even though the princess and Ferdinand imitated him seemingly effortlessly. How she wished to have Dorothea by her side then…

He threw his travel cloak at an unsuspecting servant who yelped under the sudden weight and darkness. Nobles needn’t apologise to furniture.

Bernadetta braced herself to welcome him pleasantly nonetheless. “Welcome to Garreg Mach Monastery, father. D-did you have a p-pleasant journey?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew she had failed to meet his expectations. No matter how, she couldn’t control her nerves.

“Is that a bird’s nest on your head?” he said in lieu of a greeting. He pointed at her collection of cowlicks with a disdainful jut of the chin, which she immediately tried to placate with her hands. “You look quite plain as well. I do not remember sending you makeup so you could doll up your horse. And cease your slouching!” he suddenly shouted at her in a sort of elevated whisper so other guests wouldn’t pick up on the contents of his lecture. “Your utter lack of charm brings shame to our name! Is this how you repay the trust your mother placed in you when she sent you to such an esteemed institution? Have you made no effort to fit in with your peers?” Count Varley asked without awaiting a response.

With each sentence, Bernadetta physically retreated from him, holding her hands in a vain attempt to hide behind herself. “I have made… n-noble friends…” she tried to argue and lie, mostly to remind herself she wasn’t that lonely girl in the tower anymore.

“Do not talk back to me,” he shut her down with so little concern a slap would have been quicker to get his point across. “And have you not curbed that pathetic stutter of yours already?” her father sighed with cold eyes gouging her heart out. “Do be silent at the audience. I do not want you to embarrass House Varley any further in front of the Archbishop.”

Bernadetta nodded in silence, lest a sob give away the storm raging in her heart.

Up the stairs of the entrance hall, a late Ferdinand witnessed the entire scene. The severity of the Count’s words stunned him speechless, whereas Bernadetta was brought to tears. He never would have believed the Minister, strict as he was, to be so ruthless to his only daughter in private… Despite his general fatigue, Ferdinand hurried down the stairs and greeted Varley with a voice a tad higher than usual, making a grand spectacle of his entrance to bring all attention away from her.

“My lord, how have you been?” he exclaimed with syrupy politeness – but his smile no longer reached his eyes.

“Ah, Ferdinand! I heard what happened from your father. I am glad to see you well. The Goddess is merciful,” he said with genuine gentleness, unlike anything he had shown to Bernadetta earlier. The dissonance was so great Ferdinand forgot how to speak, and the Count continued without noticing his unease. “Unfortunately, this conversation must wait. We are expected in the audience chamber.”

“Of course,” he finally answered. His tongue felt like lead and sandpaper at once in his mouth. “I did not intend to keep you.”

Time was of the essence and Count Varley headed at once toward Rhea’s chamber, with the two Black Eagles still stunned speechless following a great distance behind him.

When the Count was out of hearing distance, Ferdinand slowed down to Bernadetta’s pace. The poor girl was barely holding herself together, strong hiccups shaking her lithe frame.

“Bernadetta?” he softly whispered. “Though I did not mean to eavesdrop, I heard your conversation just now… I wish I had found the words earlier to condemn the heinous words you unjustly received. I…” He couldn’t even put his shock into words, nor find the words to offer her some solace.

“It’s fine…” she whispered. Then, swallowing her misery, she begged him. “I’m still worthless after all! Just forget you saw anything!”

All he could do to show his support was to walk by her side – ready to use his convalescence as a convenient excuse if the tyrant found them too slow to his liking. At any rate, he wasn’t leaving her behind. They walked in silence – close enough to touch – as if huddling together. Not another word was spoken all the way to the first floor.

They eventually reached the antechamber at a crawling pace, with Ferdinand hiding his strained breathing from going up a mere flight of stairs. Now, they just needed to blend into the background while the adults talked it out.

It didn’t take long for the Imperial performance to commence. At the sight of the Minister of Religious Affairs, Duke Aegir clapped his forehead and let out a laugh. It was fate. The first to join his Insurrection, the one who disbanded the alliance… and the only one to answer his call at the eleventh hour. On the bright side of things, he was the most reliable ally he could ask for.

“Thank you for answering my summons,” Ludwig said.

“What did you drag me into?” Count Varley complained in place of a greeting.

And the most charming as always, he remembered. “We need to discuss the recent events and the security of the Monastery. I thought you would like to give your opinion, or did I overstep, Minister?” Duke Aegir said.

“How kind of you to remember my area of expertise,” he replied. Still, the other Ministers should have been here, and their absence spoke louder than words. If this was the start of another power struggle, they were just two… But they couldn’t draw hasty conclusions.

Count Varley eventually dialled down the prickliness. They needed to show a united front – for now, at least. Then, the guards announced them to Lady Rhea, and the Imperial nobles entered the audience chamber at last.

The Minister of Religious Affairs stepped forward and bowed to the Archbishop in name of the other visitors.

“It is a pleasure to see you again, Your Grace,” Count Varley said with reverence. “I apologise for not offering you my greetings sooner in this harrowing year. The Church has kindly extended its help to Empire citizens from Remire and to our dear students on countless occasions. On behalf of His Imperial Majesty, you have His heartfelt thanks.” Even with so little time to prepare, his delivery was smooth, informed, and diplomatic. It was at times like these that the Prime Minister thanked the existence of that oft overlooked Ministry.

“Your kind words are appreciated, Lord Varley. The Knights of Seiros will always strive to protect the believers and the students under their care,” Lady Rhea answered.

After exchanging a few formalities, to Bernadetta’s surprise… she saw her father flash his first smile since his arrival to wish Rhea good health. The kind of smile you give a very old friend, the kind he didn’t deign to give to Ludwig earlier – although she did miss one when he met Ferdinand. One would expect this level of familiarity between the Archbishop and the Minister of Religious Affairs, yet that Ministry wasn’t particularly friendly itself, as it was held back by the century-old anti-church sentiment in the Empire. Equally disturbed was Seteth who didn’t know how this (questionable) friendship came to be.

However, someone in this very room did have the key to this mystery. And most would have overlooked him because he was a mere servant, and unbeknownst to them, a confidant of sorts to Lady Rhea. And she did mention to him the very “first” promotion she had overseen as Archbishop, including a particularly memorable Black Eagles house of 1147 full of future Ministers…

Duke Aegir built on Celian’s tirade to feign being deeply affected by the losses of Remire, even though the only thing that pushed him to come was Ferdinand alone. In light of the many incidents the Church had had to deal with and the related unrest in the Empire, he called for more soldiers to guard the Monastery from now on. Rhea was obviously not opposed to the idea, but their forces were spread thin since the murder of the Captain of the Knights. She couldn’t allocate more soldiers to the Officers Academy.

And as usual, the one who would need to compromise would be House Varley. After casting a defiant glance at the Prime Minister, the Minister of Religious Affairs settled for the middle ground. “It would be an honour to pledge soldiers to the defence of the Monastery. I shall summon an elite force for the task at once. The Knights of Aegir can be called in reinforcement as well for the remainder of the school year and the next. I dearly hope for the Knights of Seiros to find a new balance in the meantime with our collective support.”

All sides found this to be an acceptable deal and a huge relief for the Central Church. Only Bernadetta was left confused as to why the Aegir Knights would stay that long, but no one elaborated on that point. Reinforcements were expected to arrive at the earliest in a week from Varley, but most likely three from Aegir as they would need to pass through the Alliance to reach Garreg Mach. Thus, the audience concluded on a high note. The Imperial nobles couldn’t rest easy yet, but they couldn’t do much more without further information.

After the audience, Duke Aegir excused himself to activate his own web of informants, while Byleth and Rhea retired to discuss the details of the upcoming ceremony. Meanwhile, Count Varley decided to enjoy this forced trip to the best of his ability, and hailed Professor Hanneman, who seemed less reluctant to talk with him than with the Prime Minister who despised him under his mask. Perhaps it was because the Count, an old acquaintance, saw him as a scholar first and foremost, and still regarded him with the respect due to noble Crest bearers. Although not fond of undue reverence, the Blue Lions’ teacher could tolerate that kind of visitor once in a while. He knew worse nobles, somehow.

“I hear you studied the legendary Crest of Flames,” Celian recalled, intrigued. He had been an avid reader of his research papers from the start – one of the rare ways he put his influence to good use. “What are your findings so far?”

As a scholar, Hanneman was always available to discuss his theories. And… He cast a glance at Bernadetta cowering behind Ferdinand quite a few steps away. Well, he never minded rambling about his research, especially for a good cause.

“My analysis confirmed it is a Crest of unrivalled power, whose bearer is the sole person capable of wielding the Sword of the Creator. Professor Byleth is absolutely unique in that regard,” he said with confidence.

Count Varley was completely drawn in by his explanation, a thinking hand below his chin. “It must be the Goddess’s will for this girl to appear in such a blessed year for the Officers Academy.”

Although they were both passionate about Crests, their reasons couldn’t differ more. Hanneman von Essar despised their social importance and wished to share their power with everyone. Celian von Varley marvelled at these blessed gifts and used them to justify the supremacy of nobles over commoners. And yet, they both wanted to learn more and more about Crests. Sharing the same Minor Crest of Indech, the young Count Varley offered his own blood so the Crest scholar could finish the thesis that earned him his nickname of Father of Crestology 20 years ago. They both had something to gain from this research, so they collaborated. That was the Adrestian way – until people like Hanneman couldn’t take it anymore and fled this backstabbing crowd for good.

 “Are you bored yet of testing our Crest?” Celian asked with a mix of sarcasm and playful banter.

“Not at all. Crests still hold boundless secrets for me to uncover. Your mastery of your Crest, for example, makes you an outlier among Minor Crest holders.”

“I told you, it is a matter of faith. Hard to quantify, I suppose…”

As the exchange continued, Hanneman discreetly waved at Ferdinand and Bernadetta to leave while he kept the Count occupied. Thankful, they took their cue to leave at once.

___

The students’ parents never came to visit their children at the Officers Academy, that was something of a given. They only ran into each other due to business reasons with the Church itself.

As a result, Count Varley’s presence was something of an event. After all the trouble in the Kingdom, now it seemed to be the Empire’s turn. Still, the Count was in less of a hurry than Lord Arundel or Duke Fraldarius, so he paid a visit to the Black Eagles, to Bernie’s chagrin.

The classroom was exactly as he remembered. Even the students were familiar figures, allowing Bernadetta to skip on presentations. He recognised Caspar and Linhardt at once, noting how much they had grown in the past 5 years, and greeted the Brigid princess with a sternness hiding his contempt for the political hostage. And it was only getting worse. As they finished their introductions, something was clearly amiss.

Not even once did Count Varley acknowledge Dorothea’s presence.

It wasn’t like he forgot to greet her… He didn’t spare her a single look, as if a commoner among the Black Eagles was too filthy a sight for him to lay eyes upon… It was as if she didn’t exist in this room.

The slight didn’t go unnoticed, yet nobody knew how to raise an objection to one of the most influential lords in the Empire. Petra grabbed her hand in support, while the two childhood friends glanced at each other to see if they could come up with something. Utterly mortified for her friend, Bernadetta avoided everyone’s eyes and hoped that keeping silent would at least protect Dorothea from her father’s scorn.

However, Ferdinand decided to step in so this unbecoming behaviour would cease. From as far as he could remember, he had never been afraid to reach out to the powerful – and he had never been so glad to be able to stand up to anybody. To think this was only a glimpse of the slights she suffered from other mean-spirited nobles… Her resentment felt more than justified. Ashamed, Ferdinand realised from how high he had been looking down on her for the entire year – it put her reactions in a whole new light…

“Allow me to introduce you Dorothea Arnault, the best Reason user among the Black Eagles,” he boasted with sterling confidence. To put more weight to this statement, he made sure to meet her eyes then the Count’s, so he would be forced to acknowledge her.

Dorothea wasn’t expecting anyone to stand up for her, nor did she want them to – she feared the retaliations from nobles like him, not towards herself, but towards her friends. Yet, they all stood by her side in their own way… And Ferdinand, the most well-armed to handle this situation, had taken it upon himself to defend her.

It was… everything she could hope for. She would cherish those friends for as long as she lived. She couldn’t doubt their friendship anymore, nor her rightful place among them.

“She won us the White Heron Cup by a landslide.” To her amazement, Ferdinand’s praise went on. He was now standing by her side, presenting her like a noble lady at some ball. It felt surreal. “I am sure you have heard of her as the star of the Mittlefrank Opera Company?” he insisted with a determined look in his eyes.

Celian von Varley marked a pause, as if thinking if he should just ignore him entirely. Still, Ferdinand was a rightful member of the aristocracy – he deserved respect, and a bit of indulgence due to his youth… “Ah, now that you mention it,” he unenthusiastically answered, “your father mentioned how impressed he was with her performance. Unfortunately, I have yet to hear her sing. When will you return to the stage, Miss Arnault?”

And the first words Count Varley directed at the songstress couldn’t be more condescending. It wasn’t about her talent, it was an invitation to leave this place already.

“I attend the Officers Academy to broaden my horizons beyond the opera, my Lord,” Dorothea replied with calculated poise and her hands placed sagely in front of her.

“How did you manage to surpass Hubert in magic studies? That would be quite a feat.” His glare chilled her to the bone. Refusing to let his threats get to her, she didn’t take the bait and remained calm.

“Hubert specialises in Dark magic, and I in Black magic. I–”

“Dark magic… what a waste of potential,” Count Varley sighed over her. “Such spells are a travesty of the Goddess’s gifts. Anyway, congratulations on winning the White Heron Cup. This is the only title we didn’t earn back in our time,” he recalled, to the curiosity of the Black Eagles whose fathers attended the Officers Academy with him. And just like that, he snatched the spotlight from the unworthy commoner parading among them. “Our dancer was cute as a button. We all placed our bets on her. But alas, she was a klutz, too. A perfect routine, only to trip at the end.” He closed his eyes, remembering that scene and chuckling despite himself. “It was too funny to hold it against her.”

Count Varley’s charisma drew them in almost against their will. It wasn’t a particularly hectic story, and yet, there was an underlying warmth and longing to it…

“Pardon the ramblings of an old man reminiscing,” he stopped himself before divulging too much of that story.

Linhardt felt sick at the fake humility he would be forced to tolerate for the rest of his noble life – the Officers Academy enchanted parenthesis was about to end… As if reading his mind, Count Varley continued: “I am sure you will look back fondly on the memories you made here too, and sooner than you might expect.”

There was no denying that he was well-spoken, elegant, charming even. An enticing lie, yet not a single Black Eagle was fooled. They still carried on with the conversation at a quieter pace than what Duke Aegir had used them to in the last few days – or rather Ferdinand and Caspar did, focusing on the subject of tournaments. It was their chance to defuse the tension building up in the air, and they took it together. The second son of Bergliez had learnt to handle situations without brute force and could count on Ferdinand to keep him on track. Sadly, everyone else was still too stunned to be able to contribute to the conversation. No matter, the two of them could talk loud and long enough for all their friends combined!

So the two boys went on about how the lance competition had been dominated by the Blue Lions this year, to the noble heir’s despair, while gauntlets tournaments had been far more unpredictable. As expected, Count Varley used to own the bow tournament – and the boys quickly steered the topic to other weapons before his daughter got herself dragged into the discussion. Indeed, Bernadetta made herself scarce behind Caspar and Linhardt, with the latter looking in vain for a polite way out. Petra was also mostly ignored by the Imperial zealot.

And yet, whenever Varley’s eyes passed over the group, they lingered for a mere instant on the intruder among them, spelling out his true feelings for the low-born songstress only. Know your place, scum. Performing for nobles is already too great an honour for you.

It didn’t matter. Every time Dorothea met another noble like him only served to strengthen her resolve to crawl her way out of the common masses. Those pompous nobles would never be rid of her, and one day, she would be flaunting her wealth and happiness among them… She could hardly wait to make them squirm in the presence of a common-born noblewoman for the rest of their miserable, hateful lives.

But wasn’t she intoxicated by their fabricated world as well? When did she stop enjoying her craft to follow the sweet, empty, promise of vengeance? Why were her dreams of love and plenty so twisted now…?

___

There were only two days left before the Ceremony in the Holy Tomb. Their groundwork complete, Edelgard and Hubert returned to launch their plan.

Fate worked in mysterious ways. Just as the coming war was set in stone, minor incidents rippled across time, making new opportunities arise. In every world at this point in time, Edelgard was determined to see the war through. In every world, Duke Aegir’s love for his son outweighed his loyalty to the Church, for a father could ignore the faith’s troubles but not those of his own flesh and blood. In every world, Count Varley would support the Church if given the chance.

In any other world, Hubert’s preparations ensured the two most troublesome Ministers would never get the chance to raise arms against Lady Edelgard again. However, delays in his plans gave Duke Aegir enough time to foresee the shift in the Empire’s political balance… And yet, what could they do now that all relevant nobles backed their coup? Although the new Head of House Vestra kept his composure by the Emperor’s side, laughter filled his mind.

“Welcome back to the Officers Academy, Your Highness,” Count Varley said, bowing deeply. For once, he was glad to fulfil his role as Minister of Religious Affairs and welcome the princess to Garreg Mach.

On the other hand, Edelgard’s heart balanced between scorn and amusement. These vile Ministers were so out of the loop it was almost laughable. Knowing this charade would come to an end in a handful of days, the Emperor of Adrestia put on her princess mask for the last time in her life and offered a polite smile.

“Thank you, Lord Varley. I hope this month is peaceful.”

“As do I, Your Highness,” Duke Aegir, an equally good liar, answered.

Chapter Text

Imperial Year 1180, Pegasus Moon

As always, trouble brew in the Kingdom and students from the Officers Academy were deployed across the continent. They welcomed any opportunity for sightseeing regardless of the bloodshed involved – frankly, this year had desensitised them to an absurd degree. Therefore, the Golden Deer eagerly left for the Rhodos Coast at Seteth’s request. To their surprise, he even left the Monastery to quell this rebellion himself. Flayn was of course part of the expedition, although her brother insisted for her to travel on his wyvern. Considering everything that had happened… no one could blame him.

Quite a few Golden Deer were pleased to learn that Annette would join them in this mission on the Kingdom coast. Lorenz and Lysithea always enjoyed discussing magic theory with the prodigy of the Blue Lions. Quietly followed by Marianne, Hilda enquired about the latest Kingdom fashion trends, while Claude bombarded her with all kinds of questions. As a knight’s daughter, Annette gladly answered him with a unique perspective on the commoners and nobles of Faerghus. Sharing customs, songs and foods from her homeland with friends was a dream come true. The meat, cheese and pastries in particular were to die for – and that seal of approval came from Raphael, a true connoisseur. The journey passed in the blink of an eye with such a lively guide. By the end of it, they even knew half a dozen traditional Faerghan songs by heart too.

Byleth smiled at the cheeriness of her students. If only things could always be this way…

___

The battle on the beach went smoothly despite the novelty of fighting on a sandy beach. Thankfully, no one was fighting in heavy armour, so mobility wasn’t too much of an issue. And with Seteth’s help, they made short work of the Western Church rebels. This more ordinary mission convinced Byleth, once and for all, that she would never let her emotions get the better of her ever again. Her students’ lives were worth more than petty revenge.

After the battle, the secret of Seteth and Flayn’s father-daughter relationship was brought to light, to Byleth’s lack of surprise.

But, the way Seteth carried the Spear of Assal like an extension of his body, and Flayn eagerly grabbed the Caduceus staff, they were almost the spitting images of another holy father-daughter pair… The Professor shook her head – her imagination really was running wild. That was impossible.

“Professor!” Flayn called out. “This beach also used to be my mother’s favourite fishing spot. Do we have some time to spare before going back?”

Byleth’s eyes sparkled at the mention of fishing. The sun was still high in the sky, they had more than enough time to fish.

“I’ll win this one too,” Byleth declared with an intense glare toward the sea.

“We may fish for our leisure this time,” Seteth pointed out with an amused grin. He knew better than to host another fishing tournament after she fished out half of the pond’s population to the cooks’ despair. “I’ll call the students.”

The early spring’s cold didn’t allow even the most daring vacationers to pull out their swimsuits, mainly to Lorenz’s disappointment. After coming so many times to the Kingdom, he had yet to swim in what was known as the Sapphire Sea. Instead, he helped Lysithea build sandcastles on the beach, while Hilda and Marianne ran barefooted in the seafoam. The rest of the Golden Deer borrowed fishing rods from the local fishermen and joined the impromptu fishing activity. The joyful afternoon passed in the blink of an eye.

Right before Claude beckoned the last fishing aficionados to leave the beach, he was suddenly struck by the sight of the three green-haired silhouettes paying their respects to the sea altar.

Almost like family.

___

The road to Garreg Mach was long, and the students needed to rest before heading back to the Monastery for the ceremony at the Holy Tomb. Thankfully, Annette’s hometown was on the way, so she gladly offered to accommodate everyone for the night. The Golden Deer didn’t turn down that golden opportunity to sleep in real beds for once on their travels.

They stopped at the fortified city of Mag Mell, governed by her uncle, Baron Dominic. It was a lovely Kingdom town downstream of Lake Teutates, as welcoming as Annette was cheerful despite its heavy defences. Even though Annie had grown up and studied in Fhirdiad for most of her life, the people there had quickly taken a liking to her and her mother. It was no surprise to see the stern Baron Dominic accept her outlandish request to accommodate a dozen people overnight. As a devout knight, he couldn’t exactly refuse hospitality to the blessed Professor and the Archbishop’s aide.

After the tragic turn of events at Remire, the abandoned chapel, and the Sealed Forest, this quiet and homely respite was a welcome change of pace. Feeling at ease, the students indulged in Annette’s mother’s cooking and listened to the young mage’s tales about the mysteries surrounding Lake Teutates. It was said that the brave souls who challenged the mystical fog and triumphed over the Water Trial would be rewarded with bravery made material. Baron Dominic sighed, advising them not to venture to the deepest parts of the Lake from which adventurers never returned from based on a silly legend. Claude was intrigued to say the least: there was always a bit of truth to the legends passed down through the ages. And Fódlan was a place more mystical than most, what with the Sword of the Creator answering to the Professor only, the powerful Heroes’ Relics securing its borders for eleven odd centuries, mysterious Crest stones and maidens kidnapped for their blood…

While he was lost in thought, Claude didn’t notice Annette barging in the room with a glowing hammer of raw magical power.

“This is Crusher, the Hero’s Relic of House Dominic!” she said while waving the axe like it weighed nothing. “It’s like a big ol’ hammer!” she beamed.

“Wow, you’re so strong!” Hilda lavishly praised her, clapping with enthusiasm.

Lorenz almost spit out his tea at the way she nonchalantly carried her priceless family heirloom. The impropriety! Byleth nodded, as if drawn to the weapon’s powerful halo. Mouth agape, Ignatz stared at the weapon, whereas Flayn clapped at the demonstration of strength. Seteth discreetly facepalmed and continued to review his latest story draft.

“How can you lift that?” Lysithea wondered, sceptical. “You make it look so effortless.”

Before Annette could answer, another voice stopped her dead in her tracks.

“Annette Fantine Dominic! The family’s Relic isn’t a toy!”

“Sorry, Mother…”

Claude kept staring at Annette’s genuine noodly little arms.

“Huh. What did I just watch?”

Chapter Text

Imperial Year 1180, Pegasus Moon

Emperor Edelgard completed her crowning ceremony without issue, thanks to years of planning and Hubert’s quick-thinking. Thankfully, they could forgo the presence of the Archbishop to complete the ritual as intended. And the troublemakers weren’t in Enbarr to stop them…

Before her sickly father, Edelgard pledged her life to Fódlan’s future. Her words were a twisted travesty of the heartfelt oath Wilhelm swore to Saint Seiros long ago – yet, they carried the self-same passion. The crown rested on her head at last.

The ceremony completed, Hubert left the father and daughter exchange a few words meant for them only. It was no problem, he was in esteemed company as well. A few important guests had attended the coronation, their loyalty guaranteed for the war to come. Someone as wary as Hubert only found a handful among them to be truly trustworthy: Duke Walter von Gerth, Count Otto von Bergliez, and to a lesser extent, Count Heinrich von Hevring. Even among those three, only Bergliez hadn’t taken part in the Insurrection of the Seven. But their views aligned perfectly with Lady Edelgard’s ambitions, meaning there was no “incentive” needed to keep them in line.

Duke Walter von Gerth, the youngest of the Ministers after Hubert, was a staunch enemy of the Church who had been fighting back its isolationist policies for a decade. Cold logic dictated each of his actions to empower the Adrestian Empire on an international scale. Of all the Ministers, he was the first to rally the princess’s ranks since he was used to seeing the big picture and desperate for change after the lacklustre reigns of Ionius IX and Duke Aegir.

The blond man, with a goatee and wise golden eyes, always carried a foreign trinket on his person depending on the foreign affairs he was currently handling. As expected for this decisive week, Hubert spotted him wearing a Brigid charm around his neck, betraying the feelings he tried so hard to bury in his line of work. A faux pas for sure, but one the Emperor’s shadow could easily forgive for Petra’s sake.

The Minister of Internal Affairs, Count Hevring, was also a man who dedicated his life to his work. Lately, he had grown displeased with Count Varley’s meddling in his court rulings and the corruption running rampant due to Duke Aegir’s sloppy policies. The meritocracy Edelgard promised would finally allow him to put the Ministry of the Interior in order… It was too good an opportunity to pass up. And thus, he joined her side and immediately started pulling his weight, in stark contrast with his son’s laidback attitude.

For the most part, he looked like and older Linhardt, with long forest green hair tied in a loose ponytail cascading in his back and eyes clearer than water. Lack of sleep added deep shadows under those eyes, making them shine with an eerie glow. With his clean-shaven face, creaseless clothes, and golden monocle neatly tucked away in his lapel, Count Hevring was a spotless perfectionist. He was a workaholic who never got a break, his Ministry always drowning in paperwork in the aftermath of one war or another. It was where the corruption ran deepest too, which greatly influenced his decision to side with the revolutionary princess.

Count Bergliez had remained loyal to Emperor Ionius IX despite his conflicting views, a true testament to his character. Or perhaps he had surrendered his morals to the will of tyrants to keep his family safe… Still, he had proved his mettle countless time, notably in the Brigid-Dagdan war. His strength rivalled his intellect – making him the epitome of what a Minister of Military Affairs should be. Hubert would have been a fool to not pursue the allegiance of the beloved general.

Count Bergliez was an imposing war veteran with wild cyan air and eyes and the scars to match his laundry list of battle victories. Unlike his fellow Ministers, he preferred to wear his War Master armour at all times, proudly bearing his House colours as a symbol of success and glory. On top of his diverging priorities, this made him physically stand apart in stark contrast with the sharply dressed Varley and Hevring, or the classic style of literally all the other Ministers entrenched in bureaucracy.

Then, there was the special case of Viscount Jeritza von Hrym, whose Death Knight personality caused a fair amount of trouble despite its utility on the battlefield. Hubert had learned to manage that unruly asset, only for the Professor’s presence to drive him crazy all year. What a nuisance – both of them. Pawns ought to learn their place. As for the Professor’s case, Hubert was, frankly, running out of contingency plans. If a forbidden spell from Those Who Slither In The Dark couldn’t hold her back, he had little choice but to engage her in a direct confrontation… But that was a headache for another time.

Indeed, he was currently watching ever closely another unpredictable noble whom he could hardly read. It wasn’t due do some blood-thirsty split personality of hers or godly powers, on the contrary. The self-made noblewoman was playing the long game and had won every round thus far. Always working diligently from the shadows, Hubert knew not to underestimate the threat that could pose Countess Johanna von Varley.

The beautiful Countess wore a lot of jewellery without it being gaudy. Each intricate piece seamlessly fit into the larger picture, highlighting her steel eyes, slim waist, and delicate fingers. When her plain civil servant uniform should have made her look austere, the silver gleam in her clothes and the gems sparkling in her ebony hair highlighted her regal poise. Bernadetta’s mother was the epitome of a prim and proper Lady.

Last but not least, Hubert surveyed the most untrustworthy of their guests: Lord Volkhard von Arundel, Regent of the Empire until just now. Or, to be precise, the leader of the shadowy dastards who murdered children underground with the blessing of Duke Aegir and the late Marquis Vestra. Nevertheless, Hubert’s seething hatred didn’t show on his face. For now, he would keep an eye on Lord Arundel and wait for his next move. It would definitely be interesting to see how much leeway he gave his “dear niece” at the beginning of her reign.

___

After the coronation, all nobles assembled for an extraordinary ministerial meeting before Edelgard returned to the Officers Academy. It was their last opportunity to discuss strategy. At the head of the meeting table, Emperor Edelgard presided the conference, with the new Marquis Vestra sitting on her right. There was no need to hide her right hand now that she had revealed her cards. On her left, from the closest to the farthest guest, were Count Bergliez, Count Hevring, and Viscount Hrym. On her right, in the same order, were Lord Arundel, Duke Gerth, and Countess Varley. The trust she placed in each of them was plain to see, as well their importance.

The empty seat opposite of hers was that of the Prime Minister.

Nobody dared address the wyvern in the room. Hugh von Vestra was no longer with them. Acutely aware of the Ministers’ animosity, Hubert left the opening words to his liege. Meanwhile, Otto and Heinrich purposefully ignored him, even though they must have been desperately wanting for answers regarding the sudden death of their friend. Sure, they had an inkling he was to be punished by the princess’s loyal servant, but death without trial was an unprecedented low blow against such an important figure. In the meantime, they knew to keep a low profile while the Emperor’s purge was still in full swing…

Edelgard then spoke up, welcoming her Ministers. “Thank you for giving me your support on this special day. As Emperor, I promise to lead Adrestia and all of Fódlan to a new age rid of the Church’s influence. Let us commence this meeting. I must return to the Officers Academy before my absence arouses the suspicions of the Knights of Seiros.”

Respectful, they all congratulated her on her coronation before shifting to the topics at hand. Namely, to the most pressing issue that warranted this crisis meeting… The timely escape of Duke Aegir and Count Varley from the capital. All plans to put them under house arrest had been thwarted in less than a month after years of negotiations and planning.

“No one could have predicted that his son’s conditions would require him to travel to Garreg Mach,” Countess Varley calmly observed. If their plan didn’t account for such hazards, the fault lied on them for not being adequately prepared.

“Saved by his dying son… He truly has the Devil’s own luck,” Lord Arundel said, irritated. “However, what allowed Count Varley to slip through the net?” he asked, carefully veiling his threat.

“From what I could gather, Count Varley left the capital in the dead of night two days ago. He bribed the silence of the guard,” Duke Gerth recounted. “What impeccable timing, isn’t it? Do you know where he went and why?” he questioned the assembly.

You could have heard a pin drop in the silence that ensued. Thanks to his intel, Hubert already knew the liars of the bunch, yet they didn’t attract the least bit of suspicion despite their longstanding ties with Celian. He was almost impressed, but they didn’t have time to waste on playing innocent.

“I might be able to enlighten you,” Hubert smirked. “My late father received an urgent summon to Garreg Mach Monastery from the Prime… former Prime Minister. I surmise that Count Varley received a similar letter and left post-haste.”

The letter taught him that Duke Aegir was rightfully suspicious of Lord Arundel and Lady Edelgard and was looking for allies in a battle whose sides had long been decided without him. To his credit, Marquis Vestra knew he wouldn’t be able to escape and had the decency to face death with dignity. On the other hand, the Ministers replied with concern, as if they hadn’t received the very same missive from Ludwig themselves.

Feigning ignorance, I see, Hubert assessed. So they were still covering for their former ringleader, even though he was no longer of use to them… What nonsensical sentimentality, if that were true. They were pathetically indulgent toward the pompous insurrectionist.

“I’m not surprised Celian would answer Ludwig’s summons to Garreg Mach. He owes him a debt that cannot be repaid,” Count Hevring said, earning him a nod of approval from Otto. No one elaborated on that statement, as if it were a given for the childhood friends and wife of Count Varley.

The gobsmacking affection the former Black Eagles had for each other was an opaque glass Hubert couldn’t see through, no matter how far he dug to find out details of their shared history. And to Hubert’s dismay, the leads Hugh von Vestra left behind were few and far between… Save for a dying message he was about to deliver to its rightful recipient in Garreg Mach. Unfortunately, that letter didn’t teach him anything of immediate value.

“Is Duke Aegir aware of the army’s movements?” Ever the voice of reason, Countess Varley asked the relevant question. The talented civil servant was supporting the Minister of Internal Affairs during the transition period without a Prime Minister to coordinate the government’s efforts. Her sharp wit helped move the discussion along, much to Hubert’s pleasure.

“Whatever hunch he had,” the young Marquis mocked, “it won’t save him now. He failed to see the signs for years.”

“Indeed, the plan is going smoothly,” Count Bergliez agreed. “Our troops have already infiltrated Garreg Mach. I will call upon the minor lords as soon as Her Majesty gives the order to launch the assault.”

Count Hevring tapped the huge pile of documents in front of him. “We cannot afford to lose. You already dilapidated the Imperial coffers in the last war.”

“Your concern is unnecessary,” Otto retorted. “Ours is the strongest military on the continent. We will make the impossible possible and take Garreg Mach.”

“With what cavalry lines? What backup archers? Half of them will desert in the next few days!” Heinrich curtly reminded the assembly.

“Our engineers have been working tirelessly to answer these issues before they arose,” Lord Arundel interrupted, haughty as usual. “We have tamed beasts whose strength will more than compensate for the deserters. They are operational as we speak. It will be a swift, crushing victory,” Arundel promised with confidence. Of course, that plan would be even more successful if the raid of the Holy Tomb went smoothly in the next few days…

For his part, the General was insulted once again in his ability to command human troops to victory. Most importantly, did they need to rely on such creatures in the first place? He had achieved countless victory with tactics and grit, so where did this desperation come from?

Or, perhaps, where did this cruelty come from…? Was it necessary for the Emperor to crush the Church in such a definitive manner to accomplish her long-term goals more easily? If so, their use could be justified, for a quick conquest of Fódlan. Still, he would rather deploy them as a last resort, Heinrich’s criticism be damned, Arundel’s arrogance be damned!

“If I may be so bold, Your Majesty, the beasts have yet to be included in our tried and tested battle formations,” he reasonably objected. “Our target is Garreg Mach, a supposedly impregnable fortress. I fear that they would disrupt our soldiers. On the other hand, if you were to lead the troops, morale would be at an all-time high. Please consider using the beasts as a last resort.”

Edelgard valued his opinion – especially when it stroked her ego while undermining Arundel’s claim to power. Hubert and Jeritza were of a similar mind.

“Thank you for your input, Lord Bergliez. I will strive to raise the army’s spirits on the eve of this new age. We’ll keep the beasts as an alternative should the siege drag on.”

Satisfied, the proud general thanked the young Emperor he found fit to lead Adrestia.

And on his left, Count Hevring sighed before the papers laid before him. It took more than that to win wars – charisma, courage, it was all good on the battlefield. But only if the logistics could keep up. And as it were, the situation was dire. After browsing reports from all over the Empire, he wasn’t as optimistic as the battle enthusiasts in the room…

“Now stop right there,” he shouted to capture everyone’s attention. “The fact is, we didn’t secure the armies of Aegir and Varley in time. We are on the verge of a civil war. We can expect violent uprisings and mass desertions from the Duchy in particular, but our troops will be busy elsewhere. Once we declare war on the Church, we’ll have two territories siding against us. Without calling into question Johanna’s hold on Varley territory, we all know the believers might sabotage us. How do you plan to deal with that?”

Time was of the essence to put countermeasures in place, yet their options were drastically limited. However, in spite of all the warnings, Otto erupted in boisterous laughter much to Heinrich’s chagrin. “Let them waste their men and resources trying to take Fort Merceus. We’ll pick them off right after the Kingdom campaign!” the general boasted fearlessly.

It wasn’t ideal, of course, but the Stubborn Old General would yield to no one. Confident in the fortress’s impregnable defence, they all agreed to Otto’s suggestion.

“Don’t come crying to me when the coffers are empty,” Count Hevring snapped, offended.

Tired of the petty argument, the Minister of the Imperial Household put his foot down. “All the more reason to deal with the rogue Ministers. I insist that those traitors should be eliminated before they inconvenience us,” Hubert recommended.

“They are a liability to Her Majesty,” Jeritza assented for once.

The mood shifted in the room. It became clear the meeting wasn’t about tactics anymore.

“You would ask us to cast aside our friends like pawns? What do we have to gain, listening to you babbling about short-sighted solutions to issues far too complex for you to comprehend?” Count Hevring venomously tore apart Hubert’s argument. “How daring of you, Marquis Vestra,” he spit out, his voice dripping with unconstrained loathing.

“Do you feel so threatened by fallen nobles you would resort to murder, boy?” Count Bergliez drawled, leaning forward on the table to intimidate the young Marquis.

Taking out pieces out of the political chessboard merited reflection. The Ministers were no pawn, and they remained useful if left alive. Overlooking such a crucial part of politics to fulfil a childish grudge… they couldn’t hold back their condescension at the uncultured young player whose resentment led him to commit the unforgivable.

Furthermore, these words proved that Hubert only understood his elders on a surface level and still had a long way to go before he could grasp the hearts of his enemies. Like something as simple as the group dynamics of the 1147 Black Eagles…

Their friendship wasn’t rocket science, far from it. You didn’t need a key to decipher their relationship, however twisted it had become – because at its core, it was a childhood friendship forged at the Officers Academy. Of all people, Hubert should have understood. That from the beginning, Ludwig von Aegir had been their house leader, and the leader by default in the years thereafter due to his superior rank. You just didn’t stab that person in the back after they carried you so far. And Celian von Varley was equally untouchable, albeit for a different reason. He wasn’t their leader since the Officers Academy. No, he simply used to be the youngest in their class. And like all younger siblings, he abused this power with delight. His natural charisma did the rest, earning him the Angel of Death nickname after graduation.

Like Duke Aegir’s, Count Varley’s word was law. The first started the Insurrection, the second ended it five years ago. His word was so absolute that, when he said it was over, they all went their separate ways without even asking the reason why. The sheer disgust in Celian’s face whenever he had to deal with Ludwig and Hugh afterward told them enough – if he found their actions to have crossed a line, Heinrich and Otto trusted his judgement.

In a nutshell, they followed Ludwig’s leadership, but Celian’s judgement. And if neither was on their side… they rallied against both to win this round.

Murder was never an option.

When the two Counts let go of their rivalry to take down a singular enemy, you knew they had no chance in Hell to prevail. Hubert suddenly found himself the target of a coalition of nobles who wanted nothing more but to murder him for his next misstep. Otto, Heinrich, and Johanna had sworn their loyalty to Edelgard – not to him. They would gladly remove him from the chessboard, no Insurrection needed, if he threatened their loved ones ever again.

To his credit, the spy master perfectly maintained his composure despite the warning bells ringing in his head.

“I was merely stating a permanent solution to what could become a serious thorn in our side. Or would you let your feelings cloud your judgement of the enemy’s abilities?” he thinly accused them.

“Our agreement was to condemn them to house arrest,” Countess Varley coldly reminded him, adding to the opposition. “My family owes a great debt to Duke Aegir, and I shall see no harm done to my husband and daughter. I will settle for nothing less.”

“And I gave my word,” Edelgard reiterated her promise with a disapproving look to her too-eager-to-murder friends. “We must capture them should the opportunity present itself. Their intel is critical. And as I said before,” she emphasised with a pointed look at Jeritza, “I do not require their deaths to rebuild Fódlan anew.”

Edelgard was still amazed at the close-knit bond between the Ministers who, as far as she remembered, were always at each other’s throat and still calling themselves friends. Truly the picture of a healthy relationship. But most importantly, they selfishly guarded each other’s interests because they all thrived from the others’ success in the long run. There was no way in Ailell they would abandon their accomplices. Just like she longed for the continued support of her Black Eagles, unlikely as it may be…

“Indeed, punishing Count Varley beyond house arrest would be a foolish endeavour,” Duke Gerth agreed. “Unless we want a war of faith on top of the rebellion. Fortunately, we do not need to take as many precautions with Duke Aegir’s arrest. Few would object to his fate.”

“You are awfully lenient with the Minister of Religious Affairs,” Jeritza still remarked, bitter.

“Without the Church, my husband will be nothing more than a territory lord whose financial interests align with the Crown,” Johanna claimed with an icy glare to Viscount Hrym. “If you have any complaints, let’s settle them here and now.”

Sitting face-to-face, the two nobles glared daggers at each other. Even surrounded by powerful military men, the Countess wasn’t the type to back down on her principles. In her own way, she was just as fearsome as her husband. Walter, Otto, and Heinrich laughed at Jeritza’s expense. The old world and the new weren’t quite ready to see eye to eye…

“You’re not ready to take on that opponent yet, Jeritza,” Count Bergliez said, breaking up the argument with roaring laughter.

Edelgard found the meeting to be exhausting. Hoping to lighten the mood, she asked for a tea break. All the people on her right, save for Hubert, were delighted at the suggestion, while somehow this devolved into an argument on time efficiency between Otto and Heinrich. Nobody paid them any mind, used to such antics. Jeritza left to get some fresh air.

And yet… All the people planning the future of Fódlan, gathered in this room, talking of merit and glory… were all nobles through and through. They were born to the most prestigious Houses of Adrestia, raised by the best tutors, connected to their equally privileged peers, handed down fortunes and lands. They wanted for nothing, and were showered with every blessing. In such circumstances, anyone with the flimsiest hint of willpower was bound to succeed. Indeed, the current Ministers were the best at what they did, but they had won the moment they were born. Merit meant nothing in that room.

That fact was lost on all of them.

And yet, they all agreed to Edelgard’s promised meritocracy without disregard for the common people who might rise to their level. Because Count Hevring valued skill and character over lineage to rule the courtrooms and manage the finances of the Empire. Because Count Bergliez saw the common peasant show more bravery on the battlefield than alumni of the Officers Academy.

And Countess Varley was born to the poorest and oldest nobility of Enbarr. Titles meant nothing – even a House like hers could be ruined in a single generation and never recover. All that mattered was to nurture talent and allow people to aim ever higher in life, to rise above the conditions they were born in. It didn’t change the fact she generally despised commoners who weren’t trying harder, as if they weren’t too busy trying to survive. In her eyes, nobles were paragons of moral superiority whose duty was to raise children, commoners, foreigners, to adequate levels of utility to their society, as if merit and success could be quantified in gold coins.

To her defence, gold was the measure of her own success as a lord’s wife and a civil servant of the Ministry of the Interior. It was proof she had overcome her humble beginnings and nurtured her talents to fruition. However, she was the exception that proved the rule. Among the many fallen noble Houses in Adrestia, only she emerged from poverty… So how could anyone – with a lesser birthright than hers – could ever hope to achieve similar results?

And soon, that way of thinking would dictate the future of a Fódlan forcefully reunited under the Adrestian banner…

The meeting eventually concluded with a recap of their battle plans to infiltrate the Holy Tomb in a week. But before Edelgard and Hubert took their leave from Enbarr, they visited the grave of her siblings as promised.

___

Imperial Year 1175, Ethereal Moon

Five years ago, Edelgard stood alone before the monument erected at her father’s request to honour the memory of his children. It was built in a tower with sky-high ceiling on one of the highest terraces of the Imperial Palace, far from prying eyes – and as far as possible from the underground where they drew their last breath. The walls were a succession of columns and windows letting the light in, surmounted by a dome. However, at this late hour, only the dim light of the magical chandelier and the blinding flashes of lightning lit up the room.

She knelt before the grave, but offered no prayers. Her gaze wandered along the marble ivy and laurels, golden eagles, and red velvet drapery decorating her siblings’ final resting place. The girl who would have cried her eyes our for her family was dead and buried along with them. With nary a sigh, she laid a wreath of all their favourite flowers at the base of the monument.

To her surprise, a visitor entered the room and, intrigued, she looked back at the impromptu guest. It was the usually impeccable Count Varley, dripping wet from the rain, as if he had been in too much of a hurry to borrow a cape despite the downpour. If memory served well, there was a party at the Prime Minister’s villa that night. Yet, here he was.

Celian von Varley had left a deep impression on the young Edelgard. Among his other duties, the Minister of Religious Affairs was also the professor of religion of the Hresvelg children, a task fit for the strongest believer of the Church of Seiros in the Empire. He wholeheartedly preached that the Goddess, the arbiter of every soul, would pass judgement on the sinners. At her side, a then impressionable Hubert used to shift in awe and fear in his seat. Stories of the Saints’ exploits inspired her to become a good princess, if not a particularly devout one. Indeed, she used to doze off during his lectures and earned the Count’s ire on multiple occasions, much to her siblings’ amusement.

When she was spirited away to the Kingdom, she didn’t miss his lectures in the slightest. And yet, his sermons reminded her to hold on a sliver of hope for the future…

Until she met Those Who Slither In The Dark.

And learned to see his sermons for what they were: a web of lies and delusions of grandeur by one of the most privileged nobles in Adrestia. Afterwards, the Hresvelg archives only served to further confirm the sham that was the Church of Seiros in her eyes. An organisation led by inhuman puppeteers preying on the weakness of their believers.

Everything that man taught her was a lie. A cruel lie. The Goddess didn’t protect the weak. She didn’t punish the sinners. There was no power in the prayers of humans – only the wounds they survived could help them achieve their goals and trample the illusion of faith. Jaded, Edelgard believed in nothing but in the blade that would help her cut her own path. Therefore, the princess only felt betrayal at the sight of the Minister of Religious Affairs standing before her.

They briefly greeted each other and, solemn, he offered a silent prayer to the grave of the Emperor’s children. Of course, it was a given, Edelgard thought. Still, no one else had come to pay their respects to this grave… She didn’t know how to feel. Was it a sincere tribute, or did he come to gloat over their corpses? Regardless, she had things to accomplish, and his presence tonight made that easier.

“Lord Varley. I have a request to ask of you,” she said, her voice still monotone and numb from the horrors she had just endured. Her vocal cords would take a bit longer to heal, and she didn’t feel like acting. Her grief wasn’t some show she was willing to put on in front of those traitors anyway.

“I am at your service, Your Highness,” he responded, equally grave.

“I don’t have the heart to carry on the festivities surrounding Saint Seiros Day this year. I want it to be a quiet, private affair. My teacher, I respectfully ask you to respect my wish to honour the memory of the departed. Until then, you will be dismissed as my tutor in religious studies.”

Sweeping her preconceptions away, Celian von Varley didn’t look offended by her proposition in the slightest.

“I understand, Lady Edelgard. Your timing could not be more adequate. I was about to ask you if I may return to Varley territory, which I have left for many years.”

“Then you may go,” Edelgard confirmed. It was true that the Minister used to spend almost all year in Enbarr teaching the Hresvelgs. And she wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to send away one of her enemies. “Thank you for everything you have done to awaken us to the teachings of the Goddess,” she lied.

“It was my honour to serve the blessed Imperial family,” he genuinely answered, leaving her even more confused as to his true intentions.

They faced the grave once more in a silence punctuated both by the regular thunder strikes and the soft raindrops dripping from Celian’s hair and clothes.

But there was something he couldn’t leave unsaid. The Minister of Religious Affairs turned to the lone white-haired student, his smile a clashing mix between a challenge and an apology.

“I wonder what your vengeance will look like… when the time comes,” he whispered, resigned to the evidence. The strong-headed girl he used to teach wouldn’t take this atrocity lying down. By choosing to keep her alive, his co-conspirators, in their hubris, had dug their own graves. The cycle of revenge could only end with the total annihilation of one side. In that regard, Ionius IX had been especially diligent – with the slaughter of House Hrym to the last child. What a shame that he underestimated their allies that remained to form an Insurrection…

That was why he didn’t underestimate Edelgard’s desire for revenge. She was entitled to payback, just like the Seven. “The Goddess is on your side,” he succinctly said.

Edelgard understood the message hidden beneath the words of her former preacher. In one swift motion, he acknowledged her rightful and legitimate desire for vengeance, and the inevitability of their clash.

But Count Varley wouldn’t give up either.

This round was over, and the next wouldn’t begin before another few years had passed. Until then, the current victors would revel in their fleeting victory, while the losers prepared their comeback. Such was the way of Adrestian politics. What form would this everlasting war between the Emperor and the Ministers take next?

Standing side by side in silence before the gold and marble grave, neither Celian nor Edelgard answered that question out loud.

At last, the Minister bowed before the heir apparent and headed toward the exit. Still, he turned back to share some parting wisdom with the last of his students.

“Keep that shadow of yours close. He may be the very last ally you have in this world.”

And without waiting for an answer, he left Enbarr the very same night.

Perhaps she could believe in his sympathy – not that it mattered. They would eventually fight to the death without reserve… when the time came, indeed.

“What will you do with the Minister of Religious Affairs?” Hubert asked, stepping out of the shadows.

There was no doubt that if forced to take a side, Count Varley would forever oppose the Crown that deemed the slaughter of House Hrym necessary to quell the nobles’ ambitions. To say nothing of the fact he already knew they were plotting their revenge… Foreseeing the trouble he might cause them in the future, Hubert quickly needed to formulate a plan to dispose of such a dangerous player on the Empire’s political chessboard.

However, his lady always found ways to look ahead, broadening his pessimistic vision once again.

“He’s a liar blinded by faith in a false Goddess,” she agreed. “But…”

She knew where he drew the line. Forlorn, Edelgard kneeled before the Imperial grave and caressed the marble laurels with a distracted hand.

“… He doesn’t deserve death. It’ll be enough to see his despair when the corrupt Church he so loves burns to ashes,” she promised to the dead.

___

Imperial Year 1180, Pegasus Moon

It had been an incredibly busy month at the Officers Academy. Recovering from the battle in the Sealed Forest, teaching the three houses at once for lack of other available professors, going on an expedition in the Kingdom, and finally, preparing for the ritual in the Holy Tomb… Byleth felt justified in her exhaustion. Sothis’s absence still weighed heavily on her, as did Jeralt’s.

But this month also taught her to cherish the students and friends she had made at Garreg Mach. Her father, who had so many reservations when they returned, must have finally been at peace.

The ceremony was scheduled for the next day, thus she allowed herself some downtime with Professor Hanneman. It didn’t hurt to leave him a few strands of her now green hair for his research – she owed him for the trouble she caused him in the forest in the first place.

While they waited for the machine to analyse her hair, Hanneman invited her to tea like a true gentleman. Byleth appreciated the change of pace. It was a pity that Manuela wasn’t there too, but she deserved a break after spending an entire month tending to the wounded.

Before long, though, their tea party turned into rabid Adrestian gossip, first on the topic of the Prime Minister’s unexpected visit.

“It’s strange… how much Ferdinand takes after him… and how much he doesn’t,” Byleth noticed, at a loss for words.

“That is perhaps the best way to put it,” Hanneman concurred, settling back in his armchair.

“Pardon me if I’m wrong, but the Prime Minister doesn’t seem to hold you in high regard…”

“Another astute observation,” the wise professor said, taking it in stride. He was long used to the dismissive looks from his former peers whenever they ran into each other. “And yet, I have nothing against him. There are far worse nobles than him,” he declared, knowing what it entailed. It was a high bar.

Byleth looked a bit pensive, which probably meant the gears in her head were turning at full speed. “Do you happen to know the parents of our Black Eagles? They sound like… colourful characters, if the Prime Minister is any indication,” she said with a slight tilt of the head.

“Seeing the Prime Minister after so long does bring back memories.” Which I could do without, he mentally added. At the same time, they were fascinating people in the shifting landscape of Adrestian politics. As the Father of Crestology, he couldn’t deny he used to be a part of that world. Who else but him could give a glimpse of said world to the young Professor?

“First of all, you should know that several of them were part of the 1147 Black Eagles house, namely Ludwig von Aegir, Hugh von Vestra, Heinrich von Hevring, Otto von Bergliez, and Celian von Varley. To see their children attending the Officers Academy together hardly feels like a coincidence.”

Nobles didn’t leave such encounters to chance, but to have all their children so close in age was as if the stars aligned to make it happen.

Byleth wasn’t versed in politics, but it didn’t hurt to learn more about her students’ parents while they were visiting. And knowledge was a weapon like any other.

“Please, tell me more about Ferdinand’s father.”

“He was the first among the 1147 class to become Minister under the rule of Emperor Ionius IX. He trained himself from the ground up in a handful of years to bear that charge. Yes… That’s what I want to remember. The passion and duty that animated him in his youth. Imagine my surprise when I saw it did live on in his son.”

Hanneman von Essar didn’t take up his teaching position for lack of alternatives: he had a genuine love for teaching, as it was part of a scholar’s journey to entrust knowledge and research to the next generation. Every year, he nurtured the talents of his students with care. Unfortunately, too much baggage came with teaching this Black Eagles class, which he left to Manuela. And yet, every time he taught a member of that class in lance, riding or reason… All these children were untainted by the Empire’s noble culture. Hurt, scarred, traumatized sometimes. But not a single one of them had followed in their noble parents’ murky footsteps. Petra and Dorothea fought with pride despite the stakes raised against them. And yes, to his immense surprise, the noble who grew up in the Adrestian court… really was noble at heart. The Crest scholar was certain that Ferdinand would never turn out like his father.

Ashamed of his misconceptions, Hanneman had sworn to protect the Black Eagles like all the students he tutored in the past.

“Ferdinand faces a lot of expectations then,” Byleth noted.

“More so than you can imagine,” he empathised with him. “Everyone at court had their eyes on him since he was born, unlike princess Edelgard, who was born 9^th in line to the throne.”

“Ninth?!” the ex-mercenary exclaimed.  She already knew the princess had been an unexpected successor like Claude for the headship of House Riegan, but to that extent?

“Tragedy befell the Imperial family. They say it was a plague like the one that spread in Faerghus around 20 years ago. In the end, Edelgard was the only one left to inherit the throne.”

“How awful…” Now that she knew what loss felt like, she couldn’t imagine the heartache of losing so many of your loved ones at once. Her students who had moved past their grief were so much stronger than she gave them credit for…

Noticing the melancholy mood, Hanneman evoked some other nobles to distract his younger colleague.

“Count Varley and Marquis Vestra were the first to sponsor my Crest research during its humble beginnings. The first wanted to gain a better understanding of holy power, the second wished to explore this completely uncharted field of magic theory.”

“I’m surprised they would be interested in the inner workings of Crests.”

“Nobles have their eccentricities. And like everyone else, they also used to be young and curious,” he reminded her with a warm smile. “Now, I left the Empire before the Insurrection, and I have known them for a very long time. I may only offer a biased perspective, both the good and the bad heightened by my own bitterness and nostalgia. I leave it up to your interpretation.”

The Professor nodded, and he continued.

“House Varley lost its prestige and revenues after the Southern Church was dismantled. Count Varley revived his territory’s industries and restored his House in a single generation. Of course, such tremendous success came at the expense of countless others.”

However, from Bernadetta’s dorm assignment, you should realise how precarious House Varley’s situation is to this day…, he thought. But the Professor was past those considerations. To his surprise, she even prepared a falsetto voice to explain what troubled her.

“When I met him, he introduced himself like this: ‘My name is Celian von Varley. I am the Minister of Religious Affairs, and the last bastion of faith in the Adrestian Empire. It is an honour to meet you, Enlightened One.’ I was so shocked I forgot to punch him,” she shuddered.

“You… did well, Professor. People are known to disappear for lesser slights against his person than that. Ahem… Well, if there is another thing of note about him, it would be the depth of his faith. For your wellbeing, I advise you to not pay any mind to any further remarks of his. Once he gets started, he is as talkative as I am about Crest research.”

“Duly noted, Professor Hannemann,” Byleth acquiesced. “Then, what about your other patron, Hugh? I wonder what Hubert’s father might be like. Actually terrifying, I suppose?”

“To enemies of the Empire, absolutely. However, I cannot bring myself to fear him in any capacity.”

There was no way he was telling anyone about the time he saw Hugh melt in gooey happiness over the new-born Hubert. Such knowledge could single-handedly destroy the Vestras’ reputation. And he wanted to live, thank you.

Byleth cocked an eyebrow, but otherwise remained silent, inviting him to continue.

“Hugh studied weapons rather than magic, the traditional path for an Assassin. Personality-wise, he isn’t the type to blend in the shadows. He’s an… unrepentant charmer of Sylvain’s calibre,” he sighed with fond exasperation. “And a good friend of mine nonetheless.”

The young Professor seemed pleased enough with the details.

“What about Caspar’s and Linhardt’s fathers? I heard they were at odds with each other.”

An understatement courtesy of Ferdinand, I suppose, Hanneman rightfully guessed.

“What can I tell you that their sons haven’t said before?” the scholar shook his head. “If you must know, they have been bitter rivals for as long as they’ve known each other. I bore witness to some disgraceful tantrums on their part. They came to blows in the halls of the Imperial Palace – every year over the military budget, might I add. Nobles have made it a habit to place bets, since they are surprisingly evenly matched. I have no doubt that Caspar and Linhardt get along so peacefully as a result of years of second-hand embarrassment.”

“That bad, uh?”

“You have no idea.”

Chapter Text

Imperial Year 1180, Pegasus Moon

Preparations for the Goddess’s Revelation were finished at the end of the Pegasus Moon. The Golden Deer class was allowed to attend the ceremony as the Professor’s chosen. Just as Seiros received a Revelation surrounded by her trusted warriors, the students of the Officers Academy donned their shiniest battle gear to witness the historical event.

Meanwhile, the other classes were preparing a feast to celebrate the rite’s outcome. Dimitri and Edelgard kindly refused Byleth’s invitation, preferring to keep an eye on their classmates in these troubled times. They couldn’t afford to let their guard down on such an auspicious day. Grateful, the Professor headed toward the secret Holy Tomb with the Golden Deer.

___

And that was how the blue and red houses found themselves holding a massive tea party in the dining hall. Master Chef Dedue supervised the novice confectioners and sweet-toothed tasters. Mercedes, Annette, Ashe, Bernadetta, and Ferdinand were more than happy to help, although Dedue kept an eye on the accident-prone mage and on the recovering paladin. A harder task than you’d expect, but the retainer was known to resist the wettest puppy eyes. He kept Annette away from the open fires and had Ferdinand work on the icing rather than lift anything heavy. Under his considerate leadership, the apprentice bakers produced a mountain of chocolate thumbprint cookies, fruit cakes, scones, strawberry macaroons, muffins…

Ashe found baking especially relaxing, although the atmosphere was rather strange. Annette and Mercedes still deliberately avoided eye contact following an argument, and Bernadetta had been too morose to be heard happily humming in the kitchen in the last month. Granted, watching Ferdinand struggle to stay idle was rather funny, but somehow Ashe missed his bombastic voice whenever he tried to help… Thankfully, Dedue was the same as always, kindly watching over them, and everyone was happy to share an activity.

Meanwhile, Dimitri, Ingrid, Petra, and Caspar were playing cards while Linhardt happily snored away on his favourite pillow. The girls were in the lead.

The other group of students was gathered around the songstress and talking about art. “Listen, I’ve come up with new verses for Edelgard’s future opera!” Dorothea announced. As she took a deep breath to sing it right there and then, with Felix and Sylvain already on the edge of their seats, Edelgard stood up and brushed the cherry tights now assorted to her cheeks.

“I’ll fetch a deck of cards from my room,” she said in a hurry. And before Hubert could fully get up, she insisted to go alone – or rather with the guards posted outside for that purpose. Without reading too much into it, Dorothea sang another song from her vast repertoire to her captive audience.

___

A distant scream pierced the quiet afternoon. All the students stared in direction of the noise, at the entrance hall, with a casual sort of apprehension. After everything, that wasn’t enough to make them panic, but any threat was now met with an extreme sense of caution. Most of the boys got up, ready to run toward the commotion, when the familiar sound of marching soldiers echoed in the hall.

However, they didn’t put down their guard yet. Indeed, mere moments later, the Black Eagles and Blue Lions saw two servants running on the other side of the half-open door between the dining area and the entrance hall. If it were the Knights of Seiros, why would the personnel run away? The footsteps grew louder and louder with their quickening heartbeats. No one uttered a sound.

That’s when they saw it. In the doorway, a masked soldier in black armour and red feathers adorning their collar, a sinister tabard floating around their silhouette. And following closely behind, fully harmed battalions all heading straight toward the Cathedral… completely unopposed. Stunned, they watched the deadly procession about to ruin yet another religious celebration at the Monastery.

The mysterious force led by the Flame Emperor moved on, visibly unbothered by witnesses who could do them no harm. Once the silence returned in the dining hall, the most reckless students immediately jumped to action… only to be immediately stopped by their more level-headed comrades. Dedue managed to put a hand on Caspar’s and Ferdinand’s shoulders before they ran off, while Sylvain grabbed Felix’s sword arm. They wouldn’t make a difference against a full army on their own!

The students then immediately regrouped to form a plan of action. As if aware of the script, Dimitri anticipated Hubert’s next line.

“Edelgard has yet to return, and the Flame Emperor has made their move on Garreg Mach. We need to find her and alert the Archbishop at once,” he said. “Hubert, Caspar, look for Edelgard at the dormitory and come back as soon as you can. Everyone else follow me to the training grounds!” the house leader ordered.

There wasn’t even a second of hesitation. Everyone did as they were told without raising a single objection and ran to save their friends before it was too late.

First of all, they needed real weapons, not ceremonial swords, and the Knights quarters were too far. As house leader, Dimitri had been entrusted with the key to the training grounds’ armoury. Of course, it was a modest one filled with steel weapons, but they would have to do.

Still, on their hurry to the training grounds, they told their classmates to stay within their respective classrooms until the threat was dealt with. The house leader put the students’ safety first and foremost, so he would only take with him the elite of the Blue Lions and Black Eagles for this rescue mission. And while they dashed through the Officers Academy, they noticed how few adults were around for this time of day… The attack had to have been planned with inside information to pass through Garreg Mach’s gate without being met with any form of resistance. For now, they couldn’t trust anyone but themselves.

Then came the first obstacle. The training grounds were closed since there was no practice on the day Byleth was supposed to receive a revelation from the Goddess. But what that even an issue? Dimitri’s mighty grip on the door handle broke the lock as easily as a matchstick. Careful, they all stood to the sides while the mages surveyed the inside for potential traps, to which they concluded it was safe to enter. The fighters eagerly rushed in after Dimitri to empty the armoury and pick an extra axe for Caspar. Since the situation was so dire, Ferdinand’s glare dared anyone to forbid him to take up arms to defend the Monastery, so he snatched a light javelin for himself. The boys –  with Petra and Ingrid –  not only chose their weapons, but let go of their ceremonial swords so they wouldn’t get in the way of proper fighting.

Eventually, they chose not to waste time equipping themselves with armour. They knew the Monastery well enough to sneak around and stealthily engage any guards blocking the way. Besides, the training gear wasn’t sturdy enough to soak hits from real weapons, and all their magic users knew healing spells save for Hubert. Said magic users guarded the entrance to the training grounds and shared their disbelief over the situation.

“How did they manage to get in? It’s true some Knights are on mission or at the Holy Tomb, but still!” Annette said, knowing how strong even a handful of them were.

“Would the Gatekeeper really let them in without warning us with his war horn? Did they…” Dorothea couldn’t finish her thought.

“They must have quite the web of spies to sneak in so effortlessly. With that much intel, they would deal with him first,” Linhardt surmised. “The servants were left alive, so we shouldn’t worry yet,” he also added, having grown more considerate of others’ feelings since the tragedy of Remire.

“I hope you are right,” Mercedes prayed quietly.

Meanwhile, Hubert pretended to look around the dorm for Edelgard, while he sent Caspar to the other floors in a vain search. The more time they wasted there, the longer Edelgard would be undisturbed in the Holy Tomb. Satisfied, he returned to his own room where he retrieved a letter he had to deliver.

A Warp spell, two Death Γ hexes and a broken lock later, the youngest Minister teleported back to his dorm room, for what would surely be the last time he ever set foot inside of it. Right on cue, his classmate returned from his fruitless hunt and urged him to re-join with their classmates. His back turned to Caspar, Hubert extinguished the remaining wisps of Dark magic lingering on his gloves between his thumb and index fingers. His work there was done, and Caspar none the wiser.

The two Black Eagles returned to a scene right out of an espionage novel. Their classmates had lockpicked the door to the hallway leading to the cathedral – a feat courtesy of Ashe – and were all trying to see if the place was guarded through the thin opening, like a human pile of peeping toms. All the Black Eagles reflexively mimed a shushing motion at Caspar to keep quiet when he reached them.

“Two guards,” Felix whispered succinctly at the latecomers.

“Let’s take them out in one go,” Hubert sensibly recommended. “We don’t want them to call for reinforcements or activate a trap.”

The Black Eagles decided to take the lead, a clear plan in mind. The Blue Lions stepped back, clearing the way for the Imperial master of Black magic. Dorothea got on one knee behind the closed doors and started supercharging a lightning spell, while Caspar and Linhardt stood at the ready to burst the doors open.

Despite his fear of thunderstorms, Caspar held his position confidently, which went to show how much faith he had in her magic ability. But in case the spell missed one of the guards, Ashe stood behind Dorothea, arrow already nocked, to support the charge.

“This show is over!” Dorothea gleefully whispered, lightning crackling at her fingertips.

At her signal, Linhardt and Caspar threw the doors wide open, slamming them against the walls, alerting the guards as intended. The two sentinels immediately noticed the group of students and rushed forward in the corridor to deal with them at once.

Such a narrow corridor. At last, Dorothea released the lightning bolt of Thoron onto the Flame Emperor’s unsuspecting minions. The snake of light roared and devoured the sentries in a shower of sizzling sparks. The blast rattled the doors to the reception halls, blackened the stones with zig-zagging stripes of left-over magic, and blew away Dorothea’s hat. Knowing this would happen, Petra caught it in mid-air and returned it to its owner.

Annette whistled, impressed by the magic display. Back in the classrooms, their hidden classmates silently cheered for the songstress. Even Hubert fought the urge to clap – not in the least saddened by the losses of two incompetent watchmen.

“You call that a sneak attack?” Felix deadpanned still.

“All that matters is that the job’s done,” Sylvain jumped in her defence. He winked at his childhood friend. Indeed, the swordmaster didn’t argue that point.

“Most importantly… Take a closer look at their armour,” Ferdinand pointed out. “The full black design, the thin gambeson, the light gloves… This is the standard Adrestian garb…” The resident armour specialist’s assessment was final, and the colour and light fabrics corroborated his conclusion.

But there was no time to think about it. These men could have been hired mercenaries under disguise – Adrestian soldiers from Varley were often seen within the Monastery wearing the self-same uniforms, so they wouldn’t arouse suspicion. Maybe some noble houses planned a coup, thus using their soldiers… After all, the Southern Church had been annihilated once, so perhaps someone had a vendetta against the Central Church itself? No matter how many scenarios they could come up with, none of the students ever suspected Edelgard, even with all the clues at their disposal. Such was their trust in their classmate – and such would be the sting of her betrayal.

When the students reached the Cathedral, the place was seemingly deserted. By all accounts, they were already too late to warn their friends of the invasion, so they would have to rush to the rescue.

The second obstacle presented itself. The Holy Tomb was a closely guarded secret up until this month… Where whey they supposed to go? Hubert watched his classmates fumble for answers and panic without intervening. The longer they took to reach that place, the better. However, he was selling short the bonds between the houses who would stop at nothing to reach their friends in time.

“We should ask around,” Mercedes recommended. She was used to seeking help from the Church, so there was no doubt in her mind the kind clerics would help them out – if they could find one.

The group chose not to spilt up and ran towards the other end of the Cathedral, although they soon found out that nobody was hiding behind the altar. On the other hand, they found a nun nervously praying in the Saints room, under the statue of Saint Cichol. At first, the sound of their many footsteps startled her, until she recognised the students and immediately calmed down. Careful not to overwhelm her, they let Mercedes and Dimitri handle the questioning. Luckily, she had been praying all afternoon and witnessed all the coming and going within the Cathedral.

“Where did your classmates go? They headed toward the Goddess Tower,” she told them, still visibly shaken. “I haven’t seen them since… I hid here as soon as I saw the intruders, so they could have gone either to the Tower or to the Holy Mausoleum…” she said, her hands trembling from fright.

“Thank you, you have been a great help. We’ll rescue them at once,” Dimitri promised.

This left them with two options to explore, and a crucial decision to make. After all the various incidents that punctuated the year and their relatively small number, they couldn’t afford to split up.

“The Western Church and some of these strange dark mages already raided the Holy Mausoleum and failed to retrieve the Sword of the Creator,” Sylvain recalled. “There’s nothing of interest there. However, access to the Goddess Tower has always been strictly forbidden,” he said, although almost everyone in this group had taken a peek inside and turned back, disappointed to only find ivy everywhere. “There must be a reason.”

“I agree,” Hubert concurred, careful not to seem too laidback while his mistress was supposedly missing. “We should direct our search toward the unexplored parts of the Monastery if we wish to find the secret Holy Tomb.”

The Black Eagles and the Blue Lions didn’t mind deferring strategic decisions to the oldest students – and strategists – in their respective house. Plus, the mystical Goddess Tower had yet to reveal its secrets… Without further ado, the students ran to the forbidden Goddess Tower whose door had indeed been left ajar by the mysterious army. They ran down the ivy-covered spiralling stairs until another door blocked their way. A sturdy, locked door.

“Get behind me,” Dimitri ordered. The students didn’t need to be asked twice to let the strength of the Crest of the Blaiddyd bloodline pulverise the door with a single kick. The obstacle gone, they entered a large circular chamber. Dangling green fire lanterns casted a mystical glow on the alcoves and circular mosaic at the centre of the room. Its borders represented all known Crests except for the Crest of Flames. But most importantly…

“It’s a dead end,” Ashe observed, slightly disappointed for their adventure to end almost as soon as it started.

“It can’t be. The Professor and that army didn’t just evaporate from this room, did they?” Ingrid said. “Let’s take a closer look.”

“I am sure Garreg Mach was being built with secret passages,” Petra said with optimism.

The students started looking around the room, but most were drawn to the mosaic where all the Crests glowed. Upon further inspection, they weren’t a mosaic at all, but rather plates that could be stepped on. Switches.

“Looks like we’ve got our way in. Now, how to activate it?” Sylvain asked, for once truly at a loss in front of a puzzle.

They started stepping on random Crested plates with little result.

“There doesn’t seem to be a distinction between the Crests of the Saints and the Crests of the Ten Elites,” Linhardt observed. “Do we still need a certain combination of Crests to reveal the secret passage? The right number of Crests? But that would mean the passage only opens if there are enough people, so probably not. Or perhaps the switches need to be activated in a set order?”

“We don’t have the time to go through all these possibilities! Let’s just try with all the Crests we have!” Annette promptly decided as she jumped on the Crest of Dominic. To her immense disappointment, nothing happened when she bounced on her tile. Dimitri instead chose to observe his classmates so he wouldn’t accidentally break the mechanism.

But nothing budged. Dedue reported the findings of the team searching the room. “The alcoves are empty, and there is no hidden switch behind the columns or inside the lanterns.”

“Then the switches are our only clue,” Sylvain concluded. Behind him, Annette was pushing Felix on the Crest of Fraldarius because it couldn’t hurt to try with everyone.

The glowing shield Crest fully lit up with Felix’s weight on the plate. “Damn,” he said. “Bingo!” Annette shouted. If it only worked for him, then…

One discovery led to another when a ring of light lit up around the central mosaic, gears and chains started grinding within the walls, a tremor agitated the ground… And the central platform started to go down in one fluid but slow motion.

“It was an elevator!” Caspar stated the obvious yet incredible discovery. None of them had ever seen such a slick design for an elevator designed for people rather than goods. They all watched the platform descend into the ground with mouths agape. This moment of wonder was cut short when some of them realised they were already more than knee-deep in the ground.

“Hey! Get on it!” Caspar yelled.

Noticing his classmates’ apprehension, Dedue offered his hands to Mercedes and Dorothea who hopped down carefully. The ground was slowly reaching their hips.

“Jump, quick!” Annette shouted with grand gestures.

Dimitri scanned the room one last time and, without noticing anything suspicious, grabbed Linhardt who was gazing at foreign scriptures and jumped in with the rest of their classmates.

“Don’t get left behind!” Felix warned, since he was their only way to get to the Holy Tomb.

Fighting against her instincts, Bernadetta took a deep breath and jumped in Caspar’s arms, falling a taller distance than herself. Everyone had safely boarded the elevator when the opening above their heads closed once again.

The descent wasn’t as scary as they expected. Lanterns were embedded in the walls at regular intervals in addition to the glowing Crests on the floor. It also seemed to go down faster now that nobody had to get on the platform. “So the Goddess Tower was hiding a secret elevator locked behind the blood of a Major Crest bearer,” Linhardt summed up, as if this wasn’t a ground-breaking discovery.

“A pretty good security system,” Hubert added. “I see how ‘generations’ of Archbishops could keep this place secret for a millennium.”

“What kind of security system would let pass an entire invading army, right Crest or not?” Felix sneered.

“… And h-how did that army gest past the puzzle?” Bernadetta astutely remarked. “Lady Rhea, Seteth, Flayn, and the Professor should already be in the Holy Tomb…”

They had no answer to her observation.

The elevator went down for a short time, considering how deep it was – probably as deep as the Cathedral was high. They landed smoothly in a chamber identical to the one above ground, with another door open to a long tunnel lit by another set of green fire lanterns.

And to their horror, they could hear the sound of fighting from the end of that corridor.

Without a second thought, they started running to their friends’ help.

___

“So, you’re the fabled Flame Emperor?”

They could hear Claude’s voice at the end of the tunnel, beckoning the mysterious foe. Alarmed, the students picked up the pace without trying to hide their presence anymore.

“Go ahead and enlighten me. What are you planning to do with the Crest Stones? What did you use Flayn’s blood for? Who’s Kronya? Who’s Solon?”

“Silence. There is no need for you to know.”

Black Eagles and Blue Lions rushed to the scene, Petra and Felix leading the entire pack toward the Holy Tomb while Dimitri and Dedue guarded the rear from potential pursuers.

Claude’s voice dipped dangerously low. “Is it that mask that’s to blame for your curtness? If so, maybe I should rip it off and ask again.”

For a few seconds, there was nothing but the sound of clashing metal. Then, as they came closer to the Holy Tomb’s entrance, Claude’s voice became crystal clear.

“Sorry, but victory is mine. Now, let’s take a look at you, Flame Emperor!”

♫ ♪ OST – Farewell ♪ ♫

The unmasked knight lifted their head, and Claude’s smirk died down as quickly as it came. Black armour – the Imperial Army’s uniform. Red tabard – the Black Eagles’ colour of choice. Red feathers – the double-headed Eagle of the Adrestian Emperor. So many clues, and he never connected the dots. Staring back at him were the lavender eyes of Edelgard von Hresvelg, his fellow house leader.

“So, the end has come…” she said wistfully.

However, Edelgard’s and Claude’s attention was diverted by the cacophony coming from the tunnel. With a single look, she froze the would-be saviours in place at the entrance of the Holy Tomb. Arriving in quick succession, the students gawked at her in horror as the truth dawned on them. Edelgard was the Flame Emperor.

Leading the pack were the fastest runners, Felix and Petra. She could guess Felix’s predictable thoughts from the heinous glare he shot her. Of course the Imperial Army would only answer to the heir to the throne. A pity he didn’t follow his instinct before it was too late. At his side was Petra who, unlike him, pressed her hands to her mouth in bewilderment. Edelgard briefly wondered if that breach in trust would spell the end of Brigid’s vassalage, or if Petra would come to understand her views and fight against Fódlan’s oppressors by her side. She would know soon enough.

Right behind them were Ingrid, Caspar and Ashe, who did a double-take once they noticed her Flame Emperor clothing. Unsurprisingly, the aspiring knights immediately changed their stance to a defensive one. But Caspar stood there, looking her up and down in disbelief. The trio wouldn’t initiate combat without getting an answer from her. That was good.

Sylvain and Bernadetta arrived on their heels and were just as true to themselves. A scaredy mouse, Bernie squeaked and grabbed her bow when she realised the scope of the battle; she was ready to stand her ground. Then she noticed her house leader and shot her a questioning look, as if waiting for directions… Edelgard didn’t move. Now in front of the entire group, between Felix and Ingrid, Sylvain raised his lance to bar her escape route.

Then came the mages. It only took one glance for them to understand the situation at hand. Horror bloomed on Annette’s face, unlike Mercedes who merely looked surprised. She had known too many twists of fate to be horrified by now. Edelgard scrutinized Dorothea, who covered her mouth like Petra, but her eyes looked terribly sad instead. And Linhardt stared at her, thinking he should have followed his deduction to its logical end and unmasked her sooner. She unapologetically met his gaze, then looked at the students behind him.

Hubert arrived in no hurry at the scene. The one who should have sprinted to her aid – if she had really been captured – was among the last students in the Holy Tomb. From his attitude alone one could deduce he was a traitor, but all eyes were on the Flame Emperor. He patiently awaited the order to teleport her out of the underground. And to his left, Ferdinand didn’t have time to catch his breath before he laid eyes on her.

She wasn’t met with confusion or sadness, of course not. That wasn’t the style of the noble Ferdinand von Aegir. Instead, he righteously glowered at his house leader, at a traitor who sowed chaos and death among the Monastery and the Officers Academy. Edelgard almost sighed at his misconceptions.

Now that the actors had gathered, it was time to explain her agenda for Fódlan – for humanity. Yet, in her hurry, she failed to realise some students were still missing… Blissfully unaware, Edelgard made the slightest movement at Hubert who recognised his cue.

“I guess that’s the end of play-at-school, Lady Edelgard. I mean, ‘Your Majesty’,” her right-hand man said reverently.

With the assurance of someone who had planned all this, rehearsed this sickening play, and enjoyed every minute of the masquerade, Hubert left the ranks of the Black Eagles to take his rightful place by the Adrestian Emperor’s side. Disgusted, Sylvain didn’t even make a move to stop him. With her shadow by her side, Edelgard faced her classmates with confidence. It didn’t take long for someone to raise their voice in indignation.

“What’s the meaning of this, Edelgard?” Caspar demanded, torn between appalment and fury.

“You... made use of us? Why?” Petra asked, on the verge of despair from another betrayal.

“Although our time is short, allow me to answer your questions,” the Emperor said, gracefully taking the lead despite the imminent threat the still untransformed Immaculate One posed. As long as the Professor listened, the White Beast wouldn’t attack. There was no time to waste. “The leaders of the Church have misused its creed to rule the world. They tore apart the Empire’s unity, then the Kingdom’s, to divide and conquer. They caused instability to reinforce their own authority, using the believers’ faith as a shield! I wish to tear down their foul belief system so that humanity’s agency may prevail!”

Claude stared coldly at her, focusing on every word she said with dread. Just like the Gautier heir on the other side, Byleth kept her sword raised to stop anyone from moving past her.

“Their corruption knows no bounds,” Edelgard continued. “In fact, it spread to the Empire’s elite. Therefore, I have deposed by decree House Aegir from their charges, titles, lands and associated revenues. Furthermore, I have issued a warrant against the traitor and Head of House Varley, Celian von Varley, whose functions and responsibilities are hereby transferred to his wife Johanna.”

Bernadetta’s jaw hit the floor. And through her mouth opened in shock, in protest, in disbelief, no sound came out.

“This is not a decision to be taken lightly. The Ministers–” Ferdinand tried to argue for justice’s sake.

“–gave me their full approval,” Edelgard mercilessly countered.

“Except for my late father, to whom I have succeeded. The purge has already started,” Hubert added with a pleased smirk.

Stunned speechless, Ferdinand wondered how long they had been plotting for this. And to his horror, he could guess the answer: five years ago, ever since Edelgard’s return to Court as the sole heiress of the Adrestian Empire. It made sense. This was her rightful retribution toward the most corrupt Houses who had betrayed her trust along with the Empire they were sworn to serve. With their leaders away from Enbarr, she had simply dismissed them. Forever.

How could he argue with her judgment when he’d planned to do the same against his own father, and for far longer than she had? And yet… How much blood had they already spilled to achieve this? Why were they raiding a holy place? Did they have any substantial proof against the upper echelons of the Church?

That was exactly why Ferdinand had yet to act against the Duke. He still lacked the means, proof or connections to successfully depose him. In her hurry to reform the Empire, Edelgard was just acting like her father before her, falling in the same pitfall… Wait. Did Hubert kill his own father? Ferdinand wouldn’t mistake that pleased look for anything else…

Meanwhile, Edelgard had moved on from her classmates. She now faced the Archbishop with words alone. A lifetime of preparations was about to bear fruit before her eyes. She took an imperceptibly deeper breath to steel herself.

Her voice did not waver in the slightest as she proclaimed her ambition.

“And so, I have decided… By order of the Adrestian Emperor, Edelgard von Hresvelg, the Empire hereby declares war on the Church of Seiros.”

Her declaration was met with deafening silence. Come to think of it, it was strange for the Professor and Rhea to stand down for as long as they did. A spike of worry surged through Edelgard’s veins as she followed the Professor’s gaze to the commotion slowly brewing behind her.

The Blue Lions were fussing over an irresponsive Dimitri whose glassy eyes were fixated on her. And then…

Dimitri burst out laughing. It sounded so wrong coming from him that she let down her guard and froze in place the longer the blood-curling laugh echoed through the Holy Tomb. No one moved – as if time itself froze. When the mad prince regained his composure at last, she didn’t know what to expect anymore. Brows furrowed with determination, Dimitri walked past the Blue Lions who instinctively moved out of the way. At last, Dedue tried to stop him with a press of the shoulder but the Prince wordlessly dismissed his concern. His icy glare was locked onto Edelgard’s head.

Then the air exploded next to her ear. Dimitri’s lance embedded itself in the wall with a thunderous crashing sound. Barely missing the Emperor’s head. And all hell broke loose as the prince made his way by literally crushing her bodyguards to a bloody pulp, all the while sporting a maniacal smile. Dissonant wide eyes. The students gawked in shock, with a few exceptions in Dedue, resigned, and Felix, coldly observing the Boar Prince’s true nature exposed for the entire world to see.

Dimitri eventually let go of the limp body dangling from his closed fist to look down on the Flame Emperor. The entire room was now deathly afraid of him.

“Before I break your neck, there is one thing I must ask you,” he growled.

“Stay out of my way,” the stubborn Emperor said.

“I don’t recall giving you permission to speak. Answer my question. That is all you have left to do. Flame Emperor… no, Edelgard. Tell me now. Why did you cause such a tragedy in Duscur? You killed you own mother, and yet you haven’t even had the decency to stop and consider the reasons behind your actions. Have you?!”

“I already told you. I had nothing to do with that,” she repeated, confused and impatient.

“Ha! I was foolish to think I could reason with a lowly beast. You are a monster,” he said. And the words sounded like a curse in his mouth.

Then the Archbishop stood forward, seething with rage. “How could a child of Hresvelg fall so low?” Rhea said, spitting venom at the devil spawn trampling on the final resting place of her people. “The Church of Seiros will raise its entire army against you until you have answered for your crimes! You have defiled the Holy Tomb, dishonoured the goddess, and humiliated your brethren. That crime will never be erased, even if you burn in the eternal flames and spill all of your blood into the goddess’s soil.”

Edelgard didn’t deign answer them, choosing to take one last look at her classmates.

“If you wish to walk this path with me, I will gladly have you back. Think this through carefully.”

Her speech complete, Hubert warped them both far away from the Monastery.

It felt like the air had been punched out of Ferdinand’s lungs.

From the buzzing in his ears, the world was crumbling around him. Dark spots obscured his vision. Caught in the ebb and flow of his spiralling thoughts, he swayed under their weight and broke out in a cold sweat. Was the Holy Tomb that cold? The nauseating emptiness spread from the fresh wound in his abdomen. He closed his mouth on a mouthful of air he didn’t breathe. His vision was gone – neither black or white, just gone. Losing his sense of balance, he wobbled…

To his surprise, a hand he couldn’t see steadied him on his feet. Through the static, Ferdinand recognised Caspar’s voice. Then, Dorothea’s, and her words alone cut through the fog.

“Breathe in… Breathe out…”

He remembered running across the Monastery to reach the Holy Tomb… Running out of breath, mostly. People weren’t meant to run marathons after spending two weeks in a coma and two learning to go up stairs. Then, Edelgard and Hubert knocked the winds out of his sails with their insane plans, and the noble among nobles simply forgot to breathe. When he was trying to catch his breath. Honestly, passing out in shame didn’t sound like a bad option right now. Mortified, Ferdinand tried to stop making a fool of himself and gobbled air in his panic.

But his heart and mind didn’t care for that. Edelgard had stripped House Aegir of everything. Their land, their status, their name. A war against the Church was brewing. And rather than exile his own father, Hubert chose to cut him down like a dog. It was a nightmare. The Emperor he hoped to serve had to be struck down. And what about his family back home? What about their soldiers? What would happen to everyone? To him? What would he tell his father?

Linhardt’s healing spell lifted the pain in his core, and he realised he had been clutching his stomach for a while, slumped in Caspar’s arms. It became a bit easier to breathe… But it was an eternity before his head cleared up again.

“We’re here for you,” Bernadetta shyly encouraged him, her voice strained with anxiety. Her situation wasn’t any more enviable, he realised.

“S-sorry…” he slurred, panting in Caspar’s arms. Actually, how long had his friend been carrying all his weight?

“No apologies needed! You were merely wanting to help!” Petra reassured him.

At last, Ferdinand hesitantly opened his eyes to smile a grateful, if a bit shaky grin, at his friends. He was thankful for everyone who gave him some space and privacy to recover, but… the Black Eagles had never looked so isolated from their classmates. The Blue Lions and Golden Deer were checking if everyone else was alright, and the Professor running among the three groups to make sure everyone was okay.

It was unfair for his classmates, who had never asked to be thrown into a political uprising. For Linhardt who wanted to be an independent scholar, for Caspar who wanted to strike out on his own, for Bernadetta who dreamed of peace and quiet, for Petra who wished to return home her head held high, for Dorothea who deserved love and applause… But Edelgard and Hubert one-sidedly put a stop to their dreams. And he shared part of the blame. Who else but him should have seen the tell-tale signs of treachery in Edelgard and Hubert’s odd behaviour? He should have realised sooner! He knew them!

He thought he knew them. Now, war was at their doorstep.

It was up to him to fix this mess. For a noble always strived to rectify his mistakes.

___

In the Knights’ quarter tearoom, Duke Aegir and Count Varley were blissfully unaware of the battle going on underground, engrossed in their own private tea party. They would rather chat with a glass of wine if only it were night, but tea would do nicely. They both had a sweet tooth.

After a quick rundown of the governmental matters the Duke had missed in the past few days, it was time to explain the letter that brought them together. Ludwig explained the strange events that had occurred this year at Garreg Mach in exhaustive detail to a very attentive Count Varley.

“You are lucky the Goddess favours your eldest son,” his friend commented, religious as ever. “Anyone else would have perished from the wound you just described.”

“I am keenly aware. From my investigations, everything points at Arundel’s men.”

“I told you not to trust that man.”

“Shut up.”

“See? I was right.”

“Something bigger is going on. We’ll need to proceed carefully.”

“Right, the two of us,” Celian sarcastically mocked him. “If the others are not there, we better be prepared.” As discussed before, they could do nothing but wait for more information… “Anyway,” the Count interjected, “I remember Ferdinand used to be one feisty brat. Always more interested in the military arts, unless you mentioned the opera. Still, he turned out into a fine young man. How did this tragedy come to pass?” he asked, puzzled by this strange defeat.

“Speaking of operas…” Duke Aegir sighed, genuinely tired. “You know how he is. He took that blow to shield a classmate. Dorothea Arnault.”

“For that vulgar commoner?” Celian disdainfully observed.

“The Mystical Songstress passed the Officers Academy’s entrance exam fair and square. This institution only accepts the cream of the crop,” Ludwig quickly jumped to her defence. House Vestra wasn’t the only one with spies – his own agents had made a thorough background check on all of Ferdinand’s classmates. Only the elite was worthy of studying with the future Prime Minister – and Dorothea truly was a star like the opera only saw once per generation. She would surely become a useful connection to have for his son.

“Hmph. Love abounds in these storied halls, yet it never lasts. History proves me right again,” Count Varley stated.

The silence that followed was full of sorrow. None of the Black Eagles they knew, from their year or otherwise, had had any lasting luck in love. Nor did they. Duke Aegir poured them both another cup of tea. Some things were best left unspoken.

“School crushes are part of the experience, wouldn’t you say? I’ll let them be,” Ludwig capitulated. “But it might become a problem in the future. My children are all very fond of operas…”

“I have never been so glad to have one very obedient daughter,” Count Varley genuinely said, pitying his friend. Big families were too much trouble for what they were worth.

The afternoon passed by in a flash. In private, the Ministers were free to drop the hostile act. Plus, so far from court, their business quarrels were nothing but an afterthought. And today’s date might enter the history books…

“If the Professor receives a Revelation, it could change the landscape of politics in all of Fódlan,” Celian said, not for the first time.

The Prime Minister rolled his eyes. “The Knights of Seiros need the help of students to put down rebellions these days. I doubt the Central Church would have much to gain from a Revelation. On the contrary, the Western Church might rebel again at a time the Knights are particularly vulnerable. Our troops can’t arrive soon enough.”

Aggravated, the Minister of Religious Affairs stood up. “The ceremony should be over soon. Shall we greet the Enlightened One and put your doubts to rest?” he coldly invited him.

“Sure. Lead the way.”

Celian opened the door and stepped outside. Before his mind registered the sight before him, fresh blood splashed from under his shoe. The lingering corrosive smell of dark magic permeated the hallway where the two knights who guarded their door had been slain unbeknownst to them.

For several tense seconds, Celian von Varley stood perfectly still and alert – but no assassin came forward. The hallway was actually empty, save for the corpses. Ludwig von Aegir stepped over the puddle of blood and silently questioned his comrade.

The unexpected threat eventually registered in their minds. The attacker – attackers? – went to the trouble of killing their guards, but didn’t try to assassinate them then. Someone clearly wanted to tell them they were easy to kill… Nevertheless, the timing was more than ominous. Without needing to exchange a word, the two Ministers ran toward the Cathedral.

When they reached the reception hall, they ran into the students coming back from battle – the armour of the Golden Deer was covered in blood. Bizarrely, the Blue Lions and Black Eagles were armed but not equipped. And to Duke Aegir’s alarm, Ferdinand needed to lean on Caspar to walk, with Linhardt hovering close by in case they tripped.

“Merciful Seiros! What happened to you?” Count Varley exclaimed. He noticed Bernadetta before she could hide behind Dorothea. “Did you fight?” he asked, less alarmed than Ludwig since his daughter looked unharmed.

“Yes… No! Well, the Golden Deer and the Professor f-fought in the Holy Tomb…” she tried to explain. But Bernadetta was a nervous wreck from what she actually had to tell her father. She fiddled with her fingers and looked obstinately at her feet.

At least her father understood he would have a hard time getting answers out of her and cast a questioning look at her classmates. Ludwig rushed to Ferdinand with a similar sentiment. What was going on?

As the house leader in charge, Claude stepped forward to explain how the Flame Emperor interrupted the ceremony and the ensuing battle.

Celian and Ludwig wondered if their guards had been killed lest they warn them of the commotion outside. Or was it really a threat after all? They weren’t certain anymore. Of course, when Count Varley mentioned that fact, the students grew very concerned. The Blue Lions and Black Eagles hadn’t seen the intruders kill anyone else on their way to the Cathedral…

But it was obvious they had something more to tell, and worse than hiding Dorothea’s involvement in the prior incident. Actually, they looked… somewhat sad for them? Duke Aegir squeezed Ferdinand’s hand to reassure him, then asked Professor Byleth: “Tell us what happened next.”

“The Flame Emperor revealed herself as Edelgard. She ambushed us in the Holy Tomb to collect Crest Stones,” Claude explained as tactfully as possible. “But there was a greater purpose to this attack. There, she also announced herself as the new Emperor of Adrestia, and declared war on the Church of Seiros.”

Ionius’s scion was bound to cause a stir, so the news didn’t completely take the Ministers aback, only its timing. They were still left speechless by the sheer scale of her comeback.

“While she was at it, she deposed Duke Aegir of his lands and titles and called for the arrest of the Duke and Count Varley. But the purge didn’t end there. Hubert claimed to have succeeded his late father… rather forcefully, if you catch my meaning,” Claude said, uncomfortably scratching his head.

From the corner of his eyes, the Duke saw Count Varley turn terribly pale – only at the last sentence.

“I’ll ask my informants to verify that claim–” Ludwig attempted to say.

“House Vestra always signs their kills,” his friend stated, a veil of pure darkness obscuring his eyes. A grim reminder. They both knew how the Vestra assassins operated. Whenever they removed an important target, they would leave proof of their deed to their loved ones. Not as a memento, but as a warning to the living not to seek revenge, or else. Those who heeded the threat were deemed harmless, and those who didn’t were eliminated. That way, House Vestra always cleaned up loose ends.

Since their guards had been killed, the Vestras had plenty of time to plant evidence of their crime in their rooms. Provided they condoned the murder of their own Head… A ghastly feeling set in Celian’s gut. He was already facing the Knights’ quarters when he said: “I will check my room.” Ludwig had barely nodded when his friend started dashing toward a futile hope.

“Should he go alone? Weren’t assassins right outside your door?” Byleth asked.

“Believe me, I pity the fool who’d get in his way.” Then he turned back his attention to Ferdinand. That fact didn’t escape Claude’s watchful eye; the Duke’s priority was always his son’s safety…

“Do you need to rest?” he asked.

“Father… What do we do now?” Ferdinand replied, looking like a kicked puppy. “We must stop Edelgard from acting afoul, that much is for certain. But…” he trailed off, fear mercilessly setting in. “What about our family? Our home, our people? And the soldiers you called to reinforce the Monastery, what if they get captured by the Imperial Army? And–”

“The Aegir Astral Knights will make sure no harm comes to them. Our officers will not confront a force they cannot hope to defeat and wait for the right moment to rally us. I will send word to all of them to stay clear from Edelgard’s forces. Leave this to me and don’t worry.”

“I will trust your judgement,” Ferdinand replied, disheartened, and the irony of relying on his father’s methods wasn’t lost on him. This day couldn’t get worse.

On the other hand, answering Ferdinand’s worries immediately helped the Duke focus on what needed to be done. This was no time for idleness. Before him, House Aegir’s future was on the line… and with it, the fate of the Adrestian Empire.

Holding his son’s shoulder, the fallen Duke steeled himself and beheld the assembly. As if sensing his resolve, all students and Knights turned their gazes at him in one swift motion.

“Nothing will erase the fact that House Aegir is the second oldest in Fódlan. We built the Empire House Hresvelg ruled. And hasn’t history proven that the Emperor’s opinion weighs nothing compared to all the nobles in the Empire? We’ll see how they welcome her little revolution.”

It was as if a switch had been flipped in Duke Aegir’s mind.

Suddenly, there was weight to his bragging, as if centuries of blue-blooded history came back to empower him at once. As if everyone collectively remembered the decrees and military victories House Aegir earned for the Empire, long before the birth of Houses Hevring and Bergliez split up its duties. A rush of pride and vengeance swept through the assembly as Duke Aegir’s voice effortlessly rose above all the others.

“As for putting Celian under House arrest, does she expect his people to quietly surrender? The people of Varley will never follow faithless nobles from Enbarr in a war against the Church. They will desert the Imperial Army as soon as they hear of her plans! Let it also be known that the Empire doesn’t stand for the irate folly of a self-proclaimed Emperor. As Prime Minister, I pledge House Aegir’s support to the defence of Garreg Mach Monastery until her threats are rendered null and void.”

His impassioned speech brushed over the reasons of this alliance of convenience to garner sympathy. Faced with eradication, House Aegir’s power would ultimately be measured in the sum of its allies. And if this month had proven one thing, it was the amount of love Ferdinand had received at his time of need. Manipulating this fact to his advantage, Duke Aegir never strayed far from his wounded son even though good orators knew to own the stage to win their audience. Past scandals aside, it all came down to public image. Right now, who would the people of Garreg Mach stand up for? The Emperor who ruined the tranquillity of their everyday life, or the Black Eagle who risked his life alongside them to the end? Not that he would let anybody doubt which side was the right one to take.

“I, Ludwig von Aegir, will not submit to the will of a girl Emperor who threatens the stability of Fódlan! Destroying the Church? Purging the nobility? What does she know of ruling? I will put her in her place like her father before her!”

The Prime Minister promised to all. To the Golden Deer, who had forgotten all about the fatigue of battle. To the Blue Lions, who found an ally in the most unexpected of places. To Lady Rhea herself, who wished for nothing but retribution.

“I say when it ends, and this shall be the last stand of the Hresvelgs!”

It was an inspiring speech. One that inspired fear, particularly in the Black Eagles who knew what their Prime Minister was capable of. As for Ferdinand, he didn’t need to fear for his future anymore: his father was scary enough as it was. Because the Duke, who had always been careful to hide the ugly depths of his hatred towards House Hresvelg, didn’t need nor want to hide that side of himself anymore.

However, not everyone was of the same mind in the crowded reception hall. The Knights and Black Eagles loyal to House Aegir ardently cheered for their Lord. And the sparks of war set alight the flames of a rebellion of unprecedented proportions…

It was the beginning of a movement that would make or break the future of the two ruling Houses of Adrestia, and yet, the Black Eagles noticed how Ferdinand took no active part in it. The perspective of a civil war was anything but enchanting.

The commotion eventually died down to discuss the uncertain future and wait for Edelgard's official declaration of war. Thanks to that break, Duke Aegir could focus on something else, namely…

“Ferdinand,” he said in a stern tone, “doctors’ orders are absolute. ‘Do not overexert yourself.’ If it’s too difficult to understand, maybe you need some more bed rest?” he criticised him. As if the kindness he’d shown earlier was but a dream.

His son grimaced in pain and displeasure. How was he supposed to know everything would go downhill when he took up arms to defend his friends that afternoon?! Thankfully, Seteth took the heat off him and promised to summon all parties involved for a crisis meeting the following day.

While he was still supporting his wounded friend, Caspar caught Ferdinand glowering behind his father’s back – and a shiver ran down his spine from the foreign expression on the noble’s face.

After a while, Duke Aegir returned to Ferdinand. “What’s done is done,” Ludwig eventually relented, even though his severe tone invited Ferdinand to reflect on his foolhardiness. “You all need to rest now.”

“You are all welcome to enjoy the sweets we made,” Mercedes offered.

“It would be a shame to let them go to waste,” Lysithea immediately agreed, salivating in advance.

“What a lovely idea!” Hilda concurred, trying to cheer up everyone.

Without much enthusiasm, the three houses went to the dining hall.

___

The student spent the better part of the night munching on cold pastries, to wait out the morning and see if it was all a bad dream. Whispers of war creeped in the conversations and prayers across Garreg Mach Monastery.

For one night, Ludwig von Aegir let go of all pretence of control. An eighth cup of sickeningly sweet tea – a Southern Fruit blend from Aegir – in his hands, he admonished himself for letting his enemies walk so many steps ahead of him. He had grown complacent in his resounding victory over the Emperor and paid the price, as all lazy schemers did. Because of his carelessness, Hugh von Vestra had surrendered his life to fulfil the cycle of revenge and Celian von Varley was dragged into an unwinnable battle. Worse, he had failed Ferdinand and their House. Ludwig didn’t delude himself. What could two fallen Ministers do against the combined forces of the Empire?

Disheartened, he surveyed the dining hall. It was almost empty by now. The students had gone to sleep, train or pray. Only Linhardt, Ashe, Annette, Mercedes, and Lysithea remained; their love for sweets surpassed their need for sleep. The fallen Duke Aegir listened in on Mercedes’s ghost stories and smiled at the gasps and screams of her captive audience. It was probably the best way to pass such a gloomy night.

The student’s voices echoed in the empty hall, so distorted, so far, they sounded like ghosts of happier times. Hugh counted the ghost stories with a mischievous grin, the fire in his palms casting shadows as dark as the night outside on the small committee. Otto focused hard so he would guess the twist before Hugh could surprise him – but the oppressive atmosphere was getting to him. Ludwig himself was getting uneasy. He never liked scary stories. And if he didn’t like them, Heinrich was downright terrified of them, clinging so hard to his arm he would rip the sleeve off at the next jumpscare. Hugh’s whispers lulled them deeper into the macabre story, until suddenly the fire cracked like the witch’s cackle, startling all three of them. Meanwhile, Celian and Livia laughed at the expense of their faint-hearted friends.

But there was nobody to share these bittersweet memories with. As he expected, Celian hadn’t returned from his room. Whatever he had found told him Hubert’s claim wasn’t a lie. To each their grief.

Ludwig raised his cup for a lonely toast.

“To broken promises, Hugh.”

He downed the eighth cup of tea in one gulp. Each more bitter than the last.

Chapter Text

Imperial Year 1180, Lone Moon

Even after stepping away from the platform, Edelgard could still hear the army’s cheers ringing in the Imperial Palace’s courtyard. She had finally rallied the Empire’s forces to her cause, and they were ready to take down the false idols in the name of a new world.

“Congratulations, Your Majesty. Your dream is finally within your grasp.”

Emperor Edelgard turned to the voice that had kept her going through the most arduous steps of her plan. If not for him, she wouldn’t have seen this moment. With him and her father’s blessing, she could hold her head high and fulfil her ambitions. Only the lack of a familiar dagger at her side soured the culmination of years of planning…

“This is only the beginning, but I thank you all the same, Hubert. I can only hope that our classmates will be able to see through Rhea’s web of lies and join us soon.”

“I do not think they are indifferent to your ambitions, Your Majesty. Many among our classmates despise the Crests and the burden of nobility. They would not turn a blind eye to the truth nor to injustice. And should they hesitate, our next assault will be a timely reminder not to oppose the might of the Adrestian Empire…” he finished with a sinister laugh.

But this plan had already gone haywire, and Edelgard couldn’t deny the facts.

“I will do my utmost to open their eyes and show them a path toward true freedom,” she reassured him. “However, there’s no denying that the Prime Minister and the Minister of Religious Affair, who escaped our coup, are rallying their troops as we speak to defend Garreg Mach Monastery. They might still sway some students to their cause… If such a thing happens, we’ll have to fight a costly civil war, as Count Hevring repeatedly warned us,” she said with a twinge of sarcasm despite the severity of his claims. His insistence served as proof of his loyalty to the Empire, which she couldn’t blame him for.

Such was the worst-case scenario. It painted a bleak future for her plans’ chances of success… She couldn’t spread her army thin, especially not when her immediate opponents could be the combined might of the Knights of Faerghus and Seiros.

“We have secured the support of all the ruling Houses, save for Varley and Aegir, although those were a lost cause from the beginning,” the new Minister of the Imperial Household reminded her.

“Lady Johanna has sworn loyalty to the Empire and Varley territory will help the war effort with armour production. It’s the safest place for Bernadetta to return to. I’m more worried about Ferdinand. I can’t say with confidence that he will support me.”

His Lady’s compassionate heart used to hold her back, and he couldn’t have that. She had so little time for such grand ambitions – meaning she had to blaze ahead toward her dream, burning all that would dare stand in her way.

“Before you say anything,” she warned, “remember that he’s part of the Empire’s strength, same as every member of the Black Eagles. Losing even a single one would be… troublesome, to say the least.”

Contrary to what Hubert thought – and she knew him well enough to tell – this choice was dictated by logic. Behind that annoying competitive streak of his, Ferdinand was the only person who dared to challenge her opinions, or even better, Hubert’s. He was a capable soldier, one of the last earnest nobles left in the Empire… and a Black Eagle who had shown true loyalty by risking his life for one of them. It didn’t seem right to hand over such an asset to her enemies.

Hubert seemed to weigh his options, a hand below his chin. A few seconds passed until he smiled a devilish grin.

“You gave him the luxury of a choice. Let’s hope he will seize this opportunity to make the right one.”

___

As promised, Duke Aegir rallied the troops of Aegir and Varley to start the preparations for the coming siege. He summoned his troops back in his Duchy even though they would probably arrive too late – or worse, be intercepted by the main Adrestian army. Ferdinand’s fears were very much founded, but they had no way to know yet if they could escape or not. On the other hand, many troops from Varley, the Empire’s most religious territory, defected to support the Church as expected. Thanks to their closeness to the Monastery, they had no problem lending their help to Garreg Mach weeks before the assault. However, the territory was now torn between conflicting loyalties, to the Empire or the Church, to Lord Celian or Lady Johanna.

Eventually, Bernadetta would have to choose a side… But she received no word from her mother explaining her coup, nor heard her father make any comment on his wife’s sudden betrayal. She was left alone with her thoughts the whole month leading up to the siege, unsure of whose side to take – afraid of the punishment she would face if she chose wrong.

Her classmates were not better off. Opposing one’s family and country wasn’t something that could be decided so easily. Worse still, the Black Eagles from lesser noble families were faced with a decision that might spell disaster on their kin back home…  They had no Minister parents to fall back on, unfortunately. Thus, people looked at the indecisive Empire students with varying degrees of pity and suspicion, further alienating them. Whether they stayed or not, they would always be potential traitors in their allies’ eyes.

It said a lot about their indecision that, two weeks after the raid on the Holy Tomb, they had yet to choose a side.

Unless your name was Ferdinand von Aegir. Then there was no choice to speak of. Your father declared a new rebellion and you were swept up in the movement in spite of all your misgivings against him for lack of alternatives. To reason the Emperor, this is the only chance you’ll ever have to set things right.

Finally, two weeks after the initial stupor, the Empire officially declared war on the Church. The siege was scheduled to take place in a mere two weeks, at the end of the Lone Moon.

At the graduation of the 1180 class of the Officers Academy.

___

With a clear deadline in mind, the Knights of Seiros and the Church officials held an extraordinary war meeting, where Duke Aegir and Count Varley were invited as sworn allies of the Church. This meeting would not only decide the strategy of the defenders of Garreg Mach, but also the fate of the students of the Officers Academy, most notably the Black Eagles.

But Edelgard’s words had already sowed the seeds of distrust among the defenders, divided into headstrong factions who couldn’t agree on what to do with these particular students.

It was a delicate affair. Prudent, Rhea entrusted Seteth to represent the Church’s interests while she sealed a special treasure in the Holy Tomb, should things go awry. Duke Aegir attended in his own name as the representative of the Empire, yet the captain of the Varley Archers acted as a stand-in for Count Varley who hadn’t shown his face in public in two weeks. Thanks to his clear pro-Church stance and status, he was readily excused, although some shot a questioning look at his replacement.

Speaking of substitutes, with no Captain of the Knights, the next in command, Sir Alois, represented the Knights of Seiros and would have the last word in the negotiations, just like Seteth for the Church. Together, they would protect the students placed under their care – regardless of origins, wealth, or bloodlines.

The meeting was about to start. Once everyone was gathered in the reception hall, they would move to the cardinal’s room upstairs. Some students were still in the area, either returning from training or from preparations for the siege. Everyone was busy one way or another.

“Ah, Ferdinand!” Duke Aegir hailed his son amidst the crowd.

After a quick goodbye to Linhardt and Dorothea, Ferdinand joined him.

“Good evening, Father.”

“Good evening, Ferdinand. You came at just the right time. The council is about to start, and I need you to attend.”

“Excuse me?” He did a double-take. “I thought students wouldn’t be allowed due to the critical information to be shared at this meeting?”

“Nonsense. The only issue was to decide on a representative of the entire student body – nobody could decide between Prince Dimitri and Lord Claude. There should be no issue with you, since you are loyal to the Church, and your house is the one at stake anyways. Besides, I can’t imagine bringing Bernadetta to that kind of discussion, especially with her father absent.”

“Father, I am not even the house leader of the Black Eagles. I can’t possibly–”

“Perhaps I overwhelmed you in my hastiness,” Ludwig cut him with false reassurance. “I need you to attend in the quality of an observer, nothing more. Leave the negotiations to me, and everything will be alright.”

Ferdinand’s nervousness was written all over his face. The fatigue from training didn’t allow him to hide it as well as usual, least of all under his father’s trained eye. He almost had him ensnared.

“Come along. You won’t even have to speak. You know I have the students’ best interests at heart, don’t you?”

After a day of strenuous exercise, Ferdinand didn’t have the mental capacity to argue. Although his father’s goal was genuinely stated, what underhanded tactics would he employ to achieve it? And what part would he force him to play in it, at a meeting students were supposedly not allowed to attend in any capacity? Of course, that was all part of Duke Aegir’s strategy, catching him in a moment of weakness when his friends’ future hinged on his actions… Now, how could Ferdinand refuse to walk into the trap?

“So do I,” the dutiful noble reluctantly agreed.

“Good,” Duke Aegir said matter-of-factly, as if his consent was a given. He patted him on the shoulder. “Let me handle the rest.”

___

“These soldiers were a disgrace to the Order of the Knights. They should consider themselves lucky Alois put them in their place before I did!” Catherine fulminated.

“Not all their remarks were unfounded, though. The students are trained officers and we’ll need any man or woman available if we hope to match the Empire’s military,” Shamir pointed out.

“But using the Black Eagles students as meat shields… I wish I could kick their teeth in. That would teach them to think twice before spouting such tasteless nonsense.”

“Heh. I’d pay to see that.”

They sat in front of the fireplace in the knights’ hall, exhausted by all the political manoeuvring at the council. Catherine had never been so glad to have abandoned her noble title, while Shamir wanted even less to do with the influential people of Fódlan. Once her debt to Lady Rhea was paid, she might go on another journey. For now, the two partners enjoyed a moment of respite before they resumed the evacuation of the town.

“Still, they’re the best students we’ve ever had,” The Holy Knight of Seiros appreciated. “I think the Empire might be in for a surprise.”

“True enough. We have good commanders too. If only we had more time, this could be an even fight. As it stands, we’ll need to use any trick at our disposal to make it through the first assault.”

“You’ve been talking with Claude, haven’t you?”

The leader of the Golden Deer was a resourceful strategist, but… “Good ideas in theory, less so in practice,” Shamir shook her head. “Time is working against us. And what about you? Any luck with prince Dimitri?”

“Nope. Even his close friends are having a hard time reaching His Highness. Nevertheless, I’m sure he’s more than ready to lead them into battle. Too eager, if you ask me.”

“At least they have some morale. The same can’t be said of the leaderless Black Eagles,” Shamir said.

“Have you heard Ferdinand defend his house in front of these clowns?” Catherine rebutted. “Now, that’s what I call stepping up. They won’t lack morale for the battle, that’s for certain.”

“That was one inspiring speech, even I’ll admit it,” Shamir conceded – and she was hard to move with words alone. “If only the Duke hadn’t staged the whole thing, it wouldn’t leave such a bitter aftertaste in my mouth.”

Catherine nodded with sympathy for the student who had suddenly been asked to bargain for the lives of his friends. What an awful position to be in…

“At least I know nobles are disgusting no matter where I go,” the well-travelled mercenary dryly remarked.

“Good thing we’re not protecting Garreg Mach for their sake,” the Knight joked. “Lady Rhea and the kids deserve the best we have to give.”

The fire crackled softly in the fireplace.

“Let’s do our best to defend Garreg Mach, partner,” Shamir swore with a challenging smile. “No regrets allowed.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth!”

___

“We couldn’t set a worse example in front of a student. I am ashamed of the Knights’ proposal to use them on the frontlines.”

“There is no need to castigate yourself, Alois. The Knights were only thinking of defending Garreg Mach. If someone needs to apologise, it should be me,” Seteth winced. “Never would I have imagined Church officials would propose taking the Black Eagles hostage… This is the peak of cowardice and betrayal. The Church of Seiros has always been a sanctuary – and we shall remain true to our ideals. The cost isn’t theirs to bear.”

“You were right to remind the assembly of the students’ selfless, yet no less life-threatening, deeds on behalf of the Church,” Gilbert soothed him. “Your intervention fairly echoed their bravery and devotion since the beginning of the year.”

The trio of fathers had retired to Seteth’s office to sort out their thoughts on the meeting’s conclusion, yet they were too tense to sit down despite the late hour. The debate had turned into a chaotic battle of egos, but at least, the Black Eagles would be allowed to choose sides before the battle. It was a meagre consolation.

“This meeting steeled my resolve. Once we have dealt with the Imperial Army, I must return to the country of my king and prepare for war. Sir Alois, will you allow me to take my leave? I might take a few Knights from Faerghus with me as well.”

“The decision doesn’t rest solely on me, but I see no objection. Most of the Captains will accede to such resignation requests. However, there is no telling when the battle will be over. Can you wait that long?”

“Of course. I will not fail to keep my oath to the Knights of Seiros.”

Gilbert wouldn’t fall short of his duties twice. And this time, he would help protect what he truly held dear as a knight: his lord, Dimitri, and his family, Annette. As long as they were here, he couldn’t abandon the Monastery anyway.

“You have our gratitude,” Seteth thanked him. “We absolutely cannot let Garreg Mach fall into Imperial hands.” Not the last home of the Nabateans…

In spite of centuries of travel and hiding, he always found his way back to Garreg Mach. Every time, he found it harder to leave – largely as a result of spending time with the lonely Rhea, who never asked him for anything after the War of Heroes… Moreover, it was a safe haven for Cethleann to rest. Eventually, he took up residence as the Archbishop’s advisor, “Seteth”. Even he was surprised at how well the role ended up fitting him. For one such as him who left Zanado to seek knowledge of the world, becoming an educator was a fitting milestone in his journey alongside humanity. Today, his home was endangered again, and he would take up arms to defend it just the same. With all his companions – Nabataeans, humans, or in-between.

“I may not be as strong as Captain Jeralt was,” Alois humbly said, “but I shall carry on his legacy along with the Knights of Seiros! We’ll protect the Monastery at all costs.” Besides, my fate is forever tied to this place, he thought fondly.

Orphaned at a young age, Alois had been raised in the orphanage of Garreg Mach, where Jeralt picked him as a squire. Many years later, under the Harpstring Moon, he fell in love with his wife at a starlit ball. They were blessed with a daughter, and Alois couldn’t have been happier. To him, the Monastery was the only place where he belonged – the place that had given him everything, when he had nothing. For all the people who also cherished Garreg Mach, he would fight to his last breath to defend it.

“Well said,” Seteth gladly approved.

Gilbert nodded sagely.

Amidst the blur between love and duty, oaths and selfish wishes, the three men shared that same dream. And for the next generation, as well as those who were long gone, they would see it through.

___

Then, there were those who were not invited to the council, for fear of disrupting the assembly. A wise decision, surely. If they had heard the threats against their students and classmates, they would have made a scandal. Therefore, the three professors, along with Cyril and Flayn, anxiously awaited the council’s decision in the reception hall. Among them, the Black Eagles teacher was pacing back and forth, unable to calm down.

“Seteth is quite the upstanding fellow, and Alois is backing him,” Hanneman tactfully tried to ease her worries. “We can safely entrust the future of the Black Eagles to them. Do not worry so, Manuela.”

“Seteth’s one of the most reliable persons out here,” Cyril stated as a matter of fact. “You gotta believe in him.”

“And Alois cares for our students like his own children,” Byleth claimed. Between the dad jokes he shared with Petra and Dimitri, all written down in a pocketbook of his, and his pseudo-adoption of Bernadetta, Jeralt’s successor couldn’t have been a better advocate for the three houses.

“I know you’re right,” Manuela said, still pacing, “and that Seteth and Alois share our opinion on the matter,” she paced back, “but this is still an unprecedented event,” she stopped with her cape flowing against her legs, “and now the Imperial nobility is involved!” she threw her arms up. Flayn was kind of mesmerised that her steps all fell into rhythm with her voice.

“Nobles stop by all the time at the Monastery, Professor Manuela,” Cyril deadpanned.

She shook her head. “This is a meeting called by the Prime… former Prime Minister, and they all fell for it!” she dramatically lamented, though she wasn’t wrong per se. “And I saw Ferdinand being dragged into this meeting… Let’s just say I have a bad feeling about this,” she said, more sadly this time.

For the Adrestian teachers who intimately knew of the political world’s ruthlessness, Duke Aegir’s reasoning was wickedly pragmatic. He would stop at nothing to make himself look brave and virtuous by proxy – using Ferdinand, he could make more allies than he could dream of by himself. Granted, all this treachery worked toward House Aegir’s restoration, but it was a heartless endeavour at worse, and a lazy one at best. And if there was something more to it, they weren’t aware of the Duke’s plans to speculate.

“I hoped the students would be able to graduate in peace. You two would have loved the celebrations,” she said to Cyril and Flayn. “At this time of year, you should have been celebrating the end of the exams with your classmates, flying above the blossoming trees in the valley, dancing with your sweetheart at the ball on New Year’s Eve…”

Cyril would have been lying if he’d said he wasn’t looking forward to it. The first year when he would have been able to read the results plastered on the blackboard of the Golden Deer classroom, his name among them – all thanks to Lysithea’s tutoring and the teachers’ support. After that, Claude and the others wouldn’t have allowed him to work on graduation day, taking him along the festivities he would have enjoyed like any of the youths studying there full time… Provided they successfully defended Garreg Mach, that dream wasn’t over yet.

Even though Flayn dreamt of fulfilling dreams she deserved to see realised – the chance to graduate with her friends, to waltz with Ferdinand at the ball, to clean the buffet with Raphael, to share one last fruit-cutting session with Felix… She couldn’t take her mind off their only objective: to protect Garreg Mach Monastery and everything and everyone it stood for. Failing that, tragedy would strike Fódlan once more… and the long-lived Nabatean knew how long wars could stretch, to say nothing of how they felt. She didn’t wish to subject any of her current companions to such a soul-crushing fate.

“It does sound lovely. Let’s fight together to make it happen, Professor!” she urged the Golden Deer teacher.

Byleth nodded almost vigorously. Meanwhile, Hanneman smiled proudly at his colleagues and students.

“Indeed, this is the way things should be. We chose to teach at the Officers Academy to instruct students from all over Fódlan,” he said, sharing a meaningful look with Manuela and Byleth. “In the spirit of the institution’s creation, we hoped to further the cooperation between our nations. Our homeland never weighed in our treatment of these students. For my part, I cannot in good conscience return to the Empire after they chose to deny everything this place and the Church harbouring it stand for.”

“For once, you and I are on the same page,” Manuela concurred. “No matter how worried I am about my friends in Enbarr, I refuse to take part in the Empire’s war of conquest. The Church is a safe haven for all, and it must remain one for the unfortunate and the lost who need its guidance,” said the unyielding teacher who took a knife to the gut when she confronted the students’ kidnapper all by herself.

No matter what the Black Eagles chose, to stay or to go back to their family and country, the senior professors would remain at the Monastery who also offered them sanctuary.

Rhea’s personal servant looked up at the teachers. “This place Lady Rhea gave me, when I had nothing,” Cyril remembered, “it's the only place I know to call home. I get what you mean,” he said, a hand under his chin, thinking. “She also loves this place more than anything, so I’ll defend it. By the way, you can count on me, Professor. I’ll fight with the Golden Deer.”

“You shall have my support as well,” Flayn gladly pledged. “Such a horrid war cannot come to pass.”

“There is nothing to fear with such brave defenders,” Hanneman chuckled in a fatherly manner. “Still, I insist you rely on the Professor’s guidance and the Knights of Seiros.”

“We still have time to host a seminar on tactical formation,” Byleth pragmatically suggested.

Flayn clapped her hands in anticipation. “What a splendid idea! The three houses could attend the seminar at once if you hosted it in the reception hall!”

“Ah, I shall pass on that,” Manuela said. Honestly, she would rather sleep to be at her best for the battle.

“I think I’ll have to pass on that too,” Cyril bluntly added. “I’ll help carry the bags and set up the barricades for the siege,” he said, his schedule already full.

“I would not mind a refresher myself,” the Crest scholar replied.

“Understood,” Byleth concluded. “I’ll ask the students if they’re interested tomorrow.” She paused. “Even still, I have faith in their abilities.”

The teachers laughed while Cyril and Flayn looked away, embarrassed.

___

Knowing the fate of everything she held dear was hanging in the balance, Byleth couldn’t rest just yet. After Seteth and Alois made a brief report, with the promise of a full breakdown of the meeting next morning, she decided to take a stroll until sleep found her.

Her idle night stroll led her to the pond whose still waters reflected a myriad of colourful stars shining white, red, blue, and green above the inky depths. She stared in silence for a while, amazed to see more and more stars shimmering in the water. It was in moments like these that she missed Jeralt and Sothis the most… During their travels, her dad taught her all about the constellations, and at the Monastery, she used to talk with Sothis for hours under the starlight…

“Greetings, Professor! Nothing to report!”

Before she realised, Byleth had walked up to the front gate of the Monastery. She smiled when she heard the familiar chime.

“Actually, there is something to report. Unexpected, isn’t it? Apparently, this is the first time Garreg Mach has been invaded in its whole 995-year history.”

“It’s unfortunate,” she said.

“Well, there were quite a few break-ins this year. However, you can rest assured this humble guard won’t let anyone through this time!”

“Oh, right. I heard you got involved in the Flame Emperor’s attack on the Holy Tomb.”

The Professor stared at the gatekeeper, expecting an answer to a question she forgot to ask. Thankfully, he didn’t take any offence, used to her taciturn nature.

“I was guarding the gate as usual when the Flame Emperor burst through the gates with Imperial soldiers at her back. The marketplace was in chaos. Because of their armour, you could hardly distinguish friend from foe. Thanks to the confusion and the absence of the Knights dispatched in town, they moved swiftly. Of course, I was going to call for backup!” he claimed, pointing at the war horn strapped at his waist. “But I told you I have a younger twin brother working for the Church, didn’t I? He was just a lowly soldier with no faith whatsoever, though. But even a grunt like him had clearance within the Monastery. I shouldn’t have been surprised that they got in so easily…”

“You mean, he was part of Edelgard’s group?” Byleth tried to ascertain, shocked.

“Exactly,” Gatekeeper confirmed. “He jumped at me before I could blow the war horn and warn everyone.”

However, he kept quiet about the exchange he had had with his brother then.

“Know that your days at the Monastery will end soon,” his twin had said. “If you don’t want to cause our parents any grief, you’ll come back to the Empire, won’t you? Open your eyes before it’s too late. Your blind faith will get you nowhere.”

Did his brother truly believe his loyalty was so easily swayed by threats, guilt, and desperation? Anyway, he believed the Professor and her students could easily beat the Flame Emperor once again, and he was proven right. Who was the delusional one, really?

“I ended up tied up with all the other guards while the invaders just… waltzed in. I don’t blame the servants or students. It was our job to stop them first, and we failed. I’m sorry it came to this,” Gatekeeper sincerely apologised.

The Professor watched her friend avoid her gaze, unjustly disappointed in himself. He did everything he could with the means and training he had – alone against an entire battalion, against his own family. It was more than enough.

“I’m glad you made it,” Byleth finally got the words out of her silent chest.

“It was nothing. Unlike yours, my feats aren’t worth talking about!” he laughed with a humble smile, choosing to trust in the people of Garreg Mach until the end. “I was born in the Adrestian Empire. Still, I’m proud to serve the Church. Or rather, I’m proud to be part of the Knights, to support you, to defend all the students and pilgrims I’ve greeted all year… It’s my job to protect this gate, so even if enemies come in droves, I shan’t let them through!”

The joyful sparkle in the eyes of the Professor who used to never laugh was a recompense in itself.

“I remember how out of our depths we were when we first met,” he reminisced honestly. “I thought this would be a peaceful assignment, and here we are, making history!”

“Indeed. Look how far we’ve come… We started this year together, so we’ll see it through together,” she said, hoping that voicing her hopes would make them come true. “Right, uh… Uh…” she started before hitting a blank.

They had always felt so comfortable with each other that they had skipped the most basic step to building a friendship!

“Did we properly introduce ourselves?” Byleth belatedly realised. She was quite sure she only introduced herself as Jeralt’s daughter, the new teacher at the Officers Academy… She really used to have abysmal social skills, didn’t she? Wait, did she really know her friend by nickname only for 12 months?!

The gatekeeper also seemed to reach the same conclusion. They had only presented themselves at the new Professor and Gatekeeper, their newly appointed roles, back in the Great Tree Moon. Well, it was never too late to make things right!

“My name is Byleth Eisner,” she started. “It’s an honour to protect Garreg Mach alongside you,” she said, extending her hand.

“And my name is Wilhelm Fromm,” he greeted her back, gratefully shaking her hand. “Let’s battle with all our might and pray we win this thing!”

Chapter Text

Imperial Year 1180, Lone Moon

The Black Eagles had taken their usual seats in the classroom. Those seating in the front row turned to face their classmates for this informal evening crisis meeting. Books and parchments were still scattered on their desks as if classes would resume the next day, when they knew everyone would be busy practicing in the training yard or the various courtyards. Even mages had abandoned their beloved library in favour of more practical exercise. With the knights setting up defences around the Monastery and civilians slowly evacuating the town, the atmosphere had become especially grim. The Adrestian students felt the need to overcompensate considering whose army was trying to invade them. From dawn to dusk, Petra and Caspar helped set up the barricades and traps in town with the Knights. The reclusive Bernadetta stepped out of her room and volunteered in the kitchens after the servants’ departure. Plus, her father hadn’t showed up in weeks, so she didn’t have to fear a hypocritical lecture coming from someone who turned out to be as much of a recluse as she was. As for Ferdinand, Linhardt, and Dorothea, training was their priority, for various reasons and the same at once: all three strived to eliminate their weaknesses to avoid a repeat of the disaster in the Sealed Forest. And how strange it was to see Linhardt readily training while Ferdinand and Dorothea didn’t find any reason to argue…

With such busy schedules, this night-time reunion was their only opportunity to discuss the hell they had been thrown into. And even that had to be postponed to this ungodly hour because Ferdinand had just returned from the meeting with the Church’s authorities… They spared him the interrogation and finally fed him – with a sweet bun trio he slowly savoured – while they chattered. After reviewing their daily tasks and training, the students’ conversations soon revolved around Edelgard’s unexpected ascension to the throne.

“I didn’t think it possible for the Imperial princess to be crowned so easily, without supervision or knowledge from the Church of Seiros. But with both my father and Caspar’s supporting her…”

Her chin resting on her hand, Dorothea asked: “Do you think these two are the key to her successful coup, Lin?”

“I think so. Having both the Minister of Domestic Affairs and Minister of Military Affairs on your side gives you total control over the Empire’s military and finances,” Linhardt replied with a tinge of bitterness. It was so obvious in hindsight!

Ferdinand shared the sentiment. “Basically, she could bypass the Prime Minister’s authority on all relevant matters of warfare without raising suspicion on herself. And with most of the Imperial nobility backing her claim, she fears no retaliation.” Dejected, he counted them in his head: Hevring, Bergliez, Vestra – well, the new Marquis. Of course, Lord Arundel was supporting her. Countess Varley had taken control of her husband’s territory as the ruler appointed by Edelgard. Considering his dislike of the Church, Duke Gerth was almost guaranteed to follow her. How could two fallen nobles hope to oppose the almighty Emperor and her loyal entourage?

However, Bernadetta came to another conclusion. She asked herself a simple question. What fate awaited traitors to the Crown? Marquis Vestra, the second scariest man she had ever met, was dead – dismissed as quickly as an afterthought. With a single word, House Aegir, second only to the blessed House Hresvelg, had been stripped of all dignity. So what would become of House Varley, the politically weakest? How hard would they be crushed by the godless Emperor?

Meanwhile, Linhardt wondered what kind of incentive could have made lifelong rivals swear allegiance to Edelgard and betray their former allegiance to the Seven. Conversely, as a commoner, Dorothea felt like a stranger to these grand stories of political betrayal, leading her to question her place there again. Both of them only had a vague idea of the political climate in the Empire so far, either from listening in the guests at the Hevring estate or whispers at the opera. Nothing could have prepared them for war. It was especially heart-breaking for the two Black Eagles who wanted the least to do with violence…

To everyone’s surprise, it was Bernadetta who cut through the tense atmosphere to take a look back rather than lament the battle nobody could avoid at this point. Half-hidden behind her clenched hands, she asked with a thoughtful tone: “Why does Edelgard want war?”

“She could have been part of the nobles who wish for Fódlan’s reunification – under the Imperial banner, that is,” the aspiring scholar speculated despite the lack of evidence.

Ferdinand’s political acumen shone again. “But why make her conquest more difficult by attacking the Church first? By declaring war on the Church, she made an enemy out of all of Fódlan and considerably weakened any further attempts at diplomacy – or surprise attack, most likely – with the Kingdom and Alliance…”

“In war, you must be striking first the weakness of the enemy. It won’t be showing an opening again. It also brings down the morale of their allies. If you defeat the strongest first, everyone will be following,” Petra said, remembering the Empire’s subjugation of Brigid. All it had taken was to kill the ruling couple and the kingdom crumbled while Dagda abandoned them, fearing the same fate would befall them.

Whereas her friends looked at her with unease, Petra kept her composure. War against the Empire had always been one of the possible outcomes of her stay in Fódlan. Now, she was faced with a choice that would impact her people’s future for generations. A letter stamped with the double-headed eagle had arrived right after the declaration of war: a formal demand to officialise Brigid’s position in the war to come.

Another insult she suffered in this foreign land. Why should they fight to conquer lands after being subjugated themselves? What did they have to gain in a religious war across the sea? Although Petra was fond of the princess who welcomed her as a friend in Enbarr, she couldn’t forgive her arrogance in dragging her people into this unrelated mess.

But she had received a second letter from her long-time benefactor, Duke Walter von Gerth. To her stupefaction, this stranger raised her under his roof, among his own children, and taught her to read, write and speak the language of Fódlan. Simply put, he treated her like a guest, not a hostage, and for that she would always be grateful. Of course, as a Minister, he had vested interests in her, but so did she – he was her only support in the Empire. Therefore, the contents of that letter left her with a crueller dilemma than Edelgard’s heartless blackmail.

He told her to prioritise her safety. Not to surrender or flee, no – just to survive. For a Minister who put his duty above everything else, there was no greater proof of his love. Those simple words made Petra’s resolution waver. Whether she bent the knee or tried to break bree, he believed she would fulfil her duty to her people. No matter which path she chose, he only hoped to see her again alive and well.

Calm down your heart, she told herself. Indeed, she had pondered that exact question a few moons ago with Ferdinand who had urged her to go back home after Captain Jeralt’s murder. Back then, she stood up for her beliefs and stayed. After all, hadn’t she spent half of her life in Fódlan? Was she really a stranger who could look away from the turmoil? And why would her answer change today? The stakes weren’t any different, her situation was still the same – the veil of diplomacy had merely been lifted. In a way, that made Edelgard’s stance the most honest. ‘Are you with me or against me?’ is what she’s asking. It’s just like these dramatic Fódlan weddings. ‘Speak now or forever hold your peace.’ The Brigid Princess was lost in thoughts.

In stark contrast with Petra’s composure, Caspar was rambling about how he’d rather fight a monster than the formidable general von Bergliez.

“And I hope he won’t be part of the group coming to attack Garreg Mach…” he sighed, brows still furrowed in worry.

The songstress shook her head. “I would be more surprised if the Minister of Military Affairs didn’t show up for the first ever siege of Garreg Mach Monastery,” she sighed.

“Edelgard declared war on the Church, so she needs to lead the troops to cement her position and spread her agenda. You might be able to avoid your father,” Ferdinand reasoned, following Petra’s earlier line of thought.

“… Thanks. What about your father and Bernadetta’s? I have a hard time picturing them on a battlefield.”

“To my knowledge, they are working on the Monastery’s defences and the management of all the troops who answered their call.”

However, with her head down and with no one’s eyes on her, Bernadetta muttered what she was really thinking. “Father won’t pass up the opportunity to slaughter his enemies with the Archbishop’s blessing.” The brutality of her statement was met with a few gasps. A chill ran down Dorothea’s spine. The sombre mood dropped below ground and all the students shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

“Does he really want to murder commoners so badly…?” Dorothea asked.

“Yes… I mean no! No, not just commoners. Nobles are fair game too. He has l-lots of enemies he wants to… to kill. It’s nothing new. He just has even more reasons now.” In a corner of her mind, she recalled the many friendly visits of Marquis Vestra to their estate when she was young – or rather the many times she was punished because of her lacking manners in front of the esteemed guest. However, it was that very elusive vampiric visitor who laughed at her fumbling with the silverware as if it was no big deal… Like any normal father would treat their child. Perhaps it explained how she could handle some terrifying stuff and faint at the rest. Her fear threshold was messed up since birth. But, getting back on track – her father was a vengeful man. And those who wronged – or worse, murdered – his noble friends always paid the price… She rightfully feared for Hubert’s life. Her shoulders drooped. “Besides, we’re all going to fight against our people.”

“About that,” Ferdinand interjected, “I plan to gather all the Black Eagles tomorrow. It concerns you too, therefore I can share this with you without further ado.”

They all understood what he wanted to talk about – the meeting’s conclusion, and the fate of the students in the siege to come. With an exaggerated curtsy, Dorothea put on her opera voice to tease him. “Pray tell, my Lord!” Linhardt perked up as well. “If it couldn’t wait until tomorrow, then I’m all ears,” he said. Satisfied, Ferdinand walked to the teacher’s desk to speak.

It was at that moment that they realized… When the Black Eagles had no house leader, when they couldn’t turn their faith toward the Goddess, it was Ferdinand who stepped up to guide them, even though they misjudged him at first. Linhardt ran away from the noble responsibilities awaiting him after graduation, and Caspar didn’t care for traditions a second-born son would never know. Under her seductress persona, Dorothea reviled nobles. Bernadetta feared any noble expectations placed on her and Petra always took her time to evaluate a person’s character.

In the span of a year, the Black Eagles had let go of their prejudices and learned to see beyond the masks of their friends. And when they thought they could graduate in peace, the most trusted student turned out to be a traitor whereas the most misunderstood one eventually won their hearts. If that wasn’t a twist…

They turned their attention toward their not-so-unexpected leader. Ironically, the noble whose future was the most uncertain had become the house leader of the Black Eagles by force of circumstance.

“I came to an agreement with Seteth,” Ferdinand declared. “Students from the Black Eagle house will be allowed to leave Garreg Mach tomorrow if they so choose, before we further improve our defences,” Ferdinand explained, putting himself firmly in the defenders’ camp. “Students should not have to raise their weapons against their own flesh and blood. There are many with parents and siblings serving in the Imperial Army or whose families might be threatened into compliance near the capital. In exchange, the Church and the Knights only ask you to remember who offered you mercy on the eve of war.”

“I thought you didn’t take part in the discussions?” Caspar asked, having missed Ludwig’s sudden ‘invitation’.

“My father and the Knights argued this matter should be discussed in presence of the class representative, thus I was summoned.” Ferdinand monotoned his way through the story, his face tense. “Some Knights and priests felt they had failed to protect us too many times and we deserved to choose our side, others wanted to get rid of possible traitors as soon as possible, and the rest would only defend us provided we pledged allegiance to the Church. It was an indescribable mess. Thankfully, Alois had the last word.”

Still (rightfully) bitter over the whole ordeal, Ferdinand didn’t feel like mentioning his father’s efforts to protect his classmates. That was the least he could do, so why strew flowers at his feet for showing basic decency?

“Even though you went above and beyond for our sake, you look displeased,” Dorothea remarked. She wasn’t thrilled herself to leave her fate to a bunch of nobles and priests who held her in contempt for most of her life.

In response, Ferdinand took a deep breath, put his hands on the desk and leaned forward. Because his father’s unrefined methods were the least of his problems with that meeting. “You give me too much credit,” he scoffed almost playfully, head hung low. Then, with clenched fists and a straightforward gaze, he told them the truth of that lawless meeting.

“I will be honest with you. There were talks of taking the Black Eagles house hostage to buy time, or to deploy us on the frontlines as fodder. I was only brought to that meeting as a living prop to be pitied so we would be spared. I barely got a word in before they all started fighting over our lives, tearing their arguments apart like… like verbose gladiators!” he erupted with the most fitting desk slam. It was the first time they saw Ferdinand well and truly pissed.

As for the fallen noble, patience had left his vocabulary, packed its suitcase and sailed to Morphis. Why mince his words now in front of his friends? To him, that sorry display not only confirmed the rot that had set in the Empire, but also in the Church of Seiros. So why did it come as such a shock? They were two sides of the same coin, the two crumbling pillars of modern Fódlan! Edelgard was right all along in her assessment, if not in her methods! There was… nothing worth saving… All the institutions were failing them, and the whole thing only survived thanks to the back-breaking efforts of a few good people… and it soon wouldn’t be enough.

The others were stunned speechless. The Church wasn’t merciful then – only people like Seteth could be trusted! This was nothing more than emotional blackmail. But… Their loyalty to the Empire, rather than Edelgard, was also used against them by the other side… Where they nothing but pawns played by the white player, the Church, and the black one, the Empire?

“As you have realized by now, the Church, the Knights, the Imperial nobles, the Emperor herself,” Ferdinand hammered every syllable like the hammer of injustice about to crush them, “they all wanted to rob us of our agency. If not for Seteth and Alois, we wouldn’t be free. With the full truth brought to your attention, I beg you, do choose your side in all conscience tomorrow.”

Thus concluded his speech.

The future was bleak. However, from the Black Eagles’ perspective, this story proved there was always a glimmer of hope worth pursuing. In the Church, a single moral preacher, Seteth. Leading the Knights, a single defender of the weak, Alois Rangeld. Among the wretched nobles, a single incorruptible heir, Ferdinand von Aegir. Even if he couldn’t see it himself, he was a haven of virtue in the Adrestian landscape, a promise of change. And the only one willing to change things the hard way.

On the other hand, Edelgard and Hubert had ushered an era of change right then and there. Uncompromising, the two revolutionaries wanted to abolish, censor, reform, destroy, to rebuild everything anew. It was a tantalizing promise. Who wouldn’t want to burn to the ground all evil, to wipe the slate clean?

A voice cut through the silence. Three words echoed like a raging thunderstorm.

“I’ll stay.”

It takes more than one person to change the world, but only one person to take the first step. Some call it the Fool’s journey, for that person needs to be both candid and determined. However, it would be selling short the insane bravery it takes to step forward with the odds stacked against you alone.

All eyes turned toward the back of the classroom where Caspar stood up, hands confidently resting on his hips. “My father used to say ‘All is fair in war’. If we’re enemies, then we won’t hold back, no matter who we’re facing. There’s no point overthinking this. This is where I want to be.”

“Caspar… Hmph, now you make me want to put in the effort,” Linhardt sighed fondly. “All right, I’ll do my best so the Black Eagles make it out alive of the siege.”

The childhood friends’ declaration lightened the grim atmosphere like a cloud in a drought. Following in their footsteps, Petra voiced her resolve. “I will not be backing down or turning my back above my friends either,” she swore.

Dorothea chuckled. “On my friends, you mean.” She gently shook her head, sending a wave through her long brown curls. “You can count me in. We are students of the Officers Academy before we are Black Eagles. I’ve lost count of how many times we trained and fought with the others. Just think of last month when Manuela couldn’t teach us and we studied in their own classrooms. It feels wrong to leave them behind.”

From her seat, Bernadetta gave an affirmative sound. She had spent a few uneventful days with Petra as part of the Golden Deer house, where they didn’t feel like strangers – in fact, no one called her out when she bolted out of the classroom to return to her room after every lesson, and Claude and Ignatz helped Petra whenever she had a word on the tip of her tongue.

Bernie closed her eyes to gather her courage. She trusted them, so it was only right to let them know they could trust her too. “I don’t want to fight but… I’ll do if it can stop her war before it escalates. I just want to go home in peace!”

“Don’t we all?” Dorothea agreed, putting the Black Eagles’ feelings in a nutshell.

Contrary to the students who had regained some fighting spirit, Ferdinand’s heart erred on the side of caution. He was happy to have his friends on his side for the next battle, but how long would their alliance truly last…? There was only one way to find out: by asking them. “Thank you for your honest answers,” he carefully began. “It will be an honour to defend the Monastery together and to embody the values of cooperation dear to the Officers Academy.”

“No need to sugarcoat what you have to say. We’re all ears. Fire away,” Dorothea immediately cut the niceties short with her unique brand of bluntness.

And as always, Ferdinand’s breath was taken away. She always found new ways to surprise him – one day stating she hated him, the other rushing to treat his burns. Pricking and beckoning, she was a mysterious rose indeed… At her demand, the noble closed his eyes to collect his thoughts and speak without unnecessary artifice.

“Then… I have questions for what happens next. Of course, there is no way for us to know the outcome of the battle. However, by siding with the Church, the Black Eagles make a strong statement. What should we do after the siege? I know this a broad question, so I will keep it simple. Raise your hand if you agree.”

His doubts would be settled soon enough.

“Do you want to fight against your homeland?” Ferdinand shared a look with Petra, telling her this question wasn’t directed at her, so she didn’t have to answer. She was grateful, but crossed her arms to signify that her answers was the same as everyone else: she didn’t want to fight against Adrestia. The Black Eagles breathed a sigh of relief and camaraderie.

“Do you want to fight the Blue Lions and Golden Deer in the near future?” No one could raise their hands.

“And can you do it?” he asked with a piercing gaze. The Officers Academy trained them to fight off invasions from Sreng, Almyra and Dagda in particular, but… The pages of Fódlan’s history books were also stained with the blood of their brethren. Caspar, Petra and Ferdinand raised their hands without a doubt. The thought pained the others too much to answer in the affirmative. Bernadetta would rather stay holed up in her room and never get out. Linhardt couldn’t handle the blood of the allies he was supposed to save, to say nothing of killing former allies. And in Dorothea’s defence, she joined the Officers Academy to secure her livelihood through marriage, not war…

“Do you want to fight against Edelgard?” After a long silence, Ferdinand alone raised his hand. How many times did he pick up futile fights with her? Now that it truly mattered, he wouldn’t back down. As long as Edelgard would rather wage war than parley, he was ready to fight to get through to her.

“Do you want to save Adrestia?” After some hesitation, mostly because they weren’t sure how to do it, all hands were raised.

“Do you want to save Fódlan?” This time, everyone raised their hands in unison. At that, Ferdinand smiled openly for the first time in the meeting.

That was it. From their answers, he already knew where the Black Eagles would go if the battle ended in Edelgard’s likely victory. He felt… lonely. Why did they have to part ways when they finally understood each other…? Although that knowledge pained him, he would truly be honoured to fight by their side in this war, for the first and final time…

But this was the Lone Moon. They had forged strong bonds throughout the year – bonds that they couldn’t “ever rend” as Manuela often sang in the infirmary. No matter what fate awaited their class, they could forge their own promise, their own guiding truth.

“Although we have some points of contention, there is one thing we all agree on. Let’s forge a promise to protect Fódlan and all its people together. Because our nation started this war, we have a duty to restore a lasting peace,” Ferdinand proclaimed, the flames of determination setting his eyes alight with hope.

And hope… hope was contagious. One by one, the Black Eagles got up from their seats and gathered before the teacher’s desk.

“Sounds like a plan,” Linhardt approved.

“Count me in!” Caspar shouted.

“I will be fighting for peace with all of my might,” Petra promised.

“I may be a commoner, but a coward I am not,” Dorothea assured. “And together we’ll succeed!”

“The Empire might never be whole again, but our class will!” Bernadetta hoped.

“It’s a promise,” Ferdinand said. And with it, he hoped to seal a favourable fate for them… Only time would tell.

Having sworn this unbreakable vow, the fatigue finally caught up with the Black Eagles.

“Let’s call it a night, shall we?” Dorothea winked.

“Agreed. Goodnight,” Linhardt yawned.

Caspar stretched. “I’m beat,” he concurred.

The others hummed or nodded. Petra got up and stretched her arms. It was getting late, and they would have to wake early. Nevertheless, the Empire students were slow to leave the beloved classroom that had been the theatre of their carefree youth.

___

From the library’s hallway, a former Black Eagle was looking in through the stained-glass window. His gaze lingered purposefully on the optimistic redhead leading the group back to the dorms.

“You should be Emperor.”

Chapter Text

Imperial Year 1180, Lone Moon

The taciturn retainer closed the doors to the training grounds where the students of Faerghus had assembled at Felix’s unlikely request. It was already quite late. A waning moon feebly lit up the open-air classroom, and none of the Blue Lions felt quite at ease in this place at such an odd hour. Furthermore, the night cold was a melancholy reminder of the home they left behind, soon to be at war. It was as if the Officers Academy itself was urging them to rush back to the Kingdom before it was too late…

“I’m afraid His Highness couldn’t join our meeting,” the retainer stated.

As the Empire’s forces approached, Dedue’s increasingly apologetic tone mirrored Dimitri’s growing distance with the Blue Lions. They had spent the last two months pretending nothing was wrong, denying the warnings of the Golden Deer students after Remire, falsely reassuring their Black Eagles classmates after the Sealed Forest; now, they were at their wit’s end. Dimitri had become a vengeful shadow of his former self and nothing they did seemed to reach him.

Unfortunately, whether the prince joined them or not, the situation called for a crisis meeting. Despite initiating the invitation, Felix left the floor to his classmates. They all had plenty of thoughts to share tonight, and they wouldn’t get another chance to talk, what with the drills planned for the last few days before the attack… And as expected, the first topic to be brought up was Dimitri’s mental state.

“All this time, he wanted revenge for the people he lost in Duscur. I can understand that,” Sylvain said. “But was it really Edelgard’s doing?” he asked, thus catching everyone by surprise.

“Who else would it be?” Annette asked, curious to hear his deduction. Obviously, they had noticed that Dimitri didn’t lose his mind before the Flame Emperor was unmasked. Unfortunately, the truth was muddled. But Sylvain loved to speculate – especially when it involved the prince and women. However, his conclusions weren’t so amusing.

“In short, the Flame Emperor – Edelgard – is leading the Adrestian Empire to war against the Church. Even His Highness drew his own conclusions to accuse her of treason all the way back in Duscur. ‘The Emperor is a threat to Fódlan’, that’s what we all agree on… But it’s just too convenient, you know?” Sylvain daringly asked to the attentive Blue Lions.

His classmates were all ears, knowing how sharp and insightful he was behind his womanising ways.

“The more I thought about it, the stranger it became. We all so easily pinned the blame on her alone. It reminded me of how quickly Faerghus scapegoated the people of Duscur for the death of our King,” the young man developed. The Imperial princess was an obvious target requiring no investigation in a time of utmost turmoil, just like Dedue’s people. “However, don’t you think we are being blindsided? The people who kept attacking the Monastery this year were those dark mages, which she fought alongside us on several occasions. Was she involved in everything we accuse her of?”

“It could have been a diversion,” the honest Ingrid suggested. “And even if it wasn’t her doing, it could have been a plot orchestrated by the former Emperor, or by said allies. The blame would still lie on Adrestia,” she argued.

“I’m in no way denying her responsibility nor Adrestia’s in all this,” Sylvain clarified. “But, in my opinion, these Kronya and Solon guys she is working with seem far more sinister and powerful than we give them credit for. However strong their magic and weapons have proved to be,” he emphasised, with the battle of the Sealed Forest fresh in their minds (besides Ferdinand’s whole situation, they all vividly remembered the Professor being swallowed alive by unholy darkness), “it’s still nothing compared to their abilities to warp their appearance and control Demonic Beasts.”

Despite the Golden Deer and the Knights’ discretion on the battle at the Chapel, word had gotten out pretty fast that the missing students that month had been turned into Demonic Beasts and slayed before anyone realised what – or rather, who – they were.

The whole ordeal arose feelings Sylvain would rather not deal with. The girl who disappeared from their class, dying the way Miklan did… He only needed to close his eyes to picture the agony she went through. Suffice to say, his nightmares had gotten quite varied as of late. Not that anyone needed to know. In hindsight, he was just glad his friends never went to Conand Tower, and painfully empathised with Dimitri and Dedue who kept the even greater horrors they witnessed to themselves…

“You are saying that we should beware of the strongest, but hidden, threat,” Dedue helpfully summed up. Sylvain winked glamorously in response, again hiding his wit and his hurt behind the playboy façade.

“It’s true that we shouldn’t take everything we know so far for granted,” Ashe said, pensive. The fact that everything he thought he knew about Lord Lonato, Christophe, or Catherine, had been overturned with a single letter, still weighed heavily on his mind.

“We’ll heed your warning, Sylvain,” Ingrid approved. “Whoever the enemy is, we shall prevail.”

“I didn’t call you here to split hairs on who is responsible for this war,” Felix abruptly cut in. “Edelgard, while our most urgent problem, is far from the only one. We need to think about the Kingdom’s future. If war really does break out, we’ll be the only ones left to care.”

Never mind Felix’s harsh tongue, they were all curious to hear why he had gone to the trouble of gathering them there.

“It’s one disaster after the other,” Felix harshly continued. “The plague, the war in Sreng, the Tragedy of Duscur, the rebellions across the Kingdom, leading to a rise in banditry, and now the war at our doorstep – it’s been relentless. Whether it’s a curse or a conspiracy, I couldn’t care less. The point is, something needs to be done. You’re smart. You know we can’t rely on the boar as he is right now.”

By now, the Blue Lions were well-versed in “Felix-speak”. What he really meant to say was something closer to: “But I believe in you, so let’s do something about it together.” They had slowly, but successfully, tamed the lone wolf back into the group.

“We must stand with our prince, now more than ever,” Ashe valiantly defended. It still didn’t sit well with him to keep Dimitri out of this.

Felix sighed. “Sure, if he was more prince than boar. But if revenge is all he thinks about, then we have to step up.”

After years of training this dull blade of his, Felix had reached the beginning of an answer to the Professor’s question: what drove him to grow stronger? And without his stay at the Officers academy, he would never have found it. Just as Seteth advised, he had plenty of friends to draw inspiration from, even if their ideals would never perfectly align with his. Through discussion, he found out that he surprisingly shared Ingrid’s opinion on the morality of knighthood, and reminisced about Glenn’s tales with the optimistic Ashe. Thanks to them, he became absolutely certain of the one duty knights truly had to fulfil: to protect the weak.

Maybe that was why he couldn’t accept his father’s justification of Glenn’s death, beyond the ridiculous glorification of death. They simply would never agree on whom a knight was first loyal to: their lord, or their people. And deep within his heart, he knew who Glenn chose to save between the crown prince and the helpless child in the slaughter of Duscur… It was just as everyone said. Glenn and he were one and the same. His brother didn’t die like a true knight as Rodrigue said – he died true to himself.

Felix could have left it at that, it not for the recent events and a certain noble also being painfully true to himself… Almost two months ago, Ferdinand almost lost his life to save Dorothea’s – and it was just like watching Glenn riding to his death again. The obvious trap, the tears of the guilt-ridden survivor, the twisted black scraps of armour melted by the heat…

The only difference being… Ferdinand survived. Granted, it wasn’t an ambush of the same scale, but it wasn’t a fluke either.

Because of this incident, Felix learned a valuable lesson. And all his professors had tried so hard to make him understand! No man is an island. You just can’t win hard fights on your own. Indeed, the Sealed Forest expedition turned into a disaster as soon as they broke formation, leading to much distress and injury. Still, they managed to scrape by and even save a dying man thanks to their combined efforts. It proved that strength and companionship were the key to survival and success. And also, that knowing your enemy was half the battle indeed. Thankfully, the people of Faerghus knew how to welcome Adrestian aggressors.

With a clear goal in mind, and lessons learned the hard way, Felix had made up his mind. This meeting was everything. Even though he wasn’t fond of superstition, he lightly pressed the piece of his brother’s armour – always neatly tucked in a small satchel tied to his belt – to give him the strength to believe in his fellow Blue Lions. Would they share his vision of knighthood and life, just this once?

Felix fought against his instinct in order to make eye contact with all of them and properly convey the stakes of what he was about to say. And, at last, he challenged them.

“And since you’re all here, I’m asking you: how do we step up for the Kingdom’s future?”

Ingrid almost chuckled at Felix’s passionate, selfless, chivalrous plea. He was more of a knight than anyone she knew. Protecting a lord, fighting for honour, it wasn’t like him. And yet, he was the most dedicated when it came to defending the weak. Whether he honed his blade from dawn to dusk or chose to rush ahead in authority classes, his scowl couldn’t hide the caring heart beneath. A melancholy smile overcame her, thinking of Glenn’s similar kindness. She thought the world of him – she still did. But the one standing before her, daring her to fight for a just cause, was Felix.

And Ingrid believed in him.

Sylvain couldn’t quite put his finger on what – or where things – went wrong in Faerghus. As Felix pointed out, it was a succession of crisis that led them here. Step up, he said. For the Gautier heir, it sounded like a wake-up call. He couldn’t take things easy anymore, not when the Kingdom’s future – his friends’ future – hung in the balance. Sylvain steeled his resolve, a burning promise in his heart. He would protect the bright future his friends were promised to. The war would come and go. They would be the last ones standing.

He would make sure of that.

Annette looked back on the pain she felt when her father disappeared. How many children would feel the same when the war would befall her homeland? She was lucky. The ordeal led her to find her own path in life; first, she enrolled in the Royal School of Sorcery where she honed her metaphorical blade. Then, she got a letter of recommendation to enrol at the prestigious Officer’s Academy. Now that the school year was over – in more ways than one – she looked back once more on her life. All she could remember where friendly faces, days filled with inconsequential blunders and laughter, a life she wouldn’t exchange for anything in the world. She had gained the strength to protect all the friendly faces back home, too. Of course she would heed Felix’s call and protect the people she held dear!

She was the daughter of a Knight of Faerghus, after all.

Ashe had experienced Dimitri’s kindness first-hand. To him, it was unthinkable that the prince would turn his back on everything he stood for. But Felix, like Catherine, was right. Life wasn’t as black and white as a chivalrous tale. Dimitri was blinded by his desire for revenge, and he could soon fall prey to his blood-thirsty delusions. The Blue Lions had to show him the way. For if they failed, Dimitri would know the same fate as Lord Lonato: dying a meaningless death in the name of a fabricated lie called vengeance.

For the Kingdom’s sake, Ashe swore to stay true to his idea of chivalry.

In his hour of greatest need, a young Dimitri had reached out to him and saved his life. It was a debt Dedue would spend his entire life repaying. As a man of Duscur, he held no particular loyalty toward Faerghus. But among the Blue Lions, he never felt like an outsider. Ashe and Annette came to him without a shred of malice, asking for advice. Ingrid and Felix moved past their prejudice and accepted him as a comrade in arms – a great honour, coming from children of knights. To his astonishment, Sylvain turned out to be both open-minded and clear-headed about the Tragedy, even while lacking concrete proof of his people’s innocence. And in this foreign place, Mercedes was the first to tell him that Duscur lived on within him… Dedue remembered Dimitri’s promise of making a Kingdom boasting of Duscur blood. Back then, it sounded like a pipedream. However, in light of the people he had met at the Officer’s Academy, Dedue realised that dream might yet come true.

He would no longer doubt the strength of their dreams.

Mercedes wasn’t born a citizen of Faerghus, yet had found shelter and a sense of purpose in its churches. She wanted to repay these people for their kindness toward her and her mother. Looking at the young and hopeful Blue Lions, she wanted more than ever to be a guide and sisterly aid in their lives, to brighten their days like they did hers. It was her true calling, to help people in need. And in this land of knights, she was free and welcome to take up arms for what she believed in.

At last, she had found a home worth fighting for.

Felix had expected his friends to think things through, but the stony silence was starting to unnerve him. The Blue Lions stared at him, yet to answer his call.

“Made up your mind yet?” he scoffed, his voice more uncertain than he wanted it to be.

This time, he was met with nods all around – and the cheerful, honest smiles of a people who struggled together against adversity. A weight seemed to be lifted off his shoulders. He uncrossed his arms and raised a daring hand toward them.

“So, how do we protect the future of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus?”

“We maintain peace with our neighbours,” Sylvain offered, knowing full well that Felix arranging this meeting was a one-off stroke of tactical genius, and he had no other ace up his sleeve (a dagger maybe, but not a plan).

“Including the Empire? We may have to fight it in mere weeks, you know,” said a worried Annette.

“We’ll have to get along at some point or another,” Sylvain blinked nonchalantly. The Empire was one thing, but… As if he could forgive Edelgard after what she put his friends through. Not a chance, he sincerely thought.

Another silence outstayed its welcome, through no fault of his own. In this climate of fear and uncertainty, the war weighed too heavily on everyone’s mind to voice hopes and solutions for the future. If everyone survived the next battle, what more could they wish for?

“It’s hard to come up with a grand plan on the eve of battle,” Dedue conceded, lowering his head.

“Then let’s start by promising to make it out alive, together!” Annette chimed in.

“And to always support each other, come what may,” added Ashe.

“All for the Kingdom’s future,” Sylvain concluded in a solemn tone that awed the Blue Lions.

They exchanged knowing glances, nodding with newfound confidence. Without need for words, they looked through the armoury and grabbed the appropriate training equipment. Lances, axe, bow, magic and healing staves, sword: they were ready.

On the eve of the fateful battle, the Blue Lions swore a lifelong oath. On the training grounds of the Officers Academy, they formed a circle and raised their weapon of choice. To everyone’s bewilderment, Felix raised another lance along with his sword.

“That oath includes the boar, whatever he’s doing,” he said without blushing, secretly hoping for the prince to follow in their wake if they showed him the way forward. No one commented on the unconvincing scowl plastered on his face.

“Wait! I have another idea!”

The Blue Lions then turned toward Ashe, curious.

“If it’s all for the Kingdom’s future, then we should also include Duscur. I mean, they are…” he trailed off, pink with embarrassment.

Sylvain grinned and nodded. “Right. We’ll shed light on the Tragedy. And I’m sure your people’s name will finally be cleared,” he said, not commenting on Dedue’s grateful smile to his friends and Ingrid’s quiet approval.

Finally, the eloquent philanderer cleared his throat and spoke up.

“As the Blue Lions House, we swear this oath!

We’ll survive this battle and all battles to come.

Come what may, we’ll support one another.

As duty commands, as honour demands,

We’ll shed light on the Tragedy of Duscur,

And we’ll ensure a bright future to Faerghus and Duscur both.

Raise your banner, knights of the Holy Kingdom!”

At his command, the Blue Lions gleefully raised their weapons.

“I’m your girl!” Annette exclaimed, waving her magic staff.

“I can do no less,” Ingrid swore, raising her lance toward the heavens.

“For His Highness,” Dedue promised, effortlessly brandishing his axe.

“You can rely on me,” Mercedes giggled with a wave of her healing staff.

“In the name of justice!” Ashe shouted, pointing his bow to the sky.

“Agreed,” was all Felix said to this flamboyant nonsense. It didn’t sound anything like a knightly oath, but that would do, as long as all the Blue Lions kept their promise to fight and live on for the Kingdom’s sake. He lifted his sword and lance, a satisfied smile on his lips.

Finally, Sylvain raised the training lance in defiance toward the waning moon, alone in the sky.

“Whatever it takes!”

The weapons clattered against each other in a symphony of hopeful battle cries, Dimitri’s presence ever so clear in their minds.

It was as simple as the bag of sweets Ashe kept in his drawer to share with his siblings back home, the embroidered handkerchief in Mercedes’s pocket, or the Sword of Zoltan that Felix kept in evidence on his bedroom shelf. For the others, it was a simple promise that cemented an enduring friendship – to loosen up if Sylvain managed to settle down, to restore Duscur with Dedue’s help, to have Ingrid value her life even as a knight, or to keep Annette’s embarrassing childhood stories to himself.

They were Blue Lions, now and forever.

___

In the cathedral, the lone figure of the Prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus could be seen, mumbling to himself. A feverish litany of blood-thirsty promises escaped his twisted lips.

And as he prayed for victory against the ghosts’ tormentor, a melancholy silhouette looked at him from afar.

“Don’t lose sight of yourself, little prince.”

Chapter Text

Imperial Year 1180, Lone Moon

The Golden Deer were holding a late-night meeting in the dining hall. No, they weren’t trying to find excuses for night-time snacking… nor stress-eating. Claude put his hands on the table and started with a sterner tone than usual:

“The next battle will be our most difficult yet. Follow the Professor’s instruction, and retreat if you’re hurt. Understood? You aren’t meeting your demise against Edelgard and Hubert. We are the Golden Deer! We don’t bend to anyone,” he said with a playful smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. Sadly, there was too much at stake to truly let loose.

“We are facing the Imperial Army, and they’re prepared. It won’t be like the Holy Tomb,” warned Leonie. The huntress was on edge. War resembled nothing like training. Were they truly ready to take up arms and defend Garreg Mach Monastery?

“It is our solemn duty to defend the Church,” argued Lorenz, trying to muster his own courage. “We attended the Officers Academy to learn the art of war. This battle shall serve to attest of our growth for the past year, in both character and skill.”

“Yeesh, don’t put it like that,” Claude winced.

The Golden Deer leader definitely didn’t want his classmates to die a meaningless death on the battlefield. For all the fun he made of Lysithea, he couldn’t bear the thought of seeing such a young child fall to a stray arrow. Well, at least for now she was simply trying to stuff her face with sweets. And she thought she was discreet with her chipmunk cheeks?

Well, he had asked to meet his class for a specific purpose, and everyone came to attend the impromptu meeting. They were as anxious as expected. Perfect, he thought. He could set his plan into motion!

“But don’t you worry! For Claude, your peerless leader, had an idea!” he shouted dramatically.

“Oh, what could it be?” Hilda asked, ready to join in whatever fun shenanigans Claude had in mind.

Good, he piqued her curiosity. She didn’t even mention how tired she was at this late hour. One win.

“Thanks for the snacks!” said Raphael with a mouthful of jerky.

“Hum…” Marianne hesitated.

“Why did you want to meet at this hour?” Ignatz asked, kindly playing along with Claude’s game.

“It better be worth our time,” sneered a cautious Lorenz.

“I would never waste your precious time before such a nerve-wracking event,” Claude lied, like a liar. “But enough said about that. I wanted to reiterate everyone’s promise to meet here, five years from now. At the Millennium Festival.”

As expected, the students perked up at the mention of the hopeful promise. They started to chit-chat about how much they would have grown and how some of them might have become accomplished knights or mercenaries by then. Claude let the optimistic mood spread and even let slip some of his hopes for the future.

Everyone was lulled into a false sense of security, therefore it was his time to play his cards.

“I want this to be a night to remember. And I sincerely hope we’ll meet in a peaceful Fódlan. So, I prepared a little game to keep us on our toes until our fateful reunion.”

There were some arched eyebrows, but most of his classmates leaned in to listen. The bait was working! Then, he reached under the table and pulled out stacks of papers and a box full of pencils. The loud gasps were music to his ears.

“The game is simple. You take a piece of paper and write a challenge or wish for each member of the Golden Deer. Then you pick one of the papers prepared for you. In five years’ time, you must have made whatever was written on your paper come true. We’ll judge your growth outside of battle, please and thank you.”

“This is a dare with extra steps,” grumbled the astute Lysithea, though she wasn’t heard over Raphael’s booming laughter.

“Great idea! I hope you’ll all be happy and strong!”

“It’s a fine wish,” Claude approved with a chuckle. “You just have to write it down!”

Lorenz very un-nobly rolled his eyes, but took a stack of papers nonetheless. “I shall raise this game’s standard with proper noble goals.”

Hilda took another stack and shared it with Marianne. Ignatz was putting a lot of thought into the dares. Raphael, in his hurry, was crumpling all his papers, making them easily recognizable. Leonie seemed to draw a blank, not for lack of wishes, but for lack of pranks to pull on the stubborn nobles of her class – Claude included. The latter had planned the pranks long ahead and twirled his pencil, waiting for everyone to finish writing.

“And… time’s up!”

They gathered the papers in neat stacks destined to each member of the Golden Deer.

“I need an innocent, uncorruptible hand to choose a piece of paper!” Claude said with flair. “Our marvellous dancer’s hand should do the trick,” he winked.

Lysithea accepted with a graceful bow. She hadn’t won the White Heron Cup, but she held her own. Claude put a blindfold on the young mage, made her turn several times to disorient her to everyone’s cheer, then guided her back to the table. Lysithea reached out in the dark and picked a piece of paper in Ignatz’s pile.

“We have our first pick of the night, Ignatz!” show-host Claude shouted.

Lysithea put down the blindfold to look at his reaction.

“Well, here goes…” Ignatz said in a monotone, knowing voice.

The crumpled piece of paper read: “Become a painter.” He recognized Raphael’s handwriting and sighed with relief. Well, he would have to fight his parents’ wishes, but that was a headache for another time, right?

“You got mine! You have to do it, you’ve got real talent!”

“Thank you, Raphael,” Ignatz murmured, proud and grateful for having such a great friend.

And maybe he should make that wish true. Everyone seemed to agree with Raphael’s artistic proposition.

Lysithea put the blindfold back on for the second round. Her hand landed in Leonie’s stack.

“Here it comes…” Marianne whispered to Hilda, remembering who had folded that particular piece of paper.

The aspiring mercenary read the dare out loud: “Tell the Professor you want to be her bride.”

Claude burst out laughing at his own joke.

“What will she think of me?!” yelled an outraged Leonie.

Lorenz exhaled slowly, trying to keep his cool and refined attitude in the midst of the ensuing mayhem.

It was the third turn and Lysithea looked wary. She picked, and fate chose Hilda as its next victim.

“What, little old me? I hope it’s not tiring…”

Hilda slowly opened and smoothed over the paper before reading: “Make a Golden Deer bracelet for the entire class”.

“My, what a good idea!” Marianne’s face lit up.

That neat handwriting could only belong to Ignatz. A man of taste, Hilda appreciated, carefully examining the thought of putting so much work into her jewellery. Oh well, they deserved to be the most fashionable house and country, didn’t they? She could make an effort just for them.

Right when they thought they would get sensible dares, Lysithea picked a new paper, misfortune ready to befall Claude at last.

“My turn, uh. Let’s see what you’ve got,” he smiled.

It was a fairly crumpled piece of paper. Either it was a good-natured wish from Raphael, or… Claude read: “Say goodbye to the br…” He choked. “Oh, no more bread? Five years, it will be tough, but I can manage,” he lied, swallowing hardly.

“Liar!” screamed Leonie. “Lysithea, expose this traitor!”

“Gladly.”

“Hands off!”

“Who’s the child now?!”

“Ow, you’re surprisingly strong?!”

Lysithea finally won the face-off and Claude buried his face in his arms.

“It reads: Say goodbye to the braid,” corrected the mage.

“Good riddance. This style is unbecoming of true nobility,” scoffed Lorenz.

“You’ll save a lot of time for practice, you should thank me,” argued Leonie, who stifled a laugh.

“Pity, it was pretty unique,” admitted Hilda.

“Guys, you’re not helping…” bemoaned the future Alliance leader.

At least it didn’t outright say to cut it off.

With a sigh, Lysithea put the blindfold back on, turned twice on herself for good measure, stumbled on the table and grabbed the first paper she felt under her hands. Seven pairs of eyes awaited her words like divine judgement. To be honest, it didn’t feel that bad.

“Get ready for this one, Raphael!” she playfully warned him. Then, after a dramatic pause, she pointed finger-guns at him: “It reads: ‘Become a knight’.”

Leonie facepalmed, Claude smiled, Lorenz nodded, Hilda agreed, and Marianne shyly joined her hands in hopeful prayer. As for the one who wrote the note, he looked at his childhood friend with deep trust.

“You’ll make a magnificent knight. I’ll even paint you with your liege lord if you make it.”

“Let’s work on our dreams no matter what! I won’t let you, Maya, or everyone down!” Raphael said, beaming with joy. The gentle merchant flexed his muscles for good measures and the Golden Deer cheered.

Everyone held their breath for the next round. They knew they wouldn’t be spared anything, from the kindest wishes to the meanest pranks. But what goes around comes around, and it was Lorenz’s time to suffer.

“Whatever it is, I will take it gracefully,” he prepared himself with a rather convincing smile, but his hands didn’t follow. He clutched the paper and opened it. The feminine handwriting had the i crowned with a tiny little heart instead of a dot. It said: “Please change your haircut ♡”.

“Oh, hum… I was not expecting that. Am I out of style already?” he wondered aloud, knowing it was written by the fashionista of the Golden Deer.

“He is actually taking it rather well,” Lysithea lamented.

“Again with hair dares?” Claude said, a bit lost for words (even if he silently agreed).

“You should still eat more!” Raphael insisted at Lorenz’s expense.

“Fashion always moves forward, so don’t take your current style for granted,” Hilda giggled, basically blinking at him to take a hint already. Lorenz remained oblivious.

“Goddess, please guide his wayward fashion sense,” Marianne whispered in a fervent prayer.

“Well, I will take this into account in the coming years,” Lorenz gracefully surrendered.

Everyone sighed a deep sigh of relieved relief. This horrid hairstyle was going down.

They didn’t know it yet, but it was the calm before the storm. Lysithea picked her own paper.

“I’m not sure I’m ready for this…” she moaned.

“Go ahead!” her friends screamed in encouragement and a beginning of mass hysteria.

The show assistant unfolded the piece of paper and…

She gasped, then screamed. Worried, the students gathered around her. “Wait, what is it?” asked a concerned Hilda.

The Golden Deer looked at each other. They hadn’t written anything bad to their youngest classmates, it seemed. So what caused this panic? Claude knew his proposition would have made her angry, not despair. He slid behind her back and took the paper from her hands. She reached out in a hurry, but he raised the damning dare far above his head, out of her reach.

“Well well well…” he chuckled to himself. “Lo and behold, the paper reads: ‘Night-time snacking is henceforth prohibited’.”

The dining hall erupted with laughter. Only the one who wrote this particular paper kept his cool, stating: “Of course, one should encourage healthy lifestyle habits.”

“Curse you, Lorenz!” Lysithea wailed.

He sighed. “It’s for your own good.”

The Golden Deer were hysterical.

Once the laughter died down, they were left with the terrible realisation that Marianne was the only one left. With a trembling hand, she picked her own poison. “Hum… I will read it.” She definitely wasn’t ready to read it.

The paper felt heavy in her hands. She could still run away from this madness. Hilda wouldn’t blame her. Claude would accept this outcome and call it a night. The others’ sides were already hurting too much, so they might also let her go.

It was Lorenz’s serene and encouraging smile that bound her feet to the chair. She committed to it; there was no going back. And she had to assume her role as a noble, as a certain wounded noble taught her a while ago.

She unfolded the paper. Claude gasped.

She read: “Master a dance routine with a cartwheel”.

All hell broke loose in the dining hall.

The knights on patrol duty couldn’t quite believe the sight in front of their eyes.

They had stumbled into a scene straight out of the apocalypse. Food was thrown around indiscriminately, chairs were held menacingly, death threats were issued against the house leader and nobles stood on tables asking to “settle things in a gentlemanly manner”.

“This is a biiig misunderstanding, I swear! I put it in the wrong–”

“Perish.”

Someone was choking. A student invented kung-fu in their fury. A cry came from under the table. A girl recounted her woes to a pair of mice in a corner.

Suffice to say, they escorted the unruly students back to their dorm rooms.

___

The following morning, after sleep reset the Golden Deer’s sanity, Ignatz brought up a terrible oversight. “Wait,” he shouted, a finger up in the air. “We haven’t picked a dare for Flayn!”

All eyes stared menacingly at Claude, daring him to open his mouth.

“Or for Cyril, for that matter. They’ll both definitely be there, shouldn’t we place bets on them?” Leonie wondered.

It was quickly settled over breakfast. The Golden Deer placed bets on how tall Cyril would grow, then betted on which food Flayn would crave first: sweets or fish.

All was well in the best of worlds.

Well, except for Claude. And Lysithea. Possibly Ignatz. Most definitely Marianne.

Chapter Text

Imperial Year 1180, Lone Moon

In the secrecy of the thick walls of the Knights’ quarters, one guest room had been trashed with the force of a hurricane. The cold moonlight fell on the desolate aftermath. First, on an unusable desk whose drawers had been thrown at random across the room. The missing chair had splintered from being bashed at full force against the wall, where a chipped shelf was dangling on its last askew nail.

Blood-stained shards of a broken mirror littered the ground like silver and scarlet stardust. On the right, the mattress and covers hanging over the bed met a pair of pillows who had spilt all their feathers on the rug.

That was a mess from days – weeks – ago. A deathly silence had reigned since then. And he remained, unmoving.

The purple-haired noble sat on that hazard of a floor, uncaring of the destruction he wrought – like a winded survivor amidst the wreckage. And yet, his heart was still caught in a whirlwind of raging emotions, for this chaos still wasn’t enough to let it all out. (When it would be over, a generous donation to the Church would settle this… prolonged lapse of self-control. Not that it would matter, with the battle they were about to face.)

The weeks spent as a recluse were nothing compared to the years he had spent waiting, bored and resigned in his territory, for Edelgard’s vengeance to strike. And what a joke of a punishment he had received at last! House arrest, and she even forgot to take away his Ministry, useless as it was in her new world order. Fine, it was her right. He should have felt lucky to receive such a shallow sentence…

But others weren’t so lucky.

He reopened the letter, crumpled from too much handling, as if its contents would miraculously change. The sealed envelope had been left in evidence on his desk over two weeks ago. Inside was a single piece of parchment, written and signed in familiar handwriting. And no matter how many times he read through it, the message delivered remained the same – his friend’s will and life had both reached an abrupt end.

For the hundredth time, the tears immediately spilled from his eyes. Before him was a blur of letters he now knew by heart.

“Dearest Celian,

My time draws near, so I will get to the point. Soon, I will be “released” from my duties as the Head of House Vestra. I will entrust the future of Adrestia to my son, whom I have preened for this sole purpose. The promise we made so long ago as students will finally be fulfilled with the rise of a worthy ruler from the Hresvelg bloodline, a Vestra by her side. Glory awaits the Empire.

How regrettable that for my lifetime ambitions to be realised, I must bid you farewell. I wish I could have seen you one last time. As I regrettably said, it was never meant to be.

Whether you choose to destroy the Empire I devoted my life and death to, or surrender to the new Emperor to save House Varley from ruin, I shall cheer you on from the eternal flames.

Yours,

Hugh von Vestra”

Curled up on himself, Count Varley wept over the dying words meant only for him. Feathers gathered in his hair like snow. From the eviscerated pillow flew a thousand feathers that fluttered lazily across the room, covering it in fluffy bits of clouds, like so many pieces of cherished memories slain and gone like his friend.

He could picture Hugh’s unrepentant smile while he wrote that letter. What a punchable know-it-all.

It was no secret at court that the two had been estranged for years when the Insurrection of the Seven took a sour turn. But time heals all wounds. They eventually grew tired of the hateful words and scorn – after four whole years, and that was comparatively fast compared to their first dispute. Neither forgiven nor forgotten, they decided to put this disagreement behind them at last to mend the friendship they still cherished in spite of everything. In the Imperial Palace, under the Pegasus Moon, they quietly agreed to a truce. They joked and bickered as old friends did, unchanged by the passage of time… That day, they even parted ways on good terms. “See you tomorrow,” Marquis Vestra said, as if he didn’t know he would die before the break of dawn. Celian bid him farewell without realising it would be the last time they saw each other. That very evening, he received Ludwig’s letter and immediately fled the capital as per his instructions. He naïvely believed the spy master would follow. That the rest of their friends would follow.

Now, he was alone.

Distraught, Celian compulsively folded and reopened the letter with trembling hands, all the while terrified that an unlucky spasm would tear it apart.

House Vestra prided itself in its traditional modus operandi: leaving a memento of important targets to their loved ones to see if they were foolish enough to try avenging them and get a knife through the neck. A lesser-known fact about that House was for them to always fulfil the will of the deceased from their clan. In this case, the late Marquis wanted his last words to be delivered to a long-lost friend, thus his wish was granted. But to twist the knife further, the one who delivered that letter to his room was none other than the killer himself.

The message was received loud and clear. It took a special kind of cruelty to murder one’s father. It was another to combine the modus operandi of the Vestras with their last rites. And to spit on Hugh’s memory, that… butcher even went as far as to withhold the truth of his final moments…

Celian would never forgive the parricide.

“I will kill that brat of yours,” he swore through gritted teeth. “I will tear down this house of cards you call a reborn Empire. Aren’t you happy now, Hugh? See how much I miss you! I will destroy everything you stood for while you praise my name!”

But his voice broke on the last word. Why did this nightmare have to start again? Clutching the letter, he continued to sob holed up in his room where everyone knew better than to disturb him. He would cry until his tears dried up.

Until only rage remained to carry him into battle.

___

For once, Dimitri had retired for the night. It probably took all of his childhood friends’ coaxing techniques, Mercedes’s saintly patience, Annette’s and Ashe’s puppy eyes, and Dedue’s most disappointed look to drag him to bed. A commendable group effort from the unified Blue Lions. Not that he would get much sleep…

With the Prince gone, the Cathedral fell silent. The moon’s pallor left a blue sheen on marbles and lacquered woods. It was a melancholy evening.

Her crown heavy with the renewed threat of war across Fódlan, Archbishop Rhea prayed for success in the impending battle in front of the lavish altar. Almost an hour passed before the sound of footsteps quietly interrupted her prayers. Slowly, Rhea turned toward the person now standing by her side, whom she wasn’t surprised to see at such a late hour.

“Welcome back in these sacred halls, Celian von Varley.”

“The pleasure is mine, Your Grace,” the noble reiterated in a raspy voice.

In truth, it hadn’t been that long since their last meeting – not in Rhea’s eyes at least. Two years passed in the blink of an eye. However, now wasn’t the time for small talk. “Did you come to pay your respects to your old friend?” she gently enquired, remembering these two students who had caused untold amounts of mayhem at the Officers Academy ages ago.

“I have, although I have no tears left to cry,” Count Varley softly confessed. Dull eyes clouded with grief stared back at the Archbishop who nodded sagely in response. She remembered that he had come to mourn another fallen friend once upon a time. Was the Black Eagles house doomed to be torn apart, no matter when they studied at Garreg Mach?

“You have my deepest condolences.”

“Thank you. I will get over this grief, but the rage is consuming me.” As he said these words, his voice didn’t rise with anger at all. Rhea guessed he must have cried so much in the last two weeks that he didn’t have the strength to curse fate anymore. She too merely sighed whenever her hopes went up in flames these days…

“Hugh von Vestra was assassinated by his own son,” Count Varley recounted. His eyes and voice were spouting daggers. “Such a… barbaric act can never be forgiven…!”

“How savage to kill one’s parent…” the Archbishop agreed, voice strained. “However, I beg you not to answer the call of vengeance. We nearly lost two professors and two students trying to avenge our dearly missed Captain Jeralt.”

Deep in thought, Varley eventually took a deep breath before agreeing. “Of course, Your Grace. There is a time and place for divine judgment to be passed.”

“Indeed. These traitors shall be punished. The Knights of Seiros will tear through their flesh in the name of the Goddess. Your friend will soon be able to rest in peace by Her side.”

“He was a sinful man.” Although he scoffed at the man’s memory, his mouth twisted in anguish. “There is no way he returned to the Goddess.”

“As the arbiter of every soul, the Goddess alone shall decide of his eternal fate. She is also merciful.” The Archbishop’s word was supreme and serene. “We can pray for his salvation together.”

“Yes… that would ease my worries. Thank you, Lady Rhea.”

Dying so close to the Lone Moon was very unfortunate. It was said that these departed souls would have to wait the longest to reach the Goddess, when the Blue Sea Star finally returned to the canopy of heaven.

“Oh, Goddess, hear my prayer,” the Archbishop implored. Count Varley joined her in the eulogy, their voices rising to the Cathedral’s ceiling with ease. “Please receive this dear friend of mine. When the cold rain washes the body, when the bird and wolf announce the dawn, receive him into your blue blood. Receive him into a twinkling star.”

The Count clasped his hands together until his knuckles turned white as bone.

Even the dimmest star will do… Please, forgive him for spilling your sacred blood…

As Count Varley finished his prayer, he remembered Hugh’s last words. “Whether you choose to destroy the Empire I devoted my life and death to, or surrender to the new Emperor to save House Varley from ruin, I shall cheer you on from the eternal flames.” So why not take them to heart? Why not answer the call of vengeance so lovingly laid out on his desk and reach out to twist Hubert’s neck? And why not make this deplorable chore worthwhile?

The Minister of Religious Affairs kneeled before the Archbishop and put a hand over his heart.

“I have an offer to make.”

___

Count Varley left the Cathedral with newfound resolve. Nobles who stayed in power were the ones to seize opportunities amidst the worst tragedies, after all.

However, one needed to act fast to gain the upper hand… And at that game, House Aegir had lost all rounds as of late. Celian watched his old friend across the bridge and sighed with pity for Ludwig. Mere moments too late.

They met halfway through the bridge, where the strong winds blew away their words for no spies to hear.

“Fancy meeting you here. What business does a non-believer like you have here at this hour?” the Count asked, knowing exactly what brought him here.

“Are you done wasting your time in prayers?” Ludwig immediately tackled him.

“And yet it seems you came looking for holy support…” he pointed out. How great it felt to be in a position of power above the Prime Minister at long last!

“Let’s not waste any more time,” Duke Aegir cut to the chase with a hurried wave. It had taken far too long for Celian to leave his room, and he was tired of postponing this conversation, especially after his remarked absence at the war council. “I plan to start a new Insurrection against Emperor Edelgard after this siege, and I wish to have you by my side. Together, we can topple her forces.”

“I commend your silver tongue. You managed to make it sound like I have any choice in the matter.”

“As I said, there’s no need for pleasantries at this point. You will accept,” Ludwig affirmed, “because you’ve already been labelled a traitor in Enbarr. But most importantly, this is personal.”

Two statements that applied to them both.

“True enough,” Celian casually confirmed. “House Hresvelg is once again growing complacent. Of course, you shall have my support. The newly crowned Emperor has the audacity to rise against the Church that sanctified the Hresvelg name. But I am the last guardian of the Faith in Adrestia. I shall inflict her a punishment worthy of that level of heresy!” he said, smugly stringing along Ludwig. Right when the Duke caught on the lie, Count Varley’s holier-than-thou tone turned into a murderous glare. “… Or so the Minister of Religious Affairs would say, right?”

Even after all these years, he could still play a convincing caricature of himself to his best friend. The dumb vexed look on Ludwig’s face was worth it.

“How amusing. For so long, House Varley has been looked down upon. Nobles sneered before our lack of gold and power. Until I restored the mining industry and they ate out of my hand to secure the best armours and weapons in Adrestia. My territory now supplies the entire Imperial Army. A strategist such as you would obviously want to take hold of these resources… To say nothing of our archers who can rival the best in the Alliance. And suddenly I am a viable business partner again,” Celian summed up nicely, even though he had missed all the speeches, schemes and meetings since the incident in the Holy Tomb. The Prime Minister was a predictable creature.

Duke Aegir crossed his arms impatiently. Gloating sure was tiresome when he wasn’t the one doing it. So the Count continued to taunt him.

“I can give you the supplies, the people, and the support you desperately need to put up a fight against the might of the Imperial Army. Or I can keep them all to myself and wage this war under my name, restoring my House once and for all. Besides, it is thanks to us that the Faith is still going strong in Adrestia. Why not use the momentum to my sole advantage?” he coldly declared.

A sliver of doubt crept in the Prime Minister’s mind. Seizing the opportunity, the devout Minister ominously stepped forward and put a finger under Ludwig’s chin.

“If you wish for my cooperation, you will play by my rules now.”

The prideful Prime Minister met his eyes without backing down. “What are your conditions?” he asked.

“Now, now, not so fast. Are you not intrigued? Your old friend suddenly stands up to you, and you comply so readily… I am almost disappointed,” he dramatically sighed. “I seriously considered striking out on my own. You taught me well, Ludwig.”

“The biggest, most awful, most tragic mistake I’ve ever made,” Duke Aegir sighed impatiently in turn.

“Perhaps it is. As the Minister of Religious Affairs, my interests are in seeing the Southern Church restored.”

Indeed, Ludwig knew it was a century-old dream of House Varley to reach that level of power and wealth again. In a rare alliance, the Emperor and the nobility ensured such a comeback never came to pass – one Southern Church rebellion had been enough.

“Which is exactly what I proposed to the Archbishop,” Celian then revealed with a triumphant smile.

And the Prime Minister couldn’t help but gasp in shock, utterly devastated by the realisation that, indeed, House Aegir did not have the monopoly of starting up revolutions.

“You can imagine how Lady Rhea was elated to hear my idea,” the Minister of Religion continued, euphoric. To show his power, he turned his back on Ludwig and looked up to the stars and the Goddess’s domain. “As we speak, I have already pledged my support to the Church of Seiros. But I could support your insurrection again… for the right price, that is,” he said, turning back towards him with a conniving smile.

By pledging his troops to the Church, Count Varley had pulled the rug from under Ludwig – he was now in a position to ask anything he wanted of the fallen Duke in exchange for his incredible military strength, to say nothing of the support the Knights would garner on their own among the devout. The Minister of Religious Affairs was rewarded for the distant, yet cordial relations he had managed to cultivate with the Central Church during Ionius’s reign – and now, with a single talk with the Archbishop, his word was far superior to that of the charismatic Prime Minister in exile at Garreg Mach.

“Let’s make an arrangement, you and I,” he whispered in Ludwig’s ear, before standing tall above him. “I am magnanimous. This is an offer you would be foolish to refuse. Ferdinand will take Bernadetta as his lawful wife. House Varley’s power will be restored to its glory days when we ruled the Southern Church. Of course, I bring more than power to this alliance. My territory outfits the entire Imperial Army – by war’s end, our coffers will be full again. As for House Aegir, you will be free to govern the Adrestian Empire in place of that tepid girl Emperor. In exchange, you will grant us privileges equal to the ones you enjoy since time immemorial, dear Prime Minister.”

Dumbfounded, Duke Aegir listened to Count Varley’s insane demands – insanely ingenious demands. By granting such privileges to House Varley, bound to them by marriage, Adrestia would undoubtedly enter the age of a Holy Empire where the faith reigned supreme… Plus, this was payback for going back on the engagement between their children years ago – an arrangement made by their wives, which he broke off just to spite Celian back then.

How he turned the tables on him.

“Accept my terms and I will pledge my support to your army. I will rally church officials and believers across the land to your cause. The Church of Seiros will easily lend you their aid if I am by your side. After all, they have everything to gain if we restore the faith to its former glory in Adrestia.”

And so much to lose, Ludwig thought too. His mind was racing to predict the outcome of an alliance based on such outlandish terms, their chances to win the war, the difficulties to remain in power afterward… There was so much to account for that he didn’t answer Celian fast enough to his liking.

“So timid,” the devout Minister said, disappointed. “You were not like that when Hrym fell. Look. We crushed Ionius in body and mind. Now it is the daughter’s turn. You are already damned, so why not take this opportunity to wipe out the entire line and earn your peace?”

But the Prime Minister wasn’t so easily swayed. “Speaking of crushing victories… That takes me back to the night of the fateful promise we made here as students,” he reminisced, looking at the Officers Academy. “On the night after our victory at the Battle of the Eagle and Lion.”

“Victory courtesy of yours truly,” Count Varley pettily needed to highlight. “Your point?”

“After that battle, we promised three things. The six of us. Me, Otto, Heinrich, Livia, you, and Hugh. First, we promised to remain friends always. Second, to restore Adrestia to its former glory together. Third, to one day send our children to the Officers Academy to renew these bonds. And you are far from honouring that promise, Celian.”

There was a beat, a beautiful pause before the catharsis.

“Excuse me?!” Count Varley exploded.

Now that was the look Ludwig preferred in the eyes of his Angel of Death. A resolute fire that scorched everything in its path and trampled over the unworthy ashes – a strength born from raw human emotion, not meaningless prayers.

Indeed, the Duke came knowing that this alliance wouldn’t be built on grandiloquent political promises. It was time for them to settle their grievances, born from a disagreement so profound it caused a rift between the former Black Eagles – a rift the young Emperor had masterfully used to her advantage. As long as this divide wasn’t resolved, no lasting alliance could truly be formed.

Only one explosive heart-to-heart could hope to settle this, and no side would be spared.

“Do I look like I care for the future of Adrestia?” Celian openly defied him. “I only made that promise so I could be with everyone. Saints, why do you think I sided with your Insurrection?”

Duke Aegir’s face darkened. They didn’t start an Insurrection for the fun of it. No one in their right mind would risk their life for years to usurp the Emperor’s authority for petty reasons. There were so many other ways – safer, surer – ways to gain wealth and power. It was all for a single purpose.

“For vengeance,” he easily answered.

“Yes. Vengeance. Because what good is our promise if even one of us is missing?” Celian questioned, his features laced with sorrow. “When the Emperor had Livia ruthlessly slaughtered along with her children, he sealed his fate. No matter how much he wanted to tame the Great Houses, he made the crucial mistake of alienating his own spy master as well. Thus, we answered your call.”

“And you all did,” Ludwig reminisced, “save for Otto.”

“He could not afford to show weakness during House Bergliez’s succession crisis. Worse, if the Emperor’s executioner wavered in his duty, his House was the next to burn. It is a great discredit to him not to acknowledge the fortitude it took not to sell us all out.”

By destroying House Hrym, Ionius IX had killed two birds with one stone – he stopped that territory from joining the Alliance, and reasserted his supreme influence over the dangerously strong group of upcoming nobles soon to inherit all the Ministries. While he underestimated the bonds between the 1147 Black Eagles, he did manage one lasting feat in isolating Count Bergliez from the rest of the group.

But, as Celian pointed out, Otto knew of their plans from the beginning and never warned the Emperor. His silence was his only way to support the Insurrection – and his form of atonement.

“Unlike you, I forgave him. Perhaps because I am the only one to understand his agony. As Livia’s closest confidant, Ionius expected me to plot revenge. For years, I was nothing but a glorified hostage under surveillance in Enbarr. Do you know what it feels like to live with the blade against your neck, ready to slash at the first misstep? To have your every word scrutinised as you teach his children? To second-guess your every move around the palace with everything you built at stake?” the Minister recalled in anguish.

How could the Duke forget the miserable days his friend spent in the Imperial Palace, enduring the role of decoy far from his territory and family, awaiting the death sentence from the bloodthirsty Emperor? If not for Hugh’s support – and more than a sprinkle of lies to keep Ionius in the dark – during those years, Count Varley might not have been standing there today… To say Ludwig relished turning the Emperor into a caged puppet in turn would be an understatement.

Ludwig shook his head sympathetically. “It was not my intention to undervalue the hardships you both had to face – I was well-aware of the pressure upon you both. However, that is not the true source of your discontent, is it?”

“Indeed,” Celian reluctantly admitted with a twitch of the lip. “And have I not made myself clear enough when I left Enbarr? After what you told me at that ball, I had no reason to associate myself with you, or the Arundels and Vestras for that matter. Are you not the one projecting undue resentment onto me? Your Insurrection was going to end, one way or another. I merely wounded your ego by ending it in my own terms, didn’t I?”

While the two Ministers stayed on the defensive, the wind picked up and, as if attracted to the aura of death that lingered around them, the evening chill sipped into their bones.

Ludwig chose to avoid direct confrontation. Let his friend bury himself first. “I remember that ball quite well. I held a lavish party to celebrate the Insurrection’s success – in other words, the Emperor’s demise. All of us attended this glorious event. I avenged Livia von Hyrm as promised. Our Ministries rose stronger from the crisis. You were released from your shackles at long last. And then, I confided in you how I made the Emperor pay for everything he took from us.”

“You did,” Celian slowly confirmed through barely restrained rage. To this day, he couldn’t stomach the truth that came out of his most trusted friend’s lips. “You and Hugh abandoned the Hresvelgs to Arundel’s mad experiments. You all happily plotted to murder children bearing the holy blood of Saint Seiros instead of… wait, I think I’ve got it… punishing their father? You answered injustice with blasphemy and murder of the innocent!” Count Varley ended up shouting.

“Did the Emperor bat an eye when he had Livia’s kids burned?”

“He did not, but what does that have to do with your actions?!”

“And you hated teaching those brats. I took a big weight off your shoulders, didn’t I?”

That wasn’t a lie. Heavens knew how Celian von Varley resented those kids for keeping him away from his territory, for living carefree lives when others were cut tragically short. But this and that were different. Because he was their teacher, he knew they had nothing to do with the nobles’ revenge plot.

But when classes were postponed, he was relieved. When the kids were said to be sick, he thought nothing of it. When they disappeared altogether, he didn’t miss them enough to investigate. His days as a hostage were almost over.

Until a day came when Count Varley woke up, completely caught up with his ministerial work, and no classes in sight. By then, it was already too late, and Hugh kept the secret of the children’s whereabouts under wraps. One after another, the Minister of Religious Affairs carried out the lonely funerals as per Marquis Vestra’s instructions. A foreboding feeling came over him.

And everything clicked with Duke Aegir’s joyful confession at the ball. The priest in him was struck with horror. The teacher in him wailed with guilt. If the Goddess had supported them so far, those days were definitely over, as he said to the last of his students afterward, before leaving Enbarr, She would fairly watch over the next Emperor in the war to come…

“Oh, you did, my dear Ludwig,” Celian sneered. “The weight of that thankless job, replaced by the heady incense every time I had to bury one of my students while you kept me in the dark… My only sin was to look away and trust that my friends would not commit atrocities on par with that of the Emperor we fought! But you?!” he yelled, pointing a finger at the rebellious Prime Minister, “you allowed Volkhard to perform blood experiments on their bodies! And House Vestra approved of this madness! You have all gone crazy. Crests are gifts from the Goddess. Only those worthy of her Blessing may be born with it. To play God with the blood of the Imperial family, you are all…”

“I didn’t ask for a repeat of your sermon,” Ludwig sighed, irritated by the doctrine thrown at him. In his opinion, Ionius only got what he deserved – to slowly wither away with the knowledge that he brought this hell upon himself. For Celian of all people to defend his kin was infuriating. “So don’t hide behind religious precepts. You abhor the death of children, that’s all there is to it. If we had waited a few years, you wouldn’t give a damn about their fate.”

Astounded, Varley threw his hands in exasperation. “Do you listen to a word I say?! First of all, YES, your revenge could have waited a few years! Secondly, allow me to be confounded by your choice of punishment! With Hugh on your side, there was no shortage of options to rid yourself of the Hresvelgs without incurring the Goddess’s wrath!”

“Where was your Goddess when Livia died, then?!” Ludwig screamed, all pretence of composure forgotten. “Or do the Crestless alone deserve to die like dogs?!”

Even though all signs pointed at them coming to blows, Duke Aegir was ironically saved by his mention of Crests. The Minister of Religious Affairs almost immediately calmed down to preach. Like a teacher correcting a misbehaving student. The image struck Ludwig, who remembered his friend used to rein in his student with fear of endless lectures more than any other threat.

“You are a faithless, benighted moron, Ludwig,” the devout noble sighed sympathetically. “Just count your blessings! The Goddess saw your Insurrection succeed. The Hresvelg dynasty was punished as you intended. Not only did your heir survive, but you also escaped the princess’s coup unharmed, and now I can provide you the means to depose her if you would just agree to my offer! Good heavens, please live up to the Crest of the wise Cichol bestowed upon you for once.”

“Right. All our hard work paying off… I’ll chalk it up to divine goodwill,” Ludwig answered as sarcastically as he could, still reeling from his sudden outburst. He just couldn’t find it in himself to feel remorse at the Hresvelgs’ sacrifice. Unlike the other Ministers, Duke Aegir had inherited his charge a decade earlier than his peers – and spent all that time at odds with the Emperor who missed the previous permissive Prime Minister. Just like he would never truly understand Celian or Otto, they would never be in his shoes either. Regardless, only one person ever appreciated the extent of his work; and Ludwig was proud to call him his heir.

“It won’t kill you to admit we got luck on our side,” Count Varley said, unaware of his inner turmoil.

“Fine then. But it wasn’t luck that saved me from deposition back then. It was you. You kept our darkest secret to yourself when you held us in nothing but contempt.”

Surprised by the recognition, Celian opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure of what to say. He looked up to the sky for a semblance of guidance. What he found were the same stars he beheld decades ago, in happier days. Their beauty pierced him like a thousand needles.

“… In the end, a promise is a promise,” he stated, longing. “I could not betray our class. When I left, I warned Heinrich and Otto about dangerous mages in Enbarr, without going into detail. I told them our alliance was over and they kindly obliged my whim. Livid, I cut ties with Hugh outside of our official duties – not that there were many ceremonies to plan with such a small Imperial family. And I distanced myself from you, until I received your letter a few weeks ago. Is there anything for you to criticise about my behaviour?”

“Not at all. I just wanted to hear your opinion on the Hresvelgs. We’ve both made ourselves clear on where we stand, although there is little to be done at this point.”

“Indeed, there’s no bringing back the dead.”

And with that, they both fell depressingly silent.

Like two boxers who had exhausted themselves on the ring, they stood apart, careful not to make eye contact before they were ready to go for another round. This trip down memory lane had been anything but pleasant so far. They wouldn’t have been able to talk it out earlier – their pride wouldn’t have allowed it – but damn if it didn’t hurt now. Thus, they enjoyed the silence for as long as it lasted.

Eventually, Count Varley ended the truce to reach out to his old ally. Let bygones be bygones, somehow.

“Which makes me wonder… If you wanted to leave nothing but ashes and regrets to Ionius, why did you keep Edelgard alive? Why not kill all the Imperial line and be done with it?”

The Prime Minister merely shrugged. “It could have been her or any other Imperial brat,” he honestly answered. “We just needed one surviving heir to put on that throne none of us were after. Unfortunately, you may be right. After going to all that trouble, I should have killed her, but Arundel and Vestra would have vetoed that idea. She was but a step on the social ladder for their own ambitions, so they needed her alive. Not that it helped Hugh much in the end,” he concluded, derisive yet bitter.

It was time to address the topic of their fallen friend.

“Now, the cycle of revenge starts anew,” Count Varley poetically put into words. “The Emperor and her allies killed another of our own. Only this time, there shall be no mercy for our enemies. But you could not care less about avenging Hugh, do you?”

Duke Aegir looked aside, perhaps ashamed to reveal a hint of emotion that remained to fan the flames of revenge in his heart as well.

“Believe it or not, I intend to. He was one of us,” Ludwig said. “I do not intend to pry, but do you have any insight on what… befell him?” he cautiously asked.

Celian knew that question was coming, yet he still had to pace a few steps to gather himself before he gave an answer. “All I received was a farewell letter delivered courtesy of his killer,” he eventually disclosed with gritted teeth. “I am still in the dark regarding the manner of death.”

They knew the tragic circumstance of the fall of House Hrym, yet nothing transpired of Hugh von Vestra’s execution. Perhaps it was the most fitting of tragic ends for one born in the shadows to die returning to them.

“Thankfully, we don’t do things by halves,” the Duke smirked. “Hubert von Vestra will rue the day when you find out the truth of his father’s demise.”

Celian noticed how his friend had yet to accept his offer, but this was encouraging to hear. If they worked together, no goal was out of their reach. They had done it for Livia, they would do it again for Hugh. With experience to spare.

There was just one last thing Duke Aegir wanted to clear up, and he almost gave it up when they were on the cusp of an understanding. Still, he had to press on. “When I look at the Officers Academy, I’m reminded of the last part of our promise. For our children to graduate together, this must be a sign from the Goddess, even I will admit it. Chances were slim for that to happen. And yet… you failed to fulfil your part of the promise, Celian. And before you object, there’s no point denying what Johanna told me herself. You did not enrol Bernadetta into the Officers Academy. Why?”

If Duke Aegir wanted to gain the moral high ground after, well, everything, he was vastly outclassed at this game. Then again, there could be no trust with petty secrets mining their every exchange. Better come clean now and be done with it – even if he was the one to blame. At least his partner would let it out of his system.

“How rich, coming from you! You plotted with those heretics from Arundel and they repaid you with a tyrannical princess and an assassination attempt on your heir! And you dare blame me for wanting to keep my only daughter away from such dangerous company? Or do you still underestimate me? I refused to send my only daughter to the Officers Academy or to Enbarr to make her debut in high society for very good reason.”

Indeed, that was impeccable logic. The Minister of Religion, who had spotted the danger first, had done everything to steer clear from the mutiny, subtly warning his friends in the process without any ulterior motives. Said bickering Ministers had duly repaid him for that life-saving advice by ensuring his survival and his wife’s position at the head of the Varley territory in spite of the noble purge. Proving that they all still cherished their promise.

“Now I understand why Johanna sent our daughter to Garreg Mach despite my reservations,” Celian realised. “She was working with Edelgard; she made sure our daughter would be under the princess’s protection despite Arundel’s blasphemous meddling.”

Deep purple eyes peered into the soul of the Prime Minister. They had punished so many sinners that they virtually rid Varley territory of banditry – thieves would rather face the mages of Arundel, rumours of the Death Knight in Hrym or the Minister of Military Affairs in Bergliez than be subjected to the Count’s justice.

Celian leaned forward so Ludwig would cower under him. Do you realise what I would have done with you if she had died because of all your foolish mistakes? Leaning backwards, the Duke tried to clear his throat to regain his footing and composure, but guilt anchored him in place.

“Since you brought it up,” Count Varley added, as though it were an afterthought, “I have not forgotten the other part of the Black Eagles promise either. Restoring Adrestia’s glory, was it? How dull. As long as Varley territory thrives, the Empire can burn for all I care. But you should consider my offer. This is your last chance to see your ambitions realised.”

It was very rare for House Varley to come out on top of negotiations in the faithless political landscape of Enbarr. But when it did, it sent shockwaves through every echelon of the aristocracy and the aftereffects rippled to the common people. From the eminent Houses who lost their Heads to the funeral homes whose business flourished, no one could deny the remaining power of the most religious House among the Seven.

If Duke Aegir had something going for him, it was his humility when he knew he was beaten. There would come another time to compromise. Today, he had to bow before Count Varley’s uncompromising cunning and faith.

“You have a deal, my friend,” Ludwig eventually relented. “We shall unite our Houses with my heir and yours.” This move would definitely help him in the long run.

“I knew you would listen to reason,” the Count quietly exulted.

That night, on the bridge to their cherished Officers Academy, two estranged friends forged a new promise to guide Adrestia on the path of greed and revenge.

At last, they shook hands on this hard-earned deal.

Focused on the gravitas of the situation, it took them a second before they realised how cold and stiff their hands had become. And they couldn’t help it – this most awkward handshake was worth a laugh. In the end, Garreg Mach brought back the closeness of their teenage years, whether they wanted it or not.

“Before you freeze, may I treat you to a cup of tea, my southern friend?” Count Varley genuinely offered.

“How could I refuse?” the Duke accepted easily, putting the bad blood behind them for the remainder of the night.

“My room is in too much disarray to accommodate a guest, I’m afraid. Can you settle for the knight’s hall? If you’re not afraid of assassins, that is,” he added in jest.

“What happened to your room, Celian?” the Prime Minister asked suspiciously.

His friend looked away. Nobody was fooled.

The former house leader of the Black Eagles frowned out of habit. “You better pay–”

“Of course, who do you take me for?”

___

Blissfully unaware of the machinations railroading his future, Ferdinand was seeing through his tea invitation from the White Heron Cup with Dorothea. The tea reserves had been raided in the past few days by students and soldiers alike to calm their nerves before the battle, so the choice was somewhat limited.

“My father came with his own stock of Southern Fruit blend. I have had nothing but sweet tea for the past month. Please, feel free to choose any blend you like so you may resuscitate my palate.”

Dorothea giggled at the image conjured in her mind. Feeling generous, she reached for one of the last boxes of her favourite Albinean Berry blend – as the one invited, she could indulge a little. When the noble noticed the box, she couldn’t help but laugh openly at his relief. A servant handed Ferdinand a basket with a tea set for two, and they headed to the garden.

Since the battle was imminent, few people lingered in the garden as they chose other places to relax or train, like the Knights Hall or the pond. A lot of servants and pilgrims had evacuated the Monastery as well, so the place felt eerily empty. However, some people went against the current, like Alois’s family, who refused to abandon him and started helping in the kitchen. Anyway, the point was that they had the garden to themselves.

They started exchanging some pleasantries while Ferdinand prepared the tea and Dorothea distributed the biscuits. They made small talk about the mild weather; with neither harsh sun nor rain, they could hope the battle wouldn’t be too rough. However, the clouded skies didn’t help with the feeling of loneliness permeating the walls of the Monastery…

After comfortably settling at their table, the two Black Eagles knew it was time to discuss everything they had put “for later”. And, overwhelmed by the number of things they wanted to say, neither took the lead. Ferdinand poured them a cup of black tea in silence – truly eerie silence, considering all the ongoing preparations for the siege. He was quite sure they should have been able to hear it from the garden.

Fortunately, Dorothea saw him getting distracted, and took it as her cue to start the discussion.

“I know this doesn’t sound like me, but bear with me. I need to make a formal apology,” the songstress asked in all seriousness.

Ferdinand knew when time called for solemnity. He put down his cup and patiently waited for her to continue.

“While we were fighting in the Sealed Forest, I got careless, and I slipped up,” she sincerely admitted. “You shouldn’t have had to bear the consequences of my own failings. I’m truly sorry for what happened.”

From her seated position, she bowed as deeply as she could before her classmate, her long hair brushing against the satin tablecloth.

“There is no need to apologise, Dorothea,” she heard. Why wasn’t she surprised? “As comrades, we have each other’s back,” the noble heir added. “And without you, I would not have made such a swift recovery. It is I who should express my gratitude!”

Dorothea sat back in her chair to look him straight in the eye. “Allow me to insist,” she pressed on. “This isn’t like one of our chore mishaps. My mistake could have cost you your life. I…”

“And my carelessness almost cost yours,” Ferdinand countered. “I should not have left you in such a tight spot in the first place. As a frontliner, my duty was to guide you to safety – what happened is the result of my poor decisions alone. So please, do not blame yourself, Dorothea.”

They stared off in a responsibility contest, neither of them backing down.

“Unstoppable force, meet immovable object. We are both too stubborn for our own good,” the songstress sighed with an exasperated smile. A small noble laugh answered her, putting those concerns to rest. With that, they both started to nibble on some honey biscuits.

“Well said. Incidentally, I am glad you made me aware of this shortcoming of mine during the school year. Il helped me evaluate opinions far from what I was accustomed to. I would not have been able to befriend Bernadetta otherwise.”

“What are you talking about?” Dorothea asked, baffled. She waved a cookie at him in disbelief. “Bern took to you first among the Black Eagles. While she was hiding in your shadow ever since the entire opening ceremony, it took her all her courage to approach me weeks later!” she lamented.

“Erm, you are giving me too much credit. I was the only one Hubert avoided, thus she… astutely made use of that fact,” Ferdinand stammered, embarrassed. He poured himself another cup of tea for his dry throat.

Although the conversation was smoothly sailing, the topics didn’t necessarily get lighter. And yet, it couldn’t be helped: they were the most tactically inclined of the Black Eagles left, and the ones put in charge of the whole house, commanding its physical and magical battalions respectively. The recent events only served to make some esoteric questions come to their minds.

And Dorothea was still ridden with guilt, haunted by a memory she couldn’t share with anyone, least of all her host. It was after their return from the Sealed Forest – after they had left Ferdinand, Sylvain, and Hanneman in Manuela’s capable hands at the infirmary. As the only available authority in the Officers Academy, Seteth asked all the students to take care of themselves for the rest of the day, to relax at the sauna and wait for dinner together. Like a mechanical doll, she walked to the sauna in a daze, unaware of her friends’ concern. There, a laundry maid asked her to discard her clothes on the floor so she could dispose of them (she had brought an appropriate change of clothes, of course). In her eyes, there was nothing to save of her dancer outfit.

But to Dorothea, these bloodied rags were not dirty. How could she feel that way? All this blood staining her limbs, dyeing her veils red, was the irrefutable proof of Ferdinand’s friendship and sacrifice.

She couldn’t let go. Unbeknownst to the maid, she stole a piece of the tattered dress. And today, in her pocket, rested a rust-coloured “handkerchief” – a reminder of her fallibility, and of the bonds she forged, at the highest of costs, at the Officers Academy.

Thinking of the grim memento, and by some weird mental association, Dorothea asked quite the loaded question: “Would you have still protected me knowing it could have killed you?”

To her surprise, Ferdinand answered without hesitation. “It would not have changed anything. No matter the outcome, I will not back down from my duty to my classmates, nor to my people. This is the standard nobles must meet.”

Dorothea raised a dubitative eyebrow. “You’re the only noble I know whom I’ve seen working so hard to meet that standard,” she bitterly observed.

“That is pretty harsh for our classmates, don’t you think?” he tempered, his head tilted toward the Goddess Ring shimmering on her finger, a token of Ingrid’s gratitude following the battle of Ailell. A small reminder that Dorothea had done her fair share of risky rescues for the year too!

“You’re right, they’re not like that,” she happily confirmed, laughing at herself. Why did she always have to be so negative? “But I challenge you to name even five honourable nobles in Enbarr.”

“Challenge denied. Even the nobles I hold in high esteem have undisputable shortcomings. I had hoped to reform the rampant spread of corruption within the aristocracy, but…”

For Ferdinand who had spent years gathering his courage and studying to be a worthy Prime Minister and pass judgement on his father, Edelgard’s coup felt like a crushing blow. If the Church won, the Duke would be more powerful than ever – and impossible to depose. And if they lost the battle… Well, there would be no House Aegir to speak of in the Empire.

The disheartened noble poured another spoonful of sugar in his tea to swallow the bitter pill, etiquette be damned. “… My plans are thwarted for the time being,” he concluded while lazily stirring his tea.

“Obviously, the heir of the Aegir family would have plans as grand as Edie’s,” she said, feeling like rolling her eyes and patting him on the back at the same time. “But you’re no longer a noble of the Empire.” Dorothea stated as if trying to convince herself it was real. Regardless of the Emperor’s orders, everyone still acknowledged House Aegir as the second most legitimate authority in the Empire, title or not. They could be considered “fallen on hard times” and recover as long as they weren’t all killed or locked up – a privilege both impressive and profoundly unfair.

“It does not change who I am, only the means I have at my disposal,” Ferdinand explained, still holding strong to his beliefs. “I always fully devote myself to the task at hand, even as lost as I am now. Because it’s alright to be lost. I do not seek the easy way out. The right answers will come in due time.”

Dorothea couldn’t help but admire his determination, which she didn’t mistake for arrogance anymore. Still…

“Edie left the door open for all Black Eagles to return to the Empire. You could still go back,” she reminded him. It was the safest option – but one they had already refused to follow through.

“It is far too late to make her listen. Now, we must answer violence with violence if we wish to be heard. And unless we win, our voices shall be silenced by the winners.”  

“I don’t plan on losing,” the unyielding songstress concurred.

“We will be counting on you. Furthermore, Manuela will be our commanding officer. The Black Eagles could not be in better hands.”

Dorothea knew his words were the farthest thing from empty praise. Proud of her mentor, she also enthusiastically nodded. After all, didn’t they both owe her the life they were able to lead? The Academy’s physician had earned their full admiration and confidence at every turn. In this hopeless siege, having her at their side was as good as it was going to get.

In the empty garden, the two classmates enjoyed what could be their last opportunity to lay their feelings bare. Their doubts, their gratitude, their failure to understand each other, and their desire to remedy it at last. The noble host was the one to ask the next tough question. It was something he needed an answer to.

“If you will allow me a question, why do you seek to marry into nobility?”

“I’m surprised this piqued your interest. But, to answer your question, I’m seeing to my retirement as a diva. I know the fame can’t last forever.”

“I have a hard time imagining you living a life without celebrity and song. I do admire your foresight, though,” he admitted. “Still, I see other paths open to you besides marriage. As an alumnus of the Officers Academy, many doors will open to you. And if you are still indecisive, I’m sure Professor Manuela would be happy to share her wisdom.”

“This is the one person I hope not to bother. I owe her a lot already. It’s time for me to forge my own path with everything she’s taught me,” Dorothea said, putting on a brave face. However, Ferdinand easily saw through her insecurities. How he could sympathise with her doubts, right now… All she needed were some words of affirmation to move forward with confidence, which he was more than happy to provide.

“Need I remind you of all those qualities of yours I listed to Count Varley?” the noble asked without awaiting a response. Without realising, he boldly leaned forward to get his point across, thus closing the distance that used to separate them. “I meant every word I said. You are a brilliant mage, a composed tactician, and a tremendous support for the Black Eagles. Your qualities will not vanish past graduation – they are what makes Dorothea Arnault. Whether you wish to pursue a life in the military or the arts, you have everything it takes to see your dreams through. And as a songstress, I can tell your star will only continue to ascend.”

She couldn’t believe it… A rosy hue crept on Dorothea’s cheeks, and the pounding of her heartbeat marked every word he said with a truthful echo. Unfortunately, no amount of praise could make her forget a lifetime of hardship.

So why did she have to fight back the pinpricks in her eyes…?

“You have no idea what your words to Count Varley meant to me, Ferdie,” she whispered. As a performer, and as a commoner, there was no greater reward than to have someone acknowledge her efforts instead of chalking it up to talent or chance… “Thank you,” she simply said, and he understood. Thanks to that feeling, she allowed herself to open up more than originally intended. “I will sing for as long as I live, but I won’t live of my singing until the end. What will I do when I grow old and feeble and alone? When I cannot sing as I do now, when my admirers will cheer for another star, how will I survive? That is why I need the security of marriage. For me, it’s no mere milestone – it’s my goal first and foremost.”

Her friend rested his chin on his hand, listening carefully to her plans. Money doesn’t buy happiness, he believed, before thinking twice about voicing that opinion to Dorothea. She would undoubtedly find him whiny and belittling, no matter his intentions and all the examples he could provide her – including what he had experienced himself. That was too banal a thing to say. Thankfully, all that sugar he had ingested did help him to think fast.

“If money was truly the only thing you’re after, you would have reached your goal long ago,” Ferdinand keenly observed. “At the opening ceremony, even. Your noble fans are legions, and yet you did not settle for any one of them.”

Dorothea made a small sound of surprise before pulling herself together. “I want to secure love and wealth to last me for a lifetime,” she fairly specified. “Even I know it is not an easy find.”

“True, a noble marriage would provide you with a steady source of income. But, as a noble who grew up at the top of the Empire’s nobility, I can assure you it is no safe haven. Many major Houses have fallen in the last decades. Houses Martritz, Ochs, Hrym, Bartels… Nuvelle,” he counted, eyes downcast. “To war, intrigue, disease – to the point nobody bats an eyebrow when another falls.”

“When I was in the opera, I had to deal with all manners of villains just to survive. You better believe I made they pay for all the trouble they went through trying to hurt me. If that puts your mind at ease, I promise to tread carefully, but I’m ready to do it all over again,” Dorothea boasted.

But Ferdinand shook his head. “This would be the least of your worries if you were to marry into a noble household,” he denied nervously. “Among the Empire nobility, Crests have grown rarer since our parents’ generation. Nowadays, some “nobles” would do anything to get their hands on one. I mean they would have no qualms using you to…” The words were too foul to say. “Please, think this through.”

The songstress didn’t miss the subtle warning. Indeed, she didn’t want to be turned into a baby factory. However, her host was full of surprises today. She would never have expected Ferdinand to be on top of such shifty topics. Conveniently forgetting the fact that House Aegir wasn’t immune to the balance of power either.

Based on her reaction, he felt the need to elaborate. “House Aegir also experienced a decades-long succession crisis. Following tradition, my grandfather disinherited all his children born without the Crest of Saint Cichol. All my uncles and aunts went on to marry into lesser noble families, joined the military, or followed academic or artistic pursuits. The unlucky ones were outright exiled as they were deemed unfit to embody the Aegir legacy.”

That was the price to pay to remain at the pinnacle of Adrestia. The weak and the eccentric were mercilessly weeded out of the family tree, forgotten by history. For House Aegir only bred excellence, and only those born with a Crest could inherit its leadership or form cadet branches.

“The years went on and my grandfather had yet to name an heir,” Ferdinand continued. “Meanwhile, the lords of Aegir were bidding their time to split the territory among themselves. The sparks of war were already flying when, at last, a suitable heir was born in my grandfather’s twilight years. His fourth wife, who sadly passed in childbirth. However, thanks to my father’s Crest, a terrible crisis was averted at last.”

Ferdinand didn’t voice the irony of his father’s birth squashing a rebellion, only for him to go on and instigate two Insurrections in his lifetime. Because the early years of Duke Aegir’s rule had been anything but peaceful, with his half-siblings vying for power in Aegir and his new charge as the youngest Prime Minister in the Empire’s history. In spite of everything, Ferdinand would always admire his father’s tenacity and love for their territory.

“Waging war over Crests sounds like ancient history,” Dorothea commented, utterly baffled by what she’d heard. “I can’t believe this happened so close to us.”

“Close is stretching it. It was 50 years ago – although it was one of the longest succession crises in recorded history.”

“… How long, Ferdie?” she asked, frowning.

“Over 30 years.”

Did it cross your mind that some traditions better die before your whole House does? The songstress sighed internally, facepalming externally.

Before she could give him a piece of her mind, the leaves quietly rustled, yet they caught her attention. It took her a moment to realise why, though: her trained ear had picked up the odd murmur in the absence of wind. Intrigued, she looked around the empty garden, where nothing moved.

“I know it might sound crazy, but I think I heard a rabbit…” she eventually explained to her puzzled host.

Ferdinand scratched his head. “A rabbit, inside the Officers Academy?” he repeated, doubtful. “Let’s take it as a lucky omen, then.”

Putting that incident aside, Dorothea took another sip of black tea. “Back on topic. What would happen if – entirely hypothetically,” she stressed, “you were passed up for inheritance?”

“Considering that my siblings have no Crest, my father would choose the worthier heir among them. He is far more pragmatic than our ancestors in that regard.”

As an avid gossiper, Dorothea had heard countless tales about Maya and Holst, she had heard about Glenn, Miklan, and Ingrid’s less turbulent brothers, she understood Lorenz’s standards a bit more when she learned he only had three exquisite younger sisters… But Ferdinand was the eldest son of House Aegir, and nothing else was known about him.

She had to remedy that at once. “Now you’ve piqued my interest! Tell me more about your siblings,” she exclaimed.

“I have as many siblings as Hubert does,” he teased her with the cheekiest smile she’d ever seen him wearing. “We have in common our first-born position, too.”

You have mastered the art of disclosing absolutely nothing in a lot of words, Ferdinand von Aegir, she thought. He almost sounded like one of her uninspired essays. But it was the first time she heard of Hubert’s home life!

… No. It was a trick. Of course she would latch at the first peek inside Hubert’s private life and drop the subject of the Aegir family! Misdirection: a fine tactic for any politician worth his clout. Touché.

“Are you in good terms with them?” she enquired, refusing to take the juicy bait. Now she also regretted not looking through his mail in the infirmary.

“Naturally,” he succinctly answered. “… My apologies, Dorothea. I simply cannot talk much about them at the moment. But rest assured, they are very dear to me. I will defend Garreg Mach so they may have the splendid opportunity to learn at the Officers Academy in turn.”

“This just sounds more and more mysterious, you know? Why can’t you talk about members of House Aegir?”

“… Because their lives might be endangered if we lose this battle,” Ferdinand woefully revealed, and she suddenly felt very ashamed for pushing. If she remembered right, he had mentioned them to his father right after the incident in the Holy Tomb. Of course their safety would be weighing on his mind!

“It’s alright, you couldn’t have known,” he said, easily reading through her panic. “This level of secrecy is required both due to ongoing family circumstances and to the current war. Nevertheless, you reminded me of what I could do to help them. I shall win this battle in their stead as well. It is my duty…”

She cringed in advance at the noble tune.

“… as their big brother,” he concluded with a proud smile that melted her defences.

“Hm. From what I can see, nothing can divide such a tight-knit family,” she warmly remarked.

Ferdinand laughed somewhat nervously. She has no idea, he bemused.

Indeed, his lively classmate ate the last of the honey biscuits none the wiser to the schemes of House Aegir.

“That reminds me of a friend from the Mittlefrank Opera Company,” she continued smoothly. “She was born to a noble of Enbarr – so what was she doing in an opera troupe, you ask? Well, she was twice unlucky. Born illegitimate, and without a Crest. When the noble found out, he threw her out. Still, that might have worked out better for her in the long run. To me, she looked happier at the opera. But she never forgot the duplicity in the hearts of her noble admirers. Thanks to her, I know what nobles are like behind their masks. And with your warning, I’ll definitely tread carefully.”

Noble etiquette demanded to hide personal confessions behind a friend’s tale. One as versed in teatime etiquette such as Dorothea had quickly mastered this nuance of speech reserved to aristocrats. Confused, she wondered what came over her to disclose such personal information, even in this convoluted way. Even her host didn’t share all his family secrets, so why did she feel like she could trust him anyway?

When she focused on him at last, the noble scion didn’t give her a look of pity, nor did he scrunch up his nose at the lowly bastard she was. The songstress had missed how Ferdinand had immediately tensed at the mention of a friend – but by the end of her tale, he was clenching his fists.

“Pardon my language, but from what I understand, that father deserves nothing but scorn for his utter failure at demonstrating basic human decency,” Ferdinand judged with a rare intensity. “I am glad your friend found her own way to happiness. Tell her she has my utmost respect, should she care about an unknown noble’s opinion.”

“I’m sure she would appreciate the sentiment,” Dorothea teased, playing innocent.

Ironically, this made him feel worse for withholding information, no matter how critical it was. She had entrusted him with a secret far too great for a mere classmate to hear. (None of them understood that secrets were not a currency.) Thankfully, there was something else on his mind.

“Actually, there is something I must confess. Before I lost consciousness in the Sealed Forest, there was something I wanted to tell you. I…” I’m sorry I made you upset again, he vividly recalled.

“I know,” she said. His eyes didn’t lie then, and they didn’t now. “And there is nothing to forgive,” Dorothea assured, and found herself sounding just like him.

“Really? No, I will gladly accept your words. Enough with the apologies!” he said, ending their guilty back-and-forth once and for all. Right then and there, he wanted to be positive. Truthful. And not a coward.

“Dorothea…” he started, gathering his courage. “Back in the infirmary…Thank you for singing for me. When I was adrift, your voice brought me back from a very dark place.”

Unfortunately, the songstress felt nothing but dread at his words. Did he come so close to death that her voice was his last anchor to the world of the living? The heart-warming confession went right over her head.

“It was the least I could do. Dying alone would be… a fate I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy,” she earnestly confessed.

Ferdinand didn’t realise the depth of her commitment either.

But as long as they could laugh together, it was enough. Any more, and they would be too afraid to walk into battle, where they could lose what they had just found…

The school bell chimed, marking the end of a non-existent period.

“So, am I still a bee to you?” Ferdinand tentatively asked.

Before this timidly hopeful smile, Dorothea almost wavered. She brought her cup to her lips and took a sip at her own pace.

“You are. But I just remembered… Bees are not pests.”

Chapter Text

Imperial Year 1180, 31^st of the Lone Moon

♫ ♪ OST – Roar of Dominion ♪ ♫

The time for grand speeches had passed. There was only the Professor, leading them with absolute faith in her students and in the Knights of Seiros. After careful deliberations with Lady Rhea and the Knights, she dispatched the forces across the defensive line.

The Knights of Seiros, led by Alois, would protect the walls of Garreg Mach. They were the last line of defence in case everything went wrong. Soldiers from the Empire supported them. Seteth would lead a special unit across the battlefield to supervise the reinforcements and guide Flayn and the healers to the wounded. Shamir and Catherine were on their way with reinforcements from the Alliance and the Kingdom.

The three houses were left to retake control of the town. On the western side, the Blue Lions led by Hanneman and Dimitri would have to take down Flying Demonic Beasts as quickly as possible. Meanwhile, on the eastern side, the Black Eagles followed Manuela and Ferdinand to take control of the chokepoint. Finally, the Golden Deer, under the Professor’s guidance, would rush down the middle of town to defeat Edelgard.

___

The Blue Lions’ role was critical to the early stage of the battle. They were stationed on the western front where the walls had already been breached by Flying Demonic Beasts and the enemies were flooding in.

“Keep your calm and don’t break formation,” Hanneman instructed his class. “You have acquired the skills to defeat these numbers.”

“Indeed. Now let’s get to work. This will be a battle to remember.” Felix gladly welcomed the challenge.

Similarly psyched, Ashe promised to fight to the very end, no matter how outnumbered they were. Red flags were raised that day.

Sylvain leaned back to say something funny, then thought twice about it. His friends deserved better than that. “We’ll survive this battle and all battles to come,” he quoted to the Blue Lions in the know. “Knights don’t go back on their words. I expect you to kick ass, take names, and come back.”

An elbow to the ribs from (a reluctantly smiling) Ingrid elicited a laugh from his classmates – and a quizzical look from their prince, briefly distracted from his bloodlust.

“As Alois said earlier,” Mercedes said, “we have the goddess’s divine protection on our side. All that’s left is to try our best.” With the battle about to start, friends had no reason to fight anymore. At her left, Annette nervously fiddled with her magic wand. “To be honest, I’m really scared right now… But we studied all for this moment, didn’t we? So let’s show them what we’re made of!”

“We’ll defend the Kingdom and the Monastery at all costs. Our future is at stake.” Ingrid’s solemn words were more for herself than for her classmates. So that was how knights felt before a decisive battle? Her chest could burst with love for her homeland, whereas her trembling hands could barely hold onto her lance. Pride and terror, anticipation and love. It was her true calling.

Seeing his students grow into brave officers, proud and confident in their skills, was the greatest gift a teacher hoped to see. And the Blue Lions delivered. Hanneman had nothing else to teach them. Fate was knocking on their door, and no matter what awaited them beyond… he knew they could handle it.

“Go forth, Blue Lions. It was an honour to teach all of you.”

“Thank you for your guidance, Professor Hanneman,” Dimitri responded, grateful. “We are more than prepared.” He gave a military salute to their teacher, then turned toward his classmates with a dissonant smile, a fist raised to the sky.

“My Lions! Crush the Imperial Army to dust! Focus on the enemy and leave that traitorous woman to me. I will avenge the dead.”

His eyes burned with the intensity of Duscur, Remire and Garreg Mach combined.

___

The Golden Deer were about to depart. Only Claude remained behind to exchange a few words with the Professor on the steps to the entrance hall. They reflected on the mysteries surrounding her origins, Rhea, the Crest stones… They still had too many mysteries to uncover and too many dreams to realise together to fall here!

She could never forget Claude’s words then.

“So, Teach… No, scratch that. You’re so much more. You’re my ally and my friend. Teach… Friend… None of those words quite capture what you've come to mean to me. We may not be connected by blood, but I believe our bond goes deeper than that. Now that we know each other, our hearts are connected. Even if our paths diverge and we’re forced to say good-bye… I know that we’ll meet again. And so, for lack of a better word, I gratefully call you my friend, and I hold fast to the belief that this isn’t it for us.”

Before his bewildered eyes, she smiled from ear to ear.

“Maybe I know what you mean.” You are my fated Golden family, she thought. Your dreams and mine… I also want to see them realised…

“Do you, my friend?” he laughed, almost embarrassed. “Well, I’m glad I got the sentiment across. No matter who or what you really are, I’ll always be on your side. You can’t count on much in this world, but you can count on that,” he concluded with a bold wink.

The Blue Lions and Black Eagles charged from the sides, giving the signal to the Golden Deer to plough through the invaders and take back the burning city. Like a well-oiled machine, the students moved out and took back the gate with ease. Things seemed to be going well for their comrades.

Of course, the tides of battles would easily change due to unforeseen events. That incident wasn’t one of them. Right on schedule, the Death Knight emerged from the western foliage to charge at the Professor in his thirst for blood and, most certainly, bondage.

Byleth judged they didn’t have time to waste on this edgy stalker again. “Lysithea,” she deadpanned.

“With pleasure, Professor. Eat this!”

One blast of Dark Spikes T later, the Death Knight fled with his tail between his legs.

“Watch out!” Marianne yelled, her finger pointing a pegasus knight that had used the Death Knight as a diversion to sneak up on the white-haired mage.

Undisturbed, Lysithea spun around, gathered her magic… and an arrow flew into the pegasus’s breast. The destabilised rider fell to the ground where another volley pinned her there forever.

“Thanks, Cyril,” she gladly thanked him before running ahead once more.

“I have your back,” the wyvern rider assured Marianne. She nodded and followed closely behind Lysithea.

Pleased with the team’s cohesion, Byleth took her students down the avenue, toward Edelgard. However, the road was blocked by hordes of soldiers with sky-high morale and elite officers, all impeccably equipped. This would be a battle of attrition like she’d never seen before.

So she had to play her trump card. It was now or never.

“Hilda, we’re counting on you. Stop the pegasus knights from reaching the defensive line.”

“Show them a fashionable death!” Claude cheered her on.

“Have confidence in your abilities. You won the axe tournament all year round, so show them true brawns and beauty!” Byleth said, routing for the real powerhouse of the Golden Deer.

“Aww, don’t expect too much from me!” Hilda blushed. As she said that with a dainty smile, she nonchalantly swung the massive Freikugel on her shoulder.

“Get them, we’ll take on the generals!” the Professor ordered, taking on the responsibility of defeating the commanders away from her.

“Guess I have no choice!”

With that, Hilda happily went on a one-sided rampage on the Imperial air force. Byleth would have to live in fear of what she had created. Nevertheless, they could press on without fearing surprise air attacks. The real fighting started now.

Progress within the burning city was difficult. The Golden Deer moved in turtle formation, letting Lysithea, Cyril, and Hilda intercept eastern, western, and pegasi reinforcements. Meanwhile, the bulk of the team conquered the barricades one by one. An invaluable duo shone above the rest there: Ignatz, who sniped the enemies, and Raphael who held the chokepoints. They held their ground so the defenders could advance step by step.

Eventually, the group of enemies thinned down and allowed the paladins, Leonie and Lorenz, to resume their hit-and-run tactics. Backed up by the Professor and Claude, they had nothing to fear as Byleth would quickly heal their bruises. Marianne remained in the rear to support her allies taking down the reinforcements that were still going on.

This promotion of the Officers Academy had fought its fair share of battles, but nothing could have prepared them to the gruelling task of defending a fortress. Sieges were drawn out, and time was working against them. The enemy had the means to wear them down little by little and the knowledge to strike when they were at their lowest point. So Byleth ensured her students remained in prime condition to fight, showing no exploitable weakness. Let Edelgard witness the resilience of those who believed in something as trifle as, say, the power of friendship. Because she wasn’t making much progress in taking Garreg Mach all on her own.

The defenders, however, were now facing the Empire’s frontline generals. In the town square, a barrage of generals blocked the way for the Golden Deer. Blocking a base of reinforcements, general Randolph stood in the way of the Black Eagles. To top it all off, the Blue Lions even had to pull double duty with Hubert and general Ladislava on their side.

But the young lions were on a rampage and they would not be stopped by a puny mage. Ingrid swooped in from the heavens to ruin Hubert’s day. They were so done with fighting the humongous chickens he summoned. The new Marquis Vestra laughed in the face of defeat when he retreated with some ominous parting words to torture them further: “What you fail to appreciate is that we have, at our backs, a force you cannot hope to defeat.” The Blue Lions didn’t have time to consider the implications of his statement, however. As soon as Hubert left, general Ladislava took his position in the vanguard. Unfortunately for them, she was much more invested in this fight and wouldn’t go down so easily.

What the Imperial wyvern rider failed to consider was the incredible power of the Heroes’ Relics mainly in the Kingdom’s possession. To her credit, the Empire’s only Relic was a necklace lost in the Martritz-Bartels succession crisis. A commoner like her didn’t fully believe in the epic tales of knights with glowing weapons able to shatter heaven and earth. A grave mistake, especially on this battlefield. Because the rightful wielder of the Lance of Ruin knew exactly how to dispatch flying foes… with Ruined Sky, the technique passed along the Lance of Ruin since the birth of House Gautier. Fortunately for her, Ladislava was skilled enough to recognise a fatal incoming blow and narrowly avoided her own demise when her wyvern fell from the sky, butchered by the Relic. After defeating the two commanders, the Blue Lions called in Shamir’s reinforcements and started gaining terrain at incredible speed.

In the meantime, the Golden Deer’s fight against the phalanx of generals was nothing to write home about – it was a test of patience more than skill. They maintained their airtight formation and brilliantly avoided any casualties. Sometimes, the tried-and-true strategies truly were the best.

However, some houses were blessed with the morale to fight an unforgivable enemy made up of faceless goons they didn’t care about. It was easy to fight irredeemable evil for hours on end. The Black Eagles weren’t so lucky.

The swift assassin Petra led the offensive, helped by Ferdinand who deployed all his riding skills to secure his kills with ruthless accuracy, galloping back and forth in the chaos to support his classmates. Blood dripped down his lance until it stained his gauntlets red. But the longer the battle went on, the grimmer their faces became. The reality of fighting their compatriots was inexorably setting in, itching in the back of their eyes. Then came another serious hurdle: general Randolph. Caspar stepped in to fight him in a glorious one-on-one so his classmates could heal. Like many soldiers they had fought so far, Randolph was wearing the colours of House Bergliez – so the Black Eagle harshly dismissed the strange sense of familiarity he got from his opponent. Focus on the battle, even if said enemy flinches when he recognises you. “Eh, that doesn’t matter right now. Let’s go!” Caspar shouted at the top of his lungs. Might as well follow Hubert’s last advice and motivate the troops with his voice that could rise above the din of battle. As a result, the Black Eagles eventually secured the stronghold for Catherine’s reinforcements to be deployed.

Byleth had to take her eyes off her students. She had to focus on her own battles and the main challenge ahead. With a heavy heart, she entrusted the flow of battle to her fellow teachers and took a step forward. Claude stood steadfastly behind her – and he would have been right by her side if he wasn’t a ranged fighter.

And there she was, supervising the siege of Garreg Mach with a pleased smile and sparkles in her eyes, a petite girl with too grand an ambition, the Emperor of Adrestia. The Fire burning within blinded her to the horror going on around her.

They would put an end to her reign before it had the chance to leave its trace in the history books. “Here she is – Her Majesty – looking pleased as a dog with a stick. What exactly happened to make you this way?” Claude asked the serene Emperor.

“I’m simply seeing through a promise I made to myself a long time ago,” she answered, relatively chipper for a war commander.

“Isn’t this much force excessive? Thanks to you, my own long-held ambitions are nearly destroyed,” Claude bitterly accused.

“If you don’t want them to be destroyed completely, I suggest you turn tail and flee.”

As if he would take her up on her offer. Did she seriously believe she was the only to have sacrificed everything to get there? As a special thank you, Claude put extra strength into his draw and loosed his arrow into the gaps of her shoulder armour.

“Your turn, Teach!”

Perfectly synchronised, the Professor jumped in between the rival house leaders with the glowing Sword of the Creator ready for action. To their surprise, the Emperor had more to say.

“I wish you were someone whose heart could be swayed by my words and deeds. If it were so, I would have done anything to make you my ally...”

Byleth shot a look of pity and rightful anger at Edelgard. All the students had confided in her, shared with her a glimpse of their hopes and dreams… The Professor looked back on all their pleasant memories of feasting after the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, of dancing dozens of waltzes on the night of the ball, of sharing stories around the campfire during excursions, of three houses eating sweets all night after the attack on the Holy Tomb to postpone the threat of war to the next day…

Forever grateful, Byleth recalled the many times she opened her fledgling heart to her students and was rewarded with equal trust. Together, they had tremendously grown.

So why couldn’t Edelgard put her trust in her too? Didn’t she save her life, and, by that single act, set fate into motion?

Was war the only answer?

Letting go of all her frustrations in a blazing swing of her sword, the Professor’s heart screamed. In these halls we both cherish, why couldn’t your heart be moved like mine, Edelgard?!

___

On the eastern front, the Black Eagles loyal to the Church or to the ideal of a peaceful Fódlan answered Manuela’s command to defend the walls and regain the terrain they’d lost. They marched into the streets littered with hot embers, barely able to distinguish the enemy line behind the wisps of smoke. Around them was a desolate theatre with bushes ablaze, crumbling walls, naked poles and beams supporting shreds of beloved belongings.

They thought they knew war. From textbooks to treaties to fairy tales, each and every aspect of the man-made scourge had been dissected, studied, fantasized about.

These were but naïve beliefs to calm their nerves before the inevitable clash against their homeland. War was inevitable.

And what advantage do you have in defending a thousand-years-old impregnable fortress if the enemy has been studying its layout for a year? After pushing back the scouting units, the Black Eagles ran into nightmare incarnate. The Death Knight, intoxicated by the flames of war, thankfully had little interest in novice fighters. Quite literally leaving his battalion in the dust, he charged at Professor Byleth with a sardonic laugh. Moving as one, the Empire students faced the challenge head-on. While Ferdinand blocked the chokepoint, Dorothea danced for Bernadetta whose arrows rained on the macabre knights. Things went well for Caspar and Dorothea who took the vanguard, allowing Linhardt to pinch in with Faith spells.

“Now, secure the fort!” Manuela ordered from the ramparts. Who would have expected the diva’s voice to be ideal as a commander overseeing her troops? As unexpected as it was, that reassuring presence behind them made the students move forward.

Beyond the walls of Garreg Mach, war truly began.

War is a clash of ideals, the enemies’ and yours, and at times even within yourself. As your dying classmate reaches out their hand to you, will you bring them warmth before they pass, or press on so you may be on time to save another life on the ever-moving frontline? Once, you wished to lead this house and to restore this Empire through your own efforts. How unprepared you were… But is it too late to make things right? You have dedicated your life to this cause and you won’t abandon your people. After all, you don’t fear death anymore.

How long will it take for you to stop apologizing after landing a bullseye? Glazed eyes stare back at you or into the sky, spouting wordless curses. But you won’t let your brief happiness, from your cavern of solitude to your newfound friends, be stolen from you. You have read enough stories to know how this one ends. Everyone’s happiness will be trampled by the behemoth of war, but you pray so hope may bloom again.

How long can you lift people’s spirits before the bloodshed takes its toll on you? You send the young, the old, and the wounded to fight a battle without end and blame yourself. Alas, your feet still don’t bleed enough to hinder your well-rehearsed steps. Maybe you are no rose, but a tenacious weed pretending to be something else, not knowing your place. You whisper an aria to yourself, a lonely comfort to distract yourself from the pain around you.

When do the horrors start keeping you awake, in a reality where there is no escape? You lift your healing staff again, knowing this nightmare shall continue to haunt you in what little sleep you could get between assaults. You can’t run from your duty forever. As the sun sets behind the ramparts, you try to relieve your classmates’ pain with sore arms and burning eyes.

When does the thrill of fighting for a righteous cause leave you? You knew war wasn’t simple, but you don’t even have time to distinguish right from wrong. You will defend your friends, this place you called home, and hope you don’t have to fight any familiar faces. Even you know there will be no peace if there is no tomorrow.

You understand better than anyone the pride of those who fight to the bitter end. You empathise with the losing side of what will surely be a drawn-out war – the signs don’t lie. But will you let other nations fall to the might of that Empire? Do you really wish that sorrow on anyone else? You were told to make a choice, but what choice do you have? This isn’t your war, but this is a fight you can’t run from.

___

When the Black Eagles heard the war horn sounding the retreat, they didn’t understand if they had lost or gained anything. Until that moment of reprieve, with blood and smoke in their eyes, they hadn’t noticed how much their numbers had dwindled. They had lost more classmates than expected, whether they were dead, captured, missing, or evacuated…

Nevertheless, they had spread out far from the defensive lines, clashed with unending waves of reinforcements, killed more people than they could count. They saw familiar faces frozen in eternal fear, students and soldiers they knew, hanging from their blades. Their soles were soaked in blood and ashes, and their faces caked in blood in tears, and they had to be victorious, right? They had done enough, they had had enough! The war horn sounded again, yet still no voice ordered them to retreat. Haggard, the Black Eagles survivors looked at each other for a semblance of guidance. Ferdinand opened his mouth to ask them to regroup and retreat when another sound rattled deep in their bones. A guttural growl resonated throughout the town – until a dozen Demonic Beasts echoed that scream.

A roar of dominion, and the promise of annihilation.

The Imperial Army had unleashed a force they couldn’t hope to stop after hours of battle. Defeated, the Black Eagles followed Ferdinand’s directions and started to run back toward the walls of Garreg Mach, where Byleth was waving at them and the Blue Lions to hurry back safely inside. By then, they were numb to the pain. They closed the distance with the town on autopilot and, half-way there, they reunited with Manuela who had her hands full evacuating wounded students and soldiers.

They lost some time within the ruined city to carry the wounded on horseback or help them walk the steep roads, with the rumbling footsteps of approaching Beasts making the soil tremble and shake as they came ever closer. Ahead of them were the Blue Lions who benefitted from their mounts and cleared the path for them. Annette’s ice-cold magic put out many fires they couldn’t lose time crossing.

When a Demonic Beast bulldozed its way through a wall, everyone started running for their lives. Luckily, Ashe could cover them with the last projectiles of an abandoned catapult, and they put just enough distance between them and the monster to make it to the walls.

Students and knights raced against the clock to cross the gate, Demonic Beasts hot on their heels. If it wasn’t for the archers of Varley posted on the rampart covering them, they wouldn’t have made it. Bernadetta often compared a volley of arrows to rain, but this barrage of steel was more akin to hail. The monsters behind them screeched and lost their footing, their eyes shot open by a myriad of arrows. She passed the gate with a loud thank you to her providential men. In her hurry to get a wounded healer to safety, she didn’t pay attention to the man leading them. However, Ferdinand did notice. Against the sanguine twilight, his arrows took a holy turquoise hue, the Crest of Indech flaring behind his back like wings, shot after shot.

It was then that Ferdinand remembered another part of the legend that made him fear House Varley as a child. There was the gloomy tale of the doll-cursing princess, shared by noble children his age. However, the adults whispered a much more ominous cautionary tale. “Don’t let his looks fool you. He won the Battle of the Eagle and Lion all alone. He made the Empire’s shadow his own. He’s the Angel of Death; one wrong word and you’re gone.”

Legends or not, Ferdinand thanked the Goddess he was on their side for now – he couldn’t deal with any more losses. Thus, thanks to the best archers in the Empire, the remaining defenders of Garreg Mach returned safe and sound to the marketplace, where the leaders gathered. Hoping to learn more, he dismounted and jogged – limped – on stiff legs to them.

Seteth seemed to be coordinating the retreat, surrounded by Claude and Dimitri to represent the students, and Alois for the Knights. Shamir had just finished her report.

“We returned with the wounded,” Ferdinand said in place of a greeting. He had no time nor patience for pleasantries at this point.

“Thank goodness,” Seteth said, relieved. “Are your companions safe and sound as well?”

“I have yet to roll the call, but… we are missing some classmates. Yes, missing…” Ferdinand finished in a whisper, looking at the ground.

“Don’t lose heart,” Seteth reassured him. “Some soldiers ended up separated and joined other battalions in the chaos of battle. We evacuated many of the wounded as well. We’ll take attendance in a minute. Were you the last ones to get back within the Monastery?” he asked.

“Yes, the Black Eagles closed the march.”

His declaration was met with the most uneasy silence he’d ever witnessed. Seteth winced and crossed his arms, delaying the inevitable. Alois clutched his head in one hand and sighed deeply, mirrored by Claude who tried to stretch his fatigue away. Strangely stoic, Dimitri clutched his fists. His gauntlets were gone – probably crushed under his own grip. Finally, Shamir shook her head at the leader of the Black Eagles to dispel any hope that may have remained.

“That confirms it. The Archbishop and the Professor are missing in action.”

Chapter Text

Imperial Year 1181, 1^st of the Great Tree Moon

Lord Arundel left the tent with the stride of a conqueror. A blank silence floated in the air between Edelgard and Hubert who were still processing what they’d just learned.

“Lady Rhea has been successfully captured by Those Who Slither In The Dark. They will be taking her to the jails of the Imperial Palace in secret as per our agreement. Fortunately, nobody saw what happened to the Archbishop, so the Church will be at a complete loss,” Hubert recapped.

“And my uncle claims that… the Professor fell off a cliff to her death,” Edelgard repeated in a daze.

Hubert placed his hands behind his back and answered her worries with complete detachment. “The Professor came back from Solon’s supposedly inescapable void,” he reminded her. “I don’t think it impossible for her to make another unexpected comeback. Even Ferdinand stared at death’s door and turned around. Clearly, the laws of logic don’t apply here at the Monastery.”

Unconvinced, Edelgard fell back in her chair and sighed. “Falling off a cliff and coming back alive… Sadly, that sounds much harder to believe.”

She wordlessly pulled up her sleeves to reveal the porcelain skin of her arms, seemingly untouched by experimentations. Save for her recent battle wounds, she looked perfectly normal on the outside. “Still… You remember the scars that used to mar my skin and keep me awake at night. Five years later, they’re gone as if they never existed. The healing power of the Crest of Flames slowly restored my body as new.”

“If I may object, Your Majesty didn’t fall at the bottom of a rocky precipice. The power of Crests is useless to the dead.”

Are you hoping for this Crest you abhor to save the Professor? Hubert almost pointed the irony of the situation to her, then refrained from mocking her crush. Love really made you think nonsense.

“Her body hasn’t been found, so we can’t draw hasty conclusions,” Edelgard countered. “We shall wait and see.”

Five years… It took me that long to heal and to cut my own path. In another five years, Garreg Mach Monastery would have celebrated the Millennium Festival. Until that day comes… I shall wait before I acknowledge your death, Professor.

___

Imperial Year 1180, 31^st of the Lone Moon

At the same time last year, the Three Houses were composed of around 50 students each. Bit by bit, those numbers dwindled. Some students died during the Goddess’s Rite of Rebirth, a few disappeared during the month when they chased after rumours of the Reaper, and the unluckiest ones were transformed into Demonic Beasts at the Chapel. A few deaths were inevitable at a military academy, but the death toll was already looking particularly grim before the Empire’s declaration of war, with around five casualties per House. Finally, before the battle, a dozen Black Eagles deserted to join the ranks of the Imperial Army, if you included the main traitors.

Only 32 Black Eagles, 40 Blue Lions, and 44 Golden Deer (including two unexpected additions in Cyril and Flayn) remained to defend the Monastery. When the curtains fell on the first night of the siege, their numbers had shrunk yet again. When the three houses reported back to Seteth in the reception hall, none could boast perfect attendance.

Dedue rolled call on Dimitri’s behalf. The Blue Lions, down to 33 students, suffered the heaviest losses, as they would rather die fighting to their last breath than surrender. The prince also counted two captured students who would undoubtedly be ransomed by the Imperial Army. At the end of the day, the only silver lining was the absence of serious injury for all the survivors.

Meanwhile, Claude and Hilda worked in tandem to count their classmates. The Golden Deer, down to 41 students, were missing people despite a lack of casualties. They surmised that they must have been captured or that they were hiding near or within the Monastery. There was no way to tell until morning. As a result of fighting the longest within the confines of the burning city, quite a few students were also incapacitated from burns or smoke inhalation.

Finally, Ferdinand and Dorothea were the ones to ascertain the state of their troops, and the two of them were enough to count the remainder of the Black Eagles on their hands: they were down to a mere 18 students. The dead weren’t that many – the defeated pupils either reluctantly surrendered or gave a taste of hell to their abductors. With less than half the roster of the Golden Deer and more losses combined than the Blue Lions, there was nothing to celebrate.

After sharing the ominous news, all leaders and retainers decided to pool their efforts for the night, regardless of house. (It had become a habit since the battle in the Sealed Forest.) The Empire had the reserves to attack at any moment, especially under the cover of night, so they had no time to lose. The first order of business was to move everyone to the reception hall and barricade themselves in, as it was the building with the fewer entries to defend. Dimitri would supervise the Knights for this task – and carried half the reception hall tables all by himself, as it later turned out.

The kitchen staff was more than happy to welcome Dedue to this unprecedented night shift. While the clerics and servants did most of the job cooking, many students ended up lending a hand to serve dinner to the entire army taking refuge in the hall. Gathered around braziers, they all found some comfort in the delicious food and good company.

Meanwhile, Claude was entrusted with the planning of the defence with Alois and Duke Aegir. The latter had anticipated the possibility of a prolonged siege within the halls and started preparations – the food had been stored and furniture set aside for the barricades. They requisitioned a table to start discussing strategies, spread out their maps, and got to brainstorming. Nobody dared disturb them. The adults listened attentively to Claude’s plans, and they would have followed through if they had had the time to prepare his tricks. Unfortunately, time was working against them, so they would have to rely on the classic “shoot anything that moves” strategy and started planning where to position their archers and how to equally divide their men. Eventually, they settled on a few interception teams to defend the reception hall while the rest would start preparing the actual defence in the Cathedral. Along their discussions, it had become apparent that it was the easiest place to defend, and much bigger to boot. Again, the night worked against them and they would need to move at the first light of dawn.

There was some work to do outside the warmth of the reception hall, however. Ferdinand was therefore put in charge of the stables and outdoor barricades. To put it nicely, they couldn’t do in a few hours what they did in two weeks – the blockades would barely slow down the Imperial Army, but every second would count to retreat with everyone inside the Cathedral. The fallen noble ordered the Knights to pile up sandbags in strategic entryways and to barricade all the front doors with tables so the enemy would have to take a detour or force their way in. It would help their archers make every arrow count. Finally, their last defensive tactic was to let their many horses roam free outside of the stables, where they would hopefully hinder the advancements of Adrestian soldiers. Chances those horses all survived were slim, and they would undoubtedly be stolen. Only a handful of mounts were kept in the back hallway to facilitate the retreat of the last defenders the next morning. With a heavy heart, Ferdinand brushed his horse one last time, murmuring a final thank you in its mane.

Night had fallen pretty quickly on the weary defenders. And it was up to Hilda to undertake the grave task of vibe checking… pardon, checking up on everyone. You’d think it was an easy task, but it took all her charm to convince the tough guys to see a healer, and an incredibly keen eye to spot the dutiful or traumatised kids overworking themselves and either send them to Dedue for sustenance or straight to bed. And the “dorm” was just a side of the hall with benches lined up to make large enough bed frames, so it was a hard sell. Despite the circumstances, she made sure everyone was well taken care of. Including the insomniac Dimitri and the diligent Ferdinand who both fell hard for her tricks and got some well-earned rest. Sylvain bowed to her half-joking and half-grateful for this godsend. To her surprise, she also received the thanks of Ludwig von Aegir of all people. He praised her charm and guile – both because he was genuinely impressed and thoroughly amused by Ferdinand’s growing list of weaknesses to feminine charms, and to see Celian von Varley glower furiously at him from the other side of the room.

Since the place was slowly being overtaken by everyone, the wounded were moved to the Cathedral where they would also be able to sleep in peace. Dorothea volunteered to oversee the operation as a certified mage and healer who could stabilise patients or conjure a flame to check their surroundings if anything went wrong. Bundled up in the coat Professor Hanneman had lent her, she crossed that bridge many times in the dark and chill of New Year’s Eve to guide the Knights carrying the stretchers to the Saints Statues room. She remembered how Manuela used to pray to Saint Cethleann whenever a member of the Mittelfrank Opera Company got the slightest sprain or bruise and how unbelievably fast they recovered. Dorothea used to chalk it up to superstition and luck, but she knew there would be no miracles at play here. If those people survived, it would all be thanks to Manuela’s own hard work, among many others’.

___

Imperial Year 1181, 1^st of the Great Tree Moon

The new year rolled over without much fanfare, with most people fast asleep long before midnight.

The air was still, without a single gust of wind or flickering flame. Even the quiet murmurs of the few insomniacs could have been mistaken for the soft rustle of clothes and covers. In this timeless silence, Seteth quietly made his rounds to check up on the different groups huddled together in the dimly lit reception hall.

The priests and nuns of the Church had gathered in a prayer circle for the night, quietly watching over the sleeping defenders. Seteth made sure they wanted for nothing and moved to the next group. The servants were resting peacefully and had taken under their wing the Remire orphans left at the Monastery. On the other hand, quite a few Knights were still dissecting their battle performance in a hushed voice instead of sleeping, Catherine and Shamir among them. As the actual oldest person in the room, he had no remorse signalling them to get some rest, like their Captain. The sight of Alois and his wife cuddling their daughter between them could warm up the coldest hearts.

Next, Seteth approached the students. The Blue Lions had chosen a unique sleeping arrangement, with the girls lying comfortably on the benches, and the boys either sitting next to them or on the floor. The physical fighters also managed to sleep with their weapons within arm’s reach – and then there was Felix who literally slept with his sheath between his arms. Since he was sitting, it worked as a nice crutch to not fall over on the floor, though. Before Seteth left, he noticed a well-known orange scarf wrapped around Annette’s neck. Then, he took a peek at the Golden Deer. Used to short nights, Claude had no issue sleeping with one eye open, unlike his slumbering companions. Leonie stayed up a bit longer to patch up some of their clothes before going to sleep.

Some students were staying over at the infirmary, namely Flayn, Linhardt, Mercedes, and Marianne, the respective house healers. He trusted Manuela to watch over them. Dorothea had made her way back to the Black Eagles after escorting one last group to the Cathedral. The cold hard bench didn’t stop her from quickly falling asleep – and still warped in Hanneman’s warm coat, she was more than comfortable. Ferdinand had equally collapsed from exhaustion and didn’t stir at all in his sleep. Among the Black Eagles, a few had trouble sleeping from all the recent disturbing events and general anxiety. Unsettling dreams woke up Caspar every few hours, but he didn’t let them get to him and went back to sleep every time.

There was nothing more to do for Seteth but wait for sunrise while sharing a cup of coffee with Hanneman. As if they were grading papers late at night, like any other year after the final exams…

Chapter Text

Imperial Year 1181, 1^st of the Great Tree Moon

Soldiers and students alike were woken up at daybreak to follow the plan concocted by their strategists last night. They had to move their weapons and rations at once to the Cathedral and fortify its defences to make it truly impregnable. Thankfully, they had finished moving the infirmary during the night, so that was one less thing to worry about. Therefore, after a quick and modest breakfast, they all rose up to the challenge.

It didn’t take long for the Reception Hall to look like a busy yet organised hive, each worker carrying the proper items to the Cathedral at a fast pace. Such agitation would quickly catch the attention of the enemy scouts. Still, the defenders were confident in the traps they had laid out for the Imperial Army, and in their own cohesion – the result of months of joint training between the Knights and the students of the Officers Academy paying off.

For simplicity’s sake, they divided groups based on classes to carry their own equipment to the appropriate location inside the Cathedral. Swordmasters, mercenaries, assassins, myrmidons, thieves, carried the swords, and so on. Meanwhile, mages, healers, and civilians were tasked with carrying rations and general supplies; although the civilians were only asked to cross the bridge once as they would be a liability if they found themselves still in the Reception Hall once the battle started. Gilbert’s scarf still wrapped around her neck, Annette stepped up before this daunting task, carefully monitoring this considerable group like a seasoned officer. After all the time she spent making the library’s inventory, this puzzle posed her no challenge. As long as her clumsiness didn’t impede everyone’s work, she was content.

Still, the busiest of all groups were the archers, solicited on several fronts to organise their supplies and to prepare to intercept the Imperial vanguard. That didn’t stop Ashe’s mind from wandering in the early morning. It had been a year since he entered the Officers Academy, and a year since his world had been turned upside-down. He couldn’t help but question everything around him… Was the Church doing questionable things? Yes, and it felt like they only had discovered the tip of the iceberg. But was the Church also a refuge and a source of solace for many? Also yes. For Ashe, it was hard to reconcile the duality of the Church he used to idolise, like the man he put on a pedestal, Lord Lonato. Even the warmest people and brightest of places had their part of shadow, unlike the fairytales.

“Why aren’t these quivers upstairs? The Cathedral will not defend itself. Get a move on,” Count Varley ordered him like a lackey, not even bothering to meet his eyes and marching right past him.

And some people were just assho–

Ignatz gave him a sympathetic look and took the other half of the quivers. Thankfully, Leonie was busy setting up the defence on the other terrasse of the Cathedral with Claude, otherwise she would have spontaneously combusted. The two commoners ran up the stairs to the ramparts where a subdued Bernadetta was busy arranging their supplies. The Imperial Army would obviously attack them by air as soon as their forces were prepared – and they would be met with a barrage of flaming arrows from the Golden Deer archers, Varley soldiers, and Shamir’s subordinates.

“Lady Bernadetta, leave the defence to us,” a soldier pleaded. “You can stay safe inside the Cathedral when they launch the assault.”

Contrary to their Lord, the soldiers of Varley were very fond of their young mistress (who didn’t know how to handle any kind of positive attention coming from her homeland). Even if her wish to make friends and her desire to hide under a rock often clashed, she had learned to take small steps toward self-improvement every day. And after a year at the Officers Academy, the task didn’t sound so daunting anymore.

“T-thank you, but I’ll be fighting alongside you. Ah! I promise I won’t get in your way!” she hurriedly answered.

The officer laughed. “You’re the best shot here after Lord Celian! We’ll follow your lead.”

Meanwhile, the two remaining professors had a strategy meeting with Seteth to rebalance their duties in Byleth’s absence. Obviously, they couldn’t lead their houses as usual, nor could Manuela leave the infirmary. Hence why they were discussing the topic in front of the altar.

“I have my hands full with our wounded. Even the students are helping me instead of going back to their class. I cannot afford to lend you backup today, nor can I lead the Black Eagles,” the physician regretted while remaining firm.

“Each House has established a well-defined chain of command,” Hanneman reminded them. “We can leave it to the House leaders to lead their classmates as they see fit. Thankfully, we should not have to fight in close quarters this time. The help they need to provide will be very limited.”

“True,” Seteth agreed. “We will be relying on the Knights of Seiros and the Imperial Ministers’ troops today. Will you provide the latter your support?” he asked the Crest scholar.

“Naturally. They need all the long-range casters they can get. Dorothea is being briefed as we speak by Duke Aegir’s magic corps.”

“The students truly deserve the highest of praise for their performance,” Seteth acknowledged with fondness. “As Lady Rhea’s substitute, I will not fail to express the Church’s heartfelt gratitude to them either. Now, let’s reconvene this afternoon once things have settled down.”

With that said, the unexpected new leader of the Central Church went to coordinate the sky patrol with Ingrid and Cyril, leading the pegasus knights and wyvern knights respectively, while the more advanced units fell under his expert commandment. He couldn’t ask for more diligent officers. All in all, preparations couldn’t have progressed more smoothly.

And indeed, they were almost done when the battle horn finally called for battle. The grey clouds had dispersed as if to give way to the sun on the New Year. Despite the beautiful weather – or because of it – everyone felt strangely ill-at-ease… And yet, the time to engage in battle was upon them.

___

♫ ♪ OST – Roar of Dominion (Three Hopes) ♪ ♫

As expected, the Imperial Army came knocking on their doors with battering rams. Thankfully, the assault was perfectly on schedule and the defenders already at their posts, while civilians and most students were safe within the Cathedral.

Imperial soldiers flooded the Monastery, but the besieged were more than ready. Before they could notice them, their mages on the upper floors above the reception hall summoned their most potent spells. What they lacked in accuracy, they made up with sheer power thanks to the casting time. Bolganone and Fimbulvetr spells fell like a ton of bricks on the unsuspecting soldiers, putting a momentary stop to their unavoidable progress. Some magic spells misfired, though their effect wasn’t any less dangerous: explosions caused literal bricks to fall as well.

The magic downpour was but the first step in the Church’s strategy, however. Their task accomplished, the mages retreated to the ground floor and evacuated to the Cathedral first, since mobility was one of their primary concerns.

The second obstacle the aggressors would have to face was the direct consequence of the din of battle. Because the defenders had left the doors purposefully unlocked, the startled horses rushed out of the stables high on adrenaline, crushing everything in their path, trampling the soldiers, sending the barricades flying, breaking all attempts at formation and, most importantly, rushing to the Monastery’s exit. In a matter of minutes, the passage was blocked by a chaotic queue of panicked equids.

And the defenders left no reprieve to the Imperial troops. Archers replaced the mages, shooting the soldiers foolish enough not to take cover. Still, animal casualties were inevitable in the chaos, turning some of their loyal companions into once-living obstacles on the Empire’s path…

All these diversions bought significant time for the archers to retreat, Leonie among them, and for the Church soldiers to put the finishing touches on the indoor barricades.

All was going well, until the sky patrol reported back to Seteth. Reinforcements were on the way. Massive reinforcements, and sooner than expected. With the means to blow up their barricades. The information was immediately relayed to the Gatekeeper, who sounded an early retreat with his battle horn.

Among the defenders still in the reception hall, Raphael heard the horn and followed Claude’s instructions to the letter, leaving what he was doing to retreat at once. They’d done all they could. It would be meaningless if they didn’t make it back.

One by one, the other soldiers followed suit, abandoning the reception hall to its fate. Still, others remained in the hallway to block the other points of entries, and block off the passage to the grand ballroom from whence they came.

The horn resounded again.

Two Black Eagles remained behind. Ferdinand stuck an abandoned scabbard in the ballroom barricade, then rushed to the hallway door.

“Caspar, let’s go!”

“We’ve got to hold them off! Just a little longer!” Caspar shouted while he pushed another crate behind the trembling doors. The enemy wasn’t letting up…!

“We’re out of time!” Ferdinand yelled. Adding to the urgency, the last of the soldiers were retreating in haste, with insistent stares in their direction.

Of course Ferdinand knew why Caspar was so hellbent on staying to the last minute. It was his father’s army knocking at their doorstep. For himself, it was an attack with blatant foreshadowing he should have noticed. And as melee fighters, it was their last opportunity to be of any help during the siege. But… there was nothing more they could do. If the worst-case scenario came to pass, and they were captured… Caspar would never forgive himself for failing their class. And Goddess, if Ferdinand was taken hostage? Duke Aegir would surrender. Of that he was certain. It would all be in vain.

“We’re done here!” the new House leader of the Black Eagles ordered, grasping Caspar’s forearm.

As if to add more weight to his statement, the Gatekeeper sounded the retreat again. It was their last chance to escape from the reception hall. Thankfully, Caspar seemed to wake up from his obsessive task. He looked back at his classmate and nodded gravely.

“Yes. Let’s go,” he acquiesced, finally aware that this was the gatekeeper’s last call. Satisfied, Ferdinand let go of him and they ran through the hallway under the sound of flames crackling against the hallway doors.

They had reached the exit when a huge explosion resounded at their back, sending shockwaves through the ground. Stunned, the Black Eagles covered their ears, mere steps from the exit. So the Imperial Army had resorted to infallible methods. A cart loaded full of explosives was a sure way to make short work of the whole barricade…

The roar of a hundred battle cries followed. The main entrance to the reception hall had been breached – pulverised, to be exact. The enemy was within their walls. And it would only take a minute for them to cross the entire ballroom and destroy the last door – because it faced the exit in the hallway, the barricade was the thinnest here, or people wouldn’t have had room to evacuate…

Ferdinand and Caspar dashed toward said exit to the bridge. A few men were waiting to barricade the very last door. It wasn’t a matter of stopping the Imperial Army, but of forcing them to attack in small, manageable numbers now.

“Nobody left?!” one of them hurriedly asked.

“No!” Caspar shouted in response. They were the very last to withdraw.

To his alarm, Ferdinand didn’t see the horses they were supposed to ride to reach the Cathedral in time. Whatever good reason they had to be missing… might make the difference between life and death for them.

Rather than make a run for it, the two students wasted no time and joined the soldiers in their efforts to block off the last door, pushing the crates and benches, heavy as can be, against the door frame. Battle cries resounded from within the reception hall while they pushed with all their might. The ground rumbled, only it wasn’t like the Demonic Beasts in the town of Garreg Mach, but hundreds of foot soldiers.

Another explosion rattled the ground, marking the destruction of the hallway door. Without a second to spare, their barricade was set.

The last defenders started to sprint back to the Cathedral without wasting their breath on obvious orders. If they weren’t fast enough, the portcullis would lock them out – between the metal gate slowly descending ahead and the explosions behind them, they didn’t need more incentives to run.

And so they ran as if their lives depended on it, under the panic and cheers of their friends watching their retreat from the west and east terrasses.

However, running was a tall order for one of them. Cursing himself, Ferdinand realised why he should have left the barricades much sooner. Still, he couldn’t turn down his own soldiers in need of guidance, could he? They needed help with the barricades, and… Well, what was done was done. He just needed to run to make up for it. To force his legs to work, one stride at a time.

Ignore the pain. Ignore the sound of soldiers breaching the door. Don’t focus on your friends’ cheering. Don’t remember that your father’s watching. Everyone’s watching, friend or foe. Don’t–

Sure enough, Ferdinand tripped on the cobblestone, falling forward… But he saw it coming, so he extended his next step and regained his balance. However, he had stopped running altogether, and his legs weren’t cooperating. To his horror, he was falling behind! He pushed through his limits and resumed his sprint on wobbly legs…

But someone reached out to him. Caspar grabbed his wrist so he couldn’t lose ground – couldn’t lose his footing, either. He’d come back for him. So his friend had noticed his weakness all along… Thanks to his timely support, Ferdinand was able to pick up the pace with ease. Together, they made a beeline for the portcullis, thankfully still high enough that they didn’t need to dive underneath.

They crossed the gate with such speed that, unable to slow down their momentum, they slammed themselves into the doors to the Cathedral to stop. Curiously, the Black Eagles closed the march two days in a row.

“Looks like… we’ve made it!” Caspar congratulated them both with a huge grin.

“We did indeed! And… Thank you, my friend,” Ferdinand bashfully thanked him, still embracing the door.

“No need for thanks,” Caspar deflected with his usual kindness. He never needed to make a show of his good deeds – they spoke for themselves. “I think we’re even,” he said. “Thanks for watching my back.”

For once, they had reached the best outcome. All defenders had successfully retreated behind the portcullis – closed at last – with their pursuers too far to do them any harm. Now, it was time for the Cathedral teams to continue the fight!

And fight they shall. Dozens of soldiers were engaged on the bridge in pursuit of the barricades’ aficionados.

On the western rampart, Duke Aegir’s magic corps coordinated a magic circle in which Dorothea had been incorporated. Not unlike her days at the opera, the occasion called for a different costume, and the Aegir soldiers provided her with male wizard robes she could easily put on over her own clothes. And amidst these elite troops, she seamlessly fit in, just as Hanneman did. The talent and discipline of the Duke’s personal battalion was nothing short of astonishing; even though she had never participated in a group incantation before (only directing them), the experience was close to a choir’s, and she felt the power soar through her veins, strengthened by the magic circle and clear incantation. What they couldn’t achieve alone was now well within grasp. As for the Imperial soldiers charging on the bridge, little did they know what was coming.

“Charge up!” the captain of the magic corps ordered. She was given full control by the Duke, who was watching the situation unfold – and surely cursing Ferdinand’s foolishness. His heir would get an earful when all was said and done…

The group threw their hands up in unison, allowing their collective magic to overflow. High above the chasm, the air started to crackle and thrum with power, before dozens of burning meteors materialised in short succession. Alarmed, the soldiers looked up to see the apocalypse gathering above… Some continued to dash toward the gate, others froze in fear, and the rest scrambled to turn around and run against the current.

“Meteor!” the captain concluded the spell, lowering her hand along with all her subordinates.

At once, gravity reclaimed the Meteors who plunged toward the bridge, blazing down on the unluckiest assailants. Fire and rock exploded on impact, spreading wildfire in all directions, setting people aflame, blasting people off the rail to plummet to their deaths in the misty forest far below. Chaos took hold of the battlefield as the chasm was filled with the echo of their screams.

Undeterred, the Imperial Army saw an opportunity to get rid of the powerful mages and sent in their archers on the balconies – mages were notoriously powerless when recharging their spells.

However, they were up against none other than the Prime Minister of Adrestia. Basic manoeuvres such as these wouldn’t work on him. It was his turn to cast; and he could boast the same, if not an even better, level of mastery than his elite subordinates. At his command, small meteors materialised in front of his team, forming a sort of grid-like pattern while the enemy archers drew their bows. Arrows flew, Ludwig snapped his fingers, and the Meteors exploded in unison. Caught in the blast, all arrows were deflected while the group cheered. As the Imperial archers reached for their quivers, a barrage of arrows skewered them. Lethally. On the west tower, the Varley archers gave the Aegir mages a thumbs up. Now that was teamwork!

“Predictable scum,” Celian smirked, mocking their amateurish foes.

“Cast as you please, we’re covered,” Duke Aegir said to Hanneman and Dorothea. Thanks to his Crest of Indech, the older Professor had a rare affinity with bows, yet the Varley troops thoroughly impressed him. None of them had their Lord’s boon to shoot with such pinpoint accuracy – and they did anyway.

Both teams were in high spirits. The enemy wouldn’t break through.

Even though magic fire died down much quicker than regular fire, the bridge was still subject to the inferno. A barrage of flames and smoke obstructed the Ministers’ vision, who readied their spells and arrows for the next assault. Unfortunately, they were caught by surprise in the middle of their preparations.

“They’re sending in Demonic Beasts!” Cyril shouted, perched atop the Cathedral gates on his wyvern where nothing could escape his watchful eye. “Soldiers, get ready to intercept!”

With the ruse uncovered, all sky units moved out, flying high above the bridge in small formations, like a ballet of constellations as their weapons gleamed under the sun. Hidden behind the smoke screen of magical origin, Ingrid gave the signal to nosedive, and she along with all flying units swooped in on the bridge to stop the Demonic Beasts charging into the portcullis. By surrounding the Beasts, they were able to perform a perfect armour break and take them down just as swiftly with a chain of critical triangle attacks. Against such monsters, unity was strength.

When the smoke finally thinned, it carried with it blackened monster dust. Their job done for now, all units flew high enough to stay out of the archers and casters’ range.

But the battle wasn’t over yet. Using the agitation, the Imperial Army sent in its own pegasus knights to charge at the Church’s infantry… only to be intercepted by Seteth’s troops instead. The fight raged on the bridge and in the air. Eventually, Aegir and Varley exchanged places with the Knights of Seiros, whose snipers, led by Shamir, were just as deadly without magic support. In the end, the corpses piled up on the bridge all the same. All the defenders’ preparations paid off, and they lost no more terrain nor people.

Come noon, the relentless assault eventually ceased before the impregnable gates of the Cathedral and the might of its valiant defenders. Defeated, the Imperial soldiers raised the white flag to retrieve the corpses of their fallen comrades – after a few moments of deliberation among the Church’s leadership, they saw Cyril raise a similar flag, acceding to their demand.

Although the Church was now confined to the Cathedral, they had suffered no losses, proving once and for all the talent of an Order once led by the Blade Breaker himself. Emperor Edelgard and General Bergliez were genuinely impressed.

But not Grand Duke Arundel…

___

As promised, the Generals gathered to discuss their plans moving forward. And thanks to the successful defence, they were in much higher spirits than the night before.

“According to the reports so far, we suffered no casualties, and nobody was left behind. Everyone made it out safely to the Cathedral,” Seteth congratulated this very diverse team. He made a point to avoid the Black Eagles’ recklessness so as to not sour the triumphant mood. In the end, they were safe and sound, and that’s all that mattered.

“All thanks to your impeccable leadership, Seteth,” Count Varley jumped at the occasion to flatter the de facto leader of the Church. Thankfully, when flattery matched with the facts, it was nothing but well-earned praise. Though rare, Celian didn’t begrudge the occasion to butter up someone he considered his equal. “The Knights and students are in good hands. We all managed to coordinate our efforts with minimal training together. That was quite a feat.”

“With that kind of teamwork, nothing is impossible. Why, we could retake Garreg Mach from the Empire!” Alois boasted, eliciting a few smiles as intended.

“For now, we must put all our efforts in the defence,” Catherine reminded them. “I bet they were just testing us.”

“Indeed. The Imperial Army plans to win a battle of attrition. They must be under the wrongful impression that students can’t handle the logistics of a siege,” Duke Aegir evaluated. “Therefore, even though we might have the upper hand for now, we can’t expect them to answer our demands of parley. The Adrestian Empire can’t lose face against ‘mere’ students, can it?” he explained, realistic. “They won’t accept any sort of truce until it looks like they’re mercifully sparing us from the bloodshed and humiliation. Thankfully, we just need to endure for a few days. They’ll grow weary fast of sieges and meet our demands in short order.”

“Are you suggesting we hold off the Imperial Army until they feel like calling it quits?” Shamir summed up with her usual sharp tongue.

Count Varley shot her a murderous glare, to which she didn’t so much as flinch. “We faced nothing but untrained mooks today,” he told her off, scoffing at that foreigner parading about the Knights of Seiros. “Their sheer number was the only cause for concern. Do not expect the same incompetence tomorrow, nor the same paltry leadership. They will do anything to wear us down quickly and move on to their next target after Garreg Mach. The Kingdom, I presume.”

As leaders of neighbouring territories on either side of Bergliez, the two renegade Ministers were actually quite well-informed about the Imperial Army, and not just because they personally knew General Otto von Bergliez. In fact, the Empire’s military often marched through Varley to cross from the west to the east of the Empire, including during the Dagda and Brigid War. And the last few years had been full of tedious war councils where Heinrich bemoaned the cost of logistics to an uncaring Otto. Ludwig shuddered at the memory of the headache-inducing arguments between those two.

Claude was suspicious of their knowledge, and yet, he wasn’t the one with the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it malevolent glare.

It was Dimitri.

How could the prince of Faerghus put any stock in what the Ministers of Adrestia had to say? Who said they weren’t conspiring with the other side? That they weren’t involved in the Kingdom’s age of tragedy, when their Insurrection saw them allied to Edelgard and her kin?

“What makes you think they would march on the Kingdom so soon, Lord Varley?” Dimitri asked, hanging onto the last thread of sanity he had not to snap at the Imperial officials. Despite their victory today, the sparks were about to fly…

“The Imperial Princess declared war on the Central Church, which holds the most influence. Doubtless she would target the Western Church on Adrestia’s western border and the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus next,” Celian explained. His eyes met Dimitri’s and Catherine’s.

Cassandra’s paper-thin disguise didn’t fool him for a second, since House Charon was the equivalent of House Varley in the Empire or House Daphnel in the Alliance. Would Count Charon’s daughter remain loyal to Lady Rhea, return to the Kingdom, or try to end the war on the Insurrection’s side? It was quite the interesting mystery.

“While we need to take their future movements into account,” Seteth interrupted, sensing the tension building up, “we must focus on the siege at hand. If you are sure they will attack tomorrow, it would take a huge load off our shoulders and allow us to prepare at length.”

“I am positive they won’t try anything until tomorrow morning,” Duke Aegir confirmed. “The high command needs to strategize overnight. And as the Minister of Religious Affairs explained, we should be preparing to face the best of what the Imperial Army has to offer.”

Thus, they settled on a more laidback agenda for the remainder of the day, focusing on rest and equipment upkeep. Everyone went their separate ways but, before leaving, Dimitri whispered something in Duke Aegir’s ear. For a brief second, his eyes widened in shock before he regained his senses. “As you wish, Your Highness,” he politely answered. Satisfied, the prince left to attend to his other duties. Unaware, Seteth went to check up on Flayn while Claude assessed the state of his class, Catherine and Shamir headed to the makeshift mess, Alois left to relay their orders to the Knights, and Count Varley discussed their plans with his men…

Dismissing this strange interaction, Ludwig turned back his attention toward his son before he could slip away.

“Don’t think that I’ve forgotten about that reckless stunt of yours, Ferdinand.”

The Black Eagles were on their way to discuss plans with Ferdinand when they happened on this tense argument. Unwilling to intrude, they stopped a respectful distance from the father-son duo, yet close enough to listen in.

Meanwhile, Duke Aegir crossed his arms and looked down on his heir. “I gave you very specific orders. You failed to fulfil any of them. What say you?”

“Our men needed help on the barricades and–” Ferdinand tried to justify only to be cut short.

“That wasn’t part of your mission,” came the scathing counterargument. “Pray tell what your orders were?”

Ferdinand crossed his arms in a defensive manner, a more insecure mirror of his father’s stance. “You are to organise the barricades in the reception hall and return with the other students. Come back as soon as we sound the retreat. Those were your orders, Father. But I–”

“Did you return with your comrades of the Golden Deer house?” Ludwig coldly interrupted him once more.

“I couldn’t!” Ferdinand spoke out. What did his father know of the state of the barricades then?! He wasn’t there to see that he needed to lend his soldiers a hand! “The soldiers still needed my help!”

“Are you a soldier, or a son of House Aegir? It was their duty to build that barricade. You only had to oversee the process and inform us upon your return if it would hold or not. And yet, you saw fit to ignore my orders. So why did you stay behind?”

“To protect my comrades in arms,” he stubbornly repeated.

“Protect whom? Let’s see,” Ludwig von Aegir grinded his teeth in contempt born from worry and exasperation. He held out his hand to count the mishaps of his wayward son. “You couldn’t shield one songstress from harm,” he started bluntly, revealing to all the Black Eagles that he’d seen through their stratagem and discovered Dorothea’s role in the accident. “You couldn’t prevent your classmates from being captured by the Imperial Army. You couldn’t build a barricade that could last long enough for your subordinates to retreat safely. Worse still, you almost got locked out of the Cathedral with the classmate who needed to carry you here. What a splendid job you’ve done so far! Are you trying to get yourself killed in a worthless blaze of glory?” Ludwig ruthlessly accused him.

Visibly upset, Ferdinand looked away to find some sort of rebuttal but he stammered, the words too heavy to pass through the knot forming in his throat. Appalled, the Black Eagles stared as the Prime Minister openly lashed out at his son without a care for his feelings, whipping him with his every mistake for all to hear. Unfairly holding him accountable for all their class’s errors on the battlefield. Bernadetta’s stomach churned in sympathy for his plight, while Petra was clenching her fists. However, another student broke the status quo.

Outraged, Caspar firmly stepped forward. Even though he attracted the duo’s attention, his intervention did nothing to defuse the situation. “Ferdinand was the one to make me retreat! He saved me!” he bravely defended his classmate.

Unfortunately, his words hit a wall. The Duke placated him by merely raising his hand in his direction, and Caspar stopped mid-step, astonished.

“It doesn’t matter,” Ludwig harshly dismissed him. “Ferdinand was your commanding officer. It was his responsibility to get you out safely. Now,” he said, turning his attention back to his son, “speaking of Caspar, your careless disregard for my orders could have cost him his life and yours. Did you act like a noble leader then? Was it good leadership? Was it, Ferdinand?” he cruelly repeated, pointing at his wordless friend.

That’s when the realisation struck him like another spear to the gut. The realisation that in rushing to fulfil his noble duty, he always put himself and others at risk. How could he not realise? First, he charged at Demonic Beasts only to be saved by the Professor, then he fought an isolated battle with Dorothea and paid the price, and now… If not for dumb luck, he wouldn’t have reached the Cathedral in time. Worse, he tripped and endangered Caspar's life twice…

A whole year spent repeating the same mistakes that could cost them their lives. It was shameful. Disgraceful. Inexcusable.

As a noble, Ferdinand ought to set the right example. However, his duties often clashed. Protect his soldiers, protect his friends, protect his people, protect himself… Sometimes, one had to be sacrificed for the others’ sake, but how could he make that choice? His father’s orders weren’t there to make his life more difficult – quite the opposite, actually. His decisions, as ruthless as they were – needed to be –, freed him from that moral dilemma by explicitly stating which duty to put first in order to achieve a cohesive victory. The Prime Minister was right: this selfless recklessness of his was a liability.

Unlike what appearances might lead some to believe, Ferdinand knew how to swallow his pride when in the wrong. A hand on his heart, he bowed deeply to his father, to the surprise of the Black Eagles. “Please accept my apologies,” he said gravely. The fiery tension deescalated at last, though it was replaced by a suddenly glacial atmosphere, which gave his classmates whiplash. “I was out of line. It was my noble duty to carry out your orders, and I failed to set the right example.”

However, they should have expected that kind of argument. Didn’t they see the violence with which Ferdinand and Hubert fought all year, and how accustomed they were to throwing scorching insults and giving each other the cold shoulder? At least the Aegirs confronted their problems (in the unhealthiest way), instead of settling for murder after years of unspoken grievances like the Vestras…

Still, Duke Aegir was far from impressed. “I hope you reflect on your recklessness. For House Aegir never repeats mistakes twice,” he bitterly said – a reminder of the many chances he’d given him and of the words they lived by. The Duke’s patience was running awfully thin.

Ferdinand found nothing to argue. His record for the past few weeks did him no favours, no matter how good his intentions were. He made a fool of himself one too many times when only results and appearances mattered to his perfectionist progenitor.

“I, Ferdinand von Aegir, swear to uphold our family’s legacy with the dignity it deserves,” he formally apologised again.

“… Then show me this nobility you speak of. Do as you please until tomorrow, and I shall reassess my judgement accordingly,” Duke Aegir coldly challenged him. And upon these words, he walked away without looking back.

His son was used to it. I shall meet your expectations and mine, he thought, determined.

The political waltz was far from finished, however. As soon as Duke Aegir left, Count Varley stepped in. He wouldn’t get another opportunity to speak to all the Black Eagles at once. Besides, the Minister of Religious Affairs never got bored of the way an entire assembly shuddered at his approach.

Should I tell him that ‘rest’ is part of Ludwig’s noble evaluation? No… He should be able to figure that out, Celian thought, mildly amused. The Prime Minister really had a soft spot for his eldest son. He wasn’t mad that his son tripped in public – that was the least of his worries, really – but that he was tired enough to trip in the first place, and the last to retreat in such a state. This was beyond reckless – this was borderline suicide in war! Still, Count Varley had vested interests in the boy’s continued survival, so he could hint at the truth. Plus, this was a fine opportunity to highlight Bernadetta’s saving grace, namely her mastery of the bow. If he recalled right, Ferdinand used to admire the military as a child… Maybe he could endear his graceless daughter to him, somehow.

“You both did splendidly well today,” he pleasantly engaged the conversation in stark contrast with Duke Aegir’s previous callousness. Ferdinand and Bernadetta greeted him, surprised he would spend some of his precious time on them. “The Cathedral stands unviolated, for now. Considering the Empire will not resume its attack, you should take the opportunity to rest and be at your best tomorrow.”

Bernadetta almost gasped. What? Did he just compliment her? In public?! What was her father plotting? And praising Ferdinand too? Maybe he had a soft spot for him, considering how happy he was to greet him at first, but this was too… nice of him! The Count was definitely plotting some nefarious scheme!

From the way her eyes darted from him to Ferdinand, Celian cursed his child’s well-honed paranoia. Nevertheless, he still deemed it more of an asset than a liability, if it kept her alive. A brief – vicious – glance reminded her to stop fidgeting, lest she give away his intentions to the Empire’s brightest scion and husband-to-be.

“Thank you for your concern, Lord Varley,” Ferdinand appreciated. It was a nice change of pace after the overblown dispute with his father. “But my duty is to my friends who are working tirelessly toward victory. I cannot rest yet.”  He was a hopelessly incorrigible workaholic.

“Your work ethic forces admiration. Still, do not overdo it. As I have said, this battle was nothing but a skirmish compared to what awaits us tomorrow. Alas, I fear I might not be of great help then.”

“Nonsense!” Ferdinand refuted. “You were an invaluable help today.”

“I take pride in my bow. However, I am also keenly aware of my limits. You see, I have always suffered from a weak constitution. I carefully hide it, but it is no less true,” he said, marking a pause. Bad memories. He didn’t have the time to dwell on them. “I thank the Goddess who mercifully spared my daughter this misfortune,” he added instead, and his gaze lingered on her without meaning to.

Bernadetta stared at her father, dumbfounded. Few people outside of House Varley knew of their leader’s poor health. It was a closely guarded secret, to say the least. A Minister needed to project strength at all times, after all. And he just… let that slip? Like it was nothing?

Celian misinterpreted her silence. “You do not have to hide my condition from your classmates anymore. I merely wanted to warn them myself beforehand. A reminder to you, too. If I must withdraw tomorrow, the command of our soldiers will fall to you.” It was rather obvious, yet he’d never shown that level of confidence in Bernadetta before. Stunned, her classmates tried to digest the news that Bernie was a General in all but name now!

“Of course, I will do anything in my power so it does not come to that,” Celian assured with honeyed words. “Regardless, I will be counting on your bow,” he warned his daughter, for she couldn’t afford mistakes now that he had heaped so much trust and responsibilities on her shoulders. He then turned his attention to the Black Eagles as a whole, sounding so eerily focused he forgot to be patronising. “And I insist you make rest your first priority of the day. Now, please excuse me. I must inform my soldiers of the agreed strategy.” He then took his leave.

Count Varley’s genuine thoughtfulness chilled them to the core. What the hell was he so afraid of? What were they supposed to face tomorrow?!

While the Black Eagles discussed just how puzzled they were, Bernie’s thoughts were racing. Never had she seen her father make such bold moves. And why did he take an interest in Ferdinand, now of all times…?

___

Once again, the 1180 class proved its adaptability and resilience in the face of adversity, taking everything in stride. Even without news of the missing students, even with comrades captured behind enemy lines, even with the Professor and Archbishop missing, they refused to lose heart. Two battles in a row? Another tomorrow? Bring it on, they would say if they weren’t so busy setting up a comfortable camp within the Cathedral. It was such a bright and elegant place that no one could feel down yet. And if they had heavy bags under their eyes, they could just pretend it was because of all the smoke from the last battle.

Once they were done with the camp, the students were given free time in the same vein as the usual Sunday after a week of training and lectures. Most of them settled into old habits, especially the ones who used to spend a lot of time in the Cathedral.

In between her healing duties, Mercedes prayed at the altar. Dear Goddess, please watch over your weary children. May this battle end soon and may Lady Rhea and the Professor safely return to us. She was briefly joined by Marianne, who wished for the same before returning to the infirmary in the chapel. Afterwards, Mercedes went to Dimitri and handed him a bag of candy for the children hiding with them. They were all very fond of the prince – and she wanted to take his mind off the battle for a while. Her idea worked like a charm – Dimitri’s soft spot for kids forced him to mellow a bit. By the end of his candy-gifting round, they were all following him like little ducklings and asking to be carried – all at once. How could he say no?

This ended up causing quite a scene when Alois challenged Dimitri to see which one of them could carry the most children. “The strength of youth against the experience of a father!” he said to justify the duel. That’s how Seteth walked in on the unbelievable sight of Dimitri balancing eight kids on his shoulders whereas the other group of kids joyfully jumped on Alois’s defeated body on the ground – his daughter included. Sylvain was clapping, Catherine cheering, and Claude dying of laughter. Felix grabbed the coins from a bet with a Knight who clearly should have known better. It couldn’t be denied that this moment of levity improved everyone’s spirits. Nevertheless, before Raphael could have a go at the human pyramid challenge, Seteth put his foot down and sent everyone on their way to prepare dinner.

___

Far too listless to succumb to sleep yet, people scattered around the vast Cathedral to pass the evening with their closest companions. One such small group comprised Dimitri, Gilbert, and Catherine, whose conversation steered toward heavier topics than most.

“The Kingdom hasn’t faced such a crisis since the Crescent Moon War. Gilbert, I will reiterate the offer I made you a few moons ago. Return to the Kingdom and help me defend our homeland. You too, Catherine. I would welcome you back and put the accusations against you to rest.”

“I apologise, Your Highness, but even if I’m no longer a fugitive, I can’t go back with you,” Catherine politely refused. “I have sworn my life to Lady Rhea. I will do everything to find her. However, I promise to do everything I can to help the Kingdom. The Knights of Seiros might be able to provide some support too.”

“Any help is appreciated. You have my thanks.”

“The decision doesn’t rest on me alone,” Gilbert said, “but I will do my best to gather the Knights of Seiros hailing from the Kingdom and mobilise a sizeable force to protect our homeland as soon as this battle is over. I shall return to you with reinforcements, Your Highness.”

At these words, Dimitri’s eyes finally lit up. Gustave belonged in Faerghus, and he would soon return home. Regardless of circumstances, he could only rejoice at this turn of events. With his mentor by his side, perhaps he wouldn’t devolve into a feral beast on the battlefield like he did during his and Felix’s maiden battle… And most importantly, Annette would have her father by her side in the difficult months ahead.

“I will be expecting your reinforcements in Fhirdiad,” Dimitri acquiesced to them both.

Near the Cathedral’s entrance, some of the more alert Black Eagles were having a chat with their de-facto general, Ludwig von Aegir. Strangely, the group wasn’t quite Insurrection material, namely because of Caspar and Petra. Still, it was the battle analysis that had brought them together, and the debate was getting lively.

“We didn’t exactly win, but we didn’t bow to Lady Edelgard and Hubert either!” a female Black Eagle rejoiced. “I can hardly believe it…”

“Me too. We weren’t up against amateurs, for that matter. General Randolph was pretty strong,” a Black Eagle student recalled before his classmate could shush him.

There was a beat – a moment of hesitation where the lesser noble students glanced at each other in alarm, deliberately avoiding Caspar’s gaze, to Petra’s confusion. The Duke answered, not noticing the unease – perhaps too tired to realise that their reaction was clearly amiss.

“Did the Emperor purge so many noble officers that she had to promote a lower member of House Bergliez?” Ludwig sneered, arms crossed in a condescending way.

“… I knew I had seen him somewhere.”

“Caspar?” Petra asked, worried. Two students from Bergliez territory started to shift uncomfortably, and the first boy reflexively facepalmed; they had kept their mouths shut to spare Caspar’s feelings even though the truth was bound to come out. Their friend didn’t need to second-guess himself when he did everything in order to protect them.

But it was too late to take it back. Caspar knew. “I might have punched my uncle,” the general’s son mumbled. Distraught, he stared at the ground to replay the scene in his mind… and how Randolph undoubtedly flinched when he recognised him.

“Beaten by his nephew, four years his junior. This is why this branch didn’t inherit the House,” Ludwig disdainfully explained, mostly for Petra’s sake. “You put him in his rightful place. I’m sure your father won’t hold it against you,” he added, more gently for Caspar.

The tacit praise did little to raise Caspar’s spirits. Did he zone out so much he couldn’t recognise his own uncle in battle? How many acquaintances did he really fight the other day…?

“Is the Professor… really missing?” Bernadetta timidly asked. All day, she’d tried and failed to ask the busy Seteth or the prideful Ministers. Thankfully, some of Byleth’s closest friends could provide reliable answers. Still… “They’re not just hiding her injuries or something, right?” she wondered, her head full of tales of knighthood. Savvy, the Varley heiress understood the need to keep up morale in their situation, so her guess wasn’t so farfetched.

“No, she’s really missing,” Leonie refuted. The two girls had become surprisingly fast friends thanks to Bernie’s needlework. “Last time I saw her, she was overseeing the retreat with Lady Rhea. Since they’ve both gone missing at the same time, chances they’re alive together are pretty high.” That was the general consensus among their little army, anyway. Plus, nobody would deny their respective martial prowess… The true question was: where were they?

“Everything points to their likely capture by the Imperial Army,” Alois surmised with none of his usual cheer. “With such valuable hostages, they could easily force our surrender, and yet, they’ve yet to make a move.”

“Which would mean they’re still free somewhere,” Leonie acquiesced, more optimistic.

To their surprise, Alois raised his fist. “I made a promise to Captain Jeralt, and I’ve sworn to serve Lady Rhea. Today, I failed in my duty… But it’s not too late to make things rights. To protect the place they hold dear, and to rescue them. On my honour as a knight, I swear I’ll bring them back safe and sound to Garreg Mach Monastery! I’ll search every corner of Fódlan if I must!”

“You’re going to lead a search party…?” the noble girl asked.

“Indeed! I won’t fail them twice!”

Bernadetta’s shoulder slumped with a small, dejected “Oh”. So he really was going away… The Ministers’ plans were still undisclosed to the public, but she knew her father had secured the loyalty of the Knights – she’d just hoped Alois would be one of them… Her future looked grim once more.

“Don’t worry, Bernadetta. I’ll send our finest knights to assist your father and keep you safe, I promise. By the way, where is he?” Alois asked, none the wiser to her distress. Wordlessly, she pointed at a pew where Celian von Varley was sound asleep, looking deceptively calm.

“We should hit the sack too,” Leonie observed, ever the pragmatic one. “The defence of Garreg Mach will rest on our shoulders tomorrow. Can’t sleepwalk through something like that.”

“I’m not sleepy yet,” Bernie said. Not that she was afraid of going to sleep in his vicinity, no, just the pressure of a do-or-die battle. To say nothing of sleeping with so many people inside the Cathedral – that was a whole other level of strangeness on its own.

“The choir is holding a small concert tonight. Shall we go then, Bernadetta?” the kind knight offered.

“Oh, sure!”

“Enjoy the show,” Leonie nodded as she squinted toward the ‘camp’ of the Golden Deer. Lysithea and Raphael were already asleep, fully aware of the rest they needed to get to be fully operational the next day. The three of them said their good nights and parted ways until morning.

In the meantime, the defenders were concluding their last war council before the big day.

“This is the final line-up for each team,” Seteth summed up. They had divided the Knights and students all around the Cathedral, but mostly on the west and east side, with a few remaining inside the Cathedral as backup. “The last house leader, Ferdinand, will be part of the reserve team stationed within the Cathedral. This unit will help whichever team needs support.”

He almost protested, but a glance at his father daring him to open his mouth deterred him. It had become quite clear to the people in charge that he was in no state to fight anymore. Against all recommendations, the fallen noble had worked himself to the bone all afternoon, helping anyone and everyone in need. The soldiers were thoroughly impressed with his foresight and kindness, but it did nothing to recharge his battered stamina.

Consequently, Duke Aegir was still pissed. While his son redeemed himself around camp, he failed to put himself first. Even a nap would have been nice, but no, Ferdinand seemed to believe his body transcended mortal needs. They barely exchanged a word, which Claude immediately noticed. In his opinion, the Prime Minister was pretty heartless, all things considered. His own parents’ strictness never reached that level of unhealthy perfectionism, and they never withheld their affection whenever he got hurt – including when he had it coming with his poison experiments.

“Got it, Seteth,” Claude approved. “I think it’s high time some of us got some shut-eye,” he joked half-seriously.

To his despair, neither Seteth, Ludwig, Dimitri, nor Ferdinand took the hint. Fine, it was a bit hypocritical coming from him, but he hardly needed as much sleep as other people to function.

“Your concern is appreciated,” the leader of the Blue Lions graced him with a rare hint of friendship. “I still need to see Ingrid before the night patrol. Please excuse me,” he bowed curtly and left.

“I still have matters to attend to,” the busy Prime Minister said.

“I am also on duty tonight,” Seteth remarked.

The adults left them as well, leaving Claude with Ferdinand. It said a lot about the latter’s current state when he didn’t find any topic to engage in small talk.

“I’m going to sleep. What about you?” the Golden Deer house leader asked.

“I am still restless. I will take a stroll to clear my head,” said the usual early bird.

It took all of Claude’s patience not to bonk him on the head and drag him to bed. “Suit yourself. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he gave up.

Ferdinand huffed obstinately, growing quite aggravated with the patient treatment. Surely he knew better than them when he’d need some rest, right? (No, he didn’t.) Anyway, his mind was still racing, making up battle scenarios for tomorrow, so there was little point in lying down wide awake for two hours. Instead, the young noble noticed a group sitting cross-legged in a circle where the choir usually gathered to practice. Most of them were orphans from Remire and apprentices of the Knights of Seiros – quite the young crowd indeed, with some classmates and Knights sprinkled in. There, two of the most passionate choir members were holding a small concert: Annette and Dorothea. It seemed to be the Blue Lion’s turn to sing. Curious, Ferdinand sat on the floor along with the children, and Dorothea joined him to listen.

The kids were mesmerised, Felix was mesmerised, Alois had tears in his eyes, Bernadetta was humming along under the belief no one would notice, and even he sat down with childlike wonder to bop to the swamp beastie song.

“She stole your thunder as a songstress,” Ferdinand teased his classmate.

“I don’t mind,” Dorothea chuckled, giddy at the lyrics and the performer’s enthusiasm. “Besides, Annette really pulled her weight with the move this morning. The kids immediately took to her.”

“She was quite impressive indeed,” he gladly testified. “If not for her clear directions, the civilians would have been confused by our military manoeuvres. She prevented great losses – not just in terms of goods, but these people’s lives too.”

The diva nodded. “You were helping on the front up until the very end. That’s great and all, but you and Caspar almost missed the retreat,” she pointed out, her tone subtly reproachful. She didn’t want to add fuel to the fire, but it did bother her too that they took such a huge risk.

Ferdinand held back a deep sigh. “We did close the march,” he rephrased to his advantage, before elevating his voice just to grate on her nerves and end the conversation, “and we were lucky to have your support. I saw your magic on the bridge. You did a remarkable job!”

Fondly exasperated, she made him a sign to lower his voice, and they thankfully left it at that. Ferdinand noticed that few students actually attended this impromptu recital, including the Blue Lions who were currently sending off Ingrid before her night patrol shift. To their credit, Felix and Annette had eaten with her beforehand to participate in the concert.

Still, Annette’s songs did wonders for morale. The children sang along with her, while the older students blissfully hummed the melody, the joyful echo filling the Cathedral with a small ray of sunshine. Hilda also joined in the crowd at some point during the concert, lured in by the cutesy lyrics.

Finally, with a round of quiet applause so as not to disturb the people already resting, Annette bowed before her audience and returned the spotlight to Dorothea. Unfortunately, her repertoire wasn’t suited for such a young and tired audience. That’s when she thought back to bygone days, when she wasn’t yet alone in the streets. When her mother used to sing to her so she wouldn’t be afraid of the dark, vast, and hostile city… Although that lullaby had no lyrics, she owed it her enduring love for singing.

With these feelings of love and perseverance flowing back to her, Dorothea started to hum an age-old lullaby all children of Fódlan, rich or poor, were familiar with.

Listening to the soothing melody, Ferdinand’s thoughts wandered to a melancholy territory. To his beloved mother, who passed from illness three years ago. Unlike many noblewomen, the Duchess didn’t leave her children’s education to an army of tutors and governesses. When his father failed in his noble duty, she never did. Despite the many hardships she faced, Rosamund von Aegir lovingly raised her children, patiently making the rounds to sing a lullaby for all four of them. As the eldest, he was lucky to enjoy her singing the longest. The delicate notes were forever etched into his soul.

With everything that had been going on, he didn’t have the time to dwell on it yet, but… this was the first year he didn’t leave flowers on his mother’s grave, nor found comfort in his siblings. His father wouldn’t ever mention her. The Aegir heir could only pray in the privacy of his heart.

Dorothea’s voice continued to gently echo in their quiet corner of the Cathedral. Ferdinand teared up. It was fine. Only the Goddess would know.

___

Footsteps echoed within the Goddess Tower.

“Duke Aegir. You came,” the young man waiting on the balcony said.

“I couldn’t well refuse a summon from the Crown Prince of Faerghus, could I?” Ludwig answered as he emerged from the shadows of the staircase. “What is it you wish to ask me in such secrecy, Your Highness?

“Allow me to speak plainly. Should you lie to me, I shall snap that neck of yours so you may never deceive another unfortunate soul. Now, pray tell everything you know about Anselma von Arundel.”

Ludwig looked curiously at the prince – the ‘boar prince’, as the Fraldarius heir aptly called him –, unsure what he was getting at. “Anselma, the Emperor’s old flame? Why would you care about that insipid paramour? She’s been gone for over 12 years now, and nobody’s missed her so far,” he said, tempting fate.

The lance in the prince’s grip exploded in a dozen wood shards at once. The Prime Minister stopped breathing.

Petrified in the jaws of the King of Lions.

“Did you never realise where she had disappeared to?” Dimitri coldly repeated his question.

The Prime Minister quickly recalculated his words, for they could very well be his last.

“Anselma was one of the Emperor’s many concubines,” the Duke meekly corrected his language. “Although she held his interest the longest, if the Minister of the Imperial Household didn’t bother to look into her disappearance, why should I have?” He couldn’t care less for the Emperor’s lovers! But perhaps he was beginning to understand the deranged prince’s priorities. It made sense to enquire about your sworn enemy’s family, after all. Still, Ludwig didn’t see how Anselma could factor in any of Edelgard’s plans nowadays, not when she had walked out of her then 6-year-old daughter’s life. Not that he would try to reason with the prince in that state…

“She held one of the highest positions in the Kingdom court for many years,” Dimitri succinctly explained, his veins popping with ice-cold fury along his tight pallid fists. “Alas, she vanished once more after the Tragedy of Duscur. Did you hear anything that could point at her presence in the Empire?”

“You’re enlightening me, Your Highness,” the Duke answered, genuinely surprised. “I never knew she was in the Kingdom. And I fear you’re out of luck. If she truly had returned to the Empire, I would have heard of it. To me, she is nothing but a ghost of times passed.”

This left no doubt in Dimitri’s troubled mind. For a moment, he had fathomed the unthinkable – that his stepmother was somehow alive thanks to some nefarious Imperial plot. The Flame Emperor could have caused the Tragedy of Duscur and saved her mother from the blazing inferno… But no. Fate decided of her final resting place long ago. Patricia was murdered on her own family’s orders (and oh, he should have recognised the duplicity in Volkhard’s eyes for what it was instead of wasting time gathering evidence at the library: what kind of brother wouldn’t mourn his little sister’s tragic end? What kind of sick daughter would never investigate her mother’s disappearance?!). Nothing strange in her body going missing – they were just covering up the familicide.

A hand crept along his neck, leaving a searing sensation on his skin. “What a cruel child. You dare doubt the truth of my final moments… You give that hateful daughter of mine excuses to roam free… Where is her head? Where is your piety, your righteous fury, my son? Give me her head to cradle. Do unto her…”

“… what she did to you,” Dimitri mumbled. “I will. I promised.”

Ludwig swallowed thickly. Honestly, if he thought about it, maybe Volkhard would have no qualms about killing his own sister so she wouldn’t interfere when he ruthlessly experimented on his niece. Not that he would whisper a word of the awful truth buried in the Imperial Palace, even to the delusional prince – the very future of House Aegir hinged on it.

Dimitri was but one step away from the truth. Alas, the truth of that Tragedy was obscured once more, even though the shadows of Arundel and Duscur were one and the same…

“Thank you for answering my questions, Prime Minister,” Dimitri bowed with a feral look in his eyes. “I bid you good night.”

Then, he left without awaiting an answer he didn’t care for. Slightly shaken, Ludwig watched the prince walk away into the night.

This man might turn into a walking nightmare…

___

Everyone agreed that this had been a harrowing day – and no one more than the healers confined to the Chapel-turned-infirmary. Completely dedicated to their task, they completed a night and day shift back-to-back with little reprieve. They couldn’t even leave the Chapel to eat their food. Students needed help just to breathe after inhaling so much smoke. Knights with broken limbs could hardly eat on their own. No amount of magic could give back a man his sight.

In the never-quiet infirmary where patients coughed and moaned in pain, the war was nothing glamourous. It was the smell of alcohol and the muffled cries of the heartbroken into their pillow.

In the Cathedral of Garreg Mach, it was also a small army of students without a physician’s qualifications. And they were at the end of their rope. Manuela and the clerics would take up their work for the night since the students were expected to assist in the next battle. Breaks were apparently for the weak.

Still, they had done an amazing work in this makeshift infirmary. The patients were stabilised and enough medicine was available for everyone. Mercedes provided the support of her unwavering faith to the wounded in the throes of doubt. Marianne healed without judgement and offered smiles of encouragement without reserve. Their kindness was met like a glimpse of the Goddess’s mercy. And between Flayn’s bright optimism and Linhardt’s blunt realism, the patients knew for sure they would recover.

The entire team had grown closer than ever before. At this point, they were unswerving companions with bonds forged in the fires of sleepless nights and hourly check-ups. Their classmates might never understand, but they were now just as close as any other house. A House of Healing, if you will. The statues of the Saints, slowly restored throughout the year, seemed to look after them in this improbable classroom.

It was well into the night when the selfless students finally got an opportunity to rest, all bundled up in comfy blankets – truly the only perk of their job. On one hand, it didn’t take long for Mercedes and Marianne to fall asleep after all that work; on the other hand, Linhardt and Flayn were suffering from the most ill-timed insomnia.

The last two students awake sat down against the base of Cethleann’s statue to chat in hushed voices in the dead of night. The atmosphere was exactly right to share secrets no one would hear – or confess what troubled their hearts so much they couldn’t find sleep…

“I am aware of your fear of blood,” Flayn whispered. “I am truly impressed at how you overcame it for the sake of our comrades.”

Throughout the entire day, not once did he object when asked to clean and mend the wounds of the students or soldiers who ended up under his care. It left her both truly admirative and sad.

“I wouldn’t say I’ve overcome that fear yet,” Lin shook his head. “Even if we face our fears every day, it only gets slightly easier. I’ll never get used to the sight of blood, but I’d rather face it than mourn someone I could have saved.”

“That is a very brave thing to do.”

“And yet, here we are, fully awake after two days and night of fighting and healing,” Linhardt observed with irony. “I just can’t dispel these bloody sights from my mind. Of course, I might dream of that tonight… No,” he wearily sighed, “that’s a given, under these circumstances. I can’t run away from a nightmare I’m bound to have.”

It was just a bigger nightmare than what he started with when he entered the Officers Academy. Back then, he feared the day he would enter noble society; school life was his last haven before hell. Just like he told Dorothea, he would rather sleep to avoid his problems… but he couldn’t flee anymore. If he did, he would face his true nightmare. He would lose everyone he cared about. And he would always remember the day when that nightmare almost came to pass.

“How can you find repose in these conditions?” Flayn asked, ever curious. For once, the roles were reversed – not that the Crest enthusiast seemed to mind.

“I just have to, if I don’t want my nightmares to become reality,” he said, out of spite, resignation, and willpower at once. “It’s worth facing this fear.”

“When you put it like that, it is,” she conceded, deep in thought.

“And what keeps you awake, Flayn?” he asked.

It wasn’t something she could openly share with anyone – not even Seteth, in a sense. A fear so visceral it paralysed her every night, no matter how safe she felt… Her worries couldn’t be dispelled by anyone. And in the middle of a grand battle, that gut-wrenching fear came back in full force. What if she woke up in a world where all her new friends were no more…?

“I am most afraid to… fall asleep, here and now,” she half-confessed. “I suppose we have that in common,” Flayn realised with a sad lopsided smile. “That is absurd, of course. Many devoted comrades are watching over us. I will wake up tomorrow,” she repeated the mantra to herself.

What would later turn out to be a vital clue to solving the mystery of Flayn’s origins went over Linhardt’s sleep-deprived head, and nothing clicked in his brain.

“Our patients will wake us up tomorrow,” he said matter-of-factly. “Whether we like it or not,” he sighed with a resigned frown. “There’s nothing we can do but face our fears and get some rest. Leave it to Saint Cethleann to keep vigil until morning.”

Exhausted, Linhardt folded his arms and closed his eyes to snag a few hours of sleep before sunrise.

“Good night, Flayn. We need you tomorrow. I know I will,” he smiled through the sleepiness.

But before she could utter a flustered answer, the heir of Hevring was out like a light. Holding her knees close to her chest, Flayn pondered his words with flushed cheeks. They had known each other for a year now. Nothing he said used to make sense. Nothing she told him could possibly steer him toward the truth of her heritage.

And yet, he always sought her company. She never rejected him like she initially did with Sylvain. Maybe she did let slip that Saint Cethleann was never married. How she enjoyed these carefree days…

But war plagued every age. And when push came to shove, they both stepped up to help others, no matter how difficult the task. Because she was tired of war, and he was afraid of blood, and still they didn’t run away. At their core, they were kindred spirits.

Perhaps more. No, she couldn’t pursue that thought. Or…

She only realised how close they were when, still sound asleep, Linhardt’s head drooped on her shoulder. His breathing reverberated in her chest, slow and even. Soothing and real.

Flayn smiled fondly. He is right. Even if I cannot shake this fear of sleeping through the centuries… Even if he will never get used to the sight of blood… Our comrades need us. This is our duty – and our dearest wish – to be able to help others. As healers who abhorred war, they did not tread that arduous path by chance.

I must sleep. It is a fear worth facing every single night, she gently cheered herself up, reminiscing about this amazing year and all the friends she had made and would never, ever forget. And I will wake up, she finally convinced herself. You will be grumpy, and I relieved, and we will protect our friends once more. Without any regret.

Under the warm blanket, Flayn eventually closed her eyes and matched her breathing to Linhardt’s slow rhythm. Her head drooped on his and she finally fell into a restful sleep.

Chapter Text

Imperial Year 1181, 2^nd of the Great Tree Moon

The Cathedral awoke under the sounds of officers barking orders and of a thousand footsteps echoing under the sunlit nave. The light filled the hallowed refuge with a trickle of golden rays of sunshine and a symphony of colours across the marble floors. In this dreamlike atmosphere, the war horn blared for the encroaching threat as everyone grabbed a piece of a bread and a weapon on their way out.

They were met with the invigorating freshness of the mountain spring which carried the scents of the evergreen forest below, and of the maintenance oil and candlewax from the Cathedral. Still, there was a twinge of bitterness to the air… In the distance, a plume of smoke still rose from the city’s burning remains like an ashen pillar reaching out to the heavens. An ominously straight pillar… There wasn’t a single gust of wind to usher in the New Year. Ideal flying conditions for flying units, and ideal conditions for the archers. A truly idyllic weather, but for whom…?

In this early morning, the Imperial Army launched the attack just as planned. And the defenders eagerly awaited the chance to make their stand… If it was a battle of attrition they wanted, they would deliver, and more.

Only one unit was tasked with intercepting intruders at the Cathedral’s front gate: the Aegir Magic Corps, Ludwig’s hand-picked battalion. Able to shield themselves from projectiles and to dish out substantial amounts of damage on the bridge, theses mages would handle the most imminent threats. Thanks to their great results the day before, Hanneman and Dorothea were incorporated into the unit for the remainder of the siege. By now, the songstress had made the male mage robes her own and didn’t doubt her power anymore.

Before giving the signal to attack, Duke Aegir gathered his troops for one last talk. “Today is the most decisive battle so far,” he said, “for its victor will decide the tone of the war to come. You know what you have to do. Repel the Imperial Army and you will make History!”

They all gave him a solemn military salute in return. “Yes, my Lord!” the captain, Lady Ena von Essen, a minor noble of Aegir, acquiesced for the entire group. There was no more small talk as everyone got into position. Hanneman and Dorothea joined the magic circle and its enthralling chant. The inferno conjured above the bridge crackled, and then, in a bouquet of flames…

The battle began.

♫ ♪ OST – Roar of Dominion (Three Hopes) ♪ ♫

The skies were clear. So clear there was no cloud on the horizon – only the enduring wisps of smoke from the burning town below, ground littered with embers akin to glowing cornelian. And the sentinels scrutinized the misleading calm in the azure. Far, far above their heads, small spots moved toward them from the east where the sun had begun its blinding ascent. A classic opening move. Then again, it worked in the defenders’ favour. Atop their towers, the archers warned the ground units of the first wave of incoming enemies. Considering their numbers, formation, and overall strength, they deemed the threat too low to waste their arrows on, especially with the sun hindering their aim.

Still, the danger was real. Enemies surrounded the Monastery from high above, ready to nosedive at any moment to take out the lone distracted soldier. On the west side of the Cathedral, Shamir spread the word of advice so the troops didn’t get separated. Not one to pass an opportunity to annoy an old pal, Sylvain gently elbowed the infamous lone wolf of the Blue Lions. Felix rolled his eyes and unsheathed his sword to get out of his range.

“You haven’t fought on foot in a while,” he tersely observed.

“Aw, thanks for noticing!” Sylvain cooed at the dishonest worrywart, then yelped when Annette poked him in the ribs.

“I’ll watch your back,” she boldly assured, teasing him on Felix’s behalf.

“Please stay focused,” Dedue asked of the Blue Lions, who had somehow grown more dissipated than the Golden Deer. With Dimitri solely focused on his revenge, he assumed most of the house leader’s responsibilities.

But today was different. The prince knew Edelgard wouldn’t show up today, which helped to keep the dark thoughts at bay. Only his rage toward the Empire remained, and his wish to not let anymore of his friends die on his watch – even if it meant keeping them at arm’s length, safe from the curse that followed in his wake. So Dimitri looked back at the classmates defending the west door with him, Dedue, Felix, Sylvain, and Annette.

“Don’t drop your guard. We face all manners of beasts today. Show no mercy!”

“We won’t,” Felix hissed at him. “But don’t expect us to take any pleasure in it, boar.” To his dismay, Dimitri literally shrugged off the insult and turned his back on them, the tip of his lance already aimed at the sky. “That shall suffice,” he said, unaware of the gazes on his back. Of the promise they had made and would make him uphold.

“The Blue Lions sure are intense today,” Hilda remarked, leaning nonchalantly on her Relic.

“I do hope so,” Lorenz said, clad in a warlock outfit borrowed from an incapacitated student. Thyrsus wriggled with power at his fingertips. “I shall provide support today.” Flexibility on the battlefield was a great boon – and this composite team was indeed very versatile. Still, his focus on magic would help alleviate the burden on Annette today, and Marianne was their dedicated healer. It didn’t hurt that most of them knew some form of white magic too.

And the enemy was closing in. While they made up the ground team, there were two other groups on the west side of the Cathedral. The first one was comprised of Shamir, Claude, and Leonie, who surveyed the battlefield from the gate to the abandoned chapel. For now, their bows were discarded in favour of melee weapons to give the assailants a warm welcome. And, fighting individually, a few students led by Petra hid in the Goddess Tower to snipe the unsuspecting enemies. The Imperial Army would be naïve to believe that they truly let go of all their bows!

The Heroes’ Relics casted a glow of pure determination on their youthful faces… Thyrsus, Freikugel, the Lance of Ruin, the Aegis Shield. And guarding the door, Dimitri’s silver fury piercing the chest of the first Adrestian pegasus knight who led the vanguard, followed by a flurry of wind spells and tortured feathers and screams flying across the Cathedral turned battlefield.

Ferdinand turned his eyes away from the sound of clashing steel and battle cries that easily reached his troops within the Cathedral to focus on the task at hand. He had been appointed as a sort of coordinator between the west and east fronts, whose main duty was to send in timely reinforcements and a clean-up crew to discard the bodies and mounts of the fallen, be they friend or foe. They couldn’t let the defenders trip on a pile of corpses.

The altar was also the first point of triage for the wounded their allies would soon bring in. At his side, Flayn and Mercedes were getting ready to treat the influx of patients, while Manuela manned the infirmary all by herself. Together, they provided seamless support to their friends battling outside – and hopefully, they wouldn’t have to fight. Because if they did, the civilians hiding inside the Cathedral would be in terrible peril…

This left the East side of the Cathedral for the Knights of Seiros to defend. The experience between Alois, Gilbert, and Catherine combined made them an unbreakable force ready to intercept any enemy, which meant few students needed to provide their support on that terrasse. This small team consisted of Raphael, Lysithea, and Caspar, who guarded the door with Linhardt’s support. What the East side lacked in magic, it made up with sheer strength. But, beyond these concerns, the students had been carefully dispatched across the entire Cathedral, and they weren’t assigned to the safest spot by chance. Lysithea was frail, and Raphael had the experience needed to be her bodyguard more than the door’s defender. Furthermore, as the Ministers’ children, Caspar, Linhardt, and obviously Ferdinand, were relegated to the safest spots and duties. It would have been more conspicuous had Ferdinand been in any state to fight today, but it seemed reasonable to keep the Black Eagles close to their incapacitated house leader.

For the most part unaware of these political schemes, the focused Golden Deer and the grave Black Eagles didn’t lose time in idle chit-chat. After a quick, reassuring nod to each other, promising to have the others’ back, they got into position without further ado at the East door. All the advice the Professor had given them came back, unbidden but nonetheless welcome. Lysithea remembered to rely on her allies, Caspar not to charge heedlessly in a blaze of glory. Linhardt steeled himself for the sight of blood to come for his friends’ sake.

When the Imperial pegasus knights landed on the terrasse, they trusted Alois and Gilbert to make short work of them and dutifully stayed at their post. Despite the sun blinding them, the defence didn’t waver. But, when Catherine zapped effortlessly amidst her enemies, swinging her blade like a solid thunder bolt, the three young graduates couldn’t help but stare in awe at their idol. It was Raphael who snapped them out of it.

“Everyone, stay on your toes! The Professor always said to never lose focus during a battle.” And he would know, with how many times she pulled him aside after battle because food shouldn’t be on his mind before survival. He had learned the lesson. So did his classmates who embarrassedly thanked him.

Finally, the East Tower could accurately be renamed the archers’ tower as the Varley snipers took up residence there, ready to turn the Imperial Army into human pincushions. Commanding this tower was Count Varley, whose recent feats in battle helped the wary students to trust the judgement of a Minister of non-military affairs. Bernadetta, Ashe, and Ignatz fell under his command and that of his captain, Sir Archibald von Blumenthal, a loyal knight of Varley.

And these soldiers shared their leader’s no-mercy approach to battle. There was no question of playing around when their strength lied in their bows, and so they opened the hostilities by shooting down the enemy vanguard on sight. Not a single arrow missed.

“Give them a taste of Varley steel!” Archibald cheered.

Another row of pegasus knights charged at them. Soldiers and students drew their bows. Focused. Released. The one-sided offensive was already over. Unnerved, the Imperial soldiers turned their gazes toward their officer for guidance.

“Found you,” Count Varley whispered satisfactorily, and the Crest of Saint Indech flared up behind his back like a turquoise sigil. Two arrows were nocked and released with inhuman dexterity. Two cries resounded, one from the Imperial officer whose thigh was pierced with an arrow embedded all the way into her mount’s flank, and a whimpering neigh from the pegasus itself, shot through the throat. With no way of freeing herself, the officer fell to her doom along with her unfortunate steed. Bernadetta wisely took her eyes off her father’s smirking face to preserve her sanity.

Following that display, the enemy stayed clear from the East Tower, awaiting reinforcements. Little did they know how much they still underestimated the defenders, who sunk them under another volley of long-range shots without notice. Such was the power discrepancy between the elite of Varley – and Aegir in the other tower – and the Imperial Army’s green vanguard.

However, the Empire duly noted their firepower. They would be met in kind, in due time…

At last, the first wave of enemies receded, with the surviving scouts retreating to relay information on the defenders’ positions to their officers. To the Imperial Army, this was but a necessary bloodbath. For the graduates of the Officers Academy, on the other hand… It felt like nothing they’d ever faced before. And so they came to understand why sieges were the worst kind of battles. In the fear, malice, pride, or desperation they witnessed in the eyes of their foes. The Imperial pegasus knights dodged and retreated swiftly like the tide, all the while holding gaze with their target. When at last, the Church soldiers and students found the opening to strike them down, death wasn’t so quick and unpersonal anymore… Only the Varley archers and their wards were spared the sight thanks to their ruthless, but efficient strategy.

Unfortunately, their reprieve was short-lived, for the entire Imperial Army was at their doorstep, with men and resources to spare. The second wave, made up of well-equipped pegasus knights and wyvern knights, encircled the Church’s refuge.

Leading the sky watch, Seteth brandished the Spear of Assal. “The Imperial Army will try to sneak up on us from the north,” he said, pointing in that direction. “Ingrid, stop their advance. Cyril, intercept from the east. Everyone else, with me to the west.” Without wasting any more time, Seteth pressed his wyvern’s flanks and soared through the sky and the soldiers dispersed per his instructions.

Heading north, Ingrid and her comrades met a well-prepared enemy advancing in a wall-like formation to force a direct confrontation and, rather than backing down, she didn’t hesitate to take up the vanguard position – proving once more that she would never crack under the pressure of battle and command. She carefully studied her opponents, looking for their officer. They didn’t have the luxury of time. The enemy formation needed to crumble before it got anywhere near the Cathedral.

Thankfully, the Imperial officer wasn’t planning on being discreet. On the contrary. She opened fire with a simple sentence: “I challenge you to the Summit, Kingdom girl!”

All knights of the sky were familiar with this unique duel, fought between commanders high in the heavens with the sun for only witness. To be proposed this challenge was both a proof of respect for the enemy’s strength and honour, and a marvellous way to get rid of the strongest officer first and secure morale… Suffice to say, it was an enticing trap few dared to face.

But the Blue Lion was equally confident in her skills as her Imperial counterpart. “I, Ingrid Brandl Galatea, accept your challenge.”

There was a blur where the two riders used to fly. The flapping of wings and a sudden breeze. When the pegasus knights began their race to the Summit, no one dared to interfere.

But, more than a race, it was a battle of endurance. The riders tried to destabilise the other with hooves and wing flaps at every turn; their blades locked, clashed, swiped wide and low; until they reached what riders called the “death zone” – a paradise bathed in heavenly light, the closest thing they knew to seeing the world through the Goddess’s eyes. Such a taste of paradise came at a steep price: there, the air grew too rare for man and mount alike.

However, Ingrid grew up in the mountainous pegasus pastures of Galatea. Unlike any Adrestian rider, she was all but born on the saddle; she flew in the freezing heights, in the blinding sun, where the distant flames of Ailell adorned the horizons for only her eyes to see. If not for this otherworldly glimpse of her native Galatea, of her beloved Faerghus, she would have never entertained this once naïve dream of becoming a gallant knight, long before Glenn became her model and mentor…

Here, in the absence of archers, rain or wind, high above the mountains of Garreg Mach, the aspiring knight was the sole mistress of the skies. When her opponent shivered under the biting cold, she merely shrugged off the familiar goosebumps. Their lances clashed as they both soared even higher under the searing sunlight, blinded by the sun’s reflexion in their armour and the glossy white feathers. At the peak of their ascent, the two riders knew the next blow would seal their fate – one strike was always enough in such harsh conditions. Icicles bloomed on their eyelashes, in air so cold it could soon entomb them in their armour.

Lúin throbbed in Ingrid’s grip.

The Blue Lion charged forward, spinning on herself while flames burst forth from the Crest stone of Daphnel. A trail of fire followed in her wake, like a shooting star.

Although their mounts had no fear of magic, the Imperial officer did. Startled, she pulled on her reins. But before she could drop under Ingrid, the Relic lodged itself in her chest, cutting through her breastplate like a very elaborate hot knife through butter. Then, Ingrid performed the ritual kill of the rider’s mount by slashing its throat as proof of her victory. As the Imperial soldier fell from the heavens, the Kingdom knight dived toward the Cathedral to escape the deathly altitude.

Their twin fall left no doubt in the eyes of onlookers as to the victor was. When Ingrid stopped her free fall – the ice clinging to her like a friend – and finally swooped in behind her allies, triumphant and unharmed, the troops cheered, morale at an all-time high. There, her braid, styled like in the depictions of Saint Seiros, swung violently behind her shoulder blades. But it didn’t matter if she had painted a huge target on her back – so long as they fought as a team, the enemy wouldn’t survive long enough to strike their weak spots. With her victory secured, Ingrid wisely decided not to push her luck against stronger opponents. The defenders’ strength lied in numbers, of that she was convinced. Against the seemingly endless waves of enemy reinforcements, it was their only chance to make a difference.

Meanwhile on the west side, the students held their own against an all-flying army – an unprecedented feat they would have never dreamed of at the same time last year. The archers had switched back to their bows to repel the invasion at Shamir’s behest. The battle raged on with silver strikes and sudden gusts of wing magic, Blue Lions and Golden Deer gladly working in tandem, yet another problem emerged as the minutes passed. More and more corpses cluttered the limited space the defenders could stand on, and the enemy took advantage of that to trip them up or corner them against an animal carcass. Felix easily tiptoed around the dead to strike back, but not everyone had such deft footwork. Seeing his comrades starting to struggle, Ferdinand sent in the clean-up crew to give them some breathing room. These soldiers were all heavily armoured to move about safely, and strong enough to carry the dead above the parapet. Grateful, the defenders let them though, and the crew started dragging corpses out of the way. It was both a morbid and pragmatic spectacle, and one that gave the students a much-needed second wind to own their battlefield. The bodies of Imperial soldiers and mounts were searched before being thrown over the parapet, though – pristine weapons and untouched medicine were well-worth looting. After carrying out their orders, the crew returned to the crossing of the transept, where they would await the next order, probably to clean the east side next. Thankfully, they didn’t have to carry back a heavily injured ally – or worse – back into the Cathedral this time around…

Ingrid had the right idea when she acknowledged the strength in their numbers. Unfortunately, the Empire could turn that strategy against them. Because their numbers were just that superior. Downed enemies were easily replaced. New squadrons appeared, following different tactics and patterns to further confuse them. With so many enemies closing in, the defenders were forced to split up into smaller, overall weaker but more agile teams just to survive the onslaught. Still, with Seteth’s guidance, they managed to avoid any losses. Any wounded fighter was sent to the healers at the Cathedral’s gate for treatment.

Things were going relatively well when suddenly, Cyril stopped, squinting at the horizon. He then swiftly turned around, looking rather alarmed.

“Flying Demonic Beasts incoming!”

“Where from?” Seteth asked. “How many?”

“We’re surrounded. Dozens in all directions, and more waiting to join in,” he swallowed thickly. The Imperial Army had done the unthinkable: they had weaponised hordes of literal monsters to do their bidding.

Unlike the giant birds encountered on their travels and skirmishes, most of which nested in the Red Canyon, these tamed monsters answered to the Empire’s dark mages. They all wore a giant golden mask strapped to their face and beak with leather straps. Only their shriek revealed the beak full of teeth carefully hidden beneath. The screeching winged creatures flapped ominous bat wings and a lizard tail with a mindless sort of ferocity. The limbs were deceptively thin: nimble, all impenetrable muscle; and dagger-length claws protruding from the supple, dexterous talons. From the top of the head to the tail’s end ran a red rooster crest, whose sinewy dents looked rather sharp and stood out that much more in the blue sky. Not that it mattered much when the birds deftly dove, spun, and soared out of arms’ reach. All in all, the defenders were right to dread the Flying Demonic Beasts more than their land-bound counterparts. 

Ingrid immediately recognised the threat, having faced hordes of them with the Blue Lions in the town two days ago. Most of all, she remembered the foul smell of their flaming breath that burned so many houses and dreams to a crisp.

“These monsters should be our priority,” she said to her comrades.

“Let the archers whittle down the beasts’ strength before you deal the killing blow,” Seteth cautiously advised. At this altitude, they couldn’t afford to miss. With a nod, the soldiers heeded his call and resumed their attacks, taking down the remaining human foes before moving on to the incoming beasts.

Despite the archers’ best efforts, a few Beasts managed to slip through the net and dived on the west terrasse. And yet, they were met with such fierce opposition from Annette’s and Lorenz’s magic that they just couldn’t get any closer to the door. A lethal back and forth of magic, lances, and talons ensued, neither allowing the other to gain ground or land a physical blow. However, predators didn’t satisfy themselves with a mere stalemate.

Even with the mask, the students could tell which one of them the enraged Beast had set its sights on. “I’ll distract it,” Annette said, fully aware that she was the monster’s main target. She ran away from the door’s relative safety, determined to draw the beast’s attention far from the bulk of her comrades. Her plan worked all too well. The Flying Beast didn’t bother gliding above the defenders – it scampered on ground like a rabid animal, pushing the students out of the way with powerful wing strikes and guttural growls unfit for a bird. Right behind it, two Blue Lions raced against the clock. Flames were already pouring out of the monster’s beak when they reached Annette, who was hastily mumbling a protective spell from a kneeling position. Felix and Dedue threw themselves in front of her, shields raised, bracing for fire. A sing-song breeze alighted from the mage’s interlaced fingers.

Backed into a corner, the three Blue Lions found themselves at the heart of a deluge of foul flames. Hunched together, they let Annette’s wind magic encircle them and dispel the inferno so as to let them breathe. Still, the heat and sulphur engulfed their lungs which itched painfully with each measured breath.

When the magical fire dissipated at last, Dedue was swimming in his plate armour, Felix light-headed, and Annette pulling out all the stops to cool them down with her magic – never mind her dwindling spell pool, they deserved it! And what good was a power untapped in their time of need?

Above them, the Flying Beast shrieked, as if displeased to find its humans unroasted. The boys looked up, wearily adjusting their stance to spring back into action.

“I’ve got you covered!” said a voice that immediately put their mind at ease. Behind the monster’s willowy neck, they saw a glimpse of pink twintails before the orange glimmer of Freikugel announced its imminent demise. In a single strike, the rabid beast was split open by the Hero’s Relic and collapsed, inert.

Atop the monster’s back, Hilda swung her axe on her shoulder and winked at them.

“Thank you, everyone!” Annette said.

“Don’t let your guard down. Let’s regroup at the door,” Dedue said, taking command of the improvised team. “Petra will cover us.” Indeed, the Black Eagle was keeping an eye on them from the Goddess Tower, ready to snipe any enemy who might get the wrong idea while they retreated.

“Are they okay?” Marianne asked, fiddling nervously with her hands. Her doubts were more than justified: she’d just seen her friends disappear under fire! Thankfully, that didn’t last long – a triumphant Hilda waved at them from the back of the slowly disintegrating black beast.

“Never thought I’d see her put in the effort,” Sylvain joked to defuse the tension.

“You underestimate what she would do to impress Marianne,” Lorenz said. “Now, shall we dispatch those unsightly foes?” he added, also in front of their dedicated healer.

“Sure thing. Open wide!” Sylvain screamed, charging with the Lance of Ruin, all for Marianne’s coveted smile.

Thanks to Thyrsus, Lorenz cleared the way with a dozen well-aimed fireballs, followed by the savage cuts of the Gautier heir. The beasts were torn to shreds, talons sliced into ribbons and masks shattered to the floor. As for the riders, they too didn’t last long against the duo’s combined might and magic. Suffice to say, the west door – and their precious sweetheart – couldn’t be safer while their friends made their way back.

On the west gate, Shamir, Claude, and Leonie coordinated their attacks to stop the wyvern attacks trying to bypass their defence. This proved quite challenging because of the Cathedral’s layout: the archers were positioned atop a gate, namely at the top of a long flight of stairs. Sure, they could slowly fill it with the corpses of fallen foes, but they would have to let them get awfully close for little gain. It wasn’t worth the trouble. Therefore, the Church snipers and Golden Deer students were stuck on a platform with limited room for manoeuvre – a schemer’s nightmare, and the bane of every commander.

And if the enemy riders couldn’t get past them, the same couldn’t be said of the beasts. They could hear their friends struggling at the door, the magic of the Aegir Corps trying to keep them out of danger once in a while, and yet… the threat was closing in.

It was a subtle shift in Shamir’s stoicism that tipped him off, something in her voice that betrayed the gravity of their situation while she instructed the students. Panic didn’t settle into their ranks, but Leonie’s brow was already drenched in sweat even though the mercenary’s apprentice was one of their most durable combatants. The knights had no time to push aside the fallen out of the way, yet the Imperial Army didn’t let up. It was like facing a mindless horde whose sole goal was to exhaust their forces into oblivion. Pegasus knights evaded their arrows, wyvern riders struck at their back, and to top it all, monsters crashed the party with their unholy ear-piercing screams and flaming breath sweeping through the parapet! The battlefield was slowly turning into chaos. Claude ducked one too many times; he was done cowering. They needed to make some sort of breakthrough before the Empire buried them alive! Unyielding, he jumped out of cover to fire his arrow in the mouth of the beast. The growing fire died in a puff of smoke and a wet squeal. Never mind the gore, Claude set out on a rampage of his own. Riders fell left and right, shot through the chest, the throat, in the face. And in his hurry to relieve the strain on his allies, the master tactician with a heart of gold broke formation.

Their forces were sitting ducks caught in a pincer attack. He couldn’t leave things as they were – without realising it, he had taken up the role of the missing Professor, their all-powerful protector. But the future Alliance leader was only human. No number of calculations could help him avoid attacks from all sides without the help of the Goddess. He couldn’t turn his back on the enemy in front of him. He had to intercept the enemy sneaking behind his back. Two options, one impossible choice, and the consequences. Caught between a rock and a hard place, Claude made a gamble. He would skewer the officer up front with arrows, turn around, and shoot the damn bird in its ugly mask afterwards! And if all else failed, the Crest of Riegan would heal him. Alas, his heroic desperation wouldn’t wake a Goddess sleeping within to save him…

To protect his comrades, Claude was willing to stake his own life in the balance, to risk it all for his dream to stay within reach until the Professor returned. Why did he cling to the hope that Byleth would swoop in and rescue him when she had taught him everything to make it out alive by himself? Perhaps he wasn’t quite ready to graduate yet. His fingers loosed the arrow on the Imperial soldier and, without waiting to see their demise, he turned around.

His vision blurred before he hit the ground. Holding his breath, Claude tried to wrestle his foot free from the saddle strap he had stepped into like a noose. But, despite all his pulling and squirming, the leather strap didn’t budge. The curse didn’t escape his lips, as he chose to steady his breath, kneel, and shoot the soldiers who thought he would be easy prey. Thank whatever gods were watching over this battlefield, he still had his bow and arrows!

Arrow.

He found nothing but air at his fingertips, the contents of his quiver spilled across the stairs. There goes my luck, he thought, a foreboding chill going down his spine. But I refuse to surrender! Because the Almyran prince forced his luck when fate spurned him, he rummaged through the debris to grab an unclaimed axe and hack away at the damned strap. In doing so, Claude had no choice but to offer his back to the enemy for a handful of critical seconds.

To leave his fate to the gods…

The stench of dark magic and ashes enveloped him long enough for the dread to settle in before the demonic shadow fell upon him. Suddenly, a silhouette leapt through the azure skies in a flash of shimmering silver and gold. Before Claude’s bewildered eyes, Dimitri’s roar commanded the beasts to stand down as he pounced on the flying abomination with his lance pointed down. From the height and speed of his fall, the fine blade pierced through the sinewy blood-red crest like hail shattering glass and effortlessly sheathed itself in the monster’s flesh. It did try to protest, to scramble to its feet and breathe fire, but the prince hacked off the bat wings and ripped open the nape one-handed for good measure. The Demonic Beast was slain. Thus fought the embodiment of the Blue Lion House.

… Or to human bonds?

“Watch your back,” Dimitri said, barely articulating through teeth bared like fangs. The words came out with more animosity than intended – he was still fuming at the monster who almost got the best of his friend, after all.

“No offence taken,” Claude said, as if reading his thoughts. For a second, he could have sworn he saw beyond the veil of madness in the eyes of his fellow house leader. “Don’t let me down, your princeliness?” he tried to jest, still shaken, but it sounded more like a plea than anything.

The boar prince gritted his teeth to curb an inappropriate laugh. “I’ll crush them all,” he answered with a delighted sneer, eyes half-lidded with the high of the kill. Claude wanted to shake him awake, aware, anything but this mockery of the Dimitri he used to know. What could so thoroughly break a man…? He searched inside the eyes of murky turquoise for an undecipherable answer.

The steel tip of an arrow whistled past their staring contest, scattering the black dust in its wake.

“Sheesh, don’t stand around! You make easy pickings!” Leonie chided the duo like it was any other day. Caught off-guard, the prince blinked once. His arms then sprung to his right, punching the lights out of a sneaky pegasus knight; he curled his ankle and started spinning, his lance slicing all those who dared to approach him like the scythe of another infamous bloodhound. Leonie sighed. Why did she worry, when the prince could take down his enemies bare-handed?

“Let me handle this,” he swore to no one in particular, completely unhinged. Did the Empire think it could best him when the dead still hungered for vengeance?! “I’ll have their heads!”

Now that the Flying Demonic Beasts were wholly focused on tearing apart the Cathedral defenders, the Imperial Army could advance its centrepiece: namely its elite flying battalions, adding to the chaos. Or to the challenge, as some saw it.

“Now we’re talking,” Count Varley smirked. His troops turned to him. “This is the true might of the Imperial Army. The real battle has only just begun,” he curtly warned them. “Make every arrow count!”

The elite snipers fell into a practiced rhythm of nocking, waiting, and releasing upon their captain’s orders. Ashe and Ignatz found themselves entranced in the movement, working as one with people they barely knew – and they prevailed almost without trying. How could a single flying unit survive – let alone get close – against a tower full of archers, like some sort of sea urchin shooting spikes all around? And while the soldiers and students whose skills had been recognised disrupted the Imperial Army’s overconfident advance, Count Varley acted as an independent harbinger of death. As Bernadetta told the Black Eagles, the nobleman killed indiscriminately, downing the noble officers first, slaughtering the commoners with glee, all with surgical accuracy to satiate his vengeful bloodlust.

His gaze quickly surveyed the sky, the battalions deployed, their weaponry, the officers’ position, and once he had mapped out the battlefield, he armed his bow. And death rained on the Imperial Army with a sinister turquoise glow. His fingers twirled the arrows before each shot, danced across the bow string; he side-stepped to the right, kneeled, nocked another arrow and shot twice in a row with the help of his Crest, never missing his target. It was one Varley archer’s sole job to provide him with replacement quivers because of how fast he depleted his reserve. What took the appearance of a massacre was still a demonstration of strategy and skill, for he slayed the commanders first, the strongest enemies second, and the stray survivors of the towers’ attack last.

All the Imperial Ministers who graduated in 1147 were formidable in their own right – and the Adrestian Army would be remiss to forget which one of them earned them the victory at the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. It wasn’t their future Minister of Military Affairs, but the Ministers of Religious Affairs acting out the Prime Minister’s strategy. And now that they could see them both in action, did the power of Crests not look truly almighty? Inescapable? Absolute?

Celian made warfare look effortless and graceful, handling his bow like a musician their instrument – always hitting the right notes whenever the enemy screamed from a bullseye. For Ignatz, who saw the world through an artist’s lens, the way Count Varley had honed his technique could only be called beautiful. It was absurd how fast he could kill, and yet, the seamless skill he displayed made him the worthy inheritor of Saint Indech’s blood. It also explained a lot about Bernadetta.

One year ago, they were among the least self-confident students. On their first day of bow training, he had expected her to flub the skill evaluation due to her nerves, and perhaps little training… only to be instantly proven wrong when the demure noble landed nothing but bullseyes, her Crest still shimmering behind her back like a saintly halo of ice magic. Her assignment complete, she ran back to her dorm room, yet the image stuck with him. Bernadetta’s prowess with a bow was out of this world, a story untold. How, and when, did she get such an all-encompassing grasp of the basics? Today, it all made sense. She was the very picture of Count Varley, save for the penchant for carnage. This impeccable technique mercilessly drilled into her, tailored to her very blood… Ignatz admired Celian as the perfect archer, but what did it say about Bernadetta, who managed to match his skill level in a single year at the Officers Academy, at age 18? She was the amazing one.

But beyond these considerations, the Golden Deer sniper knew for a fact that without the Minister and his daughter, they wouldn’t have been able to keep up the overtly aggressive offence that allowed them to entirely forego defence. Their entire strategy hinged on two powerhouses with the Crest of Indech. Such was the power of Crests, and perhaps the statement Count Varley intended to make today, with Bernadetta strongarmed into meeting his lofty expectations.

But how long could they keep this up?

In spite of the sniper’s efforts, many beasts passed through the net simply by attacking from the north and gunning for the airborne soldiers of the Church. Their bat wings and red crests were a mockery of the wyverns’ magnificence, a hideous omen of doom looming over the holy site. They dived, all sharp teeth and claws, on the valiant knights whose strength was beginning to waver because of the relentless – and so far human – aerial assault. Able to influence the Demonic Beasts’ movements, the Imperial soldiers had long decided who to take down first among the bothersome defenders…

It wasn’t their general, Seteth, or the Summit hero, Ingrid. Rather, they set their sights on the Church’s eagle-eyed watchman who could draw a bow on a wyvern’s back, an unassuming foreign-looking boy who ruined their plans at every damn turn. Ambushes? He saw them coming from the horizon. Surrounding the enemy commander? He just rode up to his foes and shot them dead at point-blank range! And contrary to what his age would lead them to believe, everyone, general included, deferred judgement to him whenever he glimpsed the tiniest shadow in the sky. Suffice to say, he was better off dead. So they sicked the Demonic Beast on him first.

There were too many reinforcements for Cyril to react in time – the vicious creature swooped in amidst a formation of wyvern knights, and the boy’s unlucky arrows missed their mark to ricochet on its mask. The Beast lunged forward with unparalleled ferocity. Cyril braced himself for impact, hunched on his saddle – and the giant bird screeched with a beak full of dagger-length teeth before going for the kill. Blood sprayed across the blue rooftiles.

“Cyril!” Seteth screamed.

The Beast ripped out the poor animal’s throat like candy wrapper. In its desperate struggle against the predator twice its size, the wyvern scraped at the roof to get away – to no avail. After a few spasms, blood gushed out of the aberrant wound like a flood, and the mount succumbed in one last guttural exhale, its legs now dangling limply across the rooftiles. At the monster’s mercy, the Almyran rider held onto dear life while the Demonic Beast jerked around its price. The tiles made a shrilling sound under the repeated assault of claws, piercing the prey’s ears like a drill. By that point, the roof on his side was a mess of scratching marks and bloodstains.

“Jump off! Get on the roof! I’ll catch you!” the Saint shouted, panic coursing through his veins. His mount was more than able to accommodate a second rider, he could save him!

Alas, even though Cyril managed to hear his instructions through the beast’s thrashing, he couldn’t let go off the reins nor control where he would land… His lifeless wyvern hung from the monster’s beak which swung them both over the edge of the roof. Horrified, Cyril stared at the drop below him… It was do or die. Heeding Seteth’s advice, the youngest Church soldier eventually let go of the reins, stood up in his stirrups to build momentum, and – the air was ripped out of his lungs. A colossal wing flap hit him square in the face and chest.

With nothing to anchor him, Cyril was swept away like a speck of dust with nary a scream. Both master and mount were then promptly discarded by the enraged Beast and plummeted to the ground like straw dolls.

Stunned speechless, Seteth could only make a strangled sound when his young friend disappeared from his view. And yet, he couldn’t dwell on it. An Adrestian falcon knight used the diversion to attack him from behind, but the experienced warrior parried just in time. Then, without another word, Seteth charged with the Spear of Assal to end the enemy’s life with a single jab between the ribs.

Yet the threat remained. A swarm of enemies waited their turn to weaken the students – washing their hands off murder when the Beasts inevitably tried to kill them afterward. A silver crescent ended one such coward’s life. He who used to be called the Hammer of Judgement delivered the final verdict.

Dashing across the battlefield, from the gutter to the crown of the roof to the dome, Seteth issued orders to restore their scattered formation. Small but tight units were the key to victory. No one was to fight a beast alone. At his behest, the wounded briefly retreated to the safety of the nave to heal and swap weapons. When they returned, raring to go, the Imperial officers’ smug smiles finally faltered.

They had expected to face resistance. Tire them out, they were told. It’ll be a quick surrender, the matter of days. However, with the Dadga and Brigid War fresh in their minds, they knew that to be a lie, because the Cathedral’s defence could only be tested by actual monsters. And the powers that be wanted them to surrender quickly to move on with the conquest of Fódlan…

“Proceed with the plan. Unleash all the Beasts.”

At the east door, Lysithea was dispatching enemies from afar while keeping an eye on the battle overhead. Thus, she spotted it first. A large shadow balancing on the edge of the roof, and then…

“CYRIL!” was all she could scream with her finger pointed at his ragdoll body, leaving her unfinished spell to fizzle out.

But her cry didn’t go unnoticed. Picking up her distress, Raphael followed her finger. In a single breath, the generous giant crossed the gate’s width in a single leap, opened his arms, and steeled himself for the impact that immediately followed. Raphael caught the boy in a mess of limbs; yet he did his best to cushion his fall by bending his knees as he stopped his fall with a groan. The muscles of the tallest Golden Deer shimmered with sweat under the effort. Her heart pounding with dread, Lysithea rushed to his side, where her hand found Cyril’s shoulder without thinking.

“Cyril! Can you hear me?” she pleaded, trembling at the sight of blood trickling through the gaps in his armour. Raphael carefully manoeuvred his friend’s body into a more comfortable position, all the while wearing his grappler’s gauntlets which miraculously didn’t cut him. But as soon as they turned Cyril, a zigzagging cut was revealed on his brow, coupled with a bluish bruise on his left cheek. The boy was unresponsive.

“Let’s take cover,” Raphael advised, conscious of his two friends’ vulnerable state. In the Professor’s absence he had sworn to himself to keep the little ones safe. Without further ado, he prompted Lysithea to find shelter behind the door frame where they could check on the fallen rider, leaving the defence to Caspar and Linhardt. There, Raphael crouched down and sat Cyril, holding him straight while Lysithea administered a Heal spell. Her face lit up as colour gradually returned to his cheek. The cut thinned into a harmless scab. She called out to him, her voice distressingly hopeful.

A small murmur answered her. “I can… hear you,” he whispered, out of breath. With a gasp, she leaned closer to his face, searching for further signs of consciousness… and indeed, Cyril’s eyes met hers.

“I’m fine,” Cyril breathed, “but my head’s spinning,” he added with a painful wince. The unexpected rodeo, sudden strike, vertiginous drop, and painful catch did a number on him. Careful not to waste her spells, Lysithea fished a vulnerary out of her pocket and helped him drink, what with his eyes closed and compromised spatial awareness. A few tense seconds passed before he could lift his head and focus his gaze on her.

“Thanks, Lysithea.”

“You’re welcome,” she answered with relief.

After making sure he could stand, Raphael helped him stand up. Having lost his bow in the collision and the spare axe on the wyvern’s saddle, Cyril rushed inside the Cathedral to grab another bow and quiver from the joint armies’ reserve. Together, the three Golden Deer returned to the fray.

Meanwhile, at the front entrance, the defenders were growing increasingly isolated from the rest of the army. Messages stopped circulating, leaving them in the dark. A wave of unease swept through the soldiers under Duke Aegir.

“If the other teams can’t spare a single soldier to relay messages, we can’t count on reinforcements on this side,” Ludwig observed matter-of-factly. At this point, there was little they could do but hold off the invaders on the bridge by themselves – the Imperial Army proved more creative than the day before, sending riders, ground beasts, and explosives at the portcullis. On the other hand, the Church messengers were too busy warning people of falling objects, soldiers or mounts, to spare any time on their primary mission. And with the Imperial Army going all out on them on the third day of the siege, the archers were also busy elsewhere. They could only count on themselves to hold off the enemy’s advance now.

“But remember: as long as we don’t hear the war horn, they’re doing well!” the Duke claimed to raise the spirits. “Don’t let up your efforts! The Imperial Army won’t break through our wall!”

For once, Hanneman agreed with the proudest of nobles. Thankfully, the well-trained troops could handle fighting on their own for quite a while. The situation wasn’t bleak yet. Not for them, anyway. By working in shifts, either resting, defending or attacking, the battalion was entirely self-sufficient. Their never-ending barrage of flames kept cooking alive the monsters which stepped on the bridge. No soldier made across the half-way point without succumbing to the roasting heat.

The bridge overflowed with fire and blood, red as the abandoned banners that withered into ashen silk strands, into the chasm below.

The opposite tower faced the opposite problem. They were such a threat to the Imperial Army’s advance that the officers directed all their Beasts at them to wipe out all those pesky snipers. And, unfortunately, they couldn’t work in shifts as mages did, slowly getting overwhelmed by so many monsters it blocked their view of the east terrasse – not even their allies could see them! As the situation grew more dire by the minute, a change in strategy was unavoidable. However, it would come at a cost.

“All-out offensive,” Celian von Varley sternly ordered. The tension had set in his jaw – gone was the playfulness before the kill. When the tides turned, so did his demeanour.

The signal was received loud and clear. Without regard to their ammunition, the snipers were free to shoot at will. Because they knew how to prioritise targets, the lack of command gave them the freedom to take down threats as soon as they emerged without awaiting a release order. Moreover, the enemy officers couldn’t predict their moves any longer. The Varley archers and their adopted students settled into this new rhythm without much trouble at all, thriving on well-honed instincts, while Celian pursued his relentless rampage, burning through the contents of countless quivers. Used to the Crest bearers in his house, Ashe noticed how much the Count relied on his Crest, seemingly summoning it for every other shot with the frequency and accuracy of a Major Crest bearer like Felix. How could he keep this up for so long? Ashe didn’t have the time to dwell on that observation, though. There were more pressing matters, like the Beast opening its beak wide right before him.

A mundane thought passed through his mind. When did it get there? Ashe stared at the inferno building up in the monster’s throat. On his left, Bernadetta also froze, startled by the Flying Beast’s sudden appearance mid-draw. Her arrow clattered on the ground, and they soon followed. Indeed, before they could blink, they were both slammed face-first into the cobblestone.

The Beast doused the tower in magic flames, forcing everyone to duck and stop their assault.

His face still squished on the ground, Ashe ventured a peak at his saviour and did a double take when he met Celian’s angry gaze. “Do you want to die, child?!” he shouted with genuine concern under all his pretence. “No, sir!” the Blue Lion screamed to be heard through the monster’s shriek and fire. Had he just been saved, again, by a noble he misjudged…? Why didn’t the lesson stick the first time around – people are neither white nor black, but shades of grey… He wouldn’t forget again. Grey, like half the banner of House Varley…

“When I let go, get up and shoot,” the Count ordered them, squinting to see past the flames in order to decide on a next move for himself. Still, this was a Flame Breath of unprecedented intensity. And if they weren’t roasted thanks to the meagre protection of the parapet, they sure learned how it felt to be grilled over open fire. Maybe it was a fitting development against the Army of the infamous Flame Emperor, Ashe bitterly realised.

After what felt like eternity, the Beast stopped breathing flames. Yet, perched on the parapet, it opened its beak wide to peck the three closest defenders. Brusquely, Count Varley pulled the kids by the collar to get them up quicker before running off to support his men who suffered the brunt of the attack. On one knee, Bernadetta and Ashe scrambled to nock their arrows while the monster’s breath stank of ash and sulphur right above their heads.

However, this threat was nothing new. The students expertly aimed and released, their twin arrows easily breaking skin to pierce the Flying Demonic Beast’s chest. At last, the monster uselessly clawed at the parapet and staggered backwards, falling off the tower. It disappeared into black mist long before it could have hit the forest trees.

Unfortunately, the tower was still aflame, with quite a few Varley snipers injured because they had had no cover besides their capes. Of course, the enemy used this to their advantage and sent in reinforcements – in the form of three growling Beasts. While the defenders could fend off two with their current numbers, one of the creatures flew right past them and swooped in and a man screamed. The Beast took off with a Varley soldier in its talons.

A shrill cry immediately followed. The masked monster let go of the soldier who tumbled down the stairs to the tower, roughed up but ultimately unharmed. Two arrows stuck out of the Demonic Beast’s almost torn-off leg.

The Beast didn’t take off. Enraged, it turned to tear apart the puny enemy who stole its prey – and darkness and pain greeted it.

For Lord Varley was among the greediest nobles, he refused to have anything, or anyone, taken from him. The House he rebuilt to equal the Great Lords, the army he trained to greatness, his memories of the Officers Academy… He saw the blind monster lash out and haphazardly flap its wings, spreading the flames across the tower while dousing some. Now, he wouldn’t allow Demonic Beasts nor the Empire to destroy what he cared for.

Celian shot so many arrows like shooting stars, his Crest getting brighter and brighter in the process, until the turquoise turned into a stark white light, blinding, absolute… The monster, pinned in the air like a moth nailed on an entomologist’ board, shattered into chunks and threads of darkness, breaking down the arrows like mirror shards.

And then, the light went out. No magic sparks, no holy halo, nothing. The cold spread through Celian’s veins with a full-body shiver – his eyes grew wide, then dimmed just as suddenly. With the last shreds of his consciousness, he knelt on the burning tower and rested his head on his knee. Just as promised, his health failed him right in the heat of battle, perhaps the price to pay to wield and abuse the divine power dwelling in his blood…  

It only took a second for the Varley captain to assess the situation. Usually, battles didn’t last long enough for the master to collapse, but it was a possibility he always had to consider. And today, it was simply bound to happen. “Our Lord is incapacitated,” he calmly reported, forgoing the idle banter to match the seriousness of the moment. “My Lady, we are yours to command,” he said, looking her straight in the eye. Entrusting the future to her. It was high time she proved herself as the rightful heiress she was meant to be.

Bernadetta’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, her surroundings wrapping and going silent at once. Why did he trust her? She was already busy trying to survive and… What could she accomplish that they could not without her? Why did this have to happen now?!

“Your orders?” Archibald firmly demanded. Slowly, the din of battle returned in the background. Right, she couldn’t dawdle in the middle of combat…! But it was another question that cleared up the fog in her mind right then and there. “Is your father sick?” Ignatz asked, concerned.

She was not. Damn him for putting her in that spot! She wanted to die surrounded by books and carnivorous plants, not at the command of an entire battalion fighting off beasts!

“Yes,” she bluntly answered before another beastly shriek made them cower, wincing from the strain on their poor eardrums. “Ignore him,” she grumbled with a painful grimace. Now she was pissed. Maybe it was the insufferable screeching getting to her, maybe it was an act of rebellion against her father’s agenda, maybe it was the selfish desire to live without being followed by the vengeful ghosts of her fallen men, or maybe she just wanted to finish her book before she died. Regardless of the underlying motive, Bernie gathered her bow and all her courage to face the troops. “Everyone, focus on the Flying Demonic Beasts!” the once timid heiress of Varley ordered. “Take them down now!”

“Your wish is our command!” the captain boasted cheerfully, reassured by her proactive stance. Truly, he was always eager to take down his lord and lady’s enemies.

“Gladly!” Ignatz concurred.

In spite of their determination, the task was easier said than done. The East Tower was besieged by hordes of monsters, so savage and relentless they felt overwhelming. Oppressive. The sky was blocked by bat wings; sounds and orders drawn out in high-pitched screeches; the stone still hot under their feet, so much so that they couldn’t sit down to rest or rearm themselves.

Everyone was firing at will, covering for their comrades in need, and yet their fate was hanging by a thread – a bowstring, rather. And it was about to snap. A group of Varley knights had retreated to surround their unconscious Lord. Their supplies still burning, Ashe hacked his lungs from breathing in the smoke that blew in his direction, whereas Bernadetta was about to run out of arrows. For what the Crest giveth, the Crest taketh.

Ignatz’s arrow pierced the beast’s wing membrane, yet it didn’t fall, but scrambled on the parapet, sweeping away the defenders who lost their precious cover and struggled to fight it in such close quarters. People started tripping on their hunched comrades – busy bandaging their burns – or on displaced equipment. Emboldened by the soldiers’ retreat, the Flying Demonic Beast hopped on the tower and crushed a quiver under its talons.

“Watch ou–,” Ashe cried out before a coughing fit strangled his words. Bernadetta’s eyes darted across the crowded tower, unwilling to let her last arrow loose if she could use it as a last resort to save someone. Ignatz’s next shot rebounded on the chitinous neck of the unstoppable creature. And the Beast raised its talons to catch a soldier crawling away, his leg too badly burnt to walk.

Then a beam of light hit the monster square in the chest, leaving ephemeral feathers in its wake. The skin dissolved on impact, the blood melted into thick goo, and the monster fell at last in a heap of black mist and white feathers. Seraphim. For a second, silence reigned. Eyes turned to the staircase where their saviour stood. Lysithea stepped in, accompanied by Raphael and Cyril – reinforcements had arrived, and not a second too soon! If they had had the time, the soldiers would have gladly cheered for them, but they used the reprieve to smother the flames instead.

“Shouldn’t you -cough- be guarding the door?” Ashe wheezed, torn between relief and worry. Lysithea took notice and kneeled before him. “It’s fine, Ferdinand sent reinforcements to replace us,” she said as her fingertips started to glow white against his neck, soothing the itch to help him breathe.

“Caspar and Linhardt have things under control. So we came to lend ya a hand,” Cyril said.

“Thanks. We could really use your help,” Ignatz smiled, his morale already soaring with his friends on his side.

“You can count on my muscles!” Raphael optimistically boasted before going to town on the giant bat. The grappler armour – or lack thereof – was a liability to anyone but him, whose muscles were free to bulge and do the work. When the Demonic Beast tried to sweep him away, Raphael stood his ground and caught the wing mid-motion; suddenly, the Beast was thrown off balance and riddled with arrows. He was the frontliner the archers desperately needed up till now, the man of the situation.

And he wasn’t alone. Cyril fearlessly walked up to the next monster and bombarded it up close. At last, this gave the soldiers the breathing room to reorganise. One by one, they returned to their post behind the parapet, save for the elites guarding Count Varley.

Obviously, this development displeased the Imperial officers who had come this close to rooting the East Tower. They frowned upon these fortunate reinforcements and, because they were kids, they sent out a beast to take them out. It was the pinnacle of cowardice and mediocrity – a sadly predictable move, even for the green commander that was Bernadetta. Working in tandem with Ashe, they shot the monster through the throat before it could become a menace to their friends. And before the enemy could retaliate, another voice rang out.

“I don’t think so!” Lysithea shouted and blasted a swarm of flies on the meddling officers who instantly lost their focus. Maybe flies were worse than Flying Demonic Beasts – at least the dark beasts didn’t fly up your nose and ears. Regardless, the young mage was happy to give the Empire their just deserts.

By the time they saw this thin glimmer of hope, the sun had already reached its zenith.

At that time of day, the sky units reigned supreme on the battlefield, with long-range vision and little shadow for foot units to predict their movements. Unfortunately, they were limited to fighting high in the skies or above the Cathedral’s roof to fend off never-ending waves of enemies and Demonic Beasts. It was dangerous and tedious – a single error would be instantly punished. In surveying the troops, Ingrid learned that the hard way. With so much noise and such small shadows, she should have been on the lookout for enemies first and foremost. One second she was looking at the Church defenders, the next a Beast dove on her like Death’s emissary.

Thanks to her reflexes, she slashed the monster before it could take off with her. Still, her left arm made a poor shield, and bled all over her uniform and mount…

Shocked by the attack, her pegasus violently reared. With no other choice, Ingrid endured the chaotic bout of rodeo until her mount calmed down, struggling to maintain her grip with her bleeding arm. By the end of it, even her braid had come undone. She winced at the feeling of hair brushing against her wounds, and found it quite silly to find that pain more annoying than the lack of air at the Summit. Nevertheless, she needed healing. After signalling her retreat to her comrades, she flew back to the west door.

Sylvain immediately noticed her. He cleared the way with a Fire spell as his friend landed. They didn’t waste time explaining – the blood dripping along her left arm told the entire story.

Holding the hand of her affected arm within his palms, Sylvain focused all his Faith into the most potent healing spell possible. Milky wisps of magic enveloped her wounds which disappeared in a glow below her skin. While Ingrid thanked him, he didn’t let go of her hand yet.

“Don’t go and put yourself in danger like that again, okay?”

“I won’t.”

“Promise me,” he said, squeezing her hand, pressing her for an answer before she had to go.

For Ingrid to be the first Blue Lion to come to him wounded was agony. While he kept an eye on Dimitri’s rampage, fought back-to-back with Dedue, teamed up with Felix or guarded Annette, Ingrid fought on a much larger battlefield none of them could reach. And unlike Ashe who fought surrounded by many allies, or Mercedes who remained in the safety of the Cathedral, her survival was almost entirely up to her own judgement.

Ingrid felt an unprecedented intensity in her friend’s gaze. It was beyond her how people couldn’t read him like an open book when his worries – or lack thereof – were so clear to see… “I promise you on Lúin,” she answered him with the honesty his concern deserved. “And when did I ever break a promise?” she added, oblivious to her own teasing. Then, with a single pull on the reins, she soared again to her rightful place in the skies.

The faint caress of golden hair brushing against his hand lingered in Sylvain’s thoughts. Aching. You never did. But Glenn never did either…

The Imperial Falcon Knight surveyed the battlefield one last time. Everything was in place: all the Flying Demonic Beasts had been deployed, the defenders were slowing down, and the windless skies easily carried sounds. It was time for the Empire to claim its due victory. She solemnly raised a tuning fork of the same gold as the monster’s masks and, with a deep breath, she hit it with her lance. The deafening steel melody echoed throughout the mountains of Garreg Mach.

With that single command, all hell broke loose.

♫ ♪ OST – At What Cost? ♪ ♫

The Masked Beasts degenerated into mindless monsters even more savage than their wild counterparts. In a grotesque reminder that they were once human, they got on all fours on their feet and the tips of their wings, leaving a trail of slime in their wake. For the sky defenders, the change was more than startling. A minute ago, they were coordinating their attacks against smart yet vicious creatures, and now they were flying away from Beasts that ran across the roof to gobble them up! While the flying battalions of the Empire wisely retreated from the chaotic battlefield, this further confused the students who had to switch targets and goals at the drop of a hat.

And confusion led to mistakes.

A wyvern knight tried to take off, only for his mount’s claws to skid on the slippery tiles shimmering with blood and slime. Before anyone could warn him, the Beast jumped on him from behind and bit his arm and head off. Blood dripped from the inscrutable mask – from the innocent man, and from the Spear of Assal that pierced the monster’s throat a mere second too late.

“Close ranks!” Seteth ordered. And as if to illustrate his point, another Beast snuck up on him – when he looked behind, a huge wing swipe sent him flying. His body rolled down the slope with no one able to get close to pick him up, and he stopped, face down, still holding tightly onto the holy Spear whose glow brightened in his grip. It would take more than that to break those once coveted bones…

Seteth could have sworn he felt the sound waves when the Beast triumphantly shrieked above him. The Lance’s healing did him some good, but the shock completely messed up his sense of directions. Even though he was lying down, his vision was spinning. Despite the danger closing in, he preferred not to crawl away, lest he fall off the – very close – edge of the roof…

But he couldn’t stay still with death as his only option! Since he could feel the Beast hopping closer, he had one last ace to play. When it would try to swallow him, he would turn at the last moment and raise the Spear of Assal to impale the monster through the jaw or neck…

Yet, instead of the breath of the Beast, he felt heat on his back.

Still dazed, Seteth opened his eyes to the once familiar fire of his Flame Dragon brethren. But the vision faded within a blink to reveal his flaxen-haired saviour of flesh and blood, flashing the Crest renamed as Daphnel. Ingrid bravely stood between him and certain death. He couldn’t leave her now, could he? Seteth groaned as he tried to get up – his tattered sleeves revealed some pretty bad cuts and bruises along his arms, but nothing life-threatening. Then, to his surprise, a shadow rested above him in spite of the cloudless skies. His blood did run cold for a split second before he noticed the legs of his wyvern standing on top of him to protect him. Grateful, Seteth patted the leg of his loyal mount with a “Good boy” and quickly got back on the saddle.

“My apologies,” he said to Ingrid, who nodded in acknowledgement yet remained focused on the feral beasts. A wise decision, for the Beasts surged toward them without rhyme or reason.

Or perhaps there was. The unhinged monsters rushed in, completely disregarding the Blue Lion, foaming and screaming to tear apart the nearby Nabatean. They both noticed – and Seteth decided to lure them while his team tried to wipe out the threat.

Since the Flying Beasts had reverted to running on talons and wings, the Church leader flew at low altitude and perched himself on top of the Cathedral’s dome as bait. In his mind, they would have a hard time running all the way there, or climbing the cupola, leaving his troops ample time to take them down.

But the Beasts didn’t answer to logic anymore. They rushed with unseen ferocity towards him, completely undeterred by the slippery roof or the defenders’ lucky attacks. A monstrous wave unfurled toward Seteth, enclosing him on all sides–

Right before being swarmed, Seteth pressed his wyvern’s flanks and they soared above the melee.

The rabid Demonic Beasts climbed on top of the dome, then on top of each other, their claws breaking windows and tearing flesh without regard for efficiency. Although their wings got in the way of their desperate ascent, not a single Beast flew off; they were so mad with hunger that they continued to attack as a single-minded horde with nothing but teeth and claws and a thirst for the rarest blood.

Before long, a tower of Flying Demonic Beasts spurting fire and blood from their self-inflicted wounds formed on top of the dome.

A cracking sound…

It took a lot to strike fear in the hearts of the long-lived Nabateans. Nevertheless… This was nothing short of a nightmare made of cursed human flesh. A growling pile of skeletal Demonic Beasts with ghoulish masks hiding a beak armed like a shark’s jaws… Knocking down their peers – slashing their wings, tearing off their talons – just to have a taste of him…

Ultimately, Seteth was also a mortal. Within a hair’s breadth of being eaten alive, fear overwhelmed him. His voice gave out. Just like it did when Flayn went missing and their initial search bore no fruit, or moments ago, when Cyril fell to his death. How could he come up with any sort of sound strategy in a do-or-die situation? The Beast’s jaw snapped right below his wyvern’s leg. Rather than fly toward the forest, Seteth chose to try and fly higher, hoping the Beasts would not be able to reach him at some point. It wasn’t like he could flee elsewhere – focused on the monsters after him, he didn’t know if the Imperial soldiers were waiting for him in ambush…

A cracking sound, growing louder.

Seteth pushed his mount to the limit – still, the monsters climbed in a mad rush to pursue him. Angry fangs grazed the wyvern and his rider. By that point, it didn’t look like a piling up of Flying Demonic Beasts, but a swarming, wrathful termite mound of a single mind.

A snap–

Suddenly, the pile of Beasts lost ground on the desperate flier, who looked down… Below them, the cracks in the cupola exploded like thunder; the stone split open; the tiles cracked and–

The dome crumbled under the weight of the Flying Demonic Beasts. Hell at last slipped into the impenetrable Cathedral.

Seteth gasped in horror in the abyssal silence that followed, both in the empty skies and the ravaged transept below.

What have I done?

When humans and monsters screamed, without a second thought, the leader of the Church dove into the breach.

Felix stuck the Aegis Shield between himself and the beak about to devour him, never mind the slime or putrid smell.

“… Hurry!” he called in a strained voice. What was happening to those damned Beasts?! Unfortunately, the monsters’ sudden frenzy had thrown off their formation, and both Annette and Sylvain found themselves too far to support him.

However, help was on the way. Summoning Thyrsus’s power, Lorenz casted a last-ditch Ragnarok to vanquish the Beast about to snack on Felix. They were all reaching their limits… Before he could thank him, they heard another scream.

An order shouted at the top of one’s lungs, coming from the Cathedral. It took them a second to recognise Ferdinand’s voice, as horror wasn’t the tone he usually shouted with. They both froze and, immobile, they felt in their core the terrible tremor that traversed the earth.

No matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t see anything beyond the thick cloud of dust that formed in the transept. However, they smelled it. Dust and fire. Once the dust settled, indescribable cries erupted within the Cathedral.

What lied beyond was…

Bernadetta shot down the Falcon Knight that tried to sneak her way on the busy tower. This uncertain mix of enemies kept her on edge, but when was she not? On the contrary, her alertness worked wonders to counter the fast-paced offensive of the Empire. Her hands danced allegro with her bow, never missing a crescendo. Bullseyes. Sniped between the eyes. From the corner of hers, she made sure her classmates were holding on, which they splendidly did. Lysithea’s magical ability was in a league of its own, and a sure way to disrupt the Imperial Army who had no long-range weapon to deal with the threat she posed. Mere javelins and hand axes would be caught and snatched from enemy hand by Raphael, her sturdy, steadfast protector. He really made the difference among–

A metallic sound resonated across the mountains. Intrigued, Bernadetta looked up at the Cathedral.

“Ignore me, huh?” a breathy voice drawled behind her back. Horrified, she turned and bowed based on pure survival instinct.

“I’msorrypleaseforgivemeIdidn’tmeanit!” the unfit heiress pleaded in a flood of excuses. Amazingly, the man didn’t retort for her to act more ladylike.

At long last, Count Varley was back on his feet, though the dark circles underlining his purple eyes stood in stark contrast with the absurd pallor of his skin. Still, Bernie wasn’t foolish enough to believe that a mere fainting spell would stop him from going on another murder spree, nor that it would temper his tongue.

But to her surprise, her father didn’t fly into a violent rage. In fact, he broke into a sharp smile. “The place is not burning, literally too, so you must be doing something right,” he observed, visibly pleased despite the pain keeping his eyebrows knitted in a tight scowl. “The command is all yours~,” he added with a sadistic flourish before turning to the Varley soldiers. “Do not mind me and follow Bernadetta’s orders as before.”

“We are dealing with the Demonic Beasts first,” Archibald informed him. “We leave the Adrestian Army to the defenders on the terrasse.”

“Good call. I shall cover your blind spots,” Count Varley stated, and got to work. With his timely support – though his Crest didn’t make a reappearance – the defenders could go back on the offensive. The number of Beasts slowly abated around the East Tower’s team, though the threat didn’t diminish quite yet, as they were still isolated from their allies.

At this point, this seemed more like a deliberate move than an obstinate tactic. Why would the Imperial Army keep wasting their Demonic Beasts on a tower they couldn’t take control of if they had nothing to gain from it? When the students and soldiers started to realize that it was all a big diversion, it was too late.

Loud and unexpected, a sort of thunderclap drew their attention to the roof of the Cathedral where the tragedy began. The scrambling Beasts towering over the dome were suddenly engulfed inside, followed by the rumble of a terrible collapse which sent tremors all the way to their tower. For a handful of seconds, all fighting among human foes was suspended to the sound of silence…

And when a distant roar resounded from the heart of the transept, horror dawned on them. Dark wings gathered above the breach like vultures, until one of the Beasts dived in and combat suddenly resumed in a desperate frenzy. All the door guardians abandoned their post to rush inside the Cathedral. The archers cursed at the distraction that prevented them from foreseeing the real danger. The Knights of Seiros screamed in agony for the civilians trapped inside. The students cried for their helpless wounded friends.

It wasn’t a siege anymore.

It was…

___

♫ ♪ OST – A Funeral of Flowers ♪ ♫

Glass trickled from the ceiling, luckily hurting nobody. Still, Ferdinand was concerned for the safety of the injured lined up in the crossing of the transept. For the sake of triage, they first gathered the patients there and healed them before sending them back if their wounds were light, and to the infirmary otherwise. Although far from comfortable, it was the fastest way to treat everyone… but not the safest anymore.

“Let’s move the wounded into the nave,” he advised.

The knights and students on standby started to carry their comrades, while Flayn and Mercedes continued to heal the more serious cases before they could be moved. At that point, there weren’t many soldiers left, what with the reinforcements needed on every side… Yet the battle raged outside, and if his ears didn’t deceive him, it was picking up in intensity. Conflicted, Ferdinand hesitated to send what few men he still had to help his classmates when the infirmary was so undermanned.

However, with the dome windows broken, hellish wails echoed from up high, sending shivers down his spine. But what made his heart suddenly race wasn’t just the demonic symphony. It was something far more sinister, a single snap above their heads. Horrified, Ferdinand looked up from where he stood, right underneath the cupola… and his jaw fell.

Dust was floating in the air, smothering the sunlight.

It was already too late, he realised, the inevitable fall about to crush them all already playing out in his mind’s eye. The soldiers unaware, the healers focused on their work, the patients lying inert… Without a second to even think of wasting time, Ferdinand took his fastest breath and–

A visceral cry was ripped off from his core.

“RUN TO THE PILLARS!” he shouted with so much horror and conviction that absolutely everybody within the Cathedral took notice. This voice unheard of him carried absolute authority on the scale of the mortal urgency he warned them of.

Everyone reacted at once.

The Knights of Seiros picked up the wounded to carry them to safety, students lifted their comrades by the shoulders to get away, healers dragged off the precious patients they couldn’t leave behind. They all scurried away from the ominous dimmed light. Running, limping, crawling, if they had to.

However, nothing could alter the haunting truth. There were more patients than soldiers, and the ones still lying on the floor wouldn’t… Ferdinand forced his voice past the lump in his throat to urge his friends forward. Otherwise, none of them… Oh, why should their solidarity be met with such unfair retribution?! Goddess, they won’t make it in time, he thought in a billion shards of emotions. The dust wouldn’t even have time to settle on the ground before the whole ceiling would fall on them!

His body shivering under the rush of adrenaline, the young noble screamed out a single warning: “IT’S FALLING DOWN!”

A motivating one for sure, though not quite as much as the audible cracks in the roof and the powder now raining down the transept… And like a captain on a sinking ship, Ferdinand remained under the dome until the last possible second, watching in utter distress the haphazard retreat and the people that couldn’t be saved. His fists would have bled if not for his gauntlets.

Before certain doom, Ferdinand had the audacity to bide his time.

Even though horror shook him to the core, even though his limbs jolted against his will; he looked at the bright nave about to be engulfed in palpable darkness. Ironically, the violent rush in his veins – that all too familiar desperation – could still save one last person.

She stood, haggard, staring as the ceiling of the supposedly safe haven yielded under the weight of dozens of Flying Demonic Beasts. What about the defenders fighting above the Cathedral? What fate befell the man who was her only true home in this world? It was a hurt her heart couldn’t take. For a glimpse of him, she would have risked it all.

Without gathering momentum, Ferdinand leaped forward – and tackled the last person standing, Flayn, whom he embraced tightly with his forearms, unsure if his jellied hands could hold her firmly enough as they rolled and bounced down the central aisle. What immediately followed… was a suffocating blight, and the weight of the world tumbling down. Desperately clinging to each other and to what little air remained in their lungs, the young general and the Saint winced at the sound of collapse ringing across the desecrated holy place. Even if they had opened their eyes, they wouldn’t have been able to discern a thing through the smoke.

Seconds passed as the collapse proceeded to slow…

Shivering and blind, they lied between two slabs of stone and under fragments of roof tiles. Everything hurt. Their eyes, throat, shoulders… Flayn eventually managed to process what had just happened. If not for Ferdinand’s full-body tackle – his entire body weight wrapped in plate armour hitting her at full speed, in fact – she would have been crushed to death. It was high time she broke free from this ill-fated stupor.

“I…” she spoke before a cough shook her lithe frame. How thick with debris could the air possibly be? To her surprise, her saviour brushed her hair with an unsteady hand, bringing her closer so she would breathe through the fabric of her sleeve. Granted, it was a better filter than nothing.

And he was as equally terrified and hurt as she was, if his erratic breathing was any indication. “Are you unharmed?” Ferdinand asked in a pained whisper. The landing hadn’t been kind to him either.

“I-I am,” Flayn shuddered. “Thank you… Thank you,” she breathed against his chest, her body still refusing to move of its own accord.

However, there was no time to get their bearings. The dust was clearing up, the growl of monsters close, death even closer. From under the rubble, at their feet, a lifeless hand reached out, untaken.

Heart and body in tatters, the two companions slowly rose amidst the ruins. Other silhouettes followed. Unsure, wobbling, fearful. The dust grew thinner and thinner. Before them lied an ocean of ruins, whose ebb and flow were born of the desperate struggle of people trying to break free from the stone waves. And like fishes caught in a whirlpool, the struggling survivors were easy pickings for winged predators…

Beyond the brown mist, blind and blood-thirsty Demonic Beasts trampled and pecked the rubble. Meanwhile, in the shadows of the pillars, the Knights dropped off the injured in exchange for weapons in the dreariest of silences to avoid detection. Whimpers and pleas could be heard close to the ground… Loud enough for the monsters to notice, but not enough to pinpoint their location yet.

But in this game of cat and mouse, there would be no winners.

Caught in the collapse, a Knight of Seiros tried to crawl away from the Beasts. He wormed his way out of the rubble, slithered amidst the debris – without a peep, careful not to make the pebbles screech under his weight. A sword was within his reach. Time worked against him.

Even covered in dirt, the faint sheen of his armour betrayed his position at the worst possible moment. Golden masks turned toward the soldier and the ground shook as they stampeded their way to their prey. The unmoving survivors didn’t have time to shout or distract or aim before a Demonic Beast pounced on their unlucky comrade and… A strangled scream pierced the air, so sharp it didn’t echo. In a split second, his life was brutally snuffed out before their eyes.

The hellish claws burrowed deep in the lifeless flesh and, after what felt like hours, the Demonic Beast released its prey with a nauseous quelching sound, blood pouring out of the armour like wine out of a barrel.

At last, the Cathedral erupted into chaos.

Battle cries rivalled the monstrous shrieks; survivors called for help in high-pitched screams or weary whispers; students demanded vengeance. In a flurry of dust and magic, the cruel battlefield seemed to breathe a life of its own.

“Bolganone!” the motherly voice of Mercedes rang out, and with it a column of fire magic strong enough to dispel the evil darkness and reveal the monsters’ aberrant weakness. Flying Demonic Beasts whose torn-off limbs bled profusely, their wings shredded to ribbons, fought to the rhythm of madness and lust with no regard for their integrity or mobility. There was nothing human nor animal left in the twisted creatures. Using the opening she created, the Knights rushed to take back control of the front line.

Meanwhile, from the infirmary came all the students who could stand despite their injuries. Hacking their lungs or limping, they made a beeline for the weapons racks regardless, grabbing long-range weaponry first, their mages getting in position to cast. Gone was the stupor, ignored was the pain – vengeance was all that remained. “Trash those vile Beasts!” a Golden Deer eructed as he unleashed his fury in the form of an arrow through the skull of his Demonic nemesis. The Beast’s head exploded in a firework of dirty ashes to mark his words.

In the nave, Flayn summoned blades of wind to cover herself and Ferdinand who had no weapon. The Black Eagle hurriedly looked around at the pews and the aisle… No luck there. The racks were pretty far, lined against the pillars where the civilians were hiding. Still, his eyes met those of a kitchen maid watching them from the shadows. Casting her fears aside, she ran toward the reserve where she grabbed a steel lance on the closest rack and threw the weapon at him with all her might. Ferdinand ran to catch it and bowed gracefully, before returning to Flayn’s side – or rather, putting himself between her and the monsters.

Together they stood in the central aisle, their combined forces the only rampart between the Demonic Beasts and the front gate the Imperial Army so desperately wished to break. “Not a single Beast shall pass through! We are sworn to protect you!” he proclaimed to their terrified audience of servants and orphans. Right on cue, the Beasts made a mad dash toward the duo. However, thanks to the Knights ready to intercept them and Flayn’s regular wind spells, their advance was slowed to a crawl. Only one managed to reach the duo. A manageable threat, they agreed after a shared glance. Then, they split up; Flayn crouched behind the pews to move toward a safer casting position, while Ferdinand annoyed the monster with his shiny lance.

It roared and tried to swallow him whole. As planned. Powerful and elegant, the young noble parried and dodged with a dancer’s sidesteps, the monster always in his line of sight. Every time the Beast tried to knock him down, the wing or talon encountered a sturdy lance. But, as soon as Flayn was safe, he drove the blade through the Flying Demonic Beast’s windpipes and slashed them wide open. With a bloody arabesque sparkling with embers, the monster went down.

Alerted by the noise, and closer than everyone else, Caspar rushed back inside the Cathedral through the East door. And stopped just as fast, hit by a wall of opaque smoke wherein growled Demonic Beasts. Goosebumps spread across his skin with a cold shiver. His frontliner’s intuition anchored his eager feet into the ground, refusing to take a step further in this den of devils. Come to think of it, the dust sprawling over the transept had such an acrid smell he could almost taste the demonic flames…

Waiting for an opening to smash his way to his comrades in need of rescuing, Caspar looked up through the dreary light at a lone figure in the air. Like him, Seteth needed more visibility to strike the first blow. Like him, his knuckles turned white against the handle of his weapon in bleak anticipation. Good. He wouldn’t be fighting alone. Time passed agonisingly slowly, the seconds trickling down with the tiles falling like raindrops from the roof into the Cathedral, until the air cleared up enough to catch a glimpse of the unfortunate people trapped under the collapse of the dome.

Trapped in a monster’s grasp.

The defenders saw red.

Their restraints long forgotten, the defenders charged into the melee, Seteth diving from the sky, Caspar diving in, axe eager and gleaming. Where the choir used to sing, the song of unsheathed steel resounded. All at once, the building tension was released in a cathartic chaos born of passion, fear and love. There was only a burning desire to live and to steal this last golden glimmer of hope from the maws of death, hiding in the rays of a midday sun. Not only did they fight up and close with the artificial Beasts, but high above, the pegasus knights also circled the gap in the roof to buy them time. The race to save their friends had just begun. With a raw war cry, Caspar led the charge.

At the same time across the transept, the son of the Shield of Faerghus lived up to his legacy. Without a wasted movement, he threw himself in front of the fiery breaths with his Relic, closing the distance despite the heat to perform the deadliest sword dance. His sword cut through wings like paper and pierced chests as easily as pins pierce cloth; his shield protected the wounded in their retreat. In this hellscape, Felix displayed the results of years of dedicated training and the truth of his chivalrous ideals.

Lorenz followed on his heels, ready to bombard the battlefield with long-range magic. His spells would be welcome among the current fighting force primarily made up of the Knights of Seiros and Golden Deer students. Yet he found himself tending to the people Felix helped escape from the clutches of death with what little Faith magic he knew, utterly unable to turn a blind eye to their predicament. As a noble, he ought to protect them – just like he did when he helped a reluctant Leonie, once. Whereas his comrades could continue the fight, he was the only one able to provide decisive first aid, thus he made it his mission to assist them. When Felix noticed, he sternly sent the evacuees his way. The sooner he got everyone who could move out of the Beasts’ way, the sooner their healers, Lorenz included, could help them end this slaughter.

Backed against the bars protecting the ceremonial altar, Mercedes proved to be made of a stronger steel – there was no doubt nor hesitation in her form, only blaze after blaze of magic to reduce the intruders to cinders, the chain of attacks only broken by a Physic spell once in a while. On the stairs, gathered at her feet, a few soldiers depended on the Blue Lion’s flames to keep the unholy monsters at bay. Were she to miss, the consequences would be dire… yet her faith never wavered. This was her domain.

Still, things could go awry at any moment – like a Beast about to test its flames against hers, for instance.

“You’re no match for her!” Caspar shouted as he swung his axe which connected at the nape of the Beast, lopping its head off in one fell swoop. Gooey blood sprayed his arms, though he paid it no mind. The monster disappeared like a mirage, and he jumped right back into the melee, knowing his classmates had his back, always.

Alas, on the other side, Ferdinand wasn’t as lucky with the second Beast who appeared to be the strongest of the pack, a true apex predator with its wings intact and skin hard as steel. The Golden Deer archers were too busy covering the wounded and knights near the transept to be of any help, especially with the damned mist still lingering in the Cathedral. Nobody realised the danger he was in, save for Flayn.

Alas, her magic didn’t do any significant damage either. So when her Cutting Gale ricocheted on the Demonic Beast, Ferdinand braced for impact, lance pointed at the enemy; the shock came sooner than expected and his boots skidded on the floor, completely unable to stop the monster’s momentum. How could the Beast impale itself and keep going…?! Ferdinand held his breath under the strain. The blade lodged itself in the creature’s pectoral muscles, irritating as a splinter. Suddenly, the heir of Aegir was forced to acknowledge how weakened he was – a steel weapon should have been enough to slay the foe; yet it stood, pushing him back. Flabbergasted, he stared at the weapon rendered useless in his arms, then looked up at the inscrutable golden mask. The Flying Demonic Beast flapped its wings furiously, and he just knew it was seriously annoyed at the puny human trying to stab its chest…

The leader of the Black Eagles blinked. The next thing he did know, he was dangling three stories high in the air, still holding onto the shaft of his lance in a vice grip. High enough to see the sculpted acanthus leaves at the top of the Cathedral’s columns. A blank feeling washed over the tired Ferdinand. Sure, he should have let go, but how was he supposed to unlearn the first lesson his fighting instructor drilled into his head and muscle memory? So there he was on his maiden flight with a Demonic Beast hellbent on murdering him. The colour draining from his face, Ferdinand shot a look of quiet panic at Flayn, who was nervously holding the Caduceus staff – range wasn’t issue; she just couldn’t cast her spell without hurting him, to say nothing of the fall… They shared a Look. And now what?

First, he needed to calm down. However unexpected the situation was, they had learned many tips and tricks at the Officers Academy – mostly courtesy of the eccentric Professor Byleth. Ferdinand in particular, in fact. Sure, he had foolishly challenged wild Beasts to prove himself, but her flawless form was etched in his mind, her resourcefulness a goal to strive toward. It was just one Beast. And if he couldn’t get out of this mess after everything, he was simply unworthy of being her pupil.

The demonic bat didn’t wait for him to make up his mind to go on the offensive. In its mind, Ferdinand was nothing but a parasite clinging to its chest, an unwanted pest, a load to be crushed. It flew into a pillar, gripped it with its claws, tried to squish Ferdinand against the stone and drive the lance into him instead – but Ferdinand wiggled away and kicked the Beast for its trouble. The razor claws almost got his feet while the threat of fire breath loomed above him. No matter what he did, he was doomed.

That’s when his hair started floating with static. And before he could think, a bolt of thunder magic traversed the entire length of the Cathedral, loud enough to break the sound barrier. Startled, the Beast took flight, disoriented and foaming – Ferdinand held onto dear life, along for the ride. There, hanging near the ceiling, he had the best view of the Cathedral’s layout. At the entrance stood the marvellous Thoron caster… Surely, she had come to check on the tremor in the Cathedral on behalf of the Aegir Magic Corps. Nonetheless, her own magic had come in a clutch. The Thoron spell had left an empty fuming trail from the entrance all the way to the altar. The defenders could finally deal with the Beasts flooding in from the hole in the dome. As the Beast holding him hostage dove at full speed to fling him into a pillar, Ferdinand still couldn’t help but smirk proudly at the true ace in his class.

Dorothea had often dreamed of walking down the aisle, her hair done and adorned with pearls, diamonds twinkling below her ears, a glossy-white dress pooling at her feet like foam on the sunlit beaches of Enbarr. Instead, she was running in heavy male warlock robes and spartan dancer sandals in the monster-laden Cathedral, the sound of her racing heartbeat drowned out by the echo of countless explosions and screams, and the sting of thunder magic still numbing her fingers.

Her heart missed a beat every time the Flying Demonic Beast crashed into a pillar, for among the chaos, her songstress’ ears could easily pick out the gasps of pain of this person. Yet there was nothing she could do without Ferdinand getting in the crossfire. In the meantime, he clutched his lance, not afraid of Beasts nor heights; the time to jump off a survivable height would come. Praying for this opportunity to arise, Dorothea focused on the fight ahead of her. Where she had wiped out an entire row of Demonic Beasts, a slew of them had taken back their place in the central aisle. She had closed the distance at an impressive speed; therefore, she stopped her run in the middle of the nave. She wouldn’t need to supercharge her spell to slaughter the Beasts this time…

The next thunderclap blinded all who fought in the Cathedral.

If it was about range, Dorothea had a contender, for at last, the heir of Gloucester was done with helping the wounded. Thanks to Thyrsus, Lorenz directed his arrows of light toward any moving target and provided precise support where Mercedes was forced to use fire as a shield, or Flayn blasting scathing winds across large areas. As for the physical arrows of the Golden Deer, they eradicated the Beasts who managed to get past the defence of Ingrid’s team on the roof, giving Seteth more wiggle room to fight inside the Cathedral. Their level of coordination was spectacular – on par with the strength of their bonds, perhaps.

So why were they struggling? Even with Caspar on the offensive, even with Felix acting as a shield! There was Seteth to control the air, Mercedes and Flayn to control the flow of battle, and yet… Oh, Lorenz realised, and his heart sank a little. Without a cool-headed commander like the Professor, they were lost to chaos and rage and instincts. While they managed to rescue people and contain the Beasts mostly to the transept, they made little progress, sustained foolish injuries too. What they needed was a leader, and the one appointed to the Cathedral was missing. No luck with the pile of rubble, Ferdinand’s red hair was nowhere to be seen, so where could he be if he yet lived? His voice distorted with horror still rung in his ears…

By chance, Lorenz found the answer to the question haunting him as he looked up, intrigued by the mad Beast seemingly trying to destroy the Cathedral rather than its inhabitants. Unfortunately, he also almost died of a heart attack. Why, his friend was seconds away from falling to his death! Horrified, he called out his name, for someone to please help him, hurry!

While the Beasts seemed to have a strange appetite for Seteth who faced against the horde, the other bearer of Cichol’s Crest, also flying – rather unwilling might we add – was engaged in an epic struggle of his own. Ferdinand did not concede before the fury of the Beast, just ten cramped fingers away from a lethal encounter with the ground. True, he might not have Edelgard’s superhuman strength, nor did he pack a punch like Caspar. The noble Black Eagle prided himself in his riding skill instead, something that came with unique perks among his classmates – you know, things like thighs of steel and a core strong enough to stop a Beast trying to fling you across a room. When it tried to hit him with its wings, he put up his legs and took no damage. When he was almost crushed against a pillar, his lower half resisted the pressure. Even if his arms were sore, the Beast wouldn’t be easily rid of him.

Nevertheless, his resistance couldn’t last forever. Unless he had a weapon, he had no way of going down. More importantly, his strength… was fading. His fingers tingled from the lack of blood, his insides squeezed like jelly. But if he didn’t save himself right now, there would be no more time to think ever. He would push through. Because if he had one undisputable quality, it was perseverance. Well-rounded students like him were no prodigy, on the contrary – they overcame their weaknesses through the truest of efforts. It never mattered if it hurt – what he put his mind to, he achieved. And all the blunders he made in assessing the Flame Emperor situation wouldn’t erase that.

Gritting his teeth, Ferdinand began to swing his body like a pendulum, building momentum to throw his legs upwards and across the wiry neck of the Beast. He made it on the second try, with beads of sweat rolling down his back. The talons failed to shred him. When the Beast took a plunge, he let go of the lance and pulled himself upward… His hands latched onto the neck and, against all odds, Ferdinand found himself relatively safely secured on the back of the monster.

He was riding a Flying Demonic Beast.

With no way down.

However, from this position, he could take a look at the Cathedral and call for help – not that he needed to. Thanks to Lorenz, help was on the way, in the most unexpected way possible. Listening to his close friend’s panic, the Prince of Faerghus had stopped his mad rampage to look at him. Dimitri’s gaze pierced him from afar, his intentions clear as day, as he bent his knees, pulled his arm back, aimed… and threw his silver lance across half the Cathedral like most students threw paper birds in class. The metal made a sharp whistle as it soared like a meteor while Ferdinand released his stranglehold on the monster’s neck and, rather than resume fighting, Dimitri and Lorenz closely watched over the weapon’s course and hopeful destination.

Time slowed down as the lance was deftly caught by the fearless rider. Both Kingdom and Alliance students returned to their own battles while their Adrestian counterpart assessed his options in a decisive handful of seconds. And brandished the silver weapon, held with both hands above his head…

… and thrust down with all his might to pierce through the defences of the Flying Demonic Beasts! The sudden sharp pain and lance through the body pushed the monster to thrash about with the human stubbornly clinging to its back. As the wings slowly dissipated into dust, the beast lost altitude, bringing it closer to the columns which Ferdinand eyed expectantly. At last, the rodeo came to an end, the beast blown to bits, defeated – stable. The leader of the Black Eagles got up on the monster’s back.

And the scales on which he was standing evaporated before he could jump to safety, much like Cyril before him.

The loud sound of metal clashing against stone reverberated against the towering walls of the Cathedral. When Dorothea looked back, merely two rows behind her, Ferdinand was there. Lying down on his stomach, his face turned the other way. Unmoving. The coldest chill ran down her spine as she instinctively called out the oft-heard name and ran. Before she knew it, she was kneeling at his side.

“Ferdinand?” she repeated in quiet disbelief.

To her surprise, he groaned in response, merely too stunned to move yet. There was no time to waste; thus Dorothea cast a Heal spell on him. Ferdinand struggled to rise on his forearms and fell back on the dusty floor with a whine. It wasn’t nearly enough to invalidate the damage he sustained from the fall. At all. She continued to fuss helplessly over him; meanwhile, a Demonic Beast took a keen interest in the lonely prey they made…

“Leave me,” Ferdinand muttered through gritted teeth, his whole body screaming in agony. He… he wasn’t sure where he was injured anymore. The pain felt like a blur dissolving his muscles and searing his bones raw, yet he couldn’t fathom to put the songstress in any more danger. Not after what he did to Caspar the day before. Rather than get up, Ferdinand then tried to stretch; and it almost worked. By the time he was on his knees, holding himself vaguely upward on the shaft of his lance, his vision was growing dark, his breathing laboured. Dorothea’s voice reached him as nothing more than a watery echo. So when he heard her shout through the cotton in his head, he flinched in surprise.

The songstress had taken a deep breath, opened her diaphragm, stood up straight. Her voice easily carried over the din of battle. “Mercie!” she cried out.

Her response came in a Physic spell washing over Ferdinand’s wounds and bringing back the light into his eyes. Her helpful smile from across the Cathedral was a sight for sore eyes, they both thought. Ready to put her blessing to good use, the noble scion resumed his fighting stance to shield his comrade.

“This Beast shall fall before the might of our forces combined!” he boasted to lift her spirits – perhaps his, too.

“Sure, Ferdie,” she chided him with an exasperated smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Yet it was neither Dimitri’s sudden support nor Ferdinand’s unexpected return that wholly caught the defenders’ attention. Since the Flying Demonic Beasts couldn’t breach the formation of pegasus knights guarding the broken ceiling of the Cathedral, they, along with the Imperial flying units, gunned for the path of least resistance… first by running away. Stunned, Ingrid stammered the order for some of her comrades to follow, but it was too late. Beasts and flying units broke into the Cathedral via the high-ceiling doors on each side of the transept before the bewildered eyes of students and knights. They already had their hands full with the Beasts inside, and now there were more? Accompanied by human enemies?

It the enemy played the reinforcements card, they could do that too. Plus, they had dealt with most of their foes on the terrasses…

Thus back up arrived in droves, right on the heels of the Empire’s troops. It was utter chaos, layers of allies and foes sandwiched in a suffocating hallway filled with monsters whom they fought on unsteady ground, atop a pile of rubble and corpses.

Under the Professor’s guidance, the Golden Deer had fought in their fair share of holy or narrow battlefields; yet nothing could have prepared them to face this hell on earth. At last, they understood Byleth’s sorrow at being called the Ashen Demon. Who could take pride in a heartless nickname earned in such sinister circumstances…? When she patiently corrected their stance, when she repeated a tricky part of the lesson, was it to prepare them in case they ever had to face struggles similar to her own? Didn’t all good teachers, like nurturing parents, try to spare their students of the pain they had to experience?

When Felix dodged a lance that would have decapitated him thanks to her realistic mercenary training, he made a note to properly thank her one day. Then, he noticed Annette had come to help as well, and he put up the Shield of Fraldarius as she casted a whirlwind on the humongous creatures. Disoriented, they easily fell to Hilda’s Relic. Unlike her usual self, the girly warrior saved her complaints, a rare anger burning in her eyes. While they fought, Sylvain turned back toward the unguarded door where more enemies made their way in – well, not anymore. Hanneman’s Reason classes had borne fruit, giving him the power to stop the invasion with an amplified Bolganone. Nevertheless, an Imperial Falcon Knight pushed her luck and flew through the wall of flames, only to be hit by the arrows of light Lorenz summoned. Full of spite, the rider threw her lance at him, which he didn’t dodge entirely; and blood gushed out of his arm with a cry of surprise more than pain he had no time to register. Fortunately, Mercedes kept a close watch on her comrades and healed him from the top of the stairs to the altar, where she was also trying to protect the wounded people gathered around her. However, they were trapped, with their situation worsening by the minute. It wouldn’t be long before she ran out of energy to cast offensive spell to defend them all… But before doubt had time to settle in her mind, Dedue appeared. With a calmness unique to him, he nodded for her to be at ease: His Highness’s shield could protect more than one man.

Said man was fighting with little regard for his own life, lost to memories of death and fire all around him, repeating themselves in the present. Unfortunately, as – sadly – experienced as Dimitri was on the battlefield, even he wasn’t immune to mistakes and misfortunes. Claude’s misadventure should have been a warning. When he tried to jump, a felled Beast dropped onto his back; Dimitri tripped before the monster turned to dust and a Wyvern Lord seized the opportunity to strike at the defenceless prince. His axe was raised above Dimitri’s neck.

The axe blow never landed. Hidden behind a pillar, Flayn blasted the enemy with cutting winds, creating a safe zone for Dimitri to get up, in the eye of the storm. Surprised and shaken, he looked left and right before noticing her; and a small smile briefly illuminated his face with gratitude before he resumed the fight. Noticing how wind could form a barrier around their comrades in need, Linhardt imitated Flayn’s spells, though without the Caduceus, he had to come dangerously close to the melee. Thankfully, the Knights of Seiros had him covered. Catherine zapped across the transept with Fulgurant in hand, owning up to her nickname of Thunder Catherine. And, inspired by the Holy Knight of Seiros of his childhood dreams, Caspar stepped up his game, aiming to maim and weaken the Beasts as fast as possible rather than tediously go for the kill. With how many people there were, anyone would be able to finish off the monsters.

Similarly, Dorothea shocked the human and monster enemies with lightning for Ferdinand to finish off. By that point, he had exchanged the dulled silver lance for one he looted from a dead Adrestian Falcon Knight. While the Duke’s troops continued to defend the bridge, unable to send another messenger after Dorothea (who never returned, and from what they could hear, they could guess why), others joined in the fight, like Manuela. Armed with a silver blade, she made an entrancing addition to their troops. She instinctively dodged and sunk her sword in the perfect openings as if she could read the flow of battle like a choreography. And in a pinch, Gilbert often shielded his vulnerable comrades.

The battle didn’t last much longer, thanks to all the elite defenders then gathering inside the Cathedral. With everyone’s forces combined, the Imperial forces were annihilated. Grovelling on the rubble, the last Beast got up on shaking limbs and stretched its wings riddled with holes like lace eaten by moths. Silver shone across its neck; Seteth landed the final blow.

But the deed was done. For the defenders couldn’t recover from such a blow – to their morale, to their stronghold, to their people. All in a single morning. The Imperial Army retreated.

The battle was over.

… Was it? Even though all fighting had undeniably ceased, uncertainty fleeted in the ranks. The defenders breathed in the scent of iron and clay and sheer hopelessness… A dreary light flooded the nave, caught up in a cloud of monster dust and debris as far as the eye could see. It was the aftermath of a carnage. Wooden shards and shattered blue tiles littered the dented marble floor, coated with blood, among other lost mementos. A torn-off bridle from an unlucky rider. A lone stirrup. Broken claws from wyverns and monsters alike.

In the doomed Cathedral where one would have expected to hear the broken wails of children, silence reigned. Even they felt the gravity of the situation unfolding around them, of History being made. Wordlessly, they clung to their caretakers, unable to take their eyes off the giant hole above their heads…

Meanwhile, all the able-bodied servants, priests, nuns of the Monastery moved as one to rescue the people still stuck under rubble. Just as swiftly, the Knights rushed to protect them from falling debris. Steel clattered on the ground. At last, the students let go of their weapons and joined in the rescue effort.

Among the first to rush in was Felix, who handed the Aegis Shield to Annette while he pulled a man from under the rubble. Dedue grabbed Dimitri’s shoulder to force him under the protection of his shield, but the prince continued to lift the rocks without a care for his own safety as if possessed.

Perhaps the greatest tragedy was that the roof fell exactly where the defenders had been gathering their injured comrades. As expected, most of them didn’t have the strength nor time to escape a grisly fate. To die crushed by the dome, or to suffocate under the rubble… The unluckiest souls survived the collapse only to be mangled or burned by the masked Demonic Beasts, condemned to a slow agony from their various wounds…

And yet, a flicker of hope breathed life within the desolate Cathedral when both Felix and Alois pulled out the remaining survivors. “Everyone, don’t lose heart yet!” said the Captain of the Knights of Seiros. “Our friends need help!”

Soldier or not, everyone heard him loud and clear. Desperation shifted into something else… Defiance. They refused to be buried under the veil of death yet. Because, despite all their best efforts… the Empire couldn’t bury them all. And under Gilbert’s and Alois’s guidance, they pulled out the victims one by one and moved them away from the disaster area to be looked after by their precious healers. Unfortunately, they had to be laid down in the aisles for triage – the infirmary could only accept so many patients.

And there were so many…

Desperate times might call for desperate measures. However, inside the tortured Cathedral, the Goddess’s believers chose otherwise. They might not be able to save everyone – they were only human, after all – but they could come close if they believed… no, worked hard enough. Looking ahead with determination, two female students, one in front of the altar, the other in the middle of the nave, let a peaceful power descend upon them…

“Goddess, answer this faithful prayer!” Mercedes said.

“O Divine Sothis, grant a miracle upon your weary believers!” Flayn prayed, calling upon the ancient power dwelling within her blood. White magic drummed in her veins; her body was enveloped in a cape of light, runes and sigils formed a holy circle… However, it still wasn’t enough for what they were hoping to accomplish. She clasped her hands and brought them before her lips. More importantly, she grounded her feet on sacred ground – right above the Holy Tomb. Thus, the Nabatean whispered a prayer: “O Progenitor of mine, guardian of starlight, may you give me strength.”

Like a beating heart, her Major Crest started to pulsate with power. For Saint Cethleann was unabashedly kind and brave, she didn’t hide a power if it could save those in need. Therefore, sensing the depth of her resolve, Mercedes managed to match her power with that of the Minor Crest of Lamine magnified by her own selfless devotion. There was a surge of light where their magic connected – and their Faith was rewarded at last.

“Fortify!” they casted in unison.

Holy waves of White magic flooded the Cathedral in an explosion of light, healing all minor injuries and mild annoyances, mending broken bones, stitching gaping wounds, opening the eyes of the dying to greet them with a warm, non-blinding holy glow. Indeed, the spectacle was nothing short of magical: stark light gently seeped out through the open doors, roof, and windows, as if it were honey on a stick. Garreg Mach itself seemed to breathe a rejuvenating breath into its loyal protectors… A comforting presence, an intangible embrace. When Mercedes and Flayn lowered their arms, the magic slowly dissipated into sparkles of light that rose to the heavens rather than fall like shooting stars.

The gravely injured would pass in peace. As for the rest, they would survive, although with invisible scars. Yet, for a non-believer, this wondrous display did nothing to soothe their soul. Corpses were still strewn everywhere. Blood pooled under the rubble, mixed with dust, turned to mush. Severed limbs and a one-winged pegasus laid on top of the pile, covered in grime. They lived, yes. But at what cost?

Dorothea’s eyes welled up. If that sight announced the tone of the war to come, as Duke Aegir announced… It foretold a tale of casualties, young and old. Of people from Adrestia, Faerghus, and Leicester, shedding the self-same tears and blood. Of their loyal animal companions lying mutilated on the ground.

And yet, in the Cathedral that had lost all its holiness, a sprout of humanity remained. She could weep at the kindness of Flayn and Mercedes. Then, as all the defenders gathered inside, checking on each other, thanking strangers, enquiring about their friends, many a poignant reunion happened – all in a quiet murmur, regardless of appearances and status.

For parents, it was Gilbert patting Annette’s head, bridging an invisible gap between them. It was Duke Aegir pinching Ferdinand’s cheeks and crushing him in a hug in the same beat. It was Seteth breaking into tears of joy at the sight of Cyril, whom he embraced with the same affection and pride he did Flayn.

Students from every house ran to tell their classmates that everyone was safe and sound in a certain team. Students from every house wept over shared losses for the whole Officers Academy. In tears and accolades, they stood as one.

No stranger to misfortune, Dorothea shed a single tear before the theatre of real-life tragedy.

___

At last, dust and reality settled in the Cathedral. The besieged had defeated the onslaught of wyvern and pegasus riders, slayed swarms of Demonic Beasts, survived the collapse of the dome. They had done everything right, sustained far fewer casualties, lost no terrain. And yet, they were the ones crying over civilian deaths. They were the ones tending to the injuries of children. The stench of fire and death lingered around the Cathedral alone. Their efforts had been in vain before the Imperial Army.

They had lost the battle.

With their heads held high, the defenders of Garreg Mach finally raised a pure white banner at the Cathedral’s entrance. There was nothing to be ashamed of: they had given the defence their all. History would remember how the graduates of the Officers Academy resisted the strongest military in Fódlan for days and surrendered on their own terms. And yet, the three houses couldn’t hold back their tears in the aftermath of this bittersweet defeat… At their side, the defeated Knights also wept over this unfair outcome for the bravest defenders Garreg Mach Monastery could have ever hoped for.

Long minutes passed where the healers did their job in a silence only interrupted by hiccups and sobs. The dead were aligned behind the safety of the columns, where the roof wouldn’t cave in, faces covered with the lace handkerchiefs of the grieving students and clergy. All the death and destruction around them, so sudden and so fast, left them aghast. The only word that came out of a student’s mouth was Dimitri’s quiet “Sorry” to the fallen.

That day, all students shared the same feeling of powerlessness, and the same indelible hatred toward the Imperial Army. They would never be able to fully forgive its use of devastating force to speed up an inevitable surrender.

While everyone mulled the losses, Seteth gathered Alois, Duke Aegir, and Count Varley in order to send an emissary to discuss their surrender. It had to be one of them, if they wanted to be recognised by the Imperial emissary.

It didn’t take them long to choose, however. Filled with rage at the Cathedral’s destruction on top of his recent hatred for the Vestras, the devout Count pushed through the fatigue to volunteer, with the Prime Minister’s approval. Plus, Varley still had his title and wasn’t technically part of the Church, so the enemy would probably acknowledge him. Still worried, Seteth peered behind the Cathedral’s doors to see a white flag floating on the other side of the bridge, signalling their willingness to parley. An unarmed Imperial emissary came forth and stopped midway on the bridge where hundreds of arrows and heaps of ashes were still strewn everywhere as a testament to their fierce resistance.

After they all took a peak outside, they recognised that man’s armour. A War Master clad in gold, brown, and burgundy. Varley’s face lit up with a smirk, like he was grinding his teeth. “General Otto von Bergliez deigns to grace us of his presence at long last,” he said.

“We’re in luck. Otto is the most reasonable General in the Empire. He will listen to our terms,” Duke Aegir assured them. “Celian, I beg you, our lives hang in the balance there. Control your murderous intent.”

But the days of House Varley’s subservience to the Crown were over. “I will give them all a piece of my mind!” the Minister of Religious Affairs snarled with the same ferocity Dimitri displayed on the battlefield.

Then, he loudly threw his quiver and bow to the ground, took a deep steadying breath, and put on his noble mask – smoothing his face to show no lingering fury, radiating an oppressing aura of moral superiority. At first, he merely mimicked Ludwig’s assurance as their house leader; nowadays, there was no doubt the copy had longed surpassed the original. All in all, Celian was done mopping around. In the name of the Goddess, he would rip the moral victory from the Empire’s clutches, and remind Otto von Bergliez of his place in the pecking order of the former Black Eagles.

At rock bottom.

The Cathedral door opened for the Minister of Religious Affairs who strode forward fearlessly toward the portcullis. While the last line of defence was slowly being lifted, the eyes of the Angel of Death bore holes into the invaders’ souls.

Most of the students, knights, and clerics gathered on the terrasses to observe the final showdown between two of the highest Imperial officials, the conclusion to this inhumane battle. The invading soldiers similarly gathered on the opposite balconies to watch the negotiations unfurl with the morbid curiosity of people who hadn’t been fighting for their lives. It was common knowledge in Adrestia that these two Ministers never openly clashed, thus it was an “event” in its own right.

Finally the way was clear and Count Varley stepped forward purposefully on the bridge without so much at a glance at all the corpses, arrows, and debris strewn along his path, his gaze firmly locked on the enemy General.

Remembering his midnight encounter with Ludwig, he noticed how the wind had quieted down to a murmur on the bridge where all eyes were on him. The Empire expected a contrite surrender; a spectacle to stroke its ego. How foolish. The Imperial nobility knew but one surrender: death. House Varley itself had survived the fall of the Southern Church before – this was nothing but a small setback, as the common masses would soon understand.

In the middle of the bridge, Count Bergliez was readying himself for parley against a formidable foe.

But Celian wouldn’t let his mighty opponent strike the first blow. As he descended the Cathedral’s steps, he shot first, his voice carried by the strong echo. “How can you condone the Emperor’s boorish tactics?” Varley said, skipping the formalities expected of the defeated party to take a jab at his old classmate instead. A shocked murmur rippled across the Imperial Army – the audacity of that traitor! Traditions dictated for envoys to properly introduce themselves and acknowledge defeat, and yet, this one strode forward like a conqueror!

“Princess Edelgard had no military training whatsoever before attending the Officers Academy, and it shows,” he criticised with pity, mocking the young Emperor. An arrow snapped under his step, and his tone shifted to an eerily quiet threat. “You set fire to the holiest place in all of Fódlan. You deployed Demonic Beasts to destroy the heart of the Faith. The sky fell on the women and children who sought asylum there, to say nothing of the noble students and Church officials also taking refuge inside. In this hallowed place, the Goddess bears witness to all your sins.”

His faith was neither act, nor exaggeration. Despite themselves, the soldiers reeled from the Count’s condemnation of their sins. Anywhere else those accusations would have been easily dismissed as the ramblings of a zealot; but here, the words of the Minister of Religious Affairs carried weight equal to the grandeur of the Cathedral at his back. The edifice still stood, majestic and immaculate, despite their best efforts to burn the place to the ground… They were but puny, inconsequential mortals. The Church had not fallen today.

Conquerors as they were, they had made the damming mistake of trespassing on Count Varley’s domain. Silence fell within the Imperial ranks. Years away from the Court had made people forget the fear they ought to feel in the presence of all the Ministers: like Gerth, the peerless conspirator; Hevring, the bureaucrat who joined the Insurrection when Bergliez didn’t; Aegir, the patron of the arts who plotted a bloodless coup; and Varley, the Church’s mouthpiece who ruined countless social climbers’ dreams.

Even Otto seemed to realise that their meeting in front of the Cathedral was a terrible mistake.

“I wonder how the believers will view your actions within the Empire…,” Count Varley mused, taking great delight in their sudden terror, “or how Her Majesty’s subjects will support a General who must rely on foul Demonic Beasts to secure a certain victory against the students of the Officers Academy. The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus will surely get a nice boost in morale to eradicate the ungrateful heretics who ravaged the Church. And I bet you can justify yourself to the Alliance Roundtable when they learn you bombarded their children inside this holy sanctuary. Now tell me: should I pity you for serving an incompetent ruler against your will, or are you dumb enough to pledge your loyalty to someone who would order you to kill your own kin?”

Celian’s last step concluded his speech within arm’s reach of the legendary Imperial General.

An annoyed smile first answered him, then Otto von Bergliez finally raised his voice, without need of the echo’s help. “Your kind words remind me why I don’t miss you, Varley,” he said. “But allow me to address your concerns. Your life and Ministry are inconsequential to modern Adrestia,” Otto claimed, aiming for the throat right off the bat. From the murderous gleam in Celian’s eye, he got under his skin. Good, he thought. “The Empire rejects the Church’s authority and Crest supremacy henceforth. Mankind will reach glory without the help of false prophets. The people hailed Emperor Edelgard’s coronation and I too shall aid her in achieving her ambition. Thus, we marched on Garreg Mach.”

Count Bergliez, the Crestless General, then granted a look of acknowledgement to the youthful faces gathered on the Cathedral’s balconies. “Although your stubborn refusal of surrender forced our hand, you may pride yourself in making us deploy our best assets,” he openly praised the defenders. To his dismay, he didn’t find Caspar among the large crowd. No matter. He couldn’t let this fact distract him from the ongoing battle of words. “As for Faerghus’ animosity, it shall be quashed soon,” the Imperial General quietly boasted, focusing back on his rival. “We march on the Holy Kingdom as soon as we lift the siege. We’ll also urge the Alliance nobles to heed our warning and wilfully submit to the Imperial Army. It may just be the beginning, but I assure you I will see this war through. Because, regrettably for you, I find myself sharing the Emperor’s vision for Adrestia’s future. I shall support her dream until the end,” Otto declared for all to hear, careful not to name that dream of theirs, leaving it up to interpretation. Most would think of eradicating the Church as Edelgard so forcefully claimed – yet the Imperial students weren’t fooled. Among all nobles, House Bergliez was the most fervent advocate for Adrestia’s expansion – an ideal it shared with the Emperor – the old and the new one. It was something the self-centred Count Varley had no interest in, caring nothing beyond his territory’s borders as long as the rest of Fódlan respected the Church. Furthering the divide between the Imperial nobles and among the Ministers themselves…

Still, Celian dismissed his claim with a mere rise of the hand, shushing him as authoritative teachers did. “Let me start with the question of loyalty. No Southern Church does not mean no believers. The good people of Adrestia will never stand for the Emperor’s misguided ideals. A one-month-old reign is not enough to inspire lasting loyalty. You will sing another tune when the peasantry opposes the draft. And need I remind you who produces the army’s equipment? Your armour, your weapons? Varley will never fully surrender.”

This posed a bigger problem than some might realise: Varley territory also divided the Empire between west and east… With that ominous reminder, Count Varley hammered the first point in before moving onto the next without missing a beat. “Now, about your supposed superiority. You should seek General Ladislava and General Randolph. They learned first-hand how the might of the Heroes’ Relics and the morale of the righteous will always prevail, and you would be impudent to believe yourself above the Goddess’ chosen,” he proudly claimed, subtly pointing at House Bergliez’s lack of Crest to the assembly. What seemed like a good thing a minute ago turned into a weakness with a simple twist of words…

Fuelled by righteousness, the scathing envoy continued. “There is no need to elaborate on your miscalculation regarding the Roundtable if your Emperor is set on wearing blinkers. The Empire obviously does not share borders with the Alliance, so she will face no repercussions whatsoever,” he deadpanned. When the General finally tried to speak up, Celian simply talked over him. “Alliance nobles do not play long-term political games, as everybody knows. Only the Kingdom can destabilise the Empire,” he said with a played-up arrogance that shut up Otto for good. On the Cathedral’s balcony, Claude whistled, impressed. Maybe these troublesome Imperial guests might be of some use in the future if they could read the situation that well…

“What you told me did answer my question, though,” Count Varley sighed with a paternalistic look. “I pity you. Your hands are tied by wicked beast-tamers and a charismatic little girl. But enough talk about your catastrophic choice of allegiance,” he said. Jaws dropped when he gave a hearty pat on the General’s shoulder, leaving no doubt in the witnesses’ eyes as to whom had won this verbal joust. “I am here to discuss sensible terms of surrender,” he mentioned at long last, like some mere loose end to tie up. “We are reasonable people, after all. Merciful Seiros, at least they sent you to carry out the negotiations.”

Cold logic, unwavering faith, infantilisation, pity, Count Varley wielded each blade to gut his opponent’s pride with practiced ease. The Angel of Death wouldn’t settle for any less than the utter defeat of the other party, tearing the Emperor’s propaganda to shreds as well as the honour of its foremost general. More importantly, Celian knew this talk carried even more importance than their mere surrender – with all eyes on him, he could still rally indecisive Empire soldiers to their ranks…

From the humbled silence that followed on both sides of the bridge, he knew he’d reached his goal. But even though Otto’s charisma in battle far exceeded his, he only half-heartedly rebutted him today. As if the General was conceding that the rebellious Minister wasn’t entirely wrong in his assessment of the situation, or perhaps making up for the years he dutifully served the cruel Ionius instead of his friends…

“Much like your arrows, your words always find their target,” Otto von Bergliez acknowledged in all fairness. “A pity you deserted before we could put you under house arrest, because you are as much of a pain to deal with as I remember you to be.”

“I am delighted to hear I still meet your expectations,” Celian bragged while dramatically sweeping the monster dust off his sleeves.

On the Cathedral’s balcony, Dorothea couldn’t contain her incomprehension. “These guys are friends?” she asked in disbelief. “I think so,” Bernadetta hesitantly shrugged. Meanwhile, Ferdinand noticed his father do a little fist pump. It must be going well, then…?

Now that they had made a show of their respective positions, they lowered their voice to discuss the truce one-on-one. The tone immediately shifted to something more cordial, but no less serious. Negotiations wouldn’t take long. Both parties longed for nothing but rest after the battle, and the Ministers would take that into account.

“In exchange for our full surrender,” Count Varley began, “we demand a two-week truce so we may treat the wounded from this morning’s battle and bury our dead. You will grant us full access to the Monastery grounds so we can confirm everybody’s status. We will answer your demands of ransom. During this time, the students will be free to return to their respective territories unchallenged, and the Knights of Seiros will be free to evacuate the premises equally unharmed.”

“Two weeks is being generous,” Count Bergliez refused with a shake of the head. “We’ll give you until the seventh to leave the Monastery.”

“And whose fault is that? Our forces are exhausted for the remainder of the day. The roads are impassable – I can see the smoke all the way from here,” the Minister of Religion exclaimed, pointing at the town. “Your deadline is impossible to meet. Ten days, today included, and I will go no lower.” He crossed his arms to close the door to negotiation.

“I would be happy to let you go next week, but there are some opposing forces against your very survival,” Otto argued with sincere sympathy. Volkhard and Hubert immediately came to mind, among others. “I had to use my reputation to reach this compromise with all the powers at play here. Don’t be greedy now and accept my offer.”

“… So this is the state of politics in Enbarr. I understand,” he said, making a note to investigate later with Ludwig. It seemed the Minister of Military Affairs was facing fierce and murderous opposition even he had trouble quenching despite his authority. Celian accepted the offered hand and intel and stepped down. “Very well, we will be gone by the seventh of the Great Tree Moon. As a token of thanks, I will let you know Caspar is safe and sound. There were a few close calls, though you might want to ask him yourself.”

“Thank you. I knew the boy had it in him,” the General whispered to himself, unable to hide his pride and relief for his younger son. Count Varley made no further comment. They were lucky to have minimal losses, as if the Goddess had taken pity on her brave children. In the end, the Cathedral’s fall led to the swiftest and safest surrender. The battle was truly over, the victor unclear, allegiances already starting to shift. No one knew for sure how the next few days would play out.

“Could you tell your soldiers to retreat for today?” the Minister of Religious Affairs eventually asked. The unlucky defenders still had to pack everything that hadn’t been pillaged, wounds to tend to, missing people to find…

“Of course,” the General immediately agreed, aware of the logistics. “We’ll contact you shortly regarding ransoms. And as per our agreement, we’ll seize Garreg Mach Monastery on the seventh. You’d better be far then, because I have an arrest warrant for both you and Ludwig.”

“Duly noted. Farewell, Otto.”

“Farewell, and good luck, Celian. You’re with the underdogs now.”

Chapter Text

Imperial Year 1181, 2^nd of the Great Tree Moon

A fine dust still lingered in the air, filtering the sunlight like a mystical shroud smelling of spring, pine trees, and cool wind. Beneath that layer, the stinging scent of metal, from the weapon racks to the blood-soaked clothes and bandages, gave the scars in their souls a tangible feeling.

But most importantly, incense was lit all over the Cathedral to mask the stench of death. Once negotiations concluded with the Imperial Army withdrawing for the next few days, everyone got around to helping the wounded and lining up the dead for the last rites. In the aftermath of the siege, there were still so many things to be done… Still, all tasks weren’t so taxing – quite the contrary. Seteth spotted someone he ought to thank personally and hailed him. A bit startled, Ferdinand detached his gaze from the gaping hole in the ceiling and turned around.

“I had hoped to see you sooner,” Seteth started with a soft smile. “I have much to thank you for.”

Ferdinand’s gaze briefly drifted back to the ceiling. “There is no need to thank me. Flayn is a dear friend of mine,” he said, knowing what this was about. “I… I am just glad I had enough time to save her.”

A numb sadness weighed on him still. In the end, his desperate warning saved as many people as it didn’t.

“And yet, I must,” Seteth gently insisted. “Flayn is all the family I have left to protect. But the dome collapsed because of my own careless mistakes,” he bitterly admitted. “It’s only thanks to you that we kept the losses at a minimum. For saving everyone, and my sister, you have my eternal gratitude,” he thanked him, baring his heart to the leader of the Black Eagles. His genuine words moved him enough for Ferdinand to give an honest smile in return.

“I humbly accept your thanks,” he said, his voice low, almost embarrassed. Then, more amicably, he continued: “I understand how you feel. I have two younger sisters, a bit younger than Flayn. If anything happened to them, I would be beside myself with worry.”

“Are they quite as adventurous as my sister?” Seteth enquired, curious.

Ferdinand laughed. “I know they will be! Our poor father lost more hair to his children than Adrestia’s politics.” But my sisters are not the ones most at fault here…, he thought, unable to meet his teacher’s eyes.

“I can hardly picture you as a troublemaker, let alone any sibling of yours.”

The Aegir heir thought back on his conversation with Dorothea. The peace under his parents’ reign had truly dulled people’s perception of House Aegir and its past succession crisis. Of course, he had contributed. While Duke Aegir endeared his family to the public, Ferdinand only played the part of the dutiful son with his own father’s destitution in mind. He had been playing the long game before Edelgard’s war threw a wrench into his plans. Love didn’t forbid shrewdness in their relationship. As for his siblings…

“Ah, there you are!” Dorothea’s voice rang out.

He tried to call out to her when he suddenly froze.

Fittingly, the adrenaline crash hit him like a ton of bricks. The agony ripped his breath away. Pain shot in his limbs, twisted his insides, stole his senses. Losing his balance, he slumped forward on instinct. Seteth caught him. He and Dorothea spoke words he couldn’t understand until her healing magic loosened the vice around his lungs.

“That Demonic Beast threw him around like a ragdoll,” she told Seteth among other things he didn’t pick up.

His eyes glazed over. He swallowed a scream behind tightly shut lips, unable to utter a sound without betraying his condition.

“Can you walk?” one of them asked. Ferdinand nodded and took a step forward, held up on both sides, toward the infirmary in the chapel. Thankfully, they walked at his pace. They didn’t exchange unnecessary words. Eventually, they laid him down on a free cot and took off his armour so he could rest.

Dorothea undid the clasps and tided the armour next to the thin pillow while Seteth held her classmate in a sitting position. The clammy skin and fading consciousness were a bad omen. All the spells they had cast on him during the battle didn’t seem to have helped at all! Without waiting for Manuela to get to him, she checked him for remaining injuries and lifted his shirt.

Seteth stared in horror. At the countless bruises from being slammed against the walls and falling twice, blooming like poisonous ivy across his skin. At the bulging blotches of blood pooling under his skin near his stomach. And at the star-shaped scar in his middle, highlighting his veins a sickly purple hue… How could they send such a wounded child to battle, and worse still, expect him to lead others?

The answer was right before him, there in that busy infirmary. All the students who were supposed to rest had joined in the fighting. More than ideals, faith or loyalty, their bonds of friendship had given them the strength to overcome the pain to do what needed to be done.

Long ago, Cichol had left Zanado to know more about the world. And since then, his love for humanity had never faded, even in the aftermath of the Red Canyon tragedy, even on the blood-stained Tailtean fields. Because humans were as precious as Sothis’ sacrifice implied, and worthy of the world she rebuilt for Nabateans and humans both. His students reminded him of that truth now more than ever.

“Manuela, we need you!” he called for the expert physician who whirled around to meet them. She quickly ascertained the situation from Dorothea’s summary and, with his help, she poured an elixir down Ferdinand’s throat. It was the least they could do to stop the internal bleeding.

And fortunately, the strong remedy worked. The young noble reopened his eyes. Exhausted, but aware. “Thank you,” he succinctly said in a hoarse voice.

“Bed rest it is, and I won’t tolerate any objection this time,” the Divine Songstress firmly ordered.

Ferdinand just hummed. He was done protesting. There was only one thing left to do… With measured movements, he unpinned the house leader brooch from his shirt and firmly thrust it in Dorothea’s chest.

“Until I resume command, I appoint you leader of the Black Eagle house,” he declared with resolve and gravitas.

She grabbed onto his hand and the brooch, alarmed. “Ferdie, I’m not…”

“You are the only one I trust.” He winced, but pressed on. “Let it be known that I chose you for this task, and wear that badge with pride,” he said, straightforward and true. She was more than capable, and trusted not only by him, but their class as a whole. Plus, arrogant nobles and preachy church officials would have no choice but to defer to her in all matters regarding the Empire students because of that badge.

Dorothea didn’t shy away from any challenge life threw her way. She took a deep breath and pinned the brooch to the warlock’s robe she still wore. “I won’t let you down. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you to the healers and check on our classmates.”

“Please do. I’ll see you later.”

As soon as she left, Ferdinand surrendered to exhaustion and collapsed into the pillow. Manuela bandaged him and gave him more medicine he didn’t seem to notice. Once she was done with first aid, Seteth tucked him in, pensive.

For as long-lived as he was, he never once forgot to return a favour.

___

The leader of the Golden Deer was also doing the rounds to check on his classmates. A pair of lovebirds caught his eye.

The girl was a Blue Lion, and the third daughter of Duchess Ifan, one of the most influential nobles in the Kingdom. Sigrid Juliette Ifan was her name. As a graduate of the School of Sorcery, she fought as a warlock for her class. She had long dark blue hair she tamed in two low pigtails framing her slender neck, while her poofy fringe gave her hazel eyes a mischievous gleam. She fit right in with fellow alumni Mercedes and Annette with her warm heart and sweet smile. Claude wondered if, as Kingdom boys aspired to become virtuous knights, the girls aimed to become the light to warm the dark Kingdom nights…

She stood next to Lutz Romeo, the son of a minor family of knights serving House Riegan, and a promising sniper. Quite modest in looks and personality, he hid big grey eyes behind bangs the length of his silky straight chestnut hair. It made a poor veil for the softness at his core. Although he came from humble origins, he sincerely believed in the knightly ideals he had inherited. Knights who defected for House Riegan during the Crescent Moon War were precious and few, and Claude had been pleasantly surprised to find an unexpected loyal ally willing to follow him to the Officers Academy…

Together, they were known as the White Heron pair since they had confessed their mutual love on the night of the ball (to the embarrassing cheers and whistles of their elated classmates).

(… He might have arranged for the two to end up dancing together. He was the one who managed to drag their ever serious Teach to the dancefloor, after all.)

Nevertheless, the couple was a sight for sore eyes. And, if reports were to be believed, they had outdone themselves during the battle. Last he checked, they were supposed to rest in the infirmary! Lutz had collapsed from inhaling too much smoke while covering everyone’s retreat, and Sigrid reportedly suffered some serious burns. Claude was dying to know more. Slowly, he approached the pew where they sat and eavesdropped on their conversation.

“I’m alright, Sigrid. The others need my help.” Lutz’s words would have been more convincing weren’t they followed by a dry coughing fit.

“There’s nothing more we can do today,” the Blue Lion warlock caressed his cheek with infinite delicacy. Thanks to their shared values of knighthood, she understood his overwhelming sense of duty – and refused to let his self-sacrificing nature lead him to an early grave. This was no exaggeration. Long after the battle, Lutz was still struggling to catch his breath. Thankfully, her words were enough to persuade him. He lazily leaned into her hand as she spoiled him with head scratches.

“I just wish we could have saved more people…” he whispered wearily into her shoulder.

She stopped petting him to lift his face in her hands. “Lutz,” she murmured, “when we lied there in wait of the disaster to befall us, you reached for your bow and challenged that fate. Even though you could hardly breathe, you showed us the only right thing to do. I am so very proud of you.”

He took her face into his calloused hands in return. “And I of you,” he spoke softly. “Don’t worry about me,” he smiled at last.

“I’ll always worry about you. As long as I do, I know there is hope yet.”

Now Claude felt genuinely bad for interrupting their tender respite. Luckily, they noticed him and let go of each other.

“It’s nice to see you, Claude,” the Golden Deer sniper warmly greeted him.

“Sorry to disturb you two. I just wanted to know how you are holding up. Reports say you both fought against the Demonic Beasts in spite of your wounds, is that right?”

Sigrid’s eyes twinkled with enthusiasm and pride. “He was the first to rally us,” she cheerfully recounted. “When he screamed for us to fight, I felt my fatigue melting away!”

“You did? Impressive,” Claude whistled, toning down the compliment for his modest classmate with the appearance of a joke.

“Trash those vile Beasts!” Sigrid happily quoted, pumping her fist into the air in a manner reminiscent of Annette.

“And trash them we did,” Lutz added in a teasing tone. His eyes brimmed with determination like Leonie’s. As a House leader, Claude couldn’t be prouder. It wasn’t just him, but all of their classmates who had tremendously grown in a year.

“You’ve done more than your fair share of work for today. I came to inform you that all the wounded are exempt from chores for the remainder of the day,” he insisted. “Sit back and relax. You’ve earned it.”

“Are you sure, Claude?” Lutz asked, straightlaced as always. He was always the last one to unwind at feasts (well, fancy meals in the dining hall).

“I mean it. And if you don’t heed my orders, I’ll have Hilda force you to rest.”

At that, Sigrid giggled. “Then we’ll take you up on the offer. Some fresh air would be nice.”

Before anyone could protest regarding his health, Lutz lifted her effortlessly in a bridal carry, inadvertently pulling up her robe to her knees. Claude pretended not to notice the heavy bandages still wrapped around the burns on her legs. She had fought even though she still couldn’t walk on her own…

“Good idea. The air here is too foul to breathe,” the smitten Golden Deer concurred with a cough for good measure. His Blue Lion lover threw her hands around his neck and held him in a loose embrace, before resting her head against his shoulder.

They were awfully precious, Claude thought. He waved them goodbye and returned to his rounds, a bit of a spring in his step. Young love really gave people wings, didn’t it?

The Golden Deer later found the White Heron pair at the fishing pond, resting as instructed. Sitting at the edge of the pier, Sigrid let the pond water cool down the burns and blisters on her legs. She watched fish swim beneath her feet as she recalled the grand fishing tournament the Professor won. What fun they had had this year, she thought, Lutz fast asleep in the sun by her side… His chest rose and fell peacefully, the motion mesmerising.

She still wasn’t ready for this chapter of her life to end.

___

Order was slowly restored within the Cathedral. Since Count Varley made a better sniper than healer, he offered to officiate the fallen’s funeral to free the clerics who were needed elsewhere. He knew the prayers by heart and backwards, thus they entrusted the rites to him.

Beyond the ritual lied the need to officially record the deaths that took place during the siege, leaving no one unaccounted for. The dead, the wounded, the missing, the deserters. It was gruelling administrative work. Hence, the Minister of Religious Affairs enrolled an assistant.

“Bernadetta,” he called when he caught sight of her in the crowd, talking with Dorothea. From the pin she wore, he deduced Ferdinand’s wounds caught up to him and that he’d delegated his duties to her – not that he cared. He had other plans to set into motion and little use for the other Black Eagles at the moment. “Come here. I need you to record today’s proceedings.”

Bernadetta hurried to his side, albeit confused. “How m-may I be of service, Father?”

He tsked at her stutter but didn’t point it out. “Others will make inventory of weapons and supplies, but I need you to record the lives lost today. Take this opportunity to watch me closely as I officiate the ceremony. This has been a rare instance as of late.” An understatement, considering Edelgard’s stance on religious services in the Imperial Palace – meaning none had been held in years.

With nothing else to do, she reluctantly took up the role of secretary.

They worked all afternoon. The Knights of Seiros brought the dead, with some students, servants and officers there to speed up the identification process. Count Varley offered some pointers for the fallen enemies whose armour he easily recognised while she recorded everything about the fallen, stealing a glance at the faces she sometimes didn’t have the courage to look at in life… Filled with sorrow and regret, Bernadetta made sure to fill in the records with the respect her former comrades and foes deserved.

Still, what a strange time it was… Her father conducted the ceremony in the middle of the nave, with all the doors and ceiling wide open, so his voice didn’t echo far. Those who wanted to attend the funeral of a comrade sat or stood much closer than usual, which created an unexpectedly intimate setting amidst the agitation of the Cathedral.

The Knights listened to the pious Minister, a worthy fighter in his own right, with renewed respect. Said Minister felt rather satisfied at how this PR stunt turned out in his favour, even if it meant pushing past his limits. The battle had drained him far more than expected. Still, his work there was a necessary burden. Not only would the Church owe him, Count Bergliez would also have to return the favour. He saved him quite a lot of time and resources…

He cast a glance at Bernadetta, scribbling over the hundredth parchment to note down the name of the dead, age, rank, unit, cause of death. There was not a second to spare for grief and tears. She recorded it all in quick, neat handwriting. Raising her reputation was of the utmost importance – not only to secure the political match with Aegir, but simply to keep her alive in the messy aftermath of Edelgard’s coronation… She needed to gain critical skills and influential allies fast, and he’d already wasted half a decade without training her. It was a dreadful mistake only corrected thanks to Johanna’s acumen. Sending their daughter to the Officers Academy to make meaningful connections and develop her latent military talent was the only right thing to do. But to what end? He would have to wait for their envoys to return to proceed with his plans – without impeding his wife’s, whatever they were.

The Cathedral continued to function as an infirmary until all the wounded were moved to the barracks or the infirmary in the monastery’s main building. In the meantime, the healers did the rounds to soothe and comfort their comrades in need.

However, one of them stood out above the rest. She was the first to rush to the side of a wounded enemy, entangled in the bodies of her slain comrades. The light shined forth and her injuries healed. Dumbfounded, the Imperial soldier offered confused thanks to her unexpected saviour, a petite girl with green curls. And Flayn carried on, healing anyone she came across, regardless of side. Before everyone’s bewildered eyes, a trail of life followed wherever she went… and hope flourished from the bloodied holy ground.

Opinions on the Church of Seiros shifted among the prisoners who received the utmost respect and care in this unlikely place. Some started to doubt the evil intentions of the Church as stated by the Emperor, thinking that not all of them needed to be purged. Others were completely acquired to the cause and defected on the spot, pledging their support to their holy saviours. Even those whose convictions didn’t waver still gained a newfound respect for their adversaries.

Flayn tended to their wounds with a sincere smile regardless. From that day forward, words of a kind Saint reborn began to spread among Imperial ranks…

At the end of the day, through the Varleys’ dutiful service and the clerics’ inspiring compassion, spurred by Flayn’s example, the Church seemed to emerge almost stronger from the ordeal.

___

Students of the Officers Academy started scouting the Monastery’s grounds to salvage whatever they could and start clearing the paths. It was no surprise that a full army marching in tight spaces would cause lots of damage. The barricades they had erected lied pulverised on the ground, the burnt walls slowly crumbled, shards of glass littered the cobblestone alleyways… The armoury had been ransacked, save for some artifacts locked behind the most intricate spells which required a certain Crest to open, to say nothing of the empty stables. As expected, the Empire wouldn’t make their retreat an easy one…

The students' exploration had even more surprises in store. Luckily, the dormitories and knights’ quarters seemed mostly untouched. They could board a few gaping holes easily enough, and everyone would be able to sleep in a bed that night! Likewise, the classrooms were left untouched. Doing her bit of reconnaissance, Hilda stepped in hers, where most of the furniture had been moved to make the barricades. She greeted the emptiness.

“Hilda?” the emptiness answered back. She screamed. Then, her jaw dropped when one of the missing Golden Deer crawled out of the fireplace.

It was a female sniper who had fought by their side in the burning city. Her disappearance had made little sense – how could she have been captured so close to the defensive walls? Now, Hilda understood. She ran to her soot-covered friend and hugged her tightly. In-between joyful tears, the girl explained that she had managed to retreat to the Monastery where, confused and intoxicated with the smoke, she thought the Imperial Army had followed them in. Thus, she sought a hiding place in their classroom and collapsed from exhaustion in the fireplace. The sound of fighting woke her up the next day when the Imperial Army did invade, and she remained hidden in what looked like an abandoned classroom for another day.

In her loneliness, she stared at the last date inscribed by Professor Byleth on the chalkboard, over a month ago, before their lives took a turn for the worse. Even after two days without food and enemy officers patrolling just outside her door, the thought of surrendering never crossed her mind.

Hilda hugged her tighter. Her brave, silly, loyal friend.

While Ignatz checked the students’ dormitories to make sure the place was safe for the night, what with the fireballs and Demonic Beasts lately, something startled him.

“Ignatz? Is that you?” a weak voice whispered from the floorboards.

As Ignatz nocked an arrow, a silhouette crawled from under the bed in the room to his left. One of the missing boys in their class, and a notable airhead. Once the surprise passed, the boy counted a similar story to Hilda’s friend. Exhausted and wounded, he forgot to tell anyone he had made it inside the Monastery after the retreat and went straight to bed where he promptly passed out. When the sound of fighting woke him up, it was too late to reconvene with the defenders. He hid under his bed when distracted Imperial soldiers patrolled. They didn’t expect to find anyone anyway. Still, the boy remained hidden with his untreated burns and empty stomach, hoping for a friendly face to find him.

Ignatz helped his warrior friend stand up. In the span of a year, the Golden Deer class had learned all the joys and strengths that came with having a team… With having friends to depend on. No matter the political disputes, the guilt or the grief, their bond was no lie, and no one would be left behind.

The last two missing Golden deer turned up at the very entrance of the Monastery. The gatekeeper greeted them as he always did before doing a double-take and running to inform Claude. The house leader rushed to meet his classmates, heart pounding with relief for people who were all but strangers twelve months ago.

The girl, a paladin who had obviously lost her mount sometime during the battle, started to explain the pair’s predicament. “We were being chased by Imperial soldiers and we ended up pretty far from the group… That’s when we remembered the chapel where… where Captain Jeralt…” the girl trailed off, misty-eyed.

“We managed to shake them off in the maze of ruins,” the boy, a mage, continued, “but by then it was too late to return to the Monastery. We camped in an abandoned watchtower without lighting fires. And we saw the Imperial Army and the Demonic Beasts fly past us this morning… This is beyond playing dirty – this is evil,” he claimed evenly. His tightened fist told another story. “You stood no chance, yet you still gave them a hard time.”

“Thanks for the praise, although you deserve some as well,” Claude said with a pat on each one’s shoulder. “You did well to stay hidden. Two stranded students against a battalion of Imperial falcon knights? Better to never test these odds,” he winked.

Thus, to everyone’s relief, the four missing Golden Deer miraculously returned. Hungry, exhausted, but alive. And just as aimless without a leader as Claude feared… He missed their Teach… No. His friend.

The house leader gathered his class in front of the greenhouse, so everyone could be on the same page and share some welcome downtime together. That’s when they heard shuffling inside the building. Holding her breath, Marianne opened the door, praying that it was just some tools that had fallen over.

However, the greenhouse wasn’t how she expected it to find it. Dirt and tools were scattered all over the floor, along with… fertilizer? Curious, the Golden Deer stepped inside.

For once, they weren’t met with a surprise Demonic Beast.

“Dorte?” Marianne gasped. The horse got up from his improvised flower bed at the familiar sound of her voice and trotted toward her for pets.

“Good horsie,” Claude cooed with a big smile plastered on his face.

No one could take Marianne’s loyal friend away from her, some poor Imperial soldier probably learned the hard way.

A single shadow came to obscure the happy picture. It turned out the Imperial Army pillaged more than the stables (save for No.1 rebel Dorte): the kitchens had been thoroughly ransacked. It meant the defenders’ caution was rewarded. All the rations they had stocked in the Cathedral would easily be able to feed them all until the deadline. While it took some time for the servants to move the ingredients and make enough food to feed everyone, lunch was still served around teatime in the dining hall where they all happily convened. Students and knights brought sandwiches to their bed-bound comrades, and to healers and sentries on duty. Dorothea made use of that errand to tell Linhardt and Ferdinand that they would be able to rest in their beds tonight, to the former’s particular delight.

In the late afternoon, Seteth, Dimitri, and Alois arranged for several Knights to leave Garreg Mach with news of the Empire’s victory to various strategic locations in the Kingdom: Arianrhod to prepare the defence, Fhirdiad to rally the Kingdom lords, and Fraldarius to send in backup. Meanwhile, Claude and Lorenz chose their messengers to spread word of the Empire’s intentions across the Alliance. Not unlike Bernadetta, they spent a surprisingly long time writing that day…

Some said the pen is mightier than the sword, that words cut deeper and last forever.

After writing so many letters, doubt started creeping in the back of their minds. Missives were often lost, messengers killed, intentions easily misunderstood. Written word didn’t bear the weight of a promise made face to face.

It felt like swinging a blade in a dense fog, like that time they guarded Lady Rhea on the way to the Western Church. Would the hit connect? Would their words reach the people they were meant for? Would it make a difference?

On a day when they had forged everlasting bonds of friendship through fighting, they were keenly aware that actions spoke louder than words…

___

The days were growing long. The sunset itself seemed like it would never end, giving everyone more time to wind down and gather in the dining hall at last. A surreal sense of normalcy returned as they ate as they always did. Only not. Groups mingled even more than before. The students who used to sit at the table of another house shared a meal with the Knights they had fought with, servants sat next to nobles, priests and non-believers toasted to a bittersweet end of the siege. Without a care for appearances, they wolfed down the food, cried or laughed as it came. The brief despair they had felt once the dust had settled in the Cathedral was best forgotten… And yet, their true feelings were still tightly locked within their hearts. No one wanted to say that the nightmare wasn’t over.

That it would never be over.

So they distracted themselves with food aplenty and good company in the warm light of the spring twilight.

Once the first service was over, the Black Eagles came to the infirmary to pick up their missing friends. They found Linhardt and Ferdinand talking now that the rush was over. Both looked sleepy – the wrong kind of sleepy, with dark bags under their eyes and the earthy complexion of prisoners left to rot in underground cells. With Caspar’s help, Manuela allowed Ferdinand to leave on his feet, while Linhardt resisted the urge to ask for a piggy-back ride. His bed was calling him. They waved goodbye to Flayn who insisted on tidying up the chapel before going to bed. Plus, Seteth hadn’t returned yet. Last but not least, they stopped before Bernadetta’s towering paperwork.

“Are you ready to go?” Dorothea asked her. Bernie lifted her head from her notes. She was done with the records, now putting down her thoughts on parchment in lieu of a diary. That day’s whirlwind of emotions had to be materialised on the page, in a way only other artists could understand.

“Ah!” she snapped out of her laser-guided focus. “Sure!”

Count Varley studied the group of Black Eagles from afar. He needed only tilt his head for his trusted captain to understand the assignment. The Varley Archers escorted the group back to the dorms while the lord remained in the quieting Cathedral.

On the way back to the dormitories, Dorothea treated her classmates to the latest news and gossip. She offered a succinct report of the proceedings – taking inventory of the damage around the Monastery, finding missing students, moving supplies around, tending to the wounded… They hadn’t done much in the way of evacuation plans, and they still awaited the promised demands of ransom. It would take another day for logistics to catch up. The Duke told her they could rest another day while the officers dealt with that.

“He’s right,” Ferdinand confirmed (after thanking her for the quite exhaustive report, he noticed with fondness). “Tell everyone to take it easy tomorrow.”

“Many friends are still captured,” Petra added. Indeed, half their class was unaccounted for. How could they make plans when they didn’t know what became of them, or even the current state of the Empire? Would they be welcomed back into the Imperial Army or branded as traitors?

They left these considerations to their rested selves next morning.

Once they reached the dorm, they parted ways with the girls on the ground floor and the boys on the upper one. Sure, Lin’s room was downstairs, but the two childhood friends weren’t about to leave Ferdinand to his own devices. The noble didn’t put up much of a fight when Caspar swooped him off his feet and carried him to the top of the flight of stairs. They escorted him to his room and personally tucked him in, with another healing spell for good measure. Linhardt wasn’t taking any chances with something as severe as internal bleeding.

To Caspar’s chagrin, however, Linhardt didn’t show the same dedication when it came to going back to his room. He simply wandered in Hubert’s, right next door, and claimed his bed as his own for the night.

Night fell on the Black Eagles’ sleeping faces, soon followed by the Golden Deer in varied order. The Blue Lions, as tired as they were, were the last to hit the sack despite their strict training. Because they were on a mission.

The Kingdom students had found a very effective way to force Dimitri to get some sleep – they had become scarily good at it in the past few days, in fact. To achieve that goal, they simply continued to help around the Monastery despite his protests. Unless he followed his own advice, they refused to get any rest. Eventually, their selfless prince was forced to surrender to common sense. After some chamomile tea Mercedes poured to the whole class, the Blue Lions managed to settle down before midnight.

Lying wide awake in bed, they braced for the war that had just begun.

___

As the Minister of Religious Affairs, Count Varley often officiated religious ceremonies, including the ones he dreaded the most. Funerals. They always brought back sorrowful memories of failure and loss. To stand at the pinnacle of Adrestia, could anyone guess how many people he had to lose and bury? One doesn’t earn the Angel of Death nickname without confronting it often.

And the memories haunted him. Overwhelming. Oppressive. Everything a reminder of the funerals of loyal knights who died in his service, of his beloved younger brother who surrendered to a life-long illness, of the Hresvelg students he watched grow up instead of his own daughter. Unfair deaths.

After a day of reliving these painful memories in the rubble of the Cathedral he cherished, it all came crashing down. Heart, mind, and body, numb. Powerless before the absolute. He dismissed everyone before dinner and quietly ordered his knights to escort Bernadetta while he remained behind, alone before the altar.

Unthinking, unfeeling, unmoving.

It was almost midnight when Ludwig set foot in the Cathedral again. The biting cold urged him to cross the empty nave fast. At its end stood his friend, still as a statue, staring at the altar – probably all evening. No one had had the audacity to perturb his prayers.

But Ludwig knew better. Celian’s thoughts were so far removed from his body that he hadn’t moved nor prayed in hours. Funerals always took a heavy toll on him, and his vengeance on the Hresvelg sadly contributed to aggravating that issue.

The key to surviving in the Empire was resilience. Even at great cost to himself, the Count always gave himself the means to fulfil his ambitions, up to reliving the experiences that scarred him the most to gain the slightest edge. It was a lesson Ludwig taught him… And as the group’s leader, it was his responsibility to steer him from self-destruction when he went too far.

“I knew I’d find you here,” he said softly.

He watched his friend struggle to awaken from the abyss of his recollections. Then, Celian turned his head with difficulty, his neck cramped with the cold.

“Ludwig?” even his voice hardly reached him.

“It’s late. Let’s go back,” Ludwig nudged him. He could almost see the cogs turn in his friend’s head before he nodded in understanding.

“I… can’t walk,” Celian eventually offered. He looked down. “My legs are numb.” And Ludwig facepalmed with a resigned sigh. “Okay. Get your blood flowing and we’ll be on our way.”

For a few minutes, Celian lightly tapped his feet to feel them again. Neither wanted to broach the topic of the battle. Every fight reawakened old scars best left alone. Still, the silence was growing boring to the Prime Minister.

“You care a great deal about this Cathedral,” he observed.

“It holds a special place in my heart,” the Minister of Religious Affairs readily admitted. The night was unusually bright for the first quarter of the moon… They stood in a halo of light where the ceiling used to be. “It reminds me of Lady Rhea, of Hugh… ah, the Sunday choir too. Heinrich was the only one who put in some effort.”

“The choir, really?” Ludwig deadpanned.

“Says the biggest sponsor of the Mittlefrank Opera Com–” A full-body shiver cut short his criticism.

“You’re hopeless, aren’t you?” But Ludwig only pretended to be annoyed. With a fonder sigh this time, he warped his junior in his cape. Or rather, the heavy cloak with golden tassels fell like a ton of brick on Celian who made an audible “Oof” on impact.

“Sorry.”

“I bet you are,” Celian snarked, because he was finally warm.

Once the Count could feel his legs again, they returned to the knights’ quarters while exchanging meaningless small talk, nothing requiring too much brain power. That’s when they stumbled upon Archibald, the Captain of the Varley Archers.

“You have finally returned,” he noted with a pointed grimace at the Aegir cape thrown on his lord’s shoulders. This was wholly inappropriate, but it was too late into the night to argue etiquette.

“Yes. Keep watch tonight, Archie,” Count Varley ordered pretty casually.

“As you wish.”

They had cleaned up his room and put the debris to use in the barricades. Still, the guest room was in shambles, not that Count Varley cared at this point. After two nights of sleeping on benches, the bed was luxury enough.

But when Ludwig extended his hand to get his cape back before parting ways, Celian tugged it close to him with a mischievous smile. “If you want your cape back, wake me up at dawn. We are partners, are we not?” he said.

Without spelling out his distrust, Celian challenged him to show definite proof of their alliance by actually working together at a critical time. Exhausted, the Prime Minister relented to the whims of his former protégé. He had learned the hard way that, no matter how many years passed, he was still a pushover against the tantrums of his grown-up friends and his own children… Then again, would they follow an unfeeling and uncompromising leader? No, of course not. Celian himself disbanded the Insurrection because his revenge crossed the line. The Duke would do well to remember that showing weakness and love always worked out in his favour as people desperately clung to crumbs of affection from those above them.

So the prideful Prime Minister left his cape to the Minister of Religious Affairs. It was a calculated move. That’s what he told himself when he repressed a laugh at Celian’s cocky grin.

Obviously, his “kindness” only worked when it wasn’t faked – especially when it came to his Black Eagles, whose unfair deaths warranted civil war in his esteemed opinion.

… Maybe that kind of die-hard loyalty also played a part in this decades-long friendship.

___

Imperial Year 1181, 3^rd of the Great Tree Moon

Bernadetta woke up early. A year of early classes, marches, and battles conditioned her body to rise when the birds sang. Surprisingly, the routine made her fatigue quite manageable. She was ready to help in whatever way she could around the Monastery. Since her father had entrusted her with secretary work the day before, she expected him to have more new orders for her; thus, she went to his quarters. Sir Archibald stood guard at the door leading to a hallway with several guest suites.

“You’re quite early, my Lady. All the students have been instructed to rest, so you should take it easy. You did plenty yesterday.”

“Thank… thank you, Sir,” Bernadetta bashfully replied. In his early thirties, Archibald von Blumenthal was quite young for an officer of his rank. He cultivated a clean and dependable image to compensate for it… which might have worked had he not been so casually handsome. His training forged his lean but toned physique. Strands of black hair brushed against his sharp cheekbones in striking contrast with his hazel eyes and, no matter the time of day, he was always clean-shaven (and well-rested, by some magic). He fit right in as the right-hand man of a Count who dictated noble trends in Enbarr. But beyond his effortless beauty or incredible skill with a bow, it was his fierce loyalty to their family that earned him Count Varley’s complete trust, which was, perhaps, the most incredible of feats.

“Is my father awake?” she asked him.

“He’s having breakfast with Duke Aegir. You may enter if you wish,” the Captain of the Varley Archers answered.

She nodded and he opened the door… just enough for her to quietly slip in. She immediately regretted it and tiptoed discreetly along the hallway. Voices came from a room further in. Never mind, maybe she would be bothering them! It wasn’t too late to turn around and–

The sound was too muffled to make up the words, but anyone would pick up their name in a faraway conversation. The Black Eagle stopped in her tracks, heart racing and palms sweating. She should find a good moment to knock… The purpose of her visit already forgotten, Bernie walked up to the door and listened.

The Ministers were having a private breakfast in the Knights’ quarters, acting nonchalant, as if their nightmares hadn’t almost come true the day before. Duke Aegir didn’t run from the Chapel when he found Ferdinand lying deathly still, he was just needed elsewhere… If he didn’t see his son unwell, nothing bad could happen, right? And Count Varley wasn’t fighting back tears and intrusive thoughts of his daughter about to be burned alive by a monster. At all. They were most definitely handling things well. Smiling, stirring their tea, and distracting themselves with their ongoing schemes.

Bernadetta eavesdropped on Duke Aegir discussing the siege in peculiar terms. “It is not such a bad thing that we lost quickly,” he said, which definitely drew her attention. “The students can return to their respective territories at once and the Knights of Seiros can search for the Archbishop. The siege was a bait for the Kingdom’s and Alliance’s armies. Once they were here, the Empire would have marched straight to Fhirdiad and Derdriu. Thanks to our fierce resistance, they have a fighting chance, and we won the moral battle. Morale should be high – no pun intended.”

Before she could process the politics behind this, her father added: “Can you imagine if the Empire had buried us alive in the Cathedral? It would have spelled the end of Emperor Edelgard’s reign. Nobles from all over Fódlan would have teamed up to avenge their lost scions and the Church. … Of course, Otto would never have let the situation escalate to that point. He always chooses his battles carefully.”

“Good thing to know that Otto still feels indebted to you.”

“As he should. He dared call me an underdog!” Count Varley said petulantly. “Still, to think Edelgard’s authority superseded that of General Bergliez…”

Ludwig had a laugh. “See how far we’ve fallen, and how deeper our friends have. Serving as lapdogs to an Emperor who forces them to unleash Demonic Beasts on a Cathedral where their own children have taken refuge. Utterly pathetic. They are the ones on a leash, and a tight one at that,” he mercilessly mocked them.

“True, the underdogs fare better than the lapdogs right about now…” Celian smiled with delicious irony.

Bernadetta listened in on the former Ministers. Suddenly, everything started to make sense.

Why were they so calm during the siege? Because they knew it would be short-lived. It was a mere formality before they could secure an official and acceptable surrender. Furthermore, were they ever truly at risk, with friends and allies on both sides? Losses were of little importance to them, and none of the members of their respective battalions died, plus they managed to keep the high-ranking Black Eagles in positions of relative safety. Nobles across Fódlan would view them favourably. It was their victory.

“What about the Knights of Seiros? How many battalions can you secure for our army?” Ludwig asked.

“The better part of their forces, I think. A few elite teams will investigate the disappearance of the Archbishop, so they will lend us most of their soldiers.”

“And what will you do about Bernadetta?”

Behind the door, the Black Eagle apprentice spy slapped her hand on her mouth.

“What about her?” her father sounded slightly irritated.

“Do you plan on taking her with us?” Ludwig specified.

“What, and bring her in a military campaign? You really think I would risk it?”

The “moron” was clearly implied. She heard the clink of porcelain, as if he forcefully put down his teacup. “Are you not worried about your own children?” he countered. “Last I heard, they were in Boramas, and your capital has undoubtedly been seized by now. I admit I share some of Ferdinand’s concern in that regard.”

“Ah, worry not,” Ludwig handwaved. “The Aegir Astral Knights were in charge of their safety. They must be marching toward Garreg Mach as we speak”, he said, certain that the Captain would never let his children fall into enemy hands. “It’s unfortunate that Adler couldn’t attend the Officers Academy. However, there is no better candidate to lead our Knights. Besides, Ada and Liesel can’t remain in occupied territory; they are better off following our army.”

As one who could imagine the worst in every place or intention, Bernadetta easily deciphered Duke Aegir’s true intentions to re-establish his family’s authority by force, using his sons as pawns and daughters as trophies. Surrounded by the perfect family he crafted, the Empire lords would flock to his side to uphold the status quo. And it put Ferdinand’s worries into a new light… Was he worried that his siblings may have been captured by the Imperial Army, or that they would become the Duke’s pawns? With how protective he had been of the Black Eagles in his short time as house leader, she now suspected the latter.

She missed some of the conversation until her father’s next remark sent alarm bells ringing in her head. “Even if I send Bernadetta away, I assure you the engagement still stands. Do try to keep Ferdinand alive until the wedding can take place.”

She froze. The WHAT? The words reverberated in her mind. No, she didn’t hear that right. It couldn’t possibly be true. No one wanted her hand anyway! Terrified, she wiped her sweaty palms on her uniform before putting her ear against the door once more.

“Of course it should take place in Garreg Mach’s Cathedral! Where else would you wed the heiress of the Southern Church and the Emperor?” her father argued.

As if punched in the stomach, Bernadetta slumped to the ground, hands muffling another scream. Her status in the Church was a plausible development… but Ferdinand? Emperor? She felt sick. He never wanted this. And what would happen to Edelgard? And… Wait. Would I be…

Bernie slipped through the small opening of the door and quietly shut it behind her. “… Don’t tell them I came here,” she whispered to the Captain still keeping watch.

“As you wish, my Lady,” Sir Archibald acquiesced. Without further explanation, she ran away.

She seldom asked for anything. His mind was set. Sorry Sir, but I can’t let her down.

___

Other chores awaited Bernadetta. Along with other students, the Black Eagles were tasked with cleaning up the debris around the dormitories so people could walk around safely and evacuate quicker once the time came to leave Garreg Mach. Without anything else to do, they cleared the rubble and abandoned weaponry along the pathways and helped pack food and small supplies so everyone could leave with enough provisions. The girls left the small packages on a crate for people to pick up. Once in a while, someone did something stupid and Linhardt healed the small injuries, from sprains to splinters, among the volunteer students.

The Black Eagles overall worked in uneasy silence, thinking of Edelgard’s goal to build a new future they could scarcely imagine. What would the future look like? They examined the uncertainty of the present to find their way.

In the heat of battle, Caspar had found answers he had never wished to find. After he almost cut down his uncle, he couldn’t stomach the idea of fighting his kin in ignorance again. If he had to face the dreaded General Bergliez, he would need the resolve to kill – a resolve he didn’t have at the moment, for lack of information. Why did the siege take a turn for the worse so fast under his father’s command? Before he could choose a side, he needed to know the how and the why. That’s what the Professor taught him. Don’t rush in blindly. He would learn the truth so when the time came, he could wildly swing his axe with the resolve a war deserved.

While Caspar pondered his next course of action, Linhardt slowly succumbed to the apathy he had been running from in noble circles. The faint hope that things would turn out differently after he attended the Officers Academy was crushed under military boots. Alas, his fate was set in stone since before his birth. There was nothing else to do but return to the Empire, become his father’s intended successor, and set aside everything that made his heart race to slowly wither away in a mountain of paperwork like his overworked parents. There was no escape. So why struggle?

Why, indeed, when the Ministers going around Garreg Mach reminded him of the grimmer fate that awaited nobles who displeased the Emperor? If he let things play out, maybe he’d find a way out… If he stayed, he could keep Caspar out of trouble and keep his sanity in his fated ennui.

Meanwhile, Petra feared how her decision would impact Brigid should she oppose the Emperor like her parents did. Her homeland’s hunters were ill-equipped to take down Demonic Beasts they had never fought before. If intimidation was the goal of this siege, it proved sadly effective… With so many lives on the line, did hers truly matter?

And yet… her blood still boiled at the idea of fighting under Count Bergliez. So when her rage flared, she remembered Dorothea’s noteworthy praise for that hateful noble. She clung to the vow of friendship she made to Caspar to still her vengeful hand. The General deserved death. A son deserved a father. She couldn’t reconcile the two truths.

Lastly, Bernadetta was completely and utterly lost. She couldn’t share the secret she had learned with anyone, not even Ferdinand whom she didn’t want to worry with plans they couldn’t change anyway! He needed to rest. Her problems could wait. Her doubts could be silenced a little longer. Would her father make her fight despite his reservations, or make her go back home to her mother? He didn’t share any of his thoughts, nor gave her any orders in ages.

She was about to snap from the stress and uncertainty.

… And she kept on looking up to her house leader’s window instead of cleaning up the Monastery, to the point everyone noticed what seemed to distract her.

“He’ll be fine!” Caspar declared, his hands full with various planks and wooden debris.

Bernie almost dropped the spare arrows she had picked up. “I w-wasn’t looking! I just…” She fumbled for an excuse. “I just thought he’d get… lonely! Right!” Unconvinced, the Black Eagles discreetly stifled a laugh.

“We could sing to let him know we’re here?” Dorothea suggested with a playful wink to her classmate who always sang to herself when she thought she was alone in the greenhouse.

“What?” Bernadetta said. Oh no, she thought. She didn’t like that smirk on the songstress’s face.

Without further ado, Dorothea belted a military march they had sung all year long on missions. Caspar immediately joined in, followed by a diligent Petra. Linhardt eventually accompanied them with flat vocals and, afraid to stand out if she didn’t join in at this point, Bernadetta nervously hummed along.

All this racket earned them funny looks as they continued to work to the beat, until their desired spectator finally poked his head out the window. Ferdinand waved at them with the softest look on his face. For him, they worked even harder.

They were the best friends he could have hoped for. He would miss them dearly…

___

At the same time, the Ministers’ plan was nicely coming along, with an official meeting with a representative of the Knights of Seiros. In the reception hall, they secured the only alliance that mattered to win a civil war of this scale.

To honour that meeting, Count Varley made the deliberate choice to keep on wearing his sniper attire rather than his noble clothes, sorely unfitting of the mood and image he needed to project as the rallying beacon of the brewing insurrection. Even his bishop regalia would have looked ostentatious and deceiving, whereas the uniform he fought in gave him the legitimacy to call himself a successful General – or at least a plausible rival to the undefeated Count Bergliez.

While Celian von Varley always dressed for the occasion, Duke Aegir swore by the custom uniform of the Prime Minister at any time of day – and night. Let there be no doubt as to who he was, what he represented, and whom he was born to rule. Ludwig von Aegir was the Prime Minister – so absolutely so, in fact, that the new Emperor couldn’t find anyone to fill in his shoes. It was a testament to his enduring legacy, as controversial as it may be.

A lady knight, flanked by two officer, approached them. She was a figure they more or less recognised as she hailed from a noble House of the Empire. Dressed in white armour reminiscent of the scales of the Immaculate One who helped Saint Seiros down from heaven, and a red cape commemorating the holy covenant between the Church and the first Adrestian Emperor. Fittingly, the young woman who had discarded her noble heritage to serve the Goddess was a holy knight versed in lances and white magic.

She gave them a military salute. “Lilia von Gillingr,” she introduced herself loud and clear, “at your service, my Lords.”

“Rise, Lilia,” Celian said with familiarity and solemnity at the tall young woman who held herself with the characteristic grace of the nobility, with light brown hair in a bun under her helmet and striking pale blue eyes, the very image of her late mother – save for her lack of Crest.

Indeed, because her lineage was too great to obscure, she was reported as Baron Gillingr’s “niece” when she was in fact his daughter. One day, she used a courtesy visit to run away to Garreg Mach Monastery where she took the oath of the Knights of Seiros seemingly out of the blue. In his ire, her father disowned her – and she was that much happier for it. It was a huge scandal in the Empire, not only because a noble daughter decided to dedicate her life to the Faith, but because she did it without her father’s consent. Back then, Count Varley had to mediate the situation between the estranged father and daughter, which almost backfired; knowing the girl’s circumstances and her faith, he was obviously partial to her interests rather than her father’s, a longstanding political enemy who supported the Hresvelgs.

People really underestimated all the work he and his Ministry did so the Empire and the Church could remain on speaking terms in the past three decades, but not Lilia. She rose with a small smile for her benefactor. “I speak on behalf of Sir Alois Rangeld, Captain of the Knights of Seiros, and I come bearing the decision of the Knights regarding the alliance you devised with Lady Rhea.”

Turned out Alois was also an unseen hard worker. As the highest ranking General in the Monastery, he proved incredibly competent at his job considering the circumstances that led to his early promotion. He had much to oversee with Seteth and delegated everything he could, including the most important missions. As a family man, he fully trusted his subordinates to make him proud.

“Go on,” the Minister of Religious Affairs invited her to continue.

“All the captains have come to an agreement. As such, I hereby announce our decision to support you in stopping the Emperor’s war on Fódlan. The Knights of Seiros will also help you restore the Southern Church to guide the wayward land of Adrestia.”

All the Knights of Seiros in the reception hall came to attention in beautiful unison.

“All the troops under my command are now yours. As a loyal servant of the Church of Seiros, we have elected to leave our fate in your hands, Lord Varley,” Lady Lilia stated at last. Three quarters of the most skilled order of knights on the continent were now his to command, and the Prime Minister would have to live with it. Oh sweet irony. “Direct me as you see fit, and we shall support you to the best of our ability,” she promised. “As for our elite force, they will travel the land in search of the Archbishop and the Enlighted Professor.”

Even without Alois, Shamir, Catherine, or Seteth, the Knights of Seiros were a force to be reckoned with. What battalions they offered would largely suffice.

“It is our honour to fight by your side, blessed Knights. Together, we can uproot the evil that has taken root in the Empire,” Count Varley solemnly vowed.

Duke Aegir almost yawned all these empty platitudes – as if prayer somehow saved the world! But it would have been just a tad too hypocritical to preach for unity when the Empire’s hegemony threatened to crush its neighbours…

___

However, the peace didn’t last long. The sudden arrival of a visitor bearing the Imperial banner sent ripples of unease across the Monastery. Confident, he crossed the marketplace at a steady pace and waited for a crowd to gather before stating his intentions. The Knights of Seiros glared at the arrogant envoy. Even the gatekeeper looked nothing like his usual amicable self. A deep anger made his eyes glimmer dangerously under his helmet.

“No one from the Imperial Army is allowed past this point. State your business or leave,” he growled with uncharacteristic malice at the visitor.

The Imperial soldier laughed, sneering at him. And under that helmet was a face they all recognised.

“My name is Armin Fromm,” the gatekeeper’s doppelgänger said. “I bear word from Her Imperial Majesty, Emperor Edelgard I.”

Tension rose as the twins spitefully faced each other, like the two sides of the Empire about to come to blows… “Deliver your message, then,” said Wilhelm, the Monastery’s devout gatekeeper.

“I bring you the list of prisoners as promised. Details about the ransoms are enclosed in the letters,” said Armin, the Imperial Army’s devoted messenger, who produced three sealed letters from his satchel. When Wilhelm made no move to take them, Duke Aegir snatched them instead. He handed one letter to Dedue and returned the other, about the captured Knights of Seiros, to the gatekeeper to forward to Seteth.

The Prime Minister quickly read through his letter which listed the Empire captives and frowned. One of them was from his territory… Displeased, he threw the letter back at the messenger.

“The ransoms will be paid,” he claimed. “Bring the prisoners first thing in the morning. No need to postpone the exchange.”

“As you wish, Ludwig von Aegir,” Armin purred, deliberately omitting the forfeited title.

___

Imperial Year 1181, 4^th of the Great Tree Moon

On the fourth day, Ferdinand resumed his position as House leader of the Black Eagles, just in time for the prisoner exchange. Chains and purses swapped hands between the respective envoys and thus, the captured students and Knights of Seiros were released.

Among them was Kara, the heiress of Count Rusalka, one of Aegir’s most prominent vassals. The Black Eagle pegasus knight ran toward them, her curly blond hair bouncing with every step.

“Kara! I am so glad to see you!” Ferdinand exclaimed with a broad smile.

“As I am!” she replied. “Thank you for paying the absurd ransom they asked of you…” she trailed off, her honey eyes downcast.

“Think no more of it,” Duke Aegir comforted her. “Are you well?”

“I am, my Lord. However, I have shameful news to share…” When the Aegirs invited her to continue, she took a deep breath and looked them in the eye. “My parents have surrendered to Emperor Edelgard. When I refused to bend the knee, they disowned me and I was put into chains.”

Ferdinand gasped in shock, whereas his father looked pensive. “Did they share their motives with you?” he enquired.

“They wish to spare our people from hardship at the hands of the Emperor. They betrayed all their oaths to lick the boots of an unrepentant conqueror. However, they allowed me to return to your side… I believe they hope for you to reclaim authority over our lands. Still, this doesn’t excuse anything.”

“Rusalka is the second city of Aegir territory. It would have been unwise to go against the warmongering Emperor… Rusalka is a port of trade, with scant defences. Your parents couldn’t defend such a coveted location and did what was necessary to preserve our people. I bear them no ill will.”

“You are too kind, my Lord,” Kara bowed deeply. “Please, allow me to fight by your side against the Emperor and her nonsensical war against the Church of Seiros.”

“Are you sure?” Ferdinand asked. “You’ll be branded a traitor. Without your parents’ protection, the Imperial Army will kill you at the first opportunity. There won’t be another ransom,” he told her explicitly.

“Even so. I believe in House Aegir to lead the Empire to peace and prosperity. And unlike Edelgard, you never lied to us,” was her heartful cry.

Ferdinand crossed the distance between them and held her hands. As fellow heirs of Aegir territory, they had known each other forever. “Your words gladden my heart,” he said. His father and he then exchanged a meaningful look before he pursued. “As your Lord, I, Ferdinand von Aegir, swear to be worthy of your loyalty. And as an old friend, I promise to keep you safe until your title and land are rightfully returned to you, Kara von Rusalka.”

She bowed until her forehead touched their joined hands. “I shall be worthy of your trust, now and forever,” the fallen noble swore. Then, she rose slowly. “This is merely the beginning. Other Houses will join our fight.”

Duke Aegir glanced at the next prisoner exchange and gravely added: “Oh, they will…”

Indeed, things took a sour turn when another Empire student was returned to the defenders’ side… Unlike Kara who ran to them, he gave a vacant stare and didn’t move from his spot when the chains fell from his wrists.

The Varley delegation – Celian, Bernadetta, and Archibald – walked up to him instead. And Bernie’s heart sank at the sight of her melancholy classmate.

“Theo?” she called out weakly.

Theo von Stein, only child of Baron Stein and vassal of House Varley, looked up to her. The wyvern knight had been shot down from the sky and captured like Kara. And yet, that’s where the similarities ended. Tear streaks stained his cheeks. Shadows swam in the forest green of his eyes. His straight brown hair was tied in a messy ponytail… so dishevelled, in fact, that they all knew his captors had roughly pulled him by the hair – and that he put up quite a fight.

Count Varley hurried his pace and put his hands on his young vassal’s shoulders. “Whoever did this to you will pay. Tell us what happened,” he pressed him, forcing the teenager to make eye contact.

But no sound came out of his mouth. Where was he supposed to begin? He searched for some reassurance from Bernie who nervously knit her hands together at a respectful distance. She was too considerate. As for the Count… His hold on him grounded him. He had to tell them…

They had to know.

“My parents…” Theo began in a broken voice. He cleared his throat. “You’ve surely heard the rumours of the noble purge ordered by the Emperor? It’s true. It’s all true!” his voice shook, and before he knew it, he was screaming. And rather than anger, incredulous horror marred his features. “The nobles who opposed her have been stripped of their titles and imprisoned! They rot in the jails of Enbarr… Their castles have been seized, purportedly for the war effort… And those who denounced her coronation…”

Bernadetta trembled as Theo’s lip wobbled.

“My parents…!” his voice rose desperately. “The Vestras cut them down like cattle! They murdered them without trial!” he wailed for all to hear. Silence fell on the plaza where the truth they had wilfully ignored was so abruptly laid bare.

The late Baron Stein ruled the former lands of the Southern Church. They were the most ardent supporters of its restoration and true Varley loyalists. Alas, their radical views painted a target on their back. And the Vestra assassins came. Because of their long-held beliefs, their heads rolled first in the noble purge… Theo still shook, remembering how a masked dark mage flaunted the truth to him… shattering the foundations of the world he took for granted. He sobbed and gasped under the grasp of his lord who all but kept him standing.

Count Varley’s grip on Theo’s shoulders tightened. “Your parents have been nothing but loyal to me. Their support has been invaluable in the early years of my rule. This is a debt I shall never forget.” The orphan of House Stein didn’t care, not now. “Know that you have my full support, Theo. If you wish to fight by my side, I will give you a role worthy of your family’s undisputable devotion. If you wish to avoid fighting–”

“My Lord,” Theo suddenly stared at him with two bottomless pits of hatred and grief. “Allow me to renew House Stein’s loyalty to you. I will avenge my parents. Her Highness… Edelgard,” he spat, “will pay for betraying us all!” he shouted as a flow of tears streamed down his face.

The Count closed his eyes to choose his next words carefully. If it was vengeance the boy wanted, he would gladly provide. The loss weighed on him just as it weighed down their already slim chances of victory… And this second Insurrection was built on nothing but faith and vengeance.

The words came easily then. “The heavens bear witness to this injustice and weep with you. I shall aid you and bring justice to my loyal vassals. This I swear to you, the new Baron Stein. So stand proud, Theo. You bear their legacy now.”

Hearing the title passed too soon onto him broke the last of Theo’s countenance, and his anger dissolved into sobs. Awkward, Count Varley ruffled his hair and left the boy to his classmates who rushed to hug him. Meanwhile, he took Archibald aside. “Investigate about all our vassals. The situation might be direr than expected. And I want news from Johanna.”

“Your wish is my command. The Countess must have left word of the situation to some officers here. I’ll seek them out.” Still, his gaze lingered on the weeping Baron Stein. “Have the Vestras gone crazy?” the knight whispered indignantly. The Vestra clan was known to operate in the shadows – not murder in broad daylight and boast about it.

“They are allies no longer,” Celian answered through gritted teeth. “They too must pay…”

An hour passed where the Black Eagles tried to console Theo, with little success. It became apparent that the Black Eagles who never returned had either sworn allegiance to Edelgard, or been swayed to stand down by their parents. Kara saw red. “These cowards…” she mumbled. Bernie offered another handkerchief to her fellow noble. She vaguely recalled the Steins and their radical stance on the teachings of Seiros… and despite the distance nobles put between themselves and their progeny, Theo never doubted their love for him. Few nobles children could claim the same. Understandably, his palpable bitterness seeped into her skin. How could Edelgard and Hubert order their execution? Such a callous and cruel move… And who dared rub their deaths in their son’s face? The new Baron would obviously become the Crown’s sworn enemy.

Empire politics had always been murky with blood and deceit. But this took it to another level. The Empire would grow even more divided…

Unknown to them, Those Who Slither In The Dark revelled in the chaos and the imminent fall of Fódlan.

“If the purge has gone that far already…” Kara wondered, “I’m worried about the Aegir Astral Knights. Can they really reach us?”

Ferdinand continued to rub circles behind Theo’s back. “They have been on the move for some time now. We’ll reconvene soon enough,” he assured her.

“But my parents surrendered Rusalka to the Imperial Army over a week ago. Would your siblings have evacuated in time, all the way from Boramas? I’ve heard nothing about them during my imprisonment…”

The Aegir heir nervously bit his lip. “No news means they haven’t been taken. The Empire would use them as leverage otherwise.” It was too sensitive a subject, so Kara let it go for now.

At that moment, Sir Archibald returned with the information promised. He gestured for Bernadetta to join him and her father so he could privately share his findings. Of all times, she felt like in a spy novel… Or maybe her mind was running wild not to cry.

The Captain ignored her distress and reported his discoveries to his exclusive audience.

“I found an informant. First of all, the Steins are the only lords to have been executed in our territory, but others await judgement under house arrest. If they do not join us, they should be able to walk free if they swear allegiance to Lady Johanna and the Emperor. We shouldn’t suffer any more losses in the foreseeable future.”

“I see. So they chose the Southern Church restoration as an excuse to dispose of dissidents… and get rid of my most loyal followers as an example,” Celian scowled. “The other vassals will fall in line.” Although they might not openly support him, they would live and back Johanna. So that was that.

“Next, I received a copy of a declaration the Emperor will make soon. I’ll give you the gist of it.” Sir Archibald handed the sealed edict to his lord and crossed his arms rather cheekily. “The Emperor claims she’ll pardon all those who fought at Garreg Mach if they return to her side. Regarding Lady Bernadetta’s situation, Lady Johanna arranged for a full pardon and a promise of safety should her daughter withdraw from the war. The Emperor also promises to spare your life as a reward for your…” he briefly hesitated, then continued, “… loyal service to her family. In exchange, you are to be put under house arrest in Enbarr.” But the best was yet to come. “If the Emperor goes back on her word, Lady Johanna will retract the full support of House Varley to the Imperial Army and enter open rebellion.”

Celian quickly scanned the Imperial decree. Then, to Bernadetta’s surprise, he broke into a triumphant smile. She didn’t understand. He avoided Enbarr like the plague lately, so why would this punishment suit him? Sure, he got to keep his head, but… His next words confounded her further.

“Her quick wit never ceases to amaze me,” Count Varley openly marvelled at his wife’s diplomatic skills. “She secured the safety of our family and gave up nothing in return.”

Suddenly, it clicked. Bernadetta realised the game her mother had been playing… A true genius. The mastermind behind the financial revival of House Varley had done it again. Johanna had gained the Emperor’s trust early on, allowing her to secure the war production of Varley, exempt her smiths and artisans from the draft, and demand and obtain almost unconditional Imperial pardons for her family! Better yet…

She was free to go home and never set foot on a battlefield again. As for her father, he was given a disgustingly effective immunity. If the war went south, he could safely surrender. If he was captured, he wouldn’t be harmed. How in hell did she get all the Ministers to agree to such outlandish terms?! Hubert agreed to this! This was madness!

Meanwhile, Celian thanked the Ministers in his mind. Surely they helped her strike this deal… If they had no hope of saving Ludwig and Hugh, they must have poured their efforts in ensuring his survival. Regarding Bernadetta… did the Emperor have a soft spot for her classmate after all? It was good to know. How ironic that their position as the weakest of the Great Houses now ensured their survival…

House arrest in Enbarr was a nightmare he could work with – because Johanna would be there to help him. If they didn’t have to scheme behind each other’s back, they would surely figure something out together.

He turned to his daughter, who squeaked. He was in such good spirits that he forgot to lecture her. “Be sure to thank her for her efforts,” he commanded.

Thank her? she thought. Ah, everything made sense. Why her father never gave her orders. He was waiting to give her a viable way out, which Johanna provided. If he didn’t give her orders to join the Insurrection or the Empire, she couldn’t “disobey”. Her actions wouldn’t negatively impact either side. In concrete terms… the choice was hers. She was free to leave. And no matter whose side of the civil war prevailed, their family would emerge stronger – as leaders of the Southern Church tied to House Aegir, or as the head of the richest House in the Adrestian Empire.

As far as Countess Varley was concerned, she had already won. And she didn’t even know yet that the marriage she once arranged between her daughter and the Aegir heir was a thing again.

A shiver ran down Bernie’s spine. Her mother was a terrifying kind of awesome – and the Angel of Death wouldn’t have settled for anything less, would he?

___

News travelled fast and power plays resumed. The time for indecision was almost over. And the Imperial citizens who had yet to choose a side were especially courted.

Dorothea knew what it would be about when Lady Ena von Essen sought her out. Duke Aegir’s right-hand woman, the Captain of the Aegir Magic Corps. She had fought under her during the siege, so they were acquainted.

The middle-aged woman confidently walked into the infirmary where the Black Eagle was packing medical supplies for her classmates. She was a noble whose warlock dress was covered in luxurious satin flowers and jewels which betrayed not only her rank, but the trust of her lord. Sapphires and rubies adorned her hat in particular – the colours of House Aegir, rather than her own. She proudly displayed that fact by styling her scarlet hair in a short bob reminiscent of her awe-inspiring fire magic, almost hidden in the shadows of her witchy hat. She had blue eyes as quiet as the seaside of Aegir, and always carried a tome around. And yet, despite her noble upbringing, she appreciated Dorothea for her skill and perseverance, regardless of status. It was a bit surprising coming from Duke Aegir’s General.

“You have a rare gift for fire magic. It would be a waste not to cultivate it. As you might expect, I come with an offer.” The studious and loyal mage went straight to the point, something Dorothea could appreciate. “But first, let me be clear. Your origins matter not to me. If you have the potential and drive to learn, I’m willing to train you. Please consider joining our forces, Dorothea Arnault. I believe your place is with us.”

The former songstress put down the bandages she was folding to face the General. “I am honoured that you would consider me as a pupil, but I cannot accept,” Dorothea most politely refused. “My skills are still far from adequate for such an elite force as yours.”

“Nonsense. You have proven yourself in battle – I’m ready to vouch for you. Your status is irrelevant in the face of talent, and my Lord rewards talented individual. He may seem arrogant, but he cherishes all those under him like family. I promise your life wouldn’t be sacrificed because you’re somehow lesser than your noble comrades.”

“I…” she swallowed, then plucked up the courage to answer Lady Ena’s honest invitation. “Even if you mean it, not everyone would see it the same way. I do not trust Count Varley to ever treat me as an equal. That includes a good part of the Knights of Seiros who wanted to use us, the Black Eagle house, as bait or meat shields just a fortnight ago.”

Ena squinted, a bit unsettled. The Black Eagles weren’t supposed to know what transpired during that council, but she didn’t fault Ferdinand for spilling the truth to his comrades in arms. “You would be a ward of House Aegir,” she insisted. “Any disrespect toward you would be an insult toward Lord Aegir himself. With enough achievements to your name, you could be knighted, even.”

It was a tempting offer, Dorothea was forced to admit. Nevertheless, she couldn’t accept. The Ministers who led the Insurrection had anything but a friendly disposition towards her. Her mistake almost cost Duke Aegir his eldest son! As for fighting with Knights who called her a whore behind her back, or a Count who might put an arrow between her eyes “by accident” because she dared befriend Bernadetta…

Her stomach churned at the idea of letting her first noble friend down.

“Still, I must refuse,” Dorothea repeated. “I have no place in your army.” She didn’t have much of one in the other, but she didn’t want to think about it for now. The perspective of fighting against – or for – any one side filled her with dread.

The mage respectfully backed down. “Please think this through,” she offered nonetheless. “I would be glad to have you back.”

Later on, Kara von Rusalka caught her in the courtyard and blocked her way out. Great, another conversation she didn’t want to have… and this time, Dorothea would have to disappoint her friend, too.

“Hi, Kara? How can I help you?”

“Thea, this isn’t the time for sweet-talk. We’ll leave the Monastery soon, and… Are you really going to leave us?” her classmate asked. Lady Ena probably told her their conversation… She sighed internally. These nobles didn’t care about her boundaries at all.

“… You know I can’t fight for people who don’t see me as a person,” the commoner gently scolded her.

“Forget these high and mighty old farts!” Kara cursed, catching her by surprise. “I want to fight with you! There’s no need to be afraid! You know Ferdinand will always protect you!”

It was unfair. Unfair to bring him up. Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest every time she thought about him lately… How could she abandon him after everything they’d been through? She witnessed countless sides of him she never imagined… The dedication to his work, the way his eyes lit up when she visited him with her daily report, even the imperceptible bitterness he felt, ignored by his father.

“He’s not my Lord!” Dorothea strongly retorted.

“Then what is he?” Kara challenged her.

“A friend!” the songstress admitted at last, blushing red like the sky at dawn. “That’s why I can’t burden him forever!”

“Do you think of me as a burden?”

“… No, of course not!” Dorothea refuted after a confused beat.

“You’re not one to me either. And Ferdinand thinks the same. So don’t let the outdated views of some Ministers dictate your conduct. We’ll support you, Thea! Will you come with us?” Kara asked, holding her hands. Dorothea noticed the fading nail polish she had applied there during a break, back when they were preparing for the siege… It wasn’t some noble General trying to get a hold of her magic, but her worried friend asking her to follow her heart’s desire.

The indecisive songstress was torn between two promises of change… On one hand, the Church, the Knights of Seiros, and her classmates from all three houses offered her a glimpse of a world where their differences made them stronger.

On the other hand, she knew what she owed to the Empire who made a penniless orphan one of its greatest stars. She believed Edelgard and Hubert when they promised to rebuild a world where one’s birth wouldn’t matter. In fact, others already shared that dream of theirs… For example, Count Bergliez. When she told him how hard it would be for a commoner to be admitted into the Black Eagle House, after a performance, he gave her a letter of recommendation without asking for anything in return. It was all thanks to open-minded nobles like Caspar’s father who believed in rewarding promising commoners that the Empire was still standing.

And if she betrayed that trust, would others benefit from the same chances she had? The nobility only tolerated the General’s “whims” because they proved effective, like in the Dagda-Brigid War. Ultimately, there was more than her future at stake. And for the sake of all the commoners who looked up to her, Dorothea couldn’t betray General Bergliez’s expectations.

“I have nothing against you. I know you’re sincere.”

“But?” Kara asked, disappointed but listening.

“As the first officer of common birth to graduate from the Black Eagle house… I can’t turn my back on the Empire who finally saw our worth. I know Ferdinand and Lady Ena wouldn’t treat me any differently, but… Duke Aegir is a long-time patron of my opera troupe. I’ll never be anything but a lowly entertainer playing at war to him. And Count Varley… Ah! I’m lucky he even acknowledges my existence!” she laughed bitterly.

When the fair Kara teared up, Dorothea almost regretted telling her the truth. “I’m sorry for asking the impossible of you,” the vassal stated, ashamed. She creased her skirt from holding it too tightly. “You aren’t a noble. You have everything to lose in a war that doesn’t concern you… I’m truly sorry.”

“It’s okay, I know you meant well. Please, if I may ask a favour of you…” Even if a coward like her had no right to ask that of anyone… she had to.

“Everything you want, Thea.”

“Watch over him for me?”

___

After a day and night of combing through the debris with the remaining students of the Officers Academy, the Blue Lions had to face the facts: both the Archbishop and the Professor, current authorities of the Church of Seiros, really went missing in action. Worse still, the window of escape granted by the battle’s thunderous end was growing ever shorter for the natives of the Holy Kingdom.

War was already at their doorstep. They needed to get back to their territories at once, prepare for the inevitable invasion and hatch hurried battle plans against former classmates. Considering Edelgard’s year-long preparations for the siege, who was to say the roads were safe to travel?

The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus had sheltered Lady Patricia, granted asylum to her daughter… only for the Adrestian Empire to murder King Lambert and his knights, plunder and slander Duscur, wage war on the Church that anointed its name and demand the entirety of Fódlan as its due. Dimitri furiously crushed the boulder he was holding with his bare hands, the rumble barely concealing the ear-piercing ghostly wails haunting him. The screams of his loyal knights echoed like a chant foretelling Edelgard’s demise, his tear-stricken stepmother tasked him to lay her cursed spawn to rest, his father’s stern reminder to avenge the fallen wormed itself into his tired brain, and Glenn–

“You couldn’t find your dear Professor. Another life lost because of your incompetence. Is this pathetic display what I gave my life for?” the young knight snarled, looking down on him.

The cruel remark jolted Dimitri awake. Right. He had been searching for Byleth and Lady Rhea… In vain. It was all because of Edelgard that the leaders of Garreg Mach had been lost.

“Soon, I’ll kill that traitorous woman soon,” the prince whispered with a daunting smile. “I’ll grant her a death befitting of a monster.”

Please bear with me just a little while longer, Dimitri prayed to the voices.

___

After much discussion between the allied forces of Garreg Mach, an agreement was reached. Each faction would try to put as much distance as they could between them and the Imperial Army. Thus, the House leaders hurried to spread words of how the evacuation plan would proceed. The Blue Lions were scheduled to leave first, the next day at daybreak, with the Knights of Seiros and the Imperial Insurrectionists following in short order the same day. The Golden Deer would close the march in two days, leaving at the last possible time to comb through the Monastery’s ruins for a trace of the missing Professor…

It was their last night in Garreg Mach.

Chapter Text

Imperial Year 1181, 4^th of the Great Tree Moon

With the deadline set at dawn, the students couldn’t take much with them. Many things would inevitably be left behind as they would leave on foot with the bare necessities. Black Eagles, Blue Lions, and Golden Deer packed the smallest items in modest bags: underclothes, books, and the like. Most of them decided to leave with their uniform on, unable to leave it – and what it stood for – behind. Some packed their evening wear as a memento of the White Heron ball, others their summer uniform as a reminder of the fun times they had.

After months of expeditions, packing came easily to the majority of students. For the Blue Lions who all lived quite far from the Monastery, that meant their (warm) clothes, some snacks, a weapon – a Relic, usually – and nothing too heavy for the march ahead. On the other hand, those who lived relatively close, like Lorenz, didn’t need many travel necessities and mostly packed mementos. In his case, notebooks and tea boxes. Tying this light bundle gave him a bitter aftertaste, like the time he had to drop out of the School of Sorcery because of political instability in the Kingdom. Only this time, war had been officially declared by the Empire…

Some would rather die than leave their stuff behind for bandits. Say, a recluse? Bernadetta gave her teddy bear a big squeeze before tucking him at the very bottom of her bag. Mr Doodles had followed her for years. It was a gift from her late uncle Jerome – wherever she went, he came along, even if she had to leave out the rest of her wardrobe. Then, a loose sheet fell from the sketchbook she was packing. Bernadetta hurried to pick it up. She had exchanged some pieces of artwork with her fellow creative students throughout the year: the encyclopaedic drawing of a flower from Linhardt, a landscape sketch from Ignatz, even a doodle of Saint Seiros by Ingrid. Oh, and she still had that story draft from Seteth which she never got around to illustrating… Their time together had been cut cruelly short. She was going home, and she might never see them again.

Others spent the night sorting through their belongings to only carry the most valuable keepsakes. In Dorothea’s case, she could carry them all on her person – because the most precious things needn’t be expensive, or many. It was just the Goddess Ring Ingrid gave her as thanks, a bloody handkerchief, and the dancer attire she earned at the White Heron Cup. A gift, a lesson, and a reward. What else could she ask for? This – this is what it meant to be blessed.

But the most unfortunate of students where the ones with no home to return to, disowned or labelled as traitors. They would leave carrying their entire fortune on their back, which didn’t amount to much. At a time like this, these noble scions realised that wealth never truly mattered. After being held prisoner, Kara von Rusalka had nothing of value to bring with her. The army would provide her with everything she needed to travel and fight. With nothing to her name, she spent the night chatting with the soldiers who had become her family. Meanwhile, Theo von Stein gathered all his late parents’ letters and spent the rest of the night praying for the repose of their souls in the Cathedral.

Their house leader didn’t fare any better. Ferdinand stared at the mess of armour pieces on the bedroom floor. He hadn’t bothered to tidy up in months, and he wasn’t about to start now. The silly hobby was a thing of the past. Still, some pieces had their uses. He remembered the gauntlet with a retractable hidden blade that almost skewered Flayn’s hand – and the lingering embrace they shared. Ferdinand carefully warped the defensive gauntlet and tucked it in his bundle. His heart raced at the more recent memory of Flayn standing still in the Cathedral, about to be crushed, and the desperate leap of faith he made to save them both… She would face increasingly dangerous situations and he wouldn’t be there to catch her, nor any of their friends. Worse, would he be fighting them soon…?

He didn’t want to leave. Wiping stray tears on his sleeves, Ferdinand shoved bundles of clothes and undergarments in his bag, before falling to his knees, grabbing all the cards he had received during his convalescence. With trembling hands, he bundled them neatly and tucked them between the layers of clothes, hoping to preserve them on the journey. He added the agricultural survey of Aegir territory, not for reading – he had finished the book months ago – but for the flowers pressed inside, handpicked by Professor Byleth on his birthday and after the Sealed Forest. Finally, he shoved three tea boxes deeper into the already full bundle before closing it.

And, fighting the gloom, were the students who embodied the words “you only live once” and gathered in various groups across the Monastery to reminisce, laugh, dance, live together one last time… Hilda forwent her beauty sleep to chat with the night-dwellers that were Claude and Marianne. Sitting together at the dining hall, they promised to exchange letters. Meanwhile, the opera-loving Black Eagles and a few other students waltzed under the few lit chandeliers in the reception hall, reliving their memories of the ball and correcting that night’s regrets. No need to be self-conscious, no reason to be shy, no way they wouldn’t ask that person out! They had a single night to make things right…

In the kitchen, some down-to-earth students still prepared for every eventuality. The oven’s heat made the wait bearable and the conversation easy. Dedue presented his friends with extra rations while Ashe added more firewood into the oven. Sylvain packed some for the long journey home, while Ingrid planned to share hers among the townsfolk of Galatea. Quiet times like these really highlighted how stupid they had been to cling to prejudices and superficial first impressions… The Blue Lions gourmets could have talked of Duscur cuisine and Kingdom recipes for hours. While Ashe and Ingrid could ramble for hours about tales of chivalry, folk tales from Sreng and Duscur greatly piqued their interest… Sharing stories while doing a baker’s work in the middle of the night, in the Officers Academy’s kitchen, was a unique way to celebrate their graduation they wouldn’t have traded for anything else.

Indeed, the Monastery had never felt so alive at night. And with so many promises, tears, and laughter, would this farewell to their dear Academy turn into a “see you soon”…?

-_-_-_-

Imperial Year 1181, 5^th of the Great Tree Moon

Hidden behind grey clouds, the sun rose on the last day of their youth. It was time. On this day, the Blue Lions and Black Eagles were marching home. The three houses were parting ways to fates unknown. Despite the early hour, not a single student missed the departure of the Kingdom natives.

This chilly spring morning was a meagre consolation for the Lions leaving on foot. The siege and ensuing surrender had helped the team reconnect somewhat with Dimitri, who had been forced to sleep before their departure. He talked without growling to living people, which was a neat improvement from the last few days he spent foaming at the mouth with bloodlust. Not that anybody wanted to point it out to him – they already felt blessed to have him back. Putting his Crest to good use, he was carrying almost all the luggage of his classmates until they could reach an inn on the Magdred Way. It was almost comical to see the prince packed like a mule – and incredibly comforting.

Although the horses were stolen by the Imperial Army, Ingrid hadn’t lost her pegasus through the entirety of the siege. She volunteered to scout the road ahead, until she had to go her separate way with Felix and Sylvain. The oldest of the childhood friends had by far the longest way home, but it was relatively safer after all the excursions they made to deal with bandits throughout the year. In the other group, Ashe and Annette would conclude their journey on their own, while Dimitri, Dedue, and Mercedes all headed to Fhirdiad.

Of course, they weren’t the only Blue Lions students to go back to the Kingdom capital. Among them was Sigrid, who lived there since her studies at the School of Sorcery – and now glued to Lutz in a back-and-forth of goodbyes that would never end. No one had the heart to tell them to cut it out.

Claude eventually decided to step in. “Why don’t you come to the Alliance with him? I’ll support the elopement,” the son of two countries offered with his rose-tinted glasses on.

“You managed to recruit Professor Byleth to your cause, but I won’t allow you to steal my classmate,” Dimitri joked with a sad smile. “We will travel together to Fhirdiad. Rest assured, Lutz; she is in good hands.”

“I know she is, Your Highness. I wish you all safe travels,” the humble knight sadly accepted. After one last kiss, Sigrid returned to her group, ready to depart. Mercedes patted her back as a sign of support.

Then, Dimitri offered his hand to Claude, who shook it with that smile that didn’t reach his eyes… not out of deception, but sorrow.

“The Golden Deer have made something of a promise. A class reunion of sorts, sometime five years from now…” Claude deliberately remained vague so no unwanted guests – enemies – could spoil this hopeful meeting.

“That does sound like a lovely promise,” Dimitri blurted out.

“Say, Your Princeliness…” Claude leaned forward as if to share a secret. “If I invited you to toast to our days at the Officers Academy, would you come?”

Claude was always so full of surprises, the prince thought. “As long as you remain independent from the Empire, I shall consider it,” Dimitri cautiously agreed.

“Shrewd, aren’t you?” Claude nodded in appreciation. “You don’t smack of naïveté anymore.” It was a bit sad, actually…

“And you have learned to trust your classmates,” Dimitri observed, teasing but sincere.

Although the leader of the Golden Deer wanted to downplay that notion, there was no denying that he put his life on the line several times during the siege to protect those same classmates. Touché. “Yeah, they’re pretty great!” Claude cheekily surrendered, his arms crossed behind his back and a real smile illuminating his face. “I’ll do anything to protect them until our class reunion, so you do the same with the Blue Lions, yes?”

“Of course,” he said. Their lives are worth more than a boar’s, he thought as a matter of fact.

And the Blue Lions weren’t fooled. That’s why they wouldn’t allow him to give his life for theirs.

After saying his goodbyes to the Golden Deer, the prince made his way to the remnants of the Black Eagle house.

“If we find each other on the battlefield, make way to your Emperor, and I shall put a swift end to her madness,” Dimitri gleefully promised with unnerving sincerity.

Then, without casting a look back at the mortified Eagles, he went to express his thanks and bid farewell to their teachers. Hanneman put a hand on his shoulder and made him promise, face to face, to lead his classmates and subjects wisely in the war to come, acknowledging the overwhelming strength of his homeland. Dimitri valued his professor’s hindsight greatly and assured him he would soon raise an army in the capital and follow his teachings.

Meanwhile, Sylvain came to smooth things over with the Black Eagles. “Wow, rude,” he commented with a side glance at Dimitri. “Don’t mind him, he took one too many pages from Felix’s book of grumpiness. Take care out there,” he told Ferdinand as he pulled him into a friendly hug. He ruffled Bernadetta’s hair – who yelped – and winked at Dorothea before returning to the Blue Lions’ ranks.

A growing commotion suddenly piqued their interest.

“I can’t sing here!” Annette loudly protested.

“Pretty please?” Claude cooed – no, begged her with humid doe eyes.

“Now everyone’s looking!” Annette squealed, hiding her face behind her hands.

“I haven’t heard that one,” Felix commented.

“The Blue Lions didn’t pick you as their dancer by chance,” Hilda encouraged her. “Come on! Give us an encore!”

“Ugh, fine!” Annette relented. With all eyes on her – including Gilbert’s – the petite mage turned bright red, but soldiered on and bowed before her audience. “This is the Boxes song…”

The three houses and the knights present listened and clapped to the rhythm of her cheerful tune. When the applause eventually died down, it was time to go. Against all odds, the Blue Lions left in relatively good spirits.

___

A few hours later, the Church forces were ready to depart. The servants and remaining civilians would be headed toward churches across Faerghus and Leicester where they would be granted shelter, while the Knights of Seiros would begin their search for Lady Rhea and the Professor. Even though the Blue Lions were already gone, the goodbyes went on and on… The main culprits being their professors. Like two overbearing parents, Hanneman and Manuela made the Golden Deer promise to stay safe, to write often, to never wander alone… They fussed endlessly over the Black Eagles, fully aware of the dilemma they were about to experience.

“Live without regrets,” they told their compatriots. “Live a life you can be proud of.”

A few stray tears were spilled in Manuela’s coat, then from her own eyes when Ferdinand thanked her again for everything she had done for him. Meanwhile, Hanneman was seen apologising to Lysithea and Marianne, who didn’t seem to bear him any resentment. When he promised to support them in any way he could, they graciously agreed.

“We’ll make sure to drop by if we have the chance!” Catherine joyfully promised to the students.

“No, we won’t,” Shamir reigned her in with a smile. True, it might be hard to infiltrate the Empire in the first place…

With the teams splitting, the Golden Deer also had to see off two of their classmates: Flayn and Cyril. To say they were reluctant to part ways was an understatement. After months of building their friendship with a classmate they saved from the clutches of the Death Knight, and Rhea’s most hard-working servant, they were fully part of their class. However, duty called them elsewhere…

“I shall cherish the happy memories we made together,” Flayn heartfully thanked them. Her serene smile and delicate curtsy made her words feel strangely solemn.

“We’ll visit ya whenever we can,” Cyril promised. They would be travelling with no destination but Rhea in mind, so they could afford to say hello to their friends whenever they passed by their lands. He then turned his attention to his young teacher. “I promise I’ll write to ya. I gotta practice everything ya taught me.”

Lysithea returned his easy-going smile with a look of pride. “I’m looking forward to it!”

Of course, many Knights set to depart with Duke Aegir and Count Varley also came to see off their comrades, Lilia von Gillingr among them. To everyone’s surprise, she went to hug Professor Hanneman, whom she didn’t particularly spend time with… But for good reason.

“Be safe, Uncle,” she said, her voice muffled in Hanneman’s cloak.

“You too, child. Your life is a gift you must cherish,” he said, holding her close.

“I will. I should also warn you. Do not trust anyone from Gillingr, least of all my siblings. They still think of you as a traitor to the Empire, so please proceed carefully if your search leads you to set foot on Imperial soil.”

Hanneman promised his niece to be careful. At the same time, Alois gave one last hug to his wife and daughter about to leave for Alliance territory – and seeing the beloved Captain they could all rely on about to leave, the students charged at him for a group hug, lifting everybody’s spirits. People eventually let go of Alois to wrap up the goodbyes, notably Catherine who bid farewell to Lysithea, telling her to stay strong, whereas Shamir challenged Claude to stay out of trouble until that supposed class reunion.

It was Seteth who warped up the goodbyes.

“One day, we’ll retake the seat of the Central Church,” he promised with a mysteriously undisputable certainty. “All of you who fought to protect her, know that you will always be welcome in Garreg Mach.”

With these words, they left the town at last. And, surprisingly, an uplifting wind blew with the departure of Rhea’s most loyal followers…

___

At noon, the clouds turned milky white from the harsh hidden sunlight, when another group was set to depart Garreg Mach. Because of its leaders, most people referred to this rebellious Imperial faction as “the New Insurrection”. Composed of soldiers from Aegir, Varley, the Knights of Seiros, and deserters from the Imperial Army, it was a heteroclite group with varying priorities glued together by mismatched faith and ambitions. They would reassign soldiers to the proper battalions in the coming weeks, but for now, they needed to put as much distance as possible with the legitimate army of Adrestia and reunite with the Aegir troops that hadn’t been able to reach them before the siege began.

Goodbyes sadly came more easily since the first round of practice with the Blue Lions. As such, another downpour of emotions submerged the remaining houses while they readily offered signs and words of affection to their classmates. Certainly, the idea of the Black Eagles returning to the Empire weighed on everyone’s mind… Their decision was far too obvious – their reluctance too. Maybe they would fight on opposing sides soon; but for now, the Golden Deer indulged in these last moments with their Black Eagles friends. The expeditions they went on together, the seminars and meals they shared, the fishing tournament where Byleth bested them all, the fierce White Heron Cup they disputed… The blood they spilled defending Garreg Mach. Nothing could erase the meaningful memories they made together, not even the spectre of war.

Hiding their unease, the students of the Officers Academy tried their hardest to keep the goodbyes more sweet than bittersweet. Indeed, Dorothea leaned into the rose-scented embrace of Hilda.

“I hope to see you at the opera someday,” the songstress said.

The Golden Deer happily returned her embrace. “I can’t wait,” her fellow fashionista concurred.

By contrast, Claude showed the restraint he was known for as a schemer, further setting him apart from the passionate house leaders that were Edelgard and Dimitri. Well-meaning, yet reserved, he bid farewell to the Black Eagles whose loyalties were blurred, even to him…

But the growing distance between the houses made sense – the heart of Garreg Mach was gone. It wasn’t just the Knights and the Blue Lions. The people were gone, the city left in ruins. In a matter of days, their beloved Monastery had become inhospitable, hostile even…

And burnt houses didn’t make the most comforting of backdrop for goodbyes. Furthermore, parting with their friends twice already drained the students of what little cheer they had left. Even Lorenz couldn’t find it in him to wax poetic to his closest confidant.

“Although I cannot speak for House Gloucester at present, please be assured of the strength of our bond of friendship. You can always count on my aid as your fellow noble,” he spoke with the utmost sincerity.

“Although your words give me great comfort, I cannot accept your offer,” Ferdinand replied with a courteous bow. “This burden is mine to bear, and I do not wish to get you involved in Adrestia’s affairs.”

Leonie lightly tapped her foot. “Didn’t you hear a word he said? Noble or not, you can rely on him! And me too, of course. That’s what friends are for, silly!” Her bright laughter melted some of the tension in the air.

Friends of common or noble birth… To her own surprise, Bernadetta had made both. So when the giant of the Golden Deer gingerly approached her, hunched as if it would make him appear less threatening, she gathered her courage to properly face him.

She tried not to think about all the epitaphs she wrote for people she never got to talk to, even though they used to be precious allies too…

“T-thank you for your help on the tower!” Bernie blurted out, the word spilling fast to make up for her abysmal manners. Her classmate deserved more than a pathetic late apology.

“It’s nothing,” Raphael said, voice soft and humble. “I’m glad my muscles got to be more helpful than frightening to you,” he added without a hint of sarcasm.

Fiddling with her fingers, the recovering recluse took a step forward. “Actually, t-there’s more I have to tell you. I’m sorry for what I said before. And the running. … And screaming. Argh, you’re so hopeless Bernie!” Hiding her face in shame, she went on. “It wasn’t fair to you, calling you scary… Because, deep down, I know you’re really nice, Raphael…”

A beat. No, he wasn’t tearing up – something just got in his eyes on this windy day… But thanks to her words, Raphael relaxed as the wisps of guilt vanished. He was beaming, in fact.

“Ignatz told me all about your command of the tower. I saw it too. You were great! You’re getting braver every day, Bernadetta,” he praised her, acknowledging her growth, “so I’ll try to be less intimidating too. You’ve made me realise something important. I can’t be a knight if I scare away the people I want to protect.”

At last, Bernadetta looked up at the towering protector of the Golden Deer, who smiled broadly at her. He still looked quite fearsome… and yet, it was a smile she had learned to trust in a heartbeat.

“… I’m glad I could help? I guess?” she answered with a quizzical look. While she was still clasping her hands, her nervous fidgeting had stopped without her noticing.

But Raphael noticed, and she soon found herself swept up in the overwhelming warmth coming from his smile. “Let’s train hard so we can overcome our shortcomings before the class reunion!”

“Uh… sure!” Bernadetta hurriedly promised, not quite unconvinced, but unsure…

Like the students who danced all night in the reception hall, Raphael and Bernadetta got the chance to set the record straight between them, leaving no apologies, no praise, no promises unsaid. And when they parted ways, not even knowing if they would ever see each other again, their hearts still felt lighter than ever.

It was almost an hour later when the two houses finally waved each other goodbye. Respectfully, the Golden Deer retired to the Monastery so the Black Eagles could have some privacy to say their own goodbyes. Soldiers from the Church, Aegir, and Varley went on ahead. Duke Aegir bid them farewell – and good luck – in fewer words than what he had used them to, although it was kind of expected. They weren’t going to follow him either way. Still, he left in a very civil manner, befitting of the Prime Minister of the Adrestian Empire. At last, Count Varley left them with some cryptic words. “Stay safe,” he said to the Black Eagles as a whole, and a pointed look at Bernadetta.

The Black Eagles didn’t notice, absorbed in their own sadness. At the crossroads, the Black Eagles stood on the side of the road to the plains, while their house leader stepped on the mountain path. Alone.

“Will you join the New Insurrection to stop Edelgard’s conquest?” Ferdinand asked for courtesy’s sake.

“You already guessed our answer,” Linhardt observed with no joy whatsoever. “The choice was never ours or yours to make.” Indeed, it had all been decided by the Emperor and the Prime Minister. Who were they to oppose them?

“I’m sorry, Ferdinand. I have to get answers from my father. And, I can’t…” Caspar fumbled over his words. In the end, he was a coward, and that was all there was. He could never fight his father. He knew all along he would abandon his friend, yet didn’t have the guts to tell him sooner. 

“Don’t apologise,” Ferdinand placated him. Then, he looked at each of the Black Eagles. “I knew you could never follow this path. I cannot ask such sacrifices from my friends. Only I can throw myself into the fight, given all I have lost.” Ferdinand shifted his weight from one foot to another, awkward. I’ve got no hard feelings, so please… Don’t look so sad…

Petra was the first to speak up. “We have different duties to be fulfilling. There is no shame in the path we are choosing,” she summed up with the regal dignity that was hers. Still, the Black Eagles uncomfortably averted their eyes…

Until Dorothea cleared her throat, drawing their attention to herself. “Ahem… ‘Although we have some points of contention, there is one thing we all agree on. Let’s forge a promise to protect Fódlan and all its people together. Because our nation started this war, we have a duty to restore a lasting peace.’ On the eve of the siege, that’s what Ferdinand said,” the diva quoted word for word. And it was what she wanted to believe, now more than ever. “We promised to bring back peace to Fódlan,” she reminded them, her fists closed and resolute. “It doesn’t matter whose side we’re on as long we work toward the same goal! We’ll be on our side, ours alone! Let’s follow our dreams above anyone else’s! Because we can’t betray the Empire, but we can’t forget all the support our friends from the Monastery provided us!” Dorothea declared with passion, her hands flying with her intentions and emotions as if she were on stage.

Her genuine feelings echoed in the hearts of the Black Eagles who secretly agreed with her.

“Let’s do everything we can to end this war quickly. We’ll try to persuade Edelgard on your behalf, too,” Caspar promised, fully on board with Dorothea’s vision.

“We can’t go against our family,” Linhardt admitted with a hint of regret. “But if we return to the Empire, we can change it from the insides. And Edelgard seems rather fond of change, doesn’t she? She won’t hear an end to our complaints until the war is over.”

At last, the masks fell. A genuine smile, neither cheerful nor bright, rose to Ferdinand’s lips. Perhaps for the last time, he could bare his heart to all the friends he had the honour to make at the Officers Academy. Overwhelmed with emotion, the last house leader of the Black Eagles took a deep breath.

“I shall miss you,” he finally said, a hint of a sob in his voice…

“We made a great team, didn’t we?” Caspar immediately replied, and Ferdinand’s sorrow melted into a quiet laugh. “Fighting without you will never feel the same…” he added wistfully.

When the Aegir heir nodded, Dorothea also let go of all pretence. “Oh, Ferdie-bee…” she said, taking a step forward. Linhardt read her intentions and grabbed Caspar to make a less awkward group hug. Dorothea opened her free left arm to invite Bernadetta who threw herself into the embrace. Petra didn’t need to be asked to join in the group hug.

Holding Ferdinand so close, it felt like he wasn’t going anywhere… like nothing bad could happen to him ever again. It felt right. Why didn’t they do that sooner?

“Promise you’ll be careful, Ferdie?”

“Take breaks once in a while.”

“Remember – we are allies of justice!”

“Fight with pride so we can be meeting again.”

“It’s okay to… to make mistakes. You can always try again!”

“I will! I will.”

At last, Ferdinand let go of his friends and picked up his bag, before flinging it over his shoulder.

“It’s time for me to go. My father must be growing impatient. Farewell, and take care, everyone.”

“Do you want me to relay a message to Edie and Hubie?” Dorothea stopped him.

Ferdinand looked aside, a hand below his chin, thinking. “Tell them I am always open for discussion, provided they actually feel like talking things over. Until then, I will fight them with all I have.”

He waved them goodbye, and turned his back on the Officers Academy with a determined stride.

Bernadetta stuttered an inaudible word.

Stay! she prayed. She didn’t want him to throw himself into the lion’s den, at the mercy of a father who had no qualms about using him, betraying his trust and trampling on his love at every turn. The heiress of Varley knew better than anyone that noble children had no chance of successfully standing up to the will of their fathers… Ferdinand would be miserable. Maybe he already was. In the past few weeks alone, she had discovered so many unseen facets of him: angry, secretive, resigned. Desperate to please. Unable to.

Stay, she wanted to say. She could pick that hint of loneliness in his step, mirroring hers, getting farther. Why should he leave his friends for a civil war he didn’t want? Why should he give up on love because of her father’s greed? It didn’t take a hopeless romance novelist to want him and Dorothea to get together… And yet, it couldn’t be. Because some nobles said so! And nobles like the Prime Minister, hiding their sinister plans behind a veil of friendliness and virtue, were the absolute worst! That monster kept demeaning Ferdinand in public while beyond every scrap of praise or comfort lied a hidden agenda, like that meeting with the Church leaders. Even when it mattered, the Duke made himself scarce. He never stayed at his son’s bedside for any length of time – and Goddess knew he had had many occasions to make things right. More than the insults, this cruel level of neglect made Bernadetta’s blood boil. And how could she forget? How, for five years, her father avoided Enbarr, then ruled by Duke Aegir, like the plague? What did the Prime Minister do to earn the ire of his most fervent supporter?! How could she trust a man like that to treat his son right in the war to come?

Still, the one who started this war was Lady Edelgard. Before the siege, Bernadetta asked the Professor why the princess wished for this conflict. Now, however… The names and faces of the fallen would haunt her forever. She couldn’t forgive her so easily. This place used to be their second home, and she destroyed all their cherished memories as she shattered idols and burnt banners in her foregone conquest. And Bernadetta found herself agreeing more and more with the princess’s self-proclaimed rival… The Church wasn’t the enemy. It was the cowardly, greedy elites pulling the strings among the nobility, Church, Knights that needed to go. Thus, Edelgard needed to be stopped before she committed atrocities that couldn’t be undone.

Stay safe… Bernadetta replayed those words in her mind. In the last few days, she had glimpsed a side of her father she had seldom, if ever seen. A noble who despised commoners, a warrior who didn’t lose a single subordinate, a proud husband… A man who grieved his closest friend for weeks. (She wasn’t blind. This rebellion was nothing but a revenge plot.) And, perhaps, a father who actually cared about her…? She would have scoffed at the notion a month ago. But, those words were definitely meant for her. With the promise of safety her mother extracted from Edelgard and these words as her only clues, he wanted her to take the hint and go home. Sure, from a pragmatic standpoint, he needed her alive to make use of her in the future… but Duke Aegir didn’t mind putting Ferdinand in harm’s way so soon after… well, all the horrors he went through? Conversely, Count Varley told them to rest and be careful. Vested interests or not, he did bother to check up on them when Duke Aegir did nothing of the sort out of some misplaced pride. And her classmate would be stuck with these nobles who saw him as nothing but a prized pawn…

Stay safe. Bernadetta gazed at Ferdinand’s back, the sight of blood-soaked bandages coming at the forefront of her mind. Without the Black Eagles at his side, who would tell him these words? Who would keep him safe? The further he got away, the more Bernie was convinced her friend was marching to his death.

She saw the mastermind pulling Ferdinand’s strings against his will. She saw the bleak future ahead of him and the freedom he never had. They were birds of a feather, locked in gilded cages to suit their fathers’ agenda – only hers left the door open for her to avoid the conflict entirely.

Then and there, she could run to safety, or…

“Wait!” Bernadetta cried out. Before she knew it, she was grabbing Ferdinand’s sleeve. Confused, he watched her hang from his arm, without making a move to pull him back to the Black Eagles.

“Berna–” he started.

“Let me come with you!” Bernadetta shouted over him.

… seize the one and only chance at altering her destiny. If she wanted to “overcome her shortcomings” as she absent-mindedly promised Raphael, she had to take the first step – it was now or never.

The Black Eagles audibly gasped, while Ferdinand stared at her wide-eyed. The noble was stunned into silence, trying to puzzle the meaning of her words together. No, that couldn’t possibly be. His tired mind was playing tricks on him. Audible tricks…?

“I’m coming with you,” Bernadetta repeated, more firmly, clinging almost painfully to his arm.

There was so much she needed to tell him. The plans about making him Emperor, the secret betrothal… But more than anything, she didn’t want him to suffer and die alone, at the Ministers’ mercy. And she couldn’t save him if she didn’t try!

Dumbfounded, the Black Eagles rushed to the two of them with concerned looks on their faces.

“Are you sure?” Caspar earnestly worried. “Can you fight against your own mother?”

“She’s a civil servant,” Bernie replied. “She should be far from the battlefields, so it’s okay.”

“And what about your father?” Linhardt understandably prodded her. “Can you fight for him?”

“I… I’ll have to face him sooner or later, anyway. And, I won’t be alone!” She inadvertently pulled on Ferdinand’s arm, whose gaze softened. “Plus, I… don’t want to fight the other houses,” Bernie nervously admitted, a bead of sweat rolling down her temple. “If I have to fight someone, it should be the one who started the war, don’t you think?”

Indeed, if war was truly inevitable, better meet it in her own terms and fight Edelgard. Besides, she couldn’t endure another five years of uncertain doom, locked in her tower until her father decided how to pull her strings. Maybe she could break free from her puppet master, maybe not. It was worth a shot.

It was her only shot, and Ferdinand’s too.

“Wise words indeed,” Ferdinand said, yet unaware of the full scale of the plans going on in her head. While he managed to keep his cool, his heart was racing with gratitude…

“You have great bravery, Bernie. You are no rabbit. I am wishing you success!”

“Thanks, Petra! Actually, c-could you give us a Brigid good-luck charm before we leave…?”

Petra came up to Bernadetta and held her hands, hoping to convey her trust. “The spirits of Brigid and the Saints of Fódlan will be with you. I have belief in you,” she asserted to them both.

And because of that unexpected development, the Black Eagles’ goodbyes lasted another 10 minutes for everyone to hug again, until the embrace turned into a wave, and their goodbyes into a shout, and their feelings into an echo.

The Cathedral’s spires slowly disappeared into the low-hanging clouds as the lonely Eagles stepped further and further away from their childhood, in solemn silence punctuated by the crunching of their boots on gravel and wind sweeping across the barren plateau. The world dulled to a homogenous grey, the cold dye painting the skies and earth in monotonous strokes before bleeding onto their souls. Bittersweet melancholy poured in Bernadetta’s chest, weighed down by too many memories…

As they climbed up the hill, she almost lost her footing to her very real, very sizeable luggage, but Ferdinand offered her his arm to help her along the mountain path as soon as he noticed. Then, realising how silly it looked, he extended his hand instead. Always considerate of her needs…

With a knowing smile, she accepted it.

Dorothea, Petra, Caspar, and Linhardt watched Ferdinand and Bernadetta disappear into the distance in similar silence. Two souls facing adversity, chained by duty… it was just too lonely…

“… We shouldn’t keep the Emperor waiting,” Linhardt reminded them to break the silence. They chose to not run away, and they would live with the consequences of that choice.

“Right. And I need to have a word with my father about the Demonic Beasts in the Imperial Army,” Caspar said with gritted teeth. There were so many questions he needed answers to! Was this siege the true visage of the Empire’s ruthless might, or the prelude to something else?

“For the sake of Ferdinand and Bernadetta, I will have the courage. But… My heart is also wanting to understand Lady Edelgard and Hubert. If we can be ending this war soon, we will be shooting two birds with one arrow. Fódlan will be safe, and our friends will not be clashing.”

For us, whose country started this war… This is a selfish wish, we know. But we aren’t selfless and brave like you two…

Atop the hill, Ferdinand waved at the combined troops of the New Insurrection, signalling them to depart.

Duke Aegir knew better than anybody else the strength of a friendship forged and tested in the fires of war. While the Black Eagles of 1180 did not stick together, it meant nothing in the grand schemes of things. Their hearts were forever as one. If he could still place his trust in the Ministers after twenty odd years of back-stabbing, the bond of the young Black Eagles was just as strong, no matter which side they fought for… Perhaps they were too hastily called foes. In fact, weren’t they the most likely to defect from Edelgard’s ranks? Wayward members always followed the most peerless leaders, and that leader would be Ferdinand. They would find out in time. Adrestian Emperors always dug their own graves, didn’t they?

When he was about to turn around, a flash of purple behind his son suddenly caught his attention. At his side, the Minister of Religious Affairs also stilled in shock.

Then his mask fell back in place. “Hurry, you two,” the Count gestured to the children. “An army doesn’t wait for stragglers.”

Of course, Celian was taken aback by this bold move. Bernadetta had grown a backbone at last, and this assertiveness would serve their House well in the future. He didn’t doubt her skill on the battlefield, especially when he could polish them to perfection. And, most importantly… Her friendship with Ferdinand could also speed along his plans for the betrothal if she could make him fall for her. An interesting thought. But as she was now, in her plain uniform and hair untamed, nervous and jittery, the road ahead was long indeed…

In contrast, Ludwig was very unhappy at this sudden turn of events. He had nothing against the girl, on the contrary, he found her quite charming. The problem lied with her joining their army unprompted. The Knights of Seiros had grown attached to Alois’s protégée and her presence strengthened the holy part of their army, not his. Plus, he would have to account for her presence and keep her safe per Celian’s standards… She was an unwanted variable he couldn’t manipulate, because if there was one thing her father has successfully taught her, it was that her paranoia was entirely justified.

Thus, the fallen members of Houses Aegir and Varley, entangled in a web of well-meaning lies and ill-fated promises, set on an unknown journey to reclaim everything that was lost.

-_-_-_-

Imperial Year 1181, 6^th of the Great Tree Moon

Thus, the Golden Deer students – all 42 of them – were left alone in the deserted Monastery soon to be occupied by the Imperial Army.

Without concertation, they threw all their efforts into searching for Byleth long after the other houses were gone, even into the night of the 5^th. On this last day of research, they continued to look for their dear professor well into the afternoon, even well along on the road to the Leicester Alliance. They threw their luggage on the roadside to turn every rock on their path, look into the depths of every well they found… Unfortunately, the road didn’t come close to the cliffs at all – they never realised that their teacher had run off to fight a flock of Demonic Beasts on such dangerous terrain, far from the battlefield they had fought on on New Year’s Eve.

At last, Claude threw his hands in the air to put an end to the fruitless search.

“I know she’ll turn up when we least expect it,” he declared with iron-clad certainty. “Let’s be reasonable and leave before the Imperial Army runs us over, shall we? We have to go home and prepare for whatever Edelgard has in stock for us.”

Eventually, the Golden Deer came around. Travelling groups had been decided a while ago: first, they would all go to Gloucester where they would stay overnight. Obviously, Lorenz, Leonie, and Ignatz would have the shortest journey, coming from the same territory. From there, Raphael, Claude, and Marianne would head up north, to reach their respective destinations in that order. Finally, Lysithea and Hilda would travel east together. The Ordelias would provide an escort party to Hilda so she could reach her territory safely afterwards. Indeed, if bandits were a problem in the Kingdom, the Alliance’s routes were infested with wild beasts instead.

There was still time before they truly had to split up. War would knock at their doorstep last. Provided their friends kept their word, they might visit once in a while. Galvanised by these false hopes, they worked their way down the Oghma mountains.

When they set camp that night, for the first time in 995 years, the lights of Garreg Mach didn’t light up the horizon.

-_-_-_-

Imperial Year 1181, 7^th of the Great Tree Moon

A week after the New Year, the Adrestian Empire claimed the holy grounds of Garreg Mach Monastery and officially secured its first victory in the war against the Church of Seiros.

Chapter Text

Imperial Year 1181, Great Tree Moon

After the fall of Garreg Mach, everyone went their separate ways. And one such faction was composed of the rebellious heads of Houses Aegir and Varley, Ludwig and Celian. Their children followed in their wake to form a coalition of nobles who refused Edelgard’s meritocratic reforms, the end of privileges, and the dissolution of the Church of Seiros. Under the leadership of the fallen Prime Minister, this army came to be known as the New Insurrection.

Loyal lords from Aegir territory, believers from Varley and the Empire at large, reactionary nobles who couldn’t let go of the old order, students who refused to follow their former house leader… Deserters and believers rallied the New Insurrection army in droves in the first few months of Edelgard’s reign, creating a lasting fracture within the Empire. Such heterogenous forces were hard to federate, and yet, Duke Aegir played his hand masterfully. Rather than use himself as a beacon for the rebellion, he put a more charismatic, pure, and youthful figure in charge of the allied forces: Ferdinand von Aegir.

With a stellar military education and the principles of leadership drilled into him from birth, his son was the ideal general to lead them to victory. He was entrusted with the command of the noble troops on the vanguard.

However, Ferdinand wasn’t the only ace up his sleeve. As a strategist, Ludwig was far removed from the frontlines, and they needed another firm hand to guide their diverse allies.

This role came down to Count Varley, who rallied the faith behind him. Although he had never taken part in a military campaign before, his training at the Officers Academy coupled with his fearsome reputation as the Angel of Death propelled him to the rank of general. Thanks to his promise to restore the Southern Church, a detachment of the Knights of Seiros supported the Insurrection and continued to search for Lady Rhea’s whereabouts alongside them within the Empire.

Finally, the Ministers settled on a different arrangement for Bernadetta, whose father refused to send to the frontlines. She would be a supporting general leading half of the Varley archers and the medical personnel. Thus, the three generals and the strategist covered the entire battlefield together.

___

Imperial Year 1181, 7^th of the Great Tree Moon

Thus, the New Insurrection formally came to be. But it all started with the reunion of the rebels with the bulk of the Aegir forces, waiting for them in the Oghma mountains.

House Aegir was oft called the true power behind the throne, a truth that came to light after the Insurrection ended in their resounding victory over the millennium-old Hresvelg dynasty. And yet, Bernadetta shuddered before what that might actually meant in terms of men, power, prestige. What they found in the valley wasn’t a cavalry line of Aegir’s most well-known troops – it was a military camp, ready for the counterattack. Soldiers lined up to welcome them and their troops who had fought in the Monastery. Duke Aegir greeted them with a gentle nod and Ferdinand followed in his wake, unperturbable. At the camp’s entrance waited the troops from about half the lesser noble Houses that had picked their side, their banners floating in the spring wind like the flames that ravaged the town of Garreg Mach they were defending just a few days ago…

There, she learned the names of those who dared oppose the Emperor again. First were Viscount Markus von Martyn and Baron Robert von Barnabas, from the east, two nobles who didn’t fall for Arundel’s charm and perhaps resented the power he gained since his niece Edelgard became the sole heiress apparent. Then, there were the Heads of the two warring noble Houses, now united under a single purpose: Viscountess Amalia von Fenja and Viscount Wilbur von Menja. Still, these Houses managed to stand opposite even on the same side. Amalia’s daughter had joined their war, whereas Wilbur’s son had defected from the Black Eagles before the siege even began…

But that wasn’t the strangest part, and Bernadetta would soon realise how little she knew of the Adrestian court and political games…

On the other hand, Ferdinand embraced the role he was raised to fulfil to the utmost perfection and greeted their allies with warm words of thanks. A pleasant atmosphere reigned whenever he went. Meanwhile, she remained by her father’s side. Never had she had the opportunity to follow him at court and witness the public persona that had fooled even the observant Ferdinand… And indeed, it was a mesmerising scene. Count Varley’s threatening charm forced reverence from his impressed peers. And the man, who wielded his Faith as a weapon and a shield, was untouchable. Everything he asked of her, he had perfected to the utmost limit – diction, posture, manners, small talk, appearance – among all things, he wasn’t a hypocrite, at least. However, she stood out in her inadequacy to meet his standards…

Celian glanced at her. It had never been part of his plan, but he might as well embrace it. If Ludwig could garner sympathy from his son’s sunny disposition, he could use his daughter’s naïve nature to redeem his House’s cursed reputation among the nobility. It took him decades to undo his father’s deplorable management of their territory – but a woman’s smile alone could turn the tides of men’s fates.

Really, he would be a fool not to use Bernadetta while she was there. While she had what it took to shine on the battlefield, he had other plans for her in this ill-fated war.

Lost in his calculations, the last of their allies managed to catch him by surprise. An unexpected face had found its way here, indeed.

Baron Bernhardt von Ochs flashed a sharp smile at Count Varley, who replied in kind.

With the Professor gone, the cogs of fate spun without end…

A war council would be held at night, after the tired troops from Garreg Mach had time to settle in. The high command disposed of luxurious tents, one for each noble family. Celian and Bernadetta shared a large three-room tent comprised of two bedrooms and a meeting room. Ludwig and Ferdinand received similar quarters in their House colours. Staring at the tent flaps, Bernie realised this would be all the privacy she would have for the foreseeable future…

It was better than nothing, or worse, sharing with her dad. Speaking of which… She needed to tell Ferdinand the truth. Tell him what they knew all along… Because, unless they fought together, their lives would never be their own.

She walked to the Aegir’s tent – a short walk, they were literally neighbours. Bernadetta couldn’t knock on cloth, so she mustered some courage and hailed the tent. It felt bizarre.

“Ferdinand? M-may we talk?”

She heard some shuffling inside, then her classmate opened the tent for her and invited her inside. It seemed like he was all settled in – not that they had much luggage to begin with. Although the common room was tastefully furnished, it was a bit cramped with too much furniture… The Prime Minister just couldn’t leave the opulent life behind, could he?

“How can I help you?” Ferdinand asked while offering her a seat. She didn’t take it.

“It’s a… delicate matter. It’s about… the reason I ca– the reason I chose to follow you,” she stuttered.

Ferdinand turned serious.

“I am listening. Believe in me, and I shall prove worthy of the trust you placed in me.”

“… A-are you settled in?” she asked, hoping the change of subject would calm her nerves. She didn’t want to fumble her words on the important part.

“I am,” he played along, knowing she liked to hear him carry the conversation before chiming in. In some way, it was a soothing routine, and a needed breather before the jump into the unknown.

Heated voices suddenly rang out from the entrance of the tent. Bernadetta almost jumped out of her skin.

“Father and Sir Se–,” Ferdinand started, but he never got the last word out. With footsteps coming closer, and the secrecy of her mission coming back to haunt her, Bernie did an Olympic dive under the table and disappeared behind the cluttered furniture right before the guests entered.

Ferdinand’s surprise wasn’t feigned, to say the least.

“Sir Selig! I am so glad you made it!” he almost shouted.

The knight who entered beside his father was none other than the Captain of the Aegir Astral Knights, the most elite cavalry in the Empire. The man had short dirty blond hair like matted gold, and honest brown eyes. Personally, Ferdinand knew him as a stern but just teacher who had taught him all about weapons, until no imperfection remained. Beyond the unparalleled prowess their House prided itself in, Ludwig had wanted his heir to be able to defend himself and Adrestia with all the tools at his disposal. Sir Selig von Dassel, a middle-aged man with a lifetime of service to House Aegir, gladly took upon that challenge and made Ferdinand the jack-of-all-trades his father had intended him to be.

The retainer crossed the distance between them in three hurried steps and placed his hands on his shoulders. “Master Ferdinand! What a joy it is to see you safe and sound!”

Guilt nibbled on his tongue with an apology he didn’t know how to phrase… Alas, he couldn’t erase the disturbing news his family and vassals received about him these past few weeks, for they downplayed the truth. Ferdinand spent weeks in a coma he could have never woken up from, fought in a three-day-long siege – and had that many close encounters with death. The Captain didn’t even know about the last part yet.

“Please, allow me to apo–”

“No need for that. I see your hard work paid off. You stand before me. That is all I need, and a selfish pride of mine to believe that I had some small part in this, Master.”

“You did, Sir,” Ferdinand claimed truthfully. While it was his own perseverance that made the difference, without the guidance of teachers like Sir Selig or Professor Byleth, he knew he wouldn’t be an accomplished alumnus of the Officers Academy. “War taught me the lessons you and Father despaired to make me understand,” he continued. “What it means to bleed with my men, and my duty to them… In the war ahead, I swear to be worthy of the duties bestowed upon me.”

Selig let go of him, and bowed deeply. “And I shall be by your side, Master Ferdinand.”

There was no greater pride for a teacher than to see a student exceed your expectations… and no greater heartache to see boys turn into men, eyes veiled with the shadows of unspeakable pain and bloodshed. Still, Selig swallowed the pride and sorrow he felt for his fledging protégé. The Duke seldom welcomed open sentimentality.

“Sir Selig, please give us your report on the state of the Aegir Duchy,” Ludwig von Aegir asked, cutting the reunion short. They had more pressing affairs to discuss before the evening war council.

All means of communication had been cut off ever since the Siege of Garreg Mach. Frankly, Ferdinand was also dying to hear news from his territory. He turned expectantly at his old master of arms.

“My Lord, I fear the news are more dire than you think.”

The Imperial Army marched on Aegir territory first. Faced with the unprovoked assault, the soldiers didn’t put up much of a fight and fled in a messy retreat to reconvene with the Duke. In the confusion, many battalions were captured along their border with the Hresvelg lands, probably sentenced to forced labour where the draft had left few able-bodied adults to tend to the fields. Still, the Captain of the Aegir Astral Knights was trained to handle the most unexpected of betrayals, and returned to their capital, Boramas, in haste to fulfil his duty.

There, however, the loyal knights were unable to retrieve the Aegir family’s priceless heirloom. Safely locked away in the secret vault, lied their Saints Relic, the Ochain Shield –sealed behind impenetrable barriers and locks requiring the Crest of Cichol to enter. As a result, no one could bring the shield tailored to fit its rightful owner, Ferdinand, when he most needed it. He would have to fight without the Relic’s blessing… and it would be sorely missed.

Afterwards, the Astral Knights rushed to their Lord, but missed their chance to provide support when they found the Monastery already encircled by the Imperial Army. Thus concluded Sir Selig’s report.

Now, it was high time they addressed the wyvern in the room. Because it was strikingly obvious that the knight failed in his primary duty…

Severe, Duke Aegir glared daggers at his General. “You were charged with protecting my children. So, where are they? What place did you deem safer than by my side before the spectre of war?” he accused at last.

“They–”

“Lie to me, and I will have your tongue,” he coldly cut him off.

The tall knight bowed apologetically, knowing how his words would be received. “Master Adler refused to follow me.”

“Why?”

“He defected to the Emperor’s side, taking his sisters along with him.”

Like a volcano, Ludwig grew red with rage before erupting: “This boy will be the death of me! And where are they now?!”

“I do not know, my Lord,” the knight kept his head bowed in a show of shame.

“You allowed your vice-captain and appointed successor to defect, let your liege ladies run off into the wild in a country at war, and you have the absolute gall to show yourself to me?! Is that what you’re telling me, Selig?!” Without taking his breath, the betrayed father and Duke continued to – justifiably – lash out at his General. “Where is your pride as knight of Aegir?!”

“It is by your side, my Lord,” the retainer boldly stood to attention, eyes set on the blocked-out horizon. “I shall serve you until my dying breath to convince you of my unfailing devotion. I will clear my name with the blood of my master’s enemies.”

But Ludwig didn’t care for the sword of a retainer who abandoned his wards to the wolves of Enbarr. With the flick of his wrist, a menacing flame shot up from his palm.

“From now on, you will serve both your share and Adler’s under Ferdinand’s command. Fail him, and I will erase you.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Duke Aegir stomped off of the tent, shouting out curses and orders to the rest of his troops.

Silence settled in the tent. “Now, they’ve done it,” Ferdinand whispered idly.

Sir Selig acquiesced with a quiet nod. “Master Adler told me to convey his deepest apologies to you,” he said after the Duke’s shouting grew too distant to understand. Kneeling before the Prime Minister’s heir, the Captain of the Astral Knights rummaged through a satchel until he pulled out an envelope sealed with the Aegir crest of arms. “And he left this for you, with the promise to keep your sisters safe.”

“I see,” his master of choice said, taking the envelope and ripping it open without the proper knife to get to its contents just a little faster. The old retainer looked on, noting how the worried like-minded siblings always forewent etiquette when it came to letters…

A minute passed while Ferdinand took in his brother’s words, unconsciously holding his breath.

“Master?” the blond knight enquired.

“… I see. The Imperial Army was knocking on your door when this was written.”

“Aye. Time did not wait for Master Adler to make up his mind. Although he may not have had clear plans to share with me, nor forward to you, I am sure this letter holds some answers. As my protégé, I can vouch to his growth in your absence.”

“Indeed, no mention is made of a destination he might have had in mind… However, his goal is clear as day,” Ferdinand said, taking his eyes off the letter. He began pacing to sort out his thoughts. “Adler is intent on setting up the stage for Father’s trial. He lost hope in the current system and placed his bet on Edelgard’s sweeping reforms to bring our Father to justice. … He says he will be a pawn no longer to the amoral Duke,” Ferdinand quoted sombrely.

While he wished his younger brother to be free, it didn’t lessen the sting of losing his most trusted ally to the enemy, even in the pursuit of a shared goal through opposite means. “Did Ada and Liesel support his decision?” he asked, even though their answer was painfully obvious too.

“Yes, they did,” the knight solemnly confirmed. “Because of the declaration of war, they questioned the feasibility of the coup while Lord Aegir leads the Insurrection. Still, their intent was never to sabotage your efforts, Master Ferdinand! Miss Ada believed that by removing themselves from the Duke’s influence, they couldn’t be used against you.”

“Rest easy, I know they meant no harm. It is merely unfortunate that we must part ways to improve our chances of achieving justice.”

Even if his siblings’ change of plans undermined his longstanding scheme, he couldn’t hold it against them. They weren’t his servants to order around, but youths with the means to shape a brighter future for Adrestia. As long as they worked with their people’s wellbeing in mind, he would give them the leeway to act, unlike their father. Ferdinand only lamented he couldn’t act faster, or else Adler – or Edelgard, or Hubert – might never have had to resort to such violent and arbitrary solutions…

Still hidden under the table, Bernadetta unwillingly eavesdropped on the entire conversation between the – surprisingly divided – members of the Aegir faction. She could still hear Ferdinand’s awkward laugh at Dorothea’s words: “From what I can see, nothing can divide such a tight-knit family.” But now, it all made sense. The Aegir children had been planning some sort of rebellion for years against their father! And the younger siblings seemed even more eager for change than Ferdinand, to the extent of siding against the brother they wanted to rule Aegir in the chimeric hope of taking down the Duke faster…

… Wait, didn’t that make it the third Great Imperial House where the children planned to overthrow their father this year, in more-or-less… brutal ways? Why were the Black Eagles leaders always trying to one-up each other in everything?!

“Oh, you can come out now,” Ferdinand’s voice said a few steps away. Bernie crawled out from under the table and Selig gasped in shock.

“What?! Who is she? She heard everything!” the man blanched at the realisation.

“I do not mind,” Ferdinand said almost off-handedly. His most urgent thought was to properly introduce her, not explain what she was doing under the table. “This is my friend, Bernadetta von Varley. Bernadetta, this is Sir Selig von Dassel, the Captain of the Aegir Astral Knights. He answers to me,” he somehow felt the need to point out, even though she had been listening to them plot treason against the Duke for a while now.

This was awkward, but then again, she was always awkward. So Bernie stuttered a greeting the knight answered with a bewildered look, yet he didn’t question his young master’s word.

“Can you keep what you heard to yourself?” Ferdinand asked her.

“Uh, sure.” Fine, she could play the passive accomplice. Besides, she was about to ask him a similar favour.

“Allow me to apologise for the interruption. So, what was it you wanted to discuss with me?” He paused. “Do you want Sir Selig to leave?”

The Varley heiress briefly thought it over, then shook her head no. If Ferdinand trusted him to help fight against his father’s tyranny, then she needed that knight’s help too.

“Hum… After the siege, I… I heard something awful. And… It was about us. I didn’t know what to do, but I had to protect you. That’s why I came here.”

“Whatever it is, I promise to protect you as well.”

On the side, Sir Selig stood a little straighter and alert, giving her report his full attention.

“I listened in on our fathers’ discussion. To seal their alliance and strengthen the bond between our House, they promised to have us marry,” Bernadetta revealed.

An old engagement came back to Ferdinand’s mind, but he never got the chance to tell her.

“As the Emperor of Adrestia and the Heiress of the Southern Church,” she added, and something shattered with tangible pain in his heart.

Because the Prime Minister he admired was long gone. This civil war… he should have known the goal of it all. His father never forgave the Hresvelgs… Never trained him to succeed him, but surpass him, regardless of his own desires. And, alone and unchallenged for too long, the Duke unilaterally decided to remodel the Empire as a dictator – no different from Ionius IX.

Unaware of the betrayal sending his heart plummeting into the depths of despair, Bernadetta diligently reported her sordid findings and guesses.

“You know… My father waited for my mother to give me a way out of this war and purposely failed to give me orders. I was free to go home to Mother and avoid all further battles. Or he, his knights, and the Church of Seiros, would protect me under the New Insurrection banner. Despite everything, he… he wanted to keep me safe. I had a choice then, even if the marriage has already been decided for me. Even if I may only be a tool to him.”

Numb, Ferdinand merely hummed.

“But Duke Aegir never gave you a choice, did he? I mean, aren’t your siblings right…? To him, aren’t you just a pawn?” she asked rhetorically.

Her words struck true, slashing the tatters of his heart into ribbons.

“He never listens to you. He used you to have the Black Eagles support his rebellion. He used you to appeal to the leaders of the Church before the siege. He made you fight even though you were h-hurt… and he barely looks after you.” Tears gathered in her eyes. “He planned this marriage without telling you! And he wants to make you Emperor when you’ve devoted your life to loyally serve as Prime Minister! It’s unfair!” she suddenly cried out, emotion spilling on her cheeks.

Her tears were enough for him not to shed his. Because she, who suffered alone, reaching out to help him in return, meant everything.

“So, I…! I couldn’t leave you alone with him to die in a war you don’t want!” Bernadetta protested in tears.

Ferdinand closed his eyes and promised himself to cherish this moment forever, polishing the memory like a diamond. In the darkness filled with her restrained sobs, he stood in quiet awe, stunned by her sincerity and courage. While he never doubted the depths of her character, Bernadetta proved to embody the selfless ideal he aspired to achieve – a peerless and reliable noble. In different circumstances, he would have been happy to take her for a wife… but it was no choice of theirs. And it was his turn to shoulder her burdens, to be her crutch in this hell they walked into.

She deserved it, and more.

“Your kindness moves me,” he whispered succinctly, before looking at her honest tear-streaked face. “Please, do not be so upset on my behalf. In Father’s defence, he cannot show his concerns – that is part of what being Prime Minister entails. His anger earlier was most likely born of worry for my siblings. As for us being pawns – alas, you are right. That is why I am glad they got away. Only I need remain to thwart his plans.”

“I thought so… because that is what older brothers do, right?” she sniffled. When Sir Selig wordlessly offered her a handkerchief, she gladly took it.

Ferdinand raised a curious eyebrow at her wording. “Indeed. But let’s focus back on you,” he smiled at his friend. “Thank you for all you have told me. I promise to foil our fathers’ plans before any wedding can take place. And rest assured, that day will hardly come. A betrothal is a bold political move, and they would be fools to play their card too soon. I believe they will hold off on announcing the engagement until that alliance can guarantee them substantial benefits. They are playing the long game, and so will we. They shall not outmatch the two of us together!”

Bernie vigorously nodded, sealing a new Aegir-Varley alliance…

Meanwhile, Ferdinand considered his options going forward, the few friends they had and allies they could make right under their fathers’ noses. Knowing why Bernadetta followed him, he could only aim for a perfect victory, to keep her safe until the end.

“You are the one I trust the most,” he eventually said, breaking the silence. “As proof of my sincerity, I shall make things clear about the situation at hand. Let there be no secrets between us.”

The noble heir moved aside a vase from the tent’s main table, and placed wooden pawns used to devise military tactics upon the cleared surface. It was a tailored-made set in the effigy of House Aegir, with all the necessary pawns to represent their battalions and generals… and the members of their household, six pawns bearing the Crest of Cichol painted gold. While Bernadetta inspected the delicate work, her friend laid out the enemy pawns. It soon became apparent that the whole set had been commissioned by Ludwig, maybe a decade ago, for the enemy was the Hresvelg family at the height of its power. Twelve pieces bearing the golden Crest of Seiros stood proudly on the miniature battlefield.

Without fanfare, Ferdinand removed half of the Hresvelg pawns from the playing field, as well as the Aegir pawn representing his late mother.

“Let us review the enemy forces we are up against, whose strength we know all too well. The Emperor is now Edelgard. Vestra’s Head is Hubert. The rest of the Hresvelg pawns are our Black Eagles friends.”

Bernie’s throat tightened. Still, Ferdinand laid out the players for their personal war council.

“In terms of noble support, both factions are evenly matched.” On the New Insurrection side stood Aegir, Varley, Martyn, Barnabas, Fenja, Menja, and Ochs. On the Emperor’s side stood Hresvelg, Arundel, Vestra, Gerth, Hevring, Bergliez, Hrym, Essar, Gillingr, Lochin, Hymir… and also Varley.

It wasn’t a pretty picture, but in terms of logistics, the rebels fared really well. However, nothing could erase the fact that four out of the six Great Houses supported the Emperor, leaving no doubt as to whose faction had the advantage. The board also highlighted further issues: allegiances weren’t as clean-cut as east against west. In fact, they were so entangled that no supply line could be secured by either side, to say nothing of the civil unrest in various territories like Varley, whose loyalty was split… Civil wars were the banes of nations, and yet they couldn’t be facing a worst-case scenario.

Bernadetta glanced at the pawns before looking up, barely containing her alarm. “And what about the enemies on our side?” she asked in a shrill voice, true to her paranoia. Her survival instinct, she would argue.

Ferdinand crossed his arms, focusing on the board – on Adrestia – from a bird’s eye-view. “As our neighbour, House Fenja is genuinely loyal to my father. While House Menja’s storied rivalry could seem appealing to us, distrust makes for a poor foundation to forge a lasting alliance… Houses Barnabas and Martyn’s interests align with your father’s. Should the Southern Church restoration succeed, they would benefit from Garreg Mach’s aura and gain an edge over their neighbour, Arundel. That only leaves Baron Ochs, although the man himself poses an enigma. House Ochs has been in disgrace for years, so one can only wonder what he intends to gain from joining the New Insurrection. We might just have to wait and see what his intentions may be…”

“So, you’re saying… we’re on our own?”

“Not exactly,” the noble scion shook his head. “The Astral Knights answer to me, and Kara is an old friend. I may be able to convince our vassals to… speed up the succession in my favour, although the conditions are less ideal than expected. Theo could want to support you. As for the other Houses… Alliances shift quickly in light of one’s deeds on the battlefield. Provided we offer something our fathers cannot, they might flock to our side. We need only play our cards right, without rushing. The game has only just started.”

Like vultures, Bernadetta thought, frightened. Yet, her piercing gaze dissected all of Ferdinand’s actions and words to extract a glimmer of hope in his clinical overview of Adrestia’s politics. It was indeed a sick game they played, whose rules had been twisted and outcomes rigged by those above them… But if they, as their heirs, couldn’t make a difference, then who could? To survive, they had no choice but to participate in this masquerade.

Despite everything, she found herself staring at the Aegir pawns that Ferdinand had quietly set aside.

“Are they supposed to represent your siblings?”

“Indeed, they are,” Ferdinand humoured her.

“Can you tell me more about them?” she tentatively asked her secretive classmate, which got a chuckle out of him.

“It would be my pleasure, as we have nothing to hide,” he reminded her. “Where should I start?”

“Is it true you have as many siblings as Hubert does?”

“Yes, three in total. First is Adler, my younger half-brother by less than a year,” he said, playing with the piece between his fingers. “He turned 18 in the Pegasus Moon. As you heard, he was meant to become my right-hand man and fight by my side, so Father is livid about his betrayal. In fact, my brother was meant to make his debut in society as the house leader of the Black Eagles of 1181.” Ferdinand then sighed, holding his head. “Father carefully laid the groundwork for a legitimised son to be accepted by our peers, but nothing will ever come of it now. I cannot fault Adler, however. He loathes unearned rewards, and has always yearned to break free from our father.”

“He sounds quite rebellious, doesn’t he?” she observed.

“Among us siblings, he has been the most vocal about punishing our father for years. What is most surprising is my sisters choosing to follow him in a heartbeat. They have always been adamant to give our father a fair trial. I had to reconcile them countless times, as the middle ground. I suppose the war precipitated things, and they knew Adler’s decisions would have more weight if they followed him.”

“What are your sisters like?”

“They have Father wrapped around their finger,” he laughed as if he didn’t know the leverage his puppy eyes had on the Duke still. “My younger half-sister Ada is 14. And the youngest is Liesel, my sister who turned 10.”

Learning how young they were put Duke Aegir’s worry into much needed perspective. Still, Bernadetta remarked: “Legitimised children are rare. I’m surprised Duke Aegir acknowledged two.”

“He did, and my mother treated them no differently than Liesel and I. We were raised the same. That is why I assure you he cares about us, even though you might not see it that way.”

Bernadetta pouted, unconvinced.

“Ferdinand, there’s… something else I have to tell you,” she eventually mumbled, fiddling with her hands – until she grabbed them to stop. Her father would have struck them.

“Not some life-changing news, I hope?” he replied with irony, but waited patiently for her to gather her wits.

“Well, um… How do I say it… It was before the siege. I… happened to eavesdrop on… you.”

“On me?” he repeated, dumbfounded. But he didn’t hide anything? Or rather, nearly not as much as the Ministers to warrant being spied on.

“… And Dorothea.”

A blush creeped up his cheeks before he could control it. Then he remembered how much he disclosed to the songstress during their tea party and blushed harder.

“How long did you… Oh. Oh no…” he squeaked, much like the Varley heiress.

“I d-didn’t mean to listen in!” Bernie gesticulated. “I was retrieving cups for the staff, and then you two arrived… and I didn’t want to bother you, so I…”

Ferdinand came to the shocking realisation that she had been their third wheel for over an hour, unbeknownst to them, just so they could share a moment before the siege…

It was adorable. As expected of his brave and kind archer friend. That is, until he pictured Bernadetta curled up in the bushes with her teacups, victim to second-hand embarrassment at the things they said.

“I ought to be cross with you… But I applaud your discretion!” he laughed instead. “I was convinced there was a rabbit in the bushes! So we were your prey all along!” he teased her.

For the first time, she saw Ferdinand’s true laughing face, without a door to hide it. Not controlled mirth – a genuine burst of laughter that made his eyes twinkle and his grin widen. A thought came to her mind. This mischievous cat-smile teasing her suited him more than his polished manners… While Ferdinand cleared his throat, making a show of regaining his composure, she shot a silent enquiry at Sir Selig who shrugged with the fond, exasperated sigh of an old retainer who saw through the kid’s mask. So she was right! Ferdinand used to be a normal brat before he espoused his noble persona…

Exposed, Ferdinand proceeded to confirm that theory. “Pray forgive me, the joke might have been in poor taste. In truth, your story reminded me of my youthful escapades. I used to sneak around the Imperial Palace a lot as a child. I… happened to eavesdrop on people often, too.”

“You did?!”

Maybe Ferdinand felt lighter with all his secrets exposed and someone at his side to face the storm. Regardless, he entrusted his past to a friend for the first time since the end of the Insurrection.

“It was a long time ago,” he admitted, “so nothing in particular comes to mind. Still, I remember not feeling a great deal of remorse whenever I was scolded…” He shook his head, his smile returning to its careful default. “But I do admit, your skill is most impressive. Why, we could both pass for Vestra spies!” he winked at her.

“Please, no!”

___

Imperial Year 1181, Great Tree Moon

Ferdinand was born for this.

Riding with confidence on the vanguard, never backing down from a challenge, inspiring his men forward with the support of Sir Selig and Kara von Rusalka, Ferdinand shone as a frontline General. Yet his wounds still didn’t permit him to fight as long as he wanted. Whenever a battle dragged on, his retainers would pull him back from the melee before he collapsed from exhaustion. They couldn’t afford to let morale sink. As a result, tales of his heroic willpower spread among the soldiers like wildfire. Just as Duke Aegir expected, Ferdinand was the perfect figurehead for their movement. A shining beacon of hope, the light destined to pull the Empire from the darkness.

Meanwhile, Count Varley’s plan of assigning Bernadetta to the rear quickly bore fruit.

To the weary soldiers, his daughter’s appearance on the field of battle was a sign of salvation. Under Sir Archibald’s or Theo’s protection, she ran to people’s aid, offering the timely support needed to avoid terrible losses. Thanks to her overwhelming prudence and bravery, the healers under her watch managed to save almost all of the wounded, keeping the Insurrection’s forces and morale intact. No matter how often Bernie panicked – or because of it? – her constant bravery didn’t go unnoticed either. Since her actions painted the power of Crests and nobility in a favourable light, Count Varley was satisfied. Every step toward the redemption of their House was crucial. Indeed, House Varley had much to be forgiven for…

Thus the Aegir and Varley pawns obeyed, plotting their King’s demise…

___

Imperial Year 1181, 30^th of the Great Tree Moon

Ferdinand celebrated his 19^th birthday on a battlefield, scrubbing off the blood of the countrymen he slayed with the blessing of the former Prime Minister and the Minister of Religious Affairs.

That night, they held a feast. He didn’t remember a word of congratulation he received. Gifts were unwrapped and brought back to his room. The best present turned out to be the cheapest and most genuine, just like the Professor’s last-minute bouquet: baked treats from Bernadetta he promised to share with his remaining classmates. There was nothing more to ask for. At times like these, birthdays ought to be a modest affair.

Unsurprisingly, Ferdinand tossed and turned a lot in his sleep. Cold fingers dug into his arms like vines. A voice kept on calling him, sending ripples on the pool of blood he was sinking in. When the sun joined him in the crimson sea, Ferdinand woke up with a start, desperate to avoid the dark.

By the time he wiped the sleep from his eyes, the memory of the dream had already vanished. In the timid morning light, Ferdinand mindlessly put on the beautiful clothes his father had had tailored for him and pinned his cravat with the brooch from Count Varley. Those were new…

The Great Tree Moon marked new beginnings, an auspicious boon to those born under it – or so Count Varley’s lecture went, according to his foggy childhood memories. Born on the last day of fate’s crossroad, Ferdinand used to embrace his birthday with optimism and logic… But when every birthday proved to foretell his luck for the coming year, to keep pretending otherwise was a fool’s errand.

Slipping into the sturdy riding boots the Professor had left him, Ferdinand welcomed the Garland Moon with blood on his hands, a terrible nightmare vanishing from his memory.

But there was only one thing on his mind. Today was Ada’s birthday, which he would miss for the second year in a row.

And omens were implacable.

___

Imperial Year 1181, Garland Moon

The Aegirs remained in relatively low spirit for the remainder of the month. The disastrous past few months and missed birthdays soured Ferdinand’s perspective for good, although he managed to keep up appearances – as he always had. Meanwhile, Duke Aegir had his children on his mind. With their whereabouts still unknown despite all the spies on their case – and a certain Count rubbing it in his face that he raised an obedient daughter – the former Prime Minister was about to snap.

But the New Insurrection made progress regardless of their inner turmoil. The rebel army marched on Hrym, which it easily seized in the absence of Viscount Jeritza and with the leaders’ intimate knowledge of the territory of their lost friend. Still, they proved unpopular in this land Duke Aegir had bled dry for years…

With supplies and camps secured, they marched further into the Empire and gained control, bit by bit, of northern Bergliez. Granted, they found little resistance: the Imperial Army had allocated all of its resources to the conquest of Faerghus. A bold move, but it left their rear unprotected. Thus, in a matter of months, the New Insurrection span all the north-east of the Empire with relative ease.

___

Weeks passed, and patterns emerged in this unsettling routine.

First was the startling disregard for commoners’ lives they witnessed from the nobles around them. Apart from their blue-blooded bodyguards, they didn’t care for their men. Only Duke Aegir cared enough about them to strategize so they would have the best survival odds – but Bernadetta believed that to be cold pragmatism. Count Varley officiated the funerals – although only for their side, not for the Emperor’s soldiers. One day, Kara grew so sickened of it she whispered to Ferdinand: “I regret ever asking Dorothea to come here. I’m glad she refused.” Before the sobering reality of her lifelong plight, the affluent heir promised himself to treat the commoners under his command with dignity. His popularity grew as a result – as intended by Ludwig, who purposely wanted Ferdinand to distinguish himself from his peers.

And as always, Ferdinand saw through his schemes – and enabled them anyway, as a dutiful pawn imbued with a righteous cause to defend…

That, he could live with. What he couldn’t abide, however, was Count Varley’s overly harsh treatment of his daughter, whom he had sworn to protect (especially from him). Granted, he could see that Celian did care about Bernadetta, otherwise he wouldn’t be spending hours training her with the bow when he needed to get in shape himself, to make up for his weaker constitution. (And now that Ferdinand was so weakened himself, he knew how hard it was on the Count too. The evenings they both spent collapsed in their respective tents after a day of battle were agony… Nevertheless, they trained diligently to overcome this hurdle.)

Still, a familiar voice rang out on the training ground.

“After all the trouble your mother went through to send a good-for-nothing girl like you to the Officers Academy, this is the extent of your knowledge? Your technique is blatantly lacking. And your… Cease your whining and pick up your bow! Or do you want to weigh us all down in the next battle?! This army has no need for cowards!”

So how in Ailell could he treat her like that?!

I’ve had enough, Ferdinand thought, grinding his teeth. He clenched his fists and propped his body as a shield in front of his dear classmate, though his height advantage and righteous fury did nothing to diminish the maleficent aura oozing from Count Varley.

“I will not allow you to speak in such derogatory terms to Bernadetta. Apologise to her at once,” Ferdinand ordered.

“How I raise my daughter is of no concern to you,” he said, seething. “I will not tolerate your meddling. Get out of my sight.”

“Your daughter is not a slave for you to abuse!” Ferdinand screamed, losing his composure to the stress and injustice he couldn’t bear anymore. “Her best will never be enough for you!”

“Her current best will get her killed. Is that what you want?” he threatened.

“It is my belief that confidence will get her farther than fear,” Ferdinand claimed, holding onto the peace and happiness he wished on Bernadetta.

Unfortunately, her father thought differently. What did this spoiled noble know of the dangers his daughter had to face? “Ah!” he laughed. “That is the pride of Aegir talking. As the Lord of Varley, I know what I must pass onto her. Out of respect for your father, I will ignore your ignorance this once.”

However, Ferdinand wasn’t looking out for a truce, but justice. When it became clear that the lad wouldn’t back down, Celian von Varley assumed a discreet fighting stance…

“Still, you wish to challenge my teachings?” the Count asked, his eyes narrowed on the foe before him.

“For her sake, I will,” Ferdinand asserted, before grabbing a training lance.

“Don’t fight him!” Bernadetta suddenly shouted from behind her father.

When he didn’t heed her warning, Count Varley gave him a condescending smirk. This would be a valuable lesson to the Aegir heir who, like his father, was foolish enough to ignore a Varley’s counsel… Some lessons could only be learnt through pain, after all.

“It is far too early to entrust her fate to you,” he whispered for his ears only.

Ferdinand realised far too late that Varley had the fighting stance of a bare-handed brawler then… and when the man sprung forward, there was nothing he could do to parry the fist flying to his stomach.

The world spun, and Ferdinand fell face first in the bloodied dirt.

The young noble had always wondered why people called Celian von Varley the Angel of Death. He was no frontline general, and his political games weren’t enough of a justification.

His brawling form, his stance, the precision of his strike… After months of training with Caspar, who was naturally gifted for the art, he could tell – Count Varley’s martial prowess was superb. The stabbing pain in his middle, while he lied splayed on the floor with his trampled pride, held the answer. The man was a demon. Nauseous, the Aegir heir struggled to stand up and fought the call of darkness. She still needed him.

He didn’t see the second hit that connected with his jaw with pin-point accuracy. The young Black Eagle was knocked-out cold before he could even think of admitting defeat.

Count Varley brushed his knuckles before crossing his arms, unimpressed. The Prime Minister walked up to them at a leisurely pace.

“Once a troublemaker, always a troublemaker…” Duke Aegir sighed. “Know your place, Ferdinand,” he said, his tone final.

Ferdinand reopened his eyes to an unexpected face.

“Lord Ochs?” he wheezed, his jaw still aching.

The Baron cast another Heal on him.

“You know how to pick you enemies, lad,” he deadpanned. “Can’t go wrong with the Angel of Death. He’s a plague for sure.”

“I’m sorry, Ferdinand! Are you okay?” Bernadetta asked, guilt-ridden. She was holding his hand like a dead man’s. It was a tad over-dramatic.

“This is the number one rule on the battlefield,” Ferdinand gently squeezed her hand back. “Never underestimate your enemy. I should have known better. Your father has more than earned his… formidable reputation,” he grimaced in lingering pain.

“His bite is somehow worse than his bark,” Bernhardt von Ochs snarked bitterly. “Hard to believe, right?”

“I will keep this hidden talent of his in mind… And I do not make mistakes twice,” Ferdinand replied. “Thank you for your assistance, Lord Ochs. I am glad to feel my bones intact… I think.”

“It was a clean knock-out, so you should be fine. You woke up easily. Still, need some help?” the blond Baron said, offering his hand. The noble scion gladly accepted it and got up on his feet. At last, Bernie let out a deep breath.

“Don’t incur his wrath now; you know what you’re in for,” the Baron cryptically warned him, then left as quickly as he came to help.

Ferdinand and Bernadetta exchanged a puzzled look. Perhaps Bernhardt von Ochs was the bigger mystery there…

___

Since that scuffle ended with Ferdinand soundly defeated, the Varleys’ training routine resumed at the archery range, with Bernie landing impressive shots her father never seemed satisfied with. Be it her form, speed, or target, there was always reason to complain.

And did Ferdinand learn his lesson? Of course not. So he confronted the embittered perfectionist with a nicer approach, full of praise for his dear classmate – praise he simply brushed aside, arguing that one couldn’t take their training for granted. In dire situations, instincts drilled in through hours of practice made the difference between life and death.

Hard to find a polite comeback to that.

Still, Count Varley felt the need to prove his point through example. Again, Ferdinand was reminded why he used to look up to that man in the past – Celian von Varley was a genuinely hard worker. When it mattered, he was no hypocrite, fiercely loyal both to his old friends and to his inscrutable set of principles.

Thus, the Count reached for his bow and proceeded to demonstrate his impeccable draw, aim, and release.

Arrow after arrow. Eyes locked on the target, he reached for the arrows from the quivers provided at an increasingly quick rate by a terrified page.

“Shoot every arrow like your life depends on it,” he commented after the umpteenth splintered straw target.

“Think of the dummy as your mortal enemy,” he gnarled heinously.

“Be selfish! Pry the victory from their dead hands!” he shouted over the singing arrows.

“Make them beg for their worthless lives! Kill them!” he ordered, basking in the ominous glow of the Crest of Indech, its tendrils pulsing like tentacles feeding his monstrous skill with his dwindling sanity.

The bowstring sank into his fingers, drawing blood.

“Beg, I dare you! I will kill you!” the Angel of Death roared at the enemies only he could see.

Frozen in awe and horror, Ferdinand and Bernadetta bore witness to the Count’s relentless training, wincing every time an arrow splintered the previous one lodged in the bull’s eye… Regardless, Celian continued to shoot in a feverish craze. The arrows flew off his quiver, which the page stopped replacing at some point – and the Count simply grabbed the arrows lined at the strangely-deserted archery range.

“Die! Die! Die!” the voice tore through his throat like a beast of its own.

Spitting curses between panting breaths, he nocked and released without a break, sweat flying off with the taut bowstring digging mercilessly into his flesh. Blood dripped along his right hand, to his wrist, to his sleeve, dying it as red as the setting sun.

“Die, Hubert von Vestra!” he laughed without a smile, three arrows puncturing the heart of his most faraway target.

The shadows grew on the archery range where Ferdinand and Bernadetta still stood, almost entranced by the dedication and violence unfolding uninterrupted before their eyes. And as the day grew dim, the pair exchanged a knowing, sorrowful look. Meanwhile, another spectator eventually came forward, daring to place a hand on the mad marksman’s shoulder.

“My Lord, that is enough for today,” Archibald said.

Celian blinked several times before his mind registered what was said through the bloodthirsty fog of vengeance.

“… Archie?” he snapped back to reality with a coarse voice which sounded foreign to the young Black Eagles.

Undaunted, the trusted knight pried the bloodstained bow and arrow from his master’s hands. “You will be back to square one in no time if you overdo it. Have your hand looked at,” he pointed out matter-of-factly.

Count Varley stared blankly at his gored fingers and ruined sleeve. His audience all but forgotten, he suddenly let out a tired groan and shook his hand, annoyed. Droplets of blood sprayed the dirt.

“I will do just that. Goddess, what a pain it is to train to reach my heights of old… I should just punch the problem and be done with it. When in hell, one should fight like a demon.”

Ferdinand shuddered.

Archibald just laughed.

“Maybe it’s that simple.”

Bernadetta knew it was.

___

The Garland Moon of 1181 came to an end, its warmer days hinting at the massive attack they prepared on the Empire. The Imperial nobles, Church members, and generals assembled at the decisive war council. By then, all their troops had learned to work within the well-oiled war machine.

So of course, it wouldn’t be complete without the last cog to start up the engine in a confident roar, an appropriate war cry. With a confident stride, that fateful cog walked to Ludwig von Aegir’s side, embracing the incredulous stares.

“Do forgive me for keeping you waiting,” Celian von Varley said, all pride and no excuses. Without missing a beat, he grabbed his pawn on the war map and moved it to the very front of their forces. “As of today, I shall lead our forces from the vanguard,” he declared. None raised an objection.

How could they, when the Count exuded such confidence? And it wasn’t just an impression. The Insurrection leader had donned an attire that screamed that the real fight had only just started. Gone were the sniper cape, gloves, and quiver. The Empire’s trendsetter could easily rival House Aegir’s bling of war. Better yet, it could do so as a showcase of power rather than wealth.

Count Varley would take to the battlefield – not as a renowned Sniper bearing the Crest of Indech, but as a dreaded War Monk and crusader of the Southern Church. It was high time he got up close and personal with the traitors who murdered another of his friends.

Unsurprisingly, only Lilia von Gillingr, leading the Knights of Seiros, returned his smile.

The outfit itself was holy and practical, tailored to the Head of a Great House. Concretely, Celian had traded his bow for silver gauntlets tied to hooks on the side of his plastron. Silver gantlets, silver shin guards, silver stomach armour engraved with the Crest of Indech ostentatiously protected his body, with an inner leather chest layer. With a small grey cape resting on his shoulders, an ample purple chemise and flowing pants, the whole outfit made his movements hard to read. Plus, its sheer volume made him appear bigger than he actually was. Clad in flowing darkness, like death’s omen…

Bernadetta had seen it before; and yet, the sight of the Angel of Death in his full battle regalia sent a shiver down her spine. From up close, from afar, with magic, he made the perfect frontline General – and the New Insurrection Army would soon learn to depend on him as he stole the spotlight Ludwig had casted for months on Ferdinand.

On the other hand, Ferdinand marvelled at the antique clothing and lost art it represented. The Count’s peerless brawling form finally made sense. It was such an interesting development he forgot to be afraid.

Duke Aegir smirked. With the last of his Generals ready to dye the battlefield red, the New Insurrection’s army was complete. And the Imperial Army didn’t stand a chance against this ace of his. If the irreverent Ludwig held one belief, it was that the Goddess purposefully gave Celian a weak constitution, lest he lay waste to Fódlan with his obvious military talent and innate bloodlust. But that bloodlust was his to command on the battlefield.

And soon, the Empire would fall to his knees.

“Shall we begin?”

___

Character profiles of the New Insurrection

(Click to open the full pictures!)