Chapter Text
What was there before she fell?
A roar? A guttural, primal reaction to grief?
She didn’t remember hearing of beasts which could make that sound. There was only that feeling in her stomach, as she couldn’t feel the ground beneath her. Deep and aching.
To where was she falling? From where?
Nipping at her back came in place of the ground. Icy waters sank its teeth through her armor, urging her awake. At first, the world was a slit of gray, as her mind was left bogged. Trembling, she made ripples in the thin waters, hearing little splashes as waves crashing against her numb ears.
Then, the world was too large. She raised her head - and was met by silence. Squinting only locked her observations onto the minute details of a forest surrounding her. Silent, tangled branches lurching over an evergoing stream; a quiet sun; stiff trees jutting from the ground, some burnt to the stump. Her eyes widened.
Had she fallen in battle?
Her hand hovered over her sword’s sheath. Wounds to the landscape became evident: clearings full of stumps; makeshift forts of logs dotted themselves across her view. Yet, she had no memory of entering battle prior, nor any wounds. Had they been ambushed at the inn they were staying at?
Goosebumps pricked down her back.
A rope of smoke caught her eye. She raced down the stream. Snow crunched underneath her boots, leaving distressed marks of her own on the landscape. A cottage emerged from above the horizon of trees and snow, and the silhouette of a man with it. He turned in her direction, holding his hands in front of his face.
“Woah, woah, woah, lady! Put that dagger away, please. ‘Already had enough happen here.”
At the edge of the stream, Byleth halted. “ Enough? ” She hissed.
“Yes? You been living under a rock-?!” Byleth lunged, sticking a dagger to his throat.
“YOWZA! What’d I say about that? You part of the Adrestian army? I dont see none of them black and red colors” Byleth lowered her gaze to lock the man in place.
“What happened here?”
“What’s been happening for the past five years, lady. Y’know, the Adrestian conquest of the world ?”
Her brows knit - enough for him to chuckle. “Where’d you come from, then?”
She removed the dagger, stepping back. “Are there any mercenary groups in the area?” she questioned, looking past the man and the village beyond. Or what was left of one, anyways.
“Course there are; it’s a time of war.”
“Any led by a man named Jeralt?”
“The old knight? Blonde, with a braid?” She nodded, but meekly. A knight?
“Sorry, lady - ‘fraid he’s dead. Been gone for years now.”
“Elaborate.”
“Yeah, he passed on not long before the siege of Garreg Mach…” he stepped back. An aura of dread hung over her, and an inquisitiveness that fueled it. Yet dead eyes leered at the darkening snow. Night hid behind her shadow.
“Garreg Mach?”
“If you follow the path at the end of our village, it’s there - up at the hill’s peak. Maybe you’ll find who you’re looking for in their cemetery…” he slouched, “if it’s not also in ruins.”
Byleth pushed past him, feeling as if she was treading in deep water, colder and more ferocious than the stream behind her.
“Really - lady - I wouldn’t recommend going up there! It’s infested with bandits and a -” She grappled him by the collar.
“I’ll have to see some cash before I do whatever you tell me.”
***
By the time Byleth reached a gate, the sun had fallen beneath the horizon’s endless ocean of snow; now a frozen tempest, rolling across old forests. The steeples of Garreg Mach became imposing shadows, barely discerned against the starless sky. With little wind to speak of, it was quiet, as if it were ordained by the fortresses' ruins.
Greatness was gone here, as she slipped through the gate’s membrane; soft wind moaned in these wounds of stone, as boulders met her within the fortress. A market square met her, too; not as lively as it once was, despite the skeletons littered in it. The blood had dried.
Her gaze invaded the corpses. All more than years dead, as their armor froze; albeit snow was neatly packed at the sides of the market, as if to respect them. Inching deeper into the monastery, she drew her sword - and paused.
Its hilt was different: rough, pale, and bulky. Letting the blade slide from the sheath, its pallid length glowed weakly. Static tickled her hand while a faint, steadied rhythm captured her eyes. It fit in her hand comfortably, if not perfectly. Despite the cold and empty place, it felt warm and… safe. She kept it close, closer than she did her steel sword.
It led Byleth on a brighter path, as her heels suddenly resounded through the monastery’s peristyle. Shattered stone lined her way, their shadows stretching farther against her only light. Emerging in the courtyard, she caught sight of headstones backdropped by the sky’s lighter hues of blues.
Her eyes narrowed to the sword. She hadn’t bothered to question it, nor had she bothered to question her one lead. Shouldn’t it be shameful to assume her father dead, before anything? And a knight? How far of a stretch was it for her father to be both a knight and dead?
The sword illuminated the headstones’ epitaphs. Unfamiliar names, “Jeremiah, Elijah Sitri…Eisner?” The faint light forced her to squint, and she noticed a smaller headstone beside the one which belonged to Sitri.
“Father?”