Chapter Text
Human silhouettes dance across bone-white temple stone. Tall erratic flames cast an eerie glow upon the faces gathered. Not a soul utters a sound. They hold their breath in anticipation and anxiety. A deep echo howls throughout ancient corridors. This sacred place, once a tomb to house the dead, is now a peaceful setting for all nations to meet.
Byleth, fabled hero of Fodlon who brought peace to a warring country, has born a son. She along with her trusted companions traveled from the Leicester Alliance (with the Holy Kingdom attending also) to the ceremony. Seteth, stern and taciturn as ever oversees the tradition of prophesying. It is old tradition to bring heroes to this tomb in Seiros to foresee and bless those here. Byleth and Claude parted from the Church with strained friendship, but they by no means hate the green-haired deities. After all, Sothis has bestowed her gifts to Byleth, and she now rests in the sword made of her very bones, to help Byleth cut down whatever foes get in her way.
Claude rules over Leicester with Queen Marianne. Though the smallest nation in Fodlon they have been gifted with great prosperity thanks to Byleth being nominated as the King’s highest ranking general along with Hilda.
The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus has fared the worst. But with King Dimitri at the helm and Queen Mercedes sweet charity (she has established many orphanages and famed schools for the poor), they are still afloat.
Lastly is the Adrestian Empire which forfeited their invitations to Seiros, scoffing at the old ways. After Byleth gave Empress Edelgard a near-fatal wound, the warlike territory departed on peaceful terms and has isolated themselves. It’s been silent. Nobody knows how Adrestian is proceeding.
Rhea dances elegantly, circling crackling fire. The flames changes as she chants magic incantations. White, silver, bursts of gold, red, blue, and purple. Flayn stands by holding a big dusty tome, waiting to interpret a vision.
Seteth’s strict gaze sweeps the crowd. He can’t help but get a cold knife betwixt his ribs of skepticism, sensing an ominous return of the Empire. The bold and wild royalty can’t surely have gone quiet. Is it some short rest? Are they secretly scheming to go to war again? Surely their appetite for conflict and bloodshed hasn’t dwindled so soon after peace was declared?
Dimitri’s face is sullen. Darkened by years of turmoil. It only changes in the presence of his wife (sweet, calm, a hint of a genuine smile) or in the thick of battle (sadistic, cruel, eerily delighted). He established an alliance with Claude and the two kingdoms work simultaneously hand in hand for most events.
Claude. The crafty, mischievous, and intelligent archer is equal parts a menace and dashing hero. He credits Byleth for helping him recreate Leicester –and bring his ideals of peace and freedom to the other nation. His eyes are deceptively aloof. Byleth and her husband Caspar’s expressions are creased with worry. The fighter gave his wife a supportive grin and squeezed her hand.
Flayn shut her tome. The sound a startling thunderclap. She stares deeply into the lively flames. If you listen closely you can hear the fire whispering. She decodes the signs and her hopeful face fell.
“What is it that you behold, Flayn?” Rhea asked. “Tell us.”
“I see the end of us all,” her voice is tinted with grief, a mallet to glass. “Blair is a harbinger of death itself! He will resurrect a greater foe than any of us have fought. It will be a nightmarish entity that’ll wound us with one-hundred afflictions.”
The crowd stirred. Loud murmuring mimicking a bad-tempered storm. “No. It can’t be,” Dimitri muttered. “Byleth’s son will be Fodlon’s downfall?
“It must be a mistake!” Ignatz shouted.
“How can one determine a child’s outcome so soon?” Ingrid wondered cynically. “Other unknown factors could change fate.”
Claude crossed his arms. Seteth sighed. Always a troublemaker that one. An inquisitive non-believer.
“How can you be sure?”
“Because fate is fate. The Goddess steers us all, whether we wish her to or not,” came Rhea’s brisk reply.
“People may believe in whatever deities they want but I think people can change their fate,” Anette said.
Felix snorted half-comically. “Yes, if a blade doesn’t end you first. Life is heartless like that.”
“Blair is a danger to us! He must be abandoned in the woods to whatever fate awaits him,” Rhea declared.
At this the room stilled. Byleth’s gaze lifts up from the baby in her arm to glare at the Archbishop. “No. If the end of our world does come I will use my strength to save us.”
“At the cost of how many lives?” She spat. “One life doesn’t outweigh the rest.”
The mercenary-turned-hero’s eyes hardened. How ironic. Edelgard thinks the same. Yet they were enemies. This is why Byleth hesitated saving Seiros. Jeralt had tried to warn her of the malice underneath Rhea’s graceful mask. Claude and the Golden Deer seemed the most loyal and hearty friends. They didn’t have a horse in that race. The archer believes in letting people have the freedom to shape their own futures –whatever that maybe. He’d rather have the truth shine for all. Unlike Edelgard who wished for a blood-wrought unity, or Rhea, cutting down those who do not strictly follow Seiros. Flayn and Seteth are wise and goodhearted but Byleth is thoroughly insulted by Rhea.
“My son isn’t a tool for you to dispose of, Arcbishop. I won’t listen to such nonsense.” And with that Byleth turned around and left with her husband. Claude poorly stifled a grin. He called his army to leave. Nobody will offend his most trusted friend and advisor.
“You’re making a grave mistake!” Rhea called.
“Doubt it,” Claude fired back. “Byleth’s wits, friendship, and strength have saved us. I firmly place my bets on her more than some divine prophecy.”
“Perhaps we should cut ties with Seiros?” Lysithea muttered. “Their grip is desperate and serpentine…”
Back home Byleth served cake and tea to her friends. On the surface they are fine, they are moving on with their lives, and there are many a lively moment shared. But war leaves no one unscathed. Mental and physical scars leave visible tales upon them. They’ve changed for the better, but sometimes worse.
Caspar abandoned his family in Adrestian when he fell for Byleth. It was hard but his cheerful optimism is infectious. His love for her is cosmic, never-ending, and saccharine. Bright like a thousand torches lighting a dark corridor.
Ignatz is a famous thief and talented artisan. Over time in his trade he’s become the best of the best. Elusive and brave. He sets up a fresh canvas and dunks a paintbrush in a cup of paint. He briefly turns to capture the scene, clutching his Goddess necklace worriedly. He utters a quick prayer, hoping for continued peaceful times.
Raphael the tradesman gave his old friend a hearty slap on his shoulder. “You worry too much, Ignatz! We’ve endured worse haven’t we?”
Marianne took a sip of her tea and hummed. “Yes. The Goddess wouldn’t lead us astray. Still, good wishes go a long way. May She guide us and Blair with her light.”
“He’ll be fine,” Lysithea guaranteed while taking a bite of cake. “We’re all screw-ups and outcasts but we turned out okay.”
“Right,” Hilda nodded. “No matter what happens we have each other and that’s enough to brave any threat looming before us, right Claude?”
He smiled and gave a roguish wink, a sign of spirited agreement.
When most of the others had left to complete other tasks requested by the Kingdom, Byleth, Blair, and Lysithea stayed at the big outdoor tea table. The dark mage snacked on delicious sweets while reading a book. She has become a great scribe and has perfected the dark arts. That alone though doesn’t hold a candle to the white-haired woman’s wisdom or empathetic character though. Many a time her witty remarks have saved people’s lives and made them laugh –something sorely needed sometimes in a battlefield laden with uncertainty and despair.
“Lysithea.”
“Yes, Byleth?”
“Can I entrust you with something?”
Hearing the seriousness in the mercenary’s voice Lysithea lowered her book and eyed her. She nodded.
“I want you to be Blair’s Godmother. You are smart, kind, and would be a great mentor.”
Shock crosses her face. “Me?! I’d be honored, Byleth!” Alongside her apt title of scribe, Lysithea would gladly put all her strength into being the best Godmother in history! The mage is aggressively competitive and she wouldn’t want to let down her best friend. For a long time she’s dealt with the struggle of feeling lesser and weaker to those around her, but being in the Golden Deer and Claude’s army has shown her that she too, is an irreplaceable part of their forces.
Years have passed. After tireless scheming and sifting through knowledge gathered from spies and scouts, the Adrestian Empire is ready to begin a new war –and win. Empress Edelgard has long since passed away, leaving her only son Hawk, as heir to the throne. At this time he is thirteen and so Hubert and Linhardt are running things until he can become Emperor. Hawk is nearly identical to his mother but he lacks her violet-colored eyes.
His dream is to unite Fodlon under the Adrestian banner. Resentment, betrayal, and rage burns in his heart. None of the other leaders know what they are doing and will lead their people to a catastrophic downfall. If they had capitulated to Edelgard’s selfless and heroic decrees, everybody would be organized by their hard work and talents, and the pathetic crest system would’ve been destroyed. Fools, all of them!
Jeritza is Hawk’s battle instructor. Hubert and Linhardt oversee training. The infamous Death Knight draws a sword and a dark sadistic aura flickers around him. “Temper your blade, young prince. Show me that you are a worthy opponent! If you truly wish to be a champion for the Empire, you’ll cut down anybody in your way. A real leader’s strength must be as strong as his convictions.”
For a man dressed in heavy armor, Jeritza sprints at break-neck speeds. His sword thrusts and slices ring dangerously in the room. Metal meets metal in flashes and sparks. Hawks has great agility and perception in a fight but he is not strong enough to disarm or stagger Jeritza. Not even a God could, probably. This scary intimidating man is a devil, a nightmarish being.
Mother’s old stories echo in Hawk’s mind as he fights. Her tales of war are harrowing. She had suffered from her loss. Most of her people became dispirited from losing the war, and many deserted. Failure and incurable illness sapped all her strength. Edelgard believed that despite her damned crest and those horrible experiments, she could still change the world for the better. She could use the agony to purge the world’s old and useless ideals and create something utopian. But eventually, the side effects of a careless experiment backfired. Her life was shortened for a quick grasp of godlike powers. Those evil scientists and mages tried to use Edelgard for a weapon but she fought back. She’d take power into her own hands and shape the world into something legendary.
“Again! Don’t falter now,” Jeritza shouted. “Is that all you’ve got?”
I’ll rise from the ashes, mother! Hawks changed his stance from defense to offense. He risked being open to more attacks from the Death Knight to try and win the fight. I’ll lead the Adrestian Empire to its rightful place: being the sole leaders of Fodlon!
Hopelessness, starvation, desertion, and casualties caused the Empire to tailspin. To mend the territory to its former glory would take a miracle.
Distress and pain crosses Edelgard’s face. A nurse (and her dutiful advisor Hubert) is never too far away. These are sad memories that are forever sealed in Hawk’s mind. The earliest memories of his mother.
“You should be proud,” her smile is weighed down by a fitful of ragged coughing.
“Why mama?”
“Because you’re special. You can change the world. You carry our people’s hopes and futures on your shoulders, Hawkling.” Edelgard brushed her son’s bangs from his eyes. “As a prince you mustn’t be discouraged. Our country is a pale image to what it once was but I know that one day the Adrestian Empire will be the only utopia in Fodlon.”
Edelgard would spend many days stranded on her bed. But Hawk would always visit her. Edelgard wanted to give her child the world but there wasn’t much she could do. Anger and hurt slowly plagued her mind. Every day she awoke to this unending torment, a slow rotting death. Edelgard’s only access to the world outside is through a small window. Her body is too weak and despite her protests, Hubert would call for a nurse to escort her.
She can’t accept defeat. Not when she had been so close to winning the war. “Our country’s history is a blood-wrought one. But it’s necessary to spill the blood of many to obtain an outcome that helps the whole.”
“I don’t get it,” Hawk said.
“You will one day. Do you recall the stories I’ve told you about the war? About the horrible things the Holy Kingdom and Leicester Alliance have done?”
“Yes,” Hawk’s eyes shine. He loves the stories about the Empire’s unmatched strength. They were destined to be the heroes who united the other countries under one banner. A role model for the rest of society. Nobody else could undertake such a significant task.
“Do you remember Byleth, Hawkling?”
The prince nodded. He’s never seen her but Edelgard’s injured expression softens to happiness whenever the mercenary is mentioned –and seeing his mother happy means a lot to Hawk. She rarely ever smiled. Some days, when she spoke of Byleth, she had strength to walk on her own.
“Yes. She’s my Mom, right?”
“That’s right. Hn. So you have room in that brain of yours for more than battle,” she joked.
Hawk laughed. The prince recounted what Mama had told him. “The Leicester Alliance kidnapped Byleth and turned her against us. Claude kept her prisoner and forced her to fight for his army.”
Edelgard nodded. Her lips frown bitterly. Violet eyes gleam with tears. Edelgard truly believed that Byleth had been deceived by Claude to help him and his selfish goals. “Yes. She was supposed to be Queen of the Adrestian Empire but I failed to protect her. If I had tried harder, and brought her here, she’d probably be with us now, and our nation would’ve won the war.”
The soundless question hangs in the air. Would Byleth ever return?
The Empress coughed again. Her gaze is affixed to the ceiling, as she absentmindedly got dragged back to the past.
“Mama?”
“Hm?” She offered a pained smile and squeezed her son’s wrist. “I’m alright, Hawkling.”
Enough of the past. The true victors in life strike when the iron is hot.
“I’ve heard Byleth has a son. That makes you a brother.”
“Brother?” Hawk’s brows scrunched.
It isn’t uncommon for royalty to hire surrogates for heirs. Hawk is a byproduct of one. He doesn’t know who his father is but it never mattered to him. Edelgard and this mysterious Byleth are his real parents. To him they are like the legendary knights that he reads in his books. He wonders what his brother is like. Does he uphold the same values that the Adrestian Empire does? Does he like to spar? To study ancient books in the library?
“Byleth eventually sided with Claude. She had a son. But the Alliance is evil, Hawk. They took your Mother from you. They split our family apart. That evil man tricked her. Byleth and Blair should be here with us.”
Edelgard suddenly sits up, her rage and madness driving her weak body. “Promise me, Hawkling. That you’ll do what I couldn’t. Unite Fodlon under the Empire, bring Byleth and your brother Blair home.”
“I will, Mama. I promise. I’ll be the greatest Emperor in Fodlon’s history!”
“Enough for today,” Jeritza lowered his weapon. Hawk is out of breath, standing by sheer willpower alone. He is wounded by hundreds of bleeding cuts. Yet his intimidating dark eyes could scare a Monster. “I can still fight!”
“No, you have reached your limits. A foolish soldier dies the quickest if he doesn’t observe his limits or surroundings.”
“I won’t stop until I behead every enemy of the Empire with my axe!”
Hubert chuckled as he walked over. “That unshakable wrath, use it to get the upper hand. In time you’ll be a great ruler like Lady Edelgard. But Jeritza is right. Get some rest. See a healer.”
Hawk bowed and limped out of the room. The Death Knight marched away, leaving Hubert, Linhardt, and Ferdinand.
The green-haired man’s normally indifferent and sleepy face creases with worry. “Is it wise to push Hawk so hard? He won’t be ruler until much later. We don’t know if he too, carries the setbacks that Lady Edelgard had because of the experiments.”
“Yes,” Ferdinand nodded. “And I have doubts. Is such a cutthroat mentality good to have? War is inevitable yes, but any ruler should have nobility and mercy close to his heart.”
Hubert scowled. “Have you two forgotten the state the Empire is in? Hawks can single-handedly restore us to power. Bernadetta and Caspar and their houses have deserted us. We don’t have time for pleasantries. If we don’t act swiftly and mercilessly, the other countries will see that as an invitation to invade and conquer.”
“I suppose,” Linhardt yawned. “But too hinge everything on this plan, and Hawk, is a dangerous gamble.”
Hubert’s eerie gaze silenced their protests. “We won’t lose. Not this time and never again.”