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It was a ludicrous idea, but the demonic beast’s hide was strong and shielded by an arcane barrier, so Lysithea would have to try it. If they didn’t get the creature stunned in the next few moments, she and Raphael were headed for a dirt nap.
“Hold still a moment,” she ordered.
“You sure that’s a good idea? It’s gonna swing!” he warned.
“I have a plan!” Envisioning Luna Λ in her mind’s eye, Lysithea pressed her palms against the steel of Raphael’s gauntlets. She poured power into the metal and it began to hum beneath her fingers like a tuning fork.
Raphael stared down at his hands. “What’d you do?”
“Hit it with everything you’ve got!” Lysithea demanded instead of explaining. Already, she was preparing another spell to put her plan in motion.
When she cast her moon-bright Luna Λ spell, the magic sizzled against the protective barrier over the demonic beast’s skin. Raphael rushed ahead of her and swung his fists, one-two, into the spot she’d weakened with a brilliant flash. Luna Λ ate at its defenses from the inside out, ripping apart the barrier and leaving it vulnerable. Distantly, Lysithea could hear Claude ordering an all-out assault.
Maybe it was from all the excitement, but Lysithea began to feel lightheaded. Shapeless, technicolor blobs danced before her eyes. Her fingers and toes grew cold, and she teetered—or was the ground tilting?
Before she could figure it out, Raphael hooked a strong arm around her middle and swept Lysithea out of the fray. “Hey!” she yelled, drawing up short when a rain of arrows from Ignatz’s battalion of archers came down on the beast and peppered the ground where they’d been standing. Raphael’s hands were warm as he carried her to safety, and it took her a moment to realize why that was strange; she should have felt metal, but his hands were bare.
“Looks like we’re out,” he said when he placed her down a good ways away from the fight. He shook out his hands, the skin reddened, but not broken.
“Speak for yourself. I must have just had an adrenaline drop,” she retorted grumpily, casting a healing spell on him. The irritation on his hands faded, but the creeping dizziness inside of her did not.
With its protections gone, the demonic beast didn’t stand a chance against the army's onslaught. The battle came to an end with the monster’s dying wail.
Marianne rushed to their side, ready to heal any wounds they’d accrued. Meanwhile, a shadow fell over them as Claude’s wyvern landed gracefully beside them.
"Now, that was a sight to see," he commented. "Since when could your punches set off a light show, Raph?"
"Oh, Lysithea did that!" Raphael informed, pointing a thick finger to where she was gently waving off Marianne's worried hovering.
"Lysithea!" Claude called. "Care to explain yourself?"
Lysithea huffed, "Look, we needed a lot of power quickly, so I… tried something new and forced the spell into Raphael's gauntlets." She looked at Raphael's exposed hands and apologized, "Sorry. I didn't know the spell would destroy your weapons and hurt you."
"It's fine! I'm made of sterner stuff!"
"It's not fine," she grumbled under her breath. Or, it would have been, had she been able to draw it.
Falling short of breath was one thing, but coupled with the wave of dizziness that overwhelmed her, it had Lysithea terrified by her body's sudden refusal to function. It felt like so long ago, when clinical, cruel hands pulled her apart and remade her as more, but left her with less. The lack of control was devastating.
This was not an adrenaline drop.
Between one blink and the next, Lysithea found herself on her hands and knees, breathing easier. Marianne’s hands were settled on her shoulders, healing magic washing over her.
“Are you all right now?”
In the moments she’d been indisposed, the others had gathered around. It was the professor that had asked the question, looking down with concern.
Slowly, Lysithea got herself back up on her feet. “Yes, I’m okay. That was… unsightly. It would do you all better to forget you saw it!”
The corners of Byleth’s lips pulled up slightly. “I’m glad you’re well. Claude and Raphael tell me you infused his gauntlets with magic?”
Lysithea nodded. “It seems that the energy toll to bind the spell to an object is greater than I suspected,” she admitted morosely. “The force of the magic destroys the weapon since it’s not meant to carry that much energy in it. It’s not practical.”
“I agree,” they affirmed. “However, it could be a useful trump card. Under no circumstances should you do this on a whim, but I’ll authorize its use in emergencies as a last resort. Marianne, would you mind dancing for us again?”
“Of course,” she agreed.
“A babysitter?” grouched Lysithea.
“For your safety. It would be tragic to lose you, Lysithea.” Byleth said so seriously that she couldn’t argue.
From then on, it was victory over victory for the Leicester Alliance. Only once, during a particularly nasty skirmish where they'd found themselves facing off against both bandits and demonic beasts, did Lysithea slam an Abraxas spell into Leonie's spear. She'd come back to herself from her bout of dizziness to the sound of Marianne’s accessories jangling nearby and Lysithea understood why they'd been paired—the sound and closeness of a friend had been inspiring, providing her with a second wind.
Other than that battle, their march was a smooth and steady advance on Imperial territory—until they weaseled into Fort Merceus.
The fortress was proving to be as perilous as it looked. While Claude and the Almyrans were stirring up a ruckus in another part of the fort, the rest of the soldiers weren't taking the invasion lying down. Byleth led their forces, but there were so many nooks and crannies hiding enemies that it was only a matter of time before everyone was split up.
Lysithea and Marianne found the enemy commander by chance. Ruthless orders were coming from the Death Knight, saddled atop his formidable steed. His obsidian armor and horned helmet cut an imposing figure.
She was not afraid. There was no place for cowardice on the battlefield.
Dark Spikes T was a powerful spell, more than enough to stop the Death Knight. Lysithea felt the power gather between her palms—
Wind as sharp as needles buffeted into her back, disrupting her focus. Thankfully, the fur of her gremory shawl absorbed most of the hit. Marianne was quick to heal the bruising Lysithea felt blooming across her shoulders.
"It's a shame we had to meet again like this," a painfully familiar voice called out. When Lysithea turned around, Linhardt was watching her, hand outstretched with another gale at the ready. He looked tired—of bloodshed, of war, of Lysithea, she couldn't say. "I don't suppose you'll just turn around and leave?"
"You expect me to run like a dog with its tail between its legs?" Lysithea accused. It took an effort to keep her voice from quaking with dismay. Facing off against another former student never got any easier.
Resignation hardened his expression. "No, but I had hoped. Sometimes it feels like that's all that's left."
Hoofbeats shouldn't have been audible above the roar of battle, but Lysithea heard them like drums beating in her ears. In her peripheral vision, she saw the Death Knight turning his mount towards them, his long scythe shining where it reflected the sun. Catching his attention by itself was dangerous, but getting stuck between him and Linhardt was lowering her and Marianne's survival rate by chilling degrees.
"A pity," Linhardt intoned, casting his winds forward.
Lysithea met the attack with one of her own, Miasma Δ crashing into his spell and dissipating into black, shadowless motes. From over her shoulder, Marianne's Nosferatu shot forward like a heavenly arrow, but Linhardt neutralized it with his own in a shower of prismatic sparks.
"We need to stop him quickly," Marianne murmured. "The Death Knight, he's—"
"I know," Lysithea interrupted.
Discreetly, Lysithea reached behind her for Marianne's arm, feeling down until she found the grip of her sword. Balmung's aura felt like decay, the two crests in Lysithea's blood repulsed by it. Despite her revulsion, she pushed Dark Spikes T into the sword.
Raphael's gauntlets were nowhere near as legendary as a heroic relic, so she had no idea that in response to her magic, Balmung would retaliate. Lysithea's fingers burned like they hadn't since she was practicing fire spells for the first time, her hands blistering, but she did not stop until the enchantment was finished and the weapon thrummed with stored power.
"I'm sorry if it breaks," Lysithea whispered through the pain.
Marianne replied boldly, "I'm not."
She felt her shift, touching their backs together, and Lysithea smiled for the first time in hours as she stared down Linhardt.
“I know I complained about having a babysitter,” Lysithea said over her shoulder, “but I’m always glad to fight beside you, Marianne.”
Marianne didn’t answer, springing into a sprint to engage the Death Knight. Linhardt lashed out after her, but Lysithea countered his winds with Miasma Δ once more.
A ringing clash sounded across the battlefield, drawing everybody to a stop. Turning her head to look, Lysithea saw the Death Knight’s scythe locked with Balmung. The blades grated against each other, Marianne bracing her shaking hand on the flat of her sword as the Death Knight bore down on her from his heightened position. A breath later, a wave of black spikes splintered off from the point of impact. Spectacularly, the abyssal scythe shattered, shards tinkling to the ground, but more than that—the spikes shot out, denting the Death Knight's helmet and slicing his horse's flank. Shrieking, the horse stumbled back, giving Marianne room to breathe.
“Where do you think you’re looking?” Linhardt's question startled Lysithea from her gawking. She barely avoided his attack, winds shredding the hem of her dress.
Fighting defensively wasn't going to cut it anymore. After enchanting Balmung, she knew her consciousness was trickling away like sand in an hourglass. Heart pounding, Lysithea knew she wouldn't be able to dodge his next spell if she didn't stop him now. Hades Ω, red and angry, flickered to life between her hands, but the world was already beginning to go muted and fuzzy. It was difficult to maintain her concentration.
Her wounded hands were trembling.
Something thwipped overhead and Linhardt jerked back, bringing his hand to his face. An arrow with Alliance-gold fletching was buried in the dirt at his feet. When he removed his hand, Lysithea saw a smear of red across his cheek. Staring at his bloody palm, Linhardt's expression crumpled.
So did Lysithea's wobbling legs.
"Lysithea!" Ignatz cried from somewhere behind her, but she could barely hear him over the familiar jingling of Marianne's accessories.
Linhardt was always smart. As her friends came to her aid, he saw his defeat coming. In a flash of light, he warped away from the battlefield. He'd never wanted to fight, she recalled, and hoped fleeing brought him peace.
"We have to go," Marianne ushered. She was pushing as many heal spells into Lysithea as she could, trying to get her to her feet. "The Death Knight is retreating."
Ignatz, having caught up with them, helped Marianne lift Lysithea. Their shoulders were uncomfortable crutches. "So is everyone else," he said. "The professor suspects something’s wrong and wants us to evacuate."
With just Marianne, Lysithea didn't think they'd have made it out in time before the javelin of light eradicated Fort Merceus. From outside, she watched the burning remains of the Stubborn Old General with something like pity.
"That was very close," Byleth noted from beside her. "Ignatz said you three barely made it out.” They frowned, considering. “Balmung is… damaged. Are you well after such an enchantment?"
"Getting better," she replied tiredly.
They nodded briskly. "I'm glad to hear it. I'd also like to hear what made you think you needed to resort to it."
"W-what?"
"Was it really your last resort, Lysithea? You were not alone. Did you consult with Marianne?" They paused for a response, but Lysithea's voice was caught in her throat. She knew she hadn’t—and, likely, the professor already did, too. "I want to trust you, but you seem very eager to die a hero."
Byleth placed a hand on her shoulder, turning Lysithea to face Marianne and Ignatz. "I told you before: losing you would be tragic. Your friends care about you, Lysithea. Try not to scare us so much. And, for your sake, I'm making it an order: no more enchantments, no exceptions."
Embarrassed like a rebuked toddler, Lysithea stepped away from the professor to stand before Marianne and Ignatz. She stammered, "I'm sorry for scaring you—and for damaging Balmung. But, also, thank you for helping me!"
Marianne reached out and cradled Lysithea's hand, running cool fingers over the faded burns Balmung had seared into her skin. "I forgive you, and I’ll always help you," she said quietly. “Let’s work together more.”
"We've got your back," Ignatz affirmed.
"Okay. Thank you!" Lysithea blurted. She wrapped her fingers gratefully around Marianne's. "I'll be better. I promise!"
"We'll hold you to it," Byleth said kindly. "Now, all of you rest up. We'll be returning to Garreg Mach soon in light of these… developments."
Something cracked ominously in the fortress. It was finality; a death rattle.
“Come rest with us,” Marianne murmured, tugging Lysithea away from the site of destruction. They huddled together with Ignatz, sharing a waterskin and turning their faces into the wind to cleanse the scent of smoke from their nostrils.
Lysithea appreciated this—a quiet moment with her friends. This moment never would have existed if she’d died in the fort. Their huddle of three would have been a duo in mourning.
She hated that.
“I won’t just die on you. I need you to know that,” she announced with resolve. The march of death was always approaching, closing in on Lysithea faster than anyone could know. She would no longer hasten it with reckless actions. “The thought of leaving everyone behind… hurts. I hate it! So I won't die here, and neither will you!"
Arms circled her shoulders, offering a comforting hug. “Once, I didn't care about who or what I left behind,” Marianne admitted. “It’s different now. I agree—we'll make it through. We have to."
“And not just us,” Ignatz said firmly. "The Golden Deer stick together. We're going to win and make it home.”
“Thanks," Lysithea sniffled, turning into the hug to hide her flushed face.
Although she’d attended a school promoting knighthood, this was the first time she’d truly taken an oath—not to any king or country, but to the people she cared about. That was something more valuable to Lysithea than she could say, so she would uphold it, and let the world try and take it.