Work Text:
The hordes of people around him were completely oblivious to how much of a rush he was in, and frankly he found that kind of rude. As he pushed through the crowds bigger than any he’d ever seen before, he could feel the thing strapped to his wrist weighing him down as it ticked away. Time didn’t care that he was trying his best, it was going to keep rolling on mercilessly anyway. He came to a screeching halt at an intersection, where he had to wait for the light to change and tell him he could go.
He shook his head and passed the time by anxiously looking around at his surroundings. The huge buildings of the big city towered above him, the sun reflecting off their windows and casting a harsh glare on the bustling streets below. The light changed and the crowds flooded onto the street to cross. He paid no attention to the faces of the people passing him, but he was quickly going to wish he did. As he reached the sidewalk on the other side, he noticed someone had dropped something. “Uh oh,” he said. “Sucks to suck, I guess.”
He passed the lost item, but something stopped him in place. He turned to look, and nobody else was even paying the lost, black rectangle any mind. If he didn’t return it, who would? And in a city like this, it was more likely to be stolen and used for nefarious purposes. “Damn it,” he mumbled to himself. “What a bad time to grow a conscience.” He scooped up the phone and ran back across the street.
Or at least, he tried to. He hadn’t noticed the light had changed, so the sounds of people gasping and horns honking kept him from walking face-first into traffic. “Really bad time to grow a conscience!”
After what felt like eternity, the light changed and he bolted across like a dog that had been unleashed on the beach. On the other side, he held up the phone. “Excuse me!” He yelled. “Is anyone missing their phone? Hello? I found this across the street. Check your bags and pockets, folks. Missing phone!”
Just before he decided that he was wasting his time, a hand touched his shoulder to catch his attention. He turned to see a pretty woman, probably about his age, staring back at him with wide eyes. “Excuse me,” she said in a somewhat flat voice. “That might just be mine.” She patted the bag hanging from her shoulder as if to say it was lighter than it should have been.
“Ah, uh, yeah.” He was caught completely off guard by this girl, and suddenly the colorful city streets surrounding him seemed to pale in comparison to her long blue hair and her piercing eyes of the same color. “Here you go.”
She grabbed it from him gingerly and looked to its screen to unlock it. “Yup, this is mine. Thank you so much.”
He nodded. “Of course. I’m just glad I spotted it before someone stepped on it.”
The woman nodded. “Well, I should get going, I think.”
She started walking past him, but he swallowed hard and called after her before she could get too far away. “W-wait.”
The woman turned back to him, head tilted in curiosity. “Yes?”
He had a million things he wanted to say, but all he was able to choke out was, “what’s your name, ma’am?”
With a smile, the woman put a hand to her chest. “My name is Byleth.” Then, she reached that hand out to shake. “And you are?”
“Claude.”
The voice that answered with his name felt so far away, he could have sworn he imagined it, but then the woman raised an eyebrow in confusion. He tried again to say his name.
“Claude…”
But the same distant voice sounded instead. In fact, it sounded like someone he knew was saying it for him. “My name is—”
“Claude!”
“Wha—?!” Claude jolted awake at his familiar desk, a stack of paperwork underneath him was now covered in his drool. He looked up to see an old friend staring at him smugly. “I fell asleep?”
“Seems like it,” Hilda said. “Geeze, Claude, are women’s rights really enough to bore you to sleep?”
“Uh, well, you see, I…” Claude flipped through the papers on his desk quickly, trying to stutter out a response while his face started to heat up.
Hilda let him squirm for a bit before finally letting out a laugh. “I’m just messing with you. I have no idea what kind of papers those are.”
Claude breathed a sigh of relief, letting the papers—which were actually about budgeting for public services—rest on the desk once again. “Don’t scare me like that. Anyway, what brings you here today, Hilda?”
Hilda tilted her head to the side, making it look like her long, pink hair was weighing her down. “I’m just checking in on you. Thought you’ve been working yourself to the bone lately, and seeing as you fell asleep on the job...yeah, I’d say that guess was a pretty good one.”
Now Claude was embarrassed for a different reason. “Right. Sorry if I worried you. It’s just that things are always busy at this time of year. You know that.”
Hilda shrugged. “Me? Please. If I’m busy for a whole time of year, something has gone horribly wrong. Anyway, let’s talk about your nap again for a sec.”
“I’d rather not.”
Ignoring his protests completely, Hilda pulled up a chair and plopped herself down in it, getting on Claude’s eye level. “You were making some pretty serious happy noises in your sleep. Having a good dream? Or a really good dream?” Claude paused to find the right words, but when his response didn’t come fast enough, Hilda continued. “Okay, who was it you were dream-banging?”
“Wh-what?”
“Was it the archbishop? Because no judgment if it was.”
“Hilda, this is hardly appropriate.”
“Maybe the Adrestian emperor? She’s kinda cute, I guess, if a bit short.”
“No!”
“Was it me again?”
“No—wait, again?”
“...The king of Faerghus?”
“That’s quite enough of that,” Claude said, slapping his hands on his desk. “I wasn’t having dream sex with anyone!”
Hilda leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Well where’s the fun in that?”
“No, it was weird though.” Claude leaned back in his own, far more regal chair. “I remember it so vividly, and it was so...different.”
“How so?” Hilda looked genuinely interested, but Claude knew how good of an actress she was when it came to listening to others, so whether she was actually invested or not was a mystery.
Still, someone to talk out his dream to before he forgot it wasn’t something he planned to turn his nose up to. “I was in this...this huge city.”
“Like, Enbarr big?”
Claude shook his head. “No. Bigger. And the buildings were all far bigger than any you’ve ever seen before. And they were all made of metal? I think? Or maybe they were just giant glass buildings…”
Hilda nodded slowly. “Uh...huh.”
“Anyway, the horses were also made out of metal. And they were incredibly loud.” Claude tried to picture what he was saying, but he could already feel the finer details escaping his memory. “And...I met this girl.”
Hilda smiled. “So there was dream-banging!”
Claude took a deep breath before he continued. “She had dropped something important. I can’t remember what, but you woke me up just as we were introducing ourselves to each other.”
“Yeah? Who was she?” Hilda asked. “Someone you know?”
Claude shook his head. “No. Never met her. I can remember her face so vividly, but...I can’t quite remember her name. If she even told it to me.”
“Well Claude, I can’t say I don’t regret agreeing to listen to this,” Hilda said. “Let’s get you a bite to eat, yeah? Maybe you can clear your mind over some grub.”
“Good idea,” Claude said.
Hilda rose to her feet and stretched her arms over her head, making a dramatic show of groaning as she did. “Oh, and there’s one more thing I forgot to mention,” she said as she turned toward the door. “Count Gloucester is here, and he’s demanding your immediate audience.”
“Damn it, Hilda! Why didn’t you tell me that part sooner?”
As the day wore on, Claude’s memory of the dream faded, replaced with the more pressing matters of his real life duties. Managing his portion of a country, making sure his letters arrived where they were meant to go, and settling disputes between other lords. By the time he was laying his head down to sleep for the night, he had almost completely forgotten his bizarre dream. His last thoughts as he drifted off to sleep were about the deal he began to strike with Lorenz earlier that day.
The hordes of people around him were completely oblivious to how much of a rush he was in, and frankly he found that kind of rude. As he pushed through the crowds bigger than any he’d ever seen before, he could feel the thing strapped to his wrist weighing him down as it ticked away.
Except, he had seen crowds this big before. But where?
He came to a screeching halt at an intersection, where he had to wait for the light to change and tell him he could go. He looked around anxiously, craning his neck to look to the buildings towering above him.
Wait a minute.
The light changed and the crowds flooded onto the street to cross. He was still in a hurry, but this time he paid attention to the faces passing him as he crossed. Sure enough, there she was. A head of blue hair with striking blue eyes and a thousand yard stare passed him by, as though he were as insignificant as a crack in the concrete. The memories of the last time he had this dream came flooding back, and he nearly gasped himself awake form the surprise. “This dream again,” he said to himself. “Which means…”
He rushed to the other side of the street, and sure enough, the woman’s phone was there. He scooped it up and darted back across the street, narrowly making it before the lights changed. He gingerly placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder to catch her attention. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he said. “Is this yours?”
The woman, eyes wide in confusion, grabbed her phone from him and turned the screen on. “Y-yeah. How did you know?”
“Call it a gut instinct,” Claude said. “May I have your name?”
The woman nodded. “I suppose you deserve that much for returning my phone. My name is Byleth.”
Claude reached his hand out to shake hers. “The name’s Claude. Pleased to meet you.”
Byleth nodded, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “Claude. Somehow I think I knew that. Have we met before?”
Claude shrugged. “In my dreams, maybe.”
Suddenly, Claude’s eyes snapped open, and he was in his bed. He bolted upright, looking around his dark, empty room. “What the hell…?” He put a hand to his temple and tried to process his dream. Ultimately, he focused on one point, so he could remember it.
Byleth.
Days passed, and the only thing he could recall was the fact that he had the same dream twice, and in it he met a beautiful woman named Byleth. The details were fleeting, but they didn’t matter as much as that. After Hilda seemed less than enthused with his story the first time he told it, he kept this tidbit to himself. Not that it mattered, anyway. He had a whole part of a country to run, so he had more important things to focus on than his literal dream woman. Fantasizing about women instead of handling important matters was something he got on Lorenz about, so he couldn’t go around daydreaming like that.
After about a week, he hadn’t had the dream again, so he started to let the image of Byleth fade away…
Until he paid a visit to an old friend of his. “I didn’t think you would be coming to visit me of all people, considering your position,” Ignatz said as he allowed Claude into his studio. “What brings you here?”
Claude shrugged. “I was in the area. Thought I’d pay you a visit to see how my old classmate is holding up.”
“Can’t complain,” Ignatz said. “The church took notice of my works, so they’ve started commissioning my artwork.”
“Nice!” Claude clapped a hand on his back. “That old monastery does need a splash of color to lighten things up. And I’d be shocked if they didn’t pay a pretty penny.”
“Oh, definitely,” Ignatz said. “Would you like to see my latest work in progress?”
“Let’s see it.”
Ignatz lead Claude to a covered canvas, explaining as he went. “So, the church asked me to paint a rendition of what I believe the Goddess looks like. After my first draft looked too much like one of the students, Lady Rhea explained to me what she pictures when she thinks of the Goddess. And so…”
He lifted the cloth off the canvas to reveal a sight that shocked Claude. The subject of the painting looked exactly like his dream woman.
Kind of.
Her hair and eyes were sea-green, but everything else about her, from her face to her bust and her blank stare, was identical. “Byleth,” Claude gasped under his breath.
“I believe I heard Lady Rhea use the name Sothis, actually,” Ignatz said. It landed on deaf ears as Claude admired the painting.
“She looks like she’s actually standing here,” Claude said, trying to sound less awestruck than he was. “That’s very nice, man.”
“Thanks, Claude.”
The two caught up in Ignatz’s studio, the painting remaining uncovered as they did, and every once in a while Claude would catch her eyes again. Her gaze was just as arresting as he had dreamed, despite her not even being flesh and blood. Why was this face following him? Was it just random chance that he happened to dream of someone who looked almost identical to how the archbishop pictured the goddess of Fodlan? No no, since the description came from Rhea, surely Claude had seen a similar painting in his time at the officer’s academy. It was just best to put it out of his mind and focus on his duties.
The next day, the sun beat down on him as he rushed through city streets, frantically trying to get to where he was going on time. Where was he going, again?
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Claude screeched to a halt, cursing himself. “It’s this dream again!” He cried.
Like a switch was flipped, he shifted from cursing his luck to trying to find Byleth again.
He caught her as she finished crossing the street, waving at her to catch her steely gaze. “Byleth!” He called.
Byleth’s eyes lit up at the sound of her name being called. She froze in place as Claude approached. “Do I know you?”
Claude shrugged. “I dunno, but I know you. Kind of. The name’s Claude.”
“Have we met?”
“Again, kind of.” Claude crossed his arms as he tried to think of how to explain himself. “See, I think we’re my dream.”
“Dream…?” Byleth repeated after him, looking like a realization was dawning on her. “Wait, this is familiar. Didn’t you give me my phone back?”
“Not this time,” Claude said. “But the last two times? Definitely.”
Byleth put a hand to her chest. “Weird...am I dreaming, too?”
“Shall we find out?” Claude asked. “I’d love to get to know you over some tea.” He extended his hand, hoping his smooth moves worked on dream women.
“I could go for a coffee,” Byleth said, taking his hand.
A what? No Claude, shake it off, who knows how much time you have. “So, tell me about yourself. Like, where you’re from.”
Byleth opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. “I...don’t know where I’m from. I can’t remember.”
Claude bit his lip. “Okay, that’s weird. Let me start, then. I’m from…”
The would-be couple stopped.
“Um…”
He blinked, and the next thing he saw was the sunlight of the morning pouring into his room. “I have no idea what’s going on,” he groaned.
A few days later, he found himself going to the last person he expected to see again for help. “I honestly didn’t think someone as important as you would have remembered me from the academy days,” this former classmate said, scratching at the side of his head and stifling a yawn. “So to what do I owe this pleasure?”
Claude shrugged, looking for a way to explain it that didn’t sound like he was going batty. “I found myself curious about a certain area of study, and I figured you’re the single most qualified person in Fodlan to help me, Linhardt.”
Linhardt raised an eyebrow. “I...see. What is this topic?”
Claude put on a nonchalant air. “What do you know about the science behind dreams?”
Now that seemed to pique Linhardt’s interest, judging by his eyes going wide and his stance getting just a bit more straight. “Dreams? Like, actual dreams while you’re sleeping? Or are you being frustratingly coy and referring to the more nebulous ‘dreams for the future’ thing you royal types love droning on about?”
Not sure how to respond to the dig, Claude elected to ignore it. “Literal dreams, yes.”
Linhardt stroked his chin in thought as he turned to his desk and started rummaging through papers. “What brings this fascination on? Restless sleep? Suffering from nightmares?”
“I think it’s just something my insatiable curiosity fixated on.” Ever the skilled liar, that Claude.
“Fair enough.” Linhardt sat in the chair at his desk and started looking through the drawers. “Well, my field of study is more magically oriented, but you did come to the right place in a sense. Of course, with how much I enjoy the past time, I’ve looked into the prospect of dreams and what people think of them. Shockingly, it’s difficult to come across a scholar who’s dedicated his time to studying dreams. You know, you forget a dream moments after you wake up, and the stuff you do remember is hazy...it’s all so hard to research in a serious sense.”
“But isn’t it possible to use magic to like, I don’t know, watch dreams?” Claude picked up a magic tome off Linhardt’s shelf to illustrate his point.
“Most magic that we’ve developed is for combat purposes,” Linhardt said flatly. “If it’s not a use that can increase the body count on the battlefield, the uncaring wheels of the continent-wide war machine don’t care for it. Speaking of which, please put that down, unless you’d like to feel what it’s like to get struck by lightning indoors.”
“Wow, what a scathing indictment,” Claude said, putting the book back.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Anyway, found it.” Linhardt produced some papers and slapped them on his desk, flipping through them. Claude watched as he muttered to himself, either speed reading or skimming the documents to get the gist. “Yeah, there’s no consensus of what dreams mean, exactly. Some people think they’re reflections of your inner thoughts or personality. Others think dreams are messages from the Goddess, or something equally spiritual.”
There she was again. It gave Claude a moment’s pause, but he instead shifted the conversation back to Linhardt. “Okay, but what about you? What do you think they are?”
Linhardt took a breath as he mulled over what to say next. “Oh, little old me? Well, forgive me for reading too far into things. It’s kind of what I do. But I think that dreams are intricately crafted reflections of ourselves that our brains create when they have nothing else to do. Everything in a dream symbolizes something. Whether it be a dream about being chased by a predator signaling you’re scared of something in your waking life, or the type of dream where you relive traumatic events being your brain’s way of processing what happened to you.
“To me, that’s the only way to explain the concept of recurring dreams.” Now that one perked Claude right up, which Linhardt immediately noticed. “Ah, so that’s what your problem is.”
“Damn, you got me,” Claude said with a noncommittal shrug. “But I can’t say my recurring dream is about being chased or something horrible happening to me. Mine is more about meeting someone. The same person. Over and over.”
“Hm.” Linhardt moved on with his diatribe, seemingly unaffected by Claude’s contribution. “Anyway, the other explanations? Perfectly valid theories on paper, but they wouldn’t exactly explain recurring dreams, now would they? Your inner thoughts reflecting on themselves? How often do you do that the exact same way, multiple times in a row? And if dreams are messages from the Goddess, why would you forget them so soon, and how would one explain her reaching out to you multiple times in a row? If I was the Goddess and someone wasn’t listening to my messages, I would give them a sign in their waking life. Set a bush on fire in the rain, perhaps? And if they ignore that, I’d simply strike them down.”
“That’s comforting to hear,” Claude said sarcastically. “So what do you think mine symbolizes?”
“Hard to say for sure,” Linhardt said. “I assume you can’t remember the finer details.” When he got a shaking head as a response, he leaned back in his chair. “The only way I could tell you is if there was some way to watch dreams. Oh hey, didn’t you mention that earlier? Still, to avoid going around in circles, I’ll just say I can’t do that. I could try to develop that kind of spell, but I doubt I would be able to secure funding from the Emperor for a literal thought experiment that wouldn’t even kill anyone. I’m sorry, am I boring you? I’m kind of boring myself…”
Claude held a hand up to placate Linhardt. “No, you’re fine. But I just remembered I have something else I need to do. Thank you for your time, Linhardt.”
“Hmm, maybe I could take a peek into your dreams if I could grab a sample of your blood…”
“Not a chance.”
“Worth a shot.”
That very next night, Claude found himself on the city streets again. And again, he got a hold of Byleth by way of returning her phone. “Thanks, Claude,” she said as she took it from him.
Claude gasped. “You remember?”
“...yes?” Byleth look confused for a moment, before the realization hit her. “Right! This is just like my dream from last night.”
“Your dream? I thought I was the one dreaming.” Claude put on an offended tone, but he knew they were getting somewhere this time. “Do you have any idea what’s going on? Because this is far from just the second time one of us has had this dream.”
Byleth shook her head. “I don’t remember anything before last time. And I still can’t remember anything about my waking life.”
Claude huffed, the frustration setting in. “Well, it’s now or never then, I guess.”
Byleth tilted her head to the side. “What do you mean?”
“I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since the first time I’ve dreamt of you,” Claude explained. “I think...I think I’m in love with you.”
“That’s...forward.”
Claude sighed. “I know, but I can’t find you in my real life, so this might be the only chance I get to tell you.”
“Fair enough,” Byleth said, a smile appearing on her lips. “If we run into each other again, let’s grab that coffee, yeah?”
“Right, of course. And Byleth?”
“Yeah?”
Claude woke up with the words he wanted to say next on his lips and tears of frustration in his eyes. When he realized he was awake again, he slapped his own forehead. “Damn it!”
It just didn’t make any sense. Now Byleth was the one dreaming too? And in his half-awake haze, he could tell for certain that wherever they were was not the Fodlan he knew. Did he forge a link to another person between worlds? Or was this whole dream just a very elaborate prank his mind was pulling on himself?
He honestly wouldn’t have put it past himself to play a prank on himself if he could, but it still pissed him off.
Who else was there he could ask about it?
“Well, the Goddess has come up multiple times now, and the monastery is on my way back to Alliance territory. Kind of. Might as well hit up the archbishop.”
He shuddered at the thought of confronting her, but at this point he was desperate for answers. Who was this woman? What did this chance meeting mean? How could he meet her for real? And most importantly…
“What the fuck is a coffee?”
A few days passed, during which Claude found himself having a concerning lack of dreams. The bright side was that he was well rested for his trip to Garreg Mach. The archbishop was as hard to get a hold of as ever, and when she did have time for him, it was only a fleeting moment. He had to pick his words carefully. He would get one or two questions at most, and he didn’t want to waste them. His first question: “What’s the Goddess’ name, Lady Rhea?”
Rhea seemed taken aback by his blunt wording. “An odd question you’ve chosen to ask. Is there a reason for this line of conversation?”
“I’ll explain if I have the time,” Claude promised, hoping he wouldn’t, in fact, have the time. “I just want to know her name.”
Her right hand man looked indignant, but Rhea spoke before he had a chance to. “The name you’re looking for is Sothis.”
Claude nodded. Not Byleth. Knowing that he wasn’t having a conversation with a deity in his dreams was a weight off his shoulders. “Okay. Second question, do you believe dreams to be messages from the Goddess?”
This time, Rhea couldn’t speak before her assistant could. “Many believe that to be the case, but frankly, I find the idea absurd.”
Rhea shook her head, her ridiculous headdress making it look like a gargantuan task. “Now Seteth, if someone finds comfort in interpreting their dreams as messages from the Goddess, we are not to look down on them for it.”
“Oh trust me, I find a lot more comfort in knowing my dreams aren’t the Goddess trying to hit me up.”
“I take it you’ve been having restless nights,” Rhea said. “I’m afraid there’s not much I can do to help you.”
“Yeah, I figured as much,” Claude said, glancing outside, the view from the monastery arresting as always. “One more question before I’m out of your green hair. Does the name Byleth mean anything to you?”
Rhea didn’t hesitate in shaking her head again. “No. Of course, I’ve met so many countless people, it would be easy to believe I’ve forgotten a name or a face. Still, I’m confident that I don’t know a Byleth.”
“Fair enough,” Claude said with a shrug. “I think I can confidently say my dreams are just my subconscious fucking with me now.”
“Claude!” Seteth snapped. “Such vulgar language in front of Lady Rhea. You’ll apologize immediately.”
“Er, right. My apologies, archbishop. I’ll be leaving now.” He bowed and wished he could do it sarcastically. Ultimately, he settled on being confident in the knowledge that he would if he could, and made himself scarce.
“Lady Rhea,” Seteth said once the doors closed behind him. “Is Byleth not the name of…?”
Rhea nodded solemnly. “The child who perished alongside their father in the fire many years ago. I’m aware.”
“Why would someone with that name be frequenting Claude’s dreams? I can’t imagine it’s a common moniker.”
After a deep breath, Rhea started walking toward her quarters. “Who knows. Maybe it means something after all. Sothis works in...mysterious ways.”
Those words hung heavy in the air. Nobody had left that conversation satisfied.
Except one person who was able to make a well-meaning jab out of it after laying low the whole time. “Did you really just use the word moniker, brother? Could you try not to sound like the oldest fuddy-duddy in all of Fodlan for one day?”
“Flayn, don’t scare me like that!”
[]
Khalid went on to become the king of Almyra and spent the rest of his life trying to unify the Alliance with its neighboring rival. Although he was ultimately unsuccessful, he is still regarded as one of the nation’s greatest rulers. Strangely, he never took a queen and never fathered children, claiming until his death that the woman of his dreams eluded him in his waking life. After his death, Almyra fell into another period of unrest as they scrambled to find a worthy successor to the throne.
…
“Wait, that’s it?”
“What do you mean?”
“There has to be more, right? You can’t be telling me our history book calls him the greatest king Almyra has ever had and then skips over all the things that made him so revered.”
“I’m not sure what you were expecting, Byleth. Our texts have never been keen to dive into Almyran history. All you have to know about him for the purposes of this class is the fact that he spent many years in Fodlan under the alias of Claude.”
Byleth sighed, fiddling with the pen in her fingers and looking over the open book in front of her. “He was pretty handsome, though,” she said to herself, looking wistfully at the picture of him. “Shame his bloodline ended with him…”
Byleth didn’t remember class ending, but she did recall the crammed streets as she made her way home from college. People were bustling about, cars drove by laying on their horns, and the skyscrapers towered above her imposingly. This was the life she knew all too well. She looked around as she waited to cross an intersection, taking in the sights and sounds. She wasn’t the biggest fan of big city life, but as long as she was in college, that was going to be the life she lived.
She crossed the street, paying no attention to the faces passing her by. Once on the other side, she stopped for just a moment to look into a storefront and convince herself not to buy herself a pastry. The light cycled through behind her, but she paid it no mind as she started walking again.
Suddenly, a voice sounded. A loud voice meaning to catch as many people’s attentions as possible. “Excuse me! Is anyone missing their phone? Hello? I found this across the street. Check your bags and pockets, folks. Missing phone!”
Byleth opened the bag over her shoulder and her eyes grew wide. “Shit,” she mumbled to herself. Sure enough, her phone was missing. “Excuse me,” she said, lightly patting the man’s shoulder to catch his attention. “That might just be mine.”
The man’s eyes went wide at the sight of her. He was ruggedly handsome, with the wispy traces of facial hair sprouting from his chin and piercing eyes that said he was up to no good. “Ah, uh, yeah. Here you go.”
Byleth took her phone from the stranger and turned the screen on, smiling at the familiar lock screen. “Yup, this is mine. Thank you so much.”
The kind stranger nodded. “Of course. I’m just glad I spotted it before someone stepped on it.”
Byleth slipped her phone back into her bag and nodded. “Well, I should get going, I think.”
She started walking away, but the man called after her before she could get far. “Wait.”
Turning around, Byleth tilted her head curiously. “Yes?”
The man held out his hand in a welcoming gesture. “What’s your name, ma’am?”
With a smile, Byleth put a hand to her chest. “My name is Byleth.” Then, she reached that hand out to shake. “And you are?”
“Claude.”
Now that was a familiar name. Byleth paused to think. “Claude. Somehow I think I knew that. Have we met before?”
Claude shrugged. “In my dreams, maybe.”
Suddenly, Byleth blinked awake, still solidly in history class. She checked her phone to see that fifteen minutes had passed, and she was asleep for all of it. She looked down to see the face of the man from her dream in the history book in front of her. “That was...weird,” she said to herself, looking into his eyes again. “Maybe my dad was right. I might just be overworking myself...”