Chapter Text
‘... Lu... s! … r me … ou…’
Sounds. Water.
‘... ka…’
Cold.
‘... ith… me!’
Dark.
'... kas… ord…'
‘... ive? Plea… im…’
Voices. Scrambled together, jumbled, foreign.
'... ould way… up… is n… ead…'
Some of them, clearer than others.
‘... beat but … rain …’
Surrounded by thick fog.
'Lukas!'
‘Lord Lukas.’
A dozen voices calling out the same name.
'Lukas…'
That name… It stirs an odd sense of recognition, yet feels fundamentally misplaced.
'Lukas.'
It is the designation they have assigned to me, the identity they believe I hold. But it does not belong to me.
Not anymore.
“Lord Lukas?”
There’s a question there, but before I can answer, it all fades.
"... Lukas?"
This voice is distinctive—soft, yet tinged with caution, and nearer than the others. More immediate. Even amid the dim, blurred darkness surrounding me, it stands out as vividly as glowing blue veins coursing through an underground city.
Yet there’s something vexing about it, something… chafing. A scab being disturbed over a wound that never heals.
“Lukas.”
I shift my legs. “No… Mm not…”
Is that… my voice? I made no conscious decision to speak, and I barely recognize the timbre in the low, somewhat pained utterance, but there’s a strange familiarity in it just the same.
"Lukas!"
I flinch, hands instinctively clasping over my ears in an effort to seal myself off from the intrusion of the voice. Yet in its absence, another sound soon takes its place: the roar of flowing water, the muffled impact of noises conveyed from the surface above, the retreat of air from my lungs as panic surges. A muted cacophony of impending death.
A hand touches my arm. Startled, I uncover my ears and slit my eyes open.
Initially, the world appears unfamiliar. My thoughts are muddled, my vision blurred as it absorbs the bright landscape before me: forms, hues, light and shadows, all colliding into a chaotic sensory overload. However, as I laboriously prop myself up, the abstract shapes gradually transform into meaningful constructs.
I find myself in a bed within the infirmary of the Adrestian palace, amidst a row of vacant beds. I recall visiting here, posing as Hubert, observing the few who received care during my time as the Minister of the Imperial Household. Now, it seems I am the one evading death’s clutches.
The realization confuses me. I do not… recall being brought here. The last thing I remember…
I bring a hand to my throat, recalling once again the sensation of water invading my lungs, followed by enveloping darkness.
Something rustles beside me. Peripheral vision reveals the Emperor of Adrestia, seated on a chair beside my bed.
"Lukas," she murmurs, her voice trembling with emotion.
The voice… It’s her.
My hand drops back into my lap. Slowly, I lift my gaze to look up at Edelgard. Her expression carries the weight of exhaustion, accented by dark circles. She is still adorned in the—now crumpled—formal attire from the wedding festivities, her red, high-collared cape discarded over the chair's backrest. Her expression is etched with pain as she parts her lips as if to speak again, yet no words materialize.
I can’t stand to look at her, so instead, I focus on the two figures stationed discreetly behind her—dark-haired siblings standing near the door, their faces equally as weathered and fatigued as that of Edelgard. They feign obliviousness to the unfolding scene, deliberately avoiding my gaze.
However, the large wolf seated beside one of the siblings locks its blue eyes onto me. An apparent companion of the Vestra family, I've observed the wolf near both Hubert and Constance previously, although at the wedding, it was strangely attached to Constance’s trickster friend. And now, it seems to have pinned its interest to me for some inexplicable reason. I calmly meet its gaze, wondering whether if I hold it long enough, the animal will consider me a threat and attack me. Wouldn’t that be a suitable end to my farcical existence?
Edelgard takes one of my hands in hers, and the sensation jolts my awareness to the absence of my gloves. Suppressing the urge to retract my hand, I stare down at it, shocked by the unexpected image of her silk-clad hand around my blackened fingers. It looks… wrong. As though such extremes shouldn’t be allowed to coexist near each other.
"How are you feeling?" she asks.
I force myself to meet her eyes, frowning. How am I feeling? Heavy… Lethargic… Disoriented...
"Disappointed," I find myself murmuring, my voice rusty from disuse.
Her eyebrows knit together, but she remains silent. What could she possibly say? She is acutely aware of her role in my brush with death. She is the one who has insisted on keeping me in this suffocating cage. While Hubert might serve as the jailer, Edelgard is unquestionably the warden of this stifling prison.
“You’ve been comatose for an entire day,” she says softly. “You had no pulse until late this morning, and seeing as you also lack a heartbeat…” Her voice falters, trailing off. “The only indication that you might revive was the inexplicable retention of oxygen in your brain and bloodstream throughout the night. A phenomenon deemed impossible without a pulse… But then, there are many things about you that are impossible, aren't there, my brother?"
Her tone of voice would suggest that the question is merely rhetoric, but it is clear from her expression that she’s hoping I will have an answer to give.
I look away. Impossible… or engineered?
My mind has yet to fully catch up; memories are sporadic and unfocused, and when I try to latch on to one, it quickly slips out of my grasp. Glimmers of sanguine wine beneath chandeliers... The flicker of a flame against my fingertips… The shape of a table knife in my pocket... Blood as crimson as the wine... A momentary weight, followed by weightlessness, followed by nothing.
Even if I knew the answer to Edelgard’s question, I don’t know if I would like to share it with her. As it is, all I have is a theory; a theory which, if proven correct, might be a useful card to have up my sleeve.
Edelgard squeezes my hand. I am infinitely grateful that she, at least, is still wearing gloves. I don’t know that I could have handled the sensation of skin against skin at the moment.
"I can't bear to see you like this," she whispers. As my eyes lock onto her grief-stricken face, a lump rises in my throat. The sensation is loathsome; I have no desire to harbor any emotion for this... this…
Beast.
I close my eyes and try to breathe calmly.
Say it. 'Beast.'
"There is a simple solution," I hear myself say instead as my eyes flicker open. "Remove the bracelets."
Hubert shifts near the door, evidently concerned that Edelgard might acquiesce to my proposition. His apprehension is unnecessary; Edelgard wouldn’t make that decision so lightly. That is why I do not bother to fully try to convince her. My statement is more a token gesture than a sincere plea.
Edelgard dismisses my suggestion with a shake of her head. "That might seem like the be-all and end-all," she says, "but your loss of magic is not the sole cause of your depression, Lukas. You know this."
Fine, but do you believe that constant exhaustion and inherent mistrust will improve my situation? I bite back the retort before it escapes my lips.
After all, what sense is there in trying to argue? My destiny, it seems, has been firmly mapped out in this artificial universe—this cage—crafted by the Emperor and her retainer. They're resolute in not yielding an iota, and no words of mine will sway them.
And yet this path of theirs has no possible end in sight. They will never trust me enough. Never.
“Please, Lukas,” Edelgard says softly, her grip tightening around my hand. "I understand that I've failed to earn your trust, as I've offered little in return. But the thought of losing you again is… is unbearable."
Her voice breaks, and she quickly lifts her free hand to cover her eyes as what might be a sob rustles her body. Instinctively, my eyes dart to Hubert. His jaw is noticeably clenched, yet he remains immobile near the door. Shouldn't he…?
… But of course not. He serves merely as her subordinate, not her friend. Comforting her in this emotionally charged moment isn't part of his duty.
I return my attention to Edelgard, watching in silence as she struggles to regain herself. She sniffles once as she pinches her nose; then she wipes away a stray tear before lowering her hand to her lap, almost serenely. Her face is calm as she regards me with the solemn gaze of an Emperor, but the hand she just lowered trembles, and the one clasping mine is so tense that I question if any blood is coursing through it at all.
As for me… I feel… Helpless.
The brother you mourn has not returned to you, I want to tell her, and he never will. I am not him. And so you cannot lose me 'again.' Perhaps if you come to terms with the fact that the brother you once knew is forever lost, it may simplify matters for both of us.
But my lips remain locked together. I can't muster the energy to engage in a futile argument, which I know will follow if I try to reason with her. She has lost her way in her own sorrow, and I can’t be the one to pull her back out. I shouldn’t have to be.
Even in the face of my estranging silence, Edelgard continues, her voice nearing its breaking point again. "I can't give up on you. I have to believe that you can come back to us. To me.”
I close my eyes with a soft sigh. If only she would stop. If only she would realize the futility, the hollowness, of her own pleas. If only she would abandon her relentless pursuit of my redemption.
No. It’s not even my redemption. She does not wish to redeem me. She only sees the ghost of her younger brother when she looks at me. It’s evident in how she phrases her pleas: She is not trying to reassure me that I will find my place eventually. She is simply asking her baby brother to come back.
She has yet to understand that he never will.
“Please, Lukas, tell me you understand. That you at least acknowledge the possibility," she insists, grown desperate by my complete silence. “Please tell me—”
“No.” My eyes snap open to fix her with a sharp glare. "I refuse to be complicit in your pitiful self-deception. If it is reassurance you crave, I’m sure there are others in your employ who will gladly cater to this delusion of yours, but you shall receive no such validation from me.” Her expression blanches, but I press on. “Have you considered that perhaps I stepped into that pond in order to escape from you? That perhaps I would prefer oblivion to your pathetic attempts to resurrect the past?”
Edelgard flinches. Her hand, still intertwined with mine, loosens its grip until our fingers are barely touching. "Is that truly how you feel?" she whispers.
I hesitate, on the verge of relenting, if only to spare her further pain. But honesty, however brutal, is what's needed here. "Yes," I say, meeting her eyes unfazed. "That is how I feel."
She looks away, withdrawing into herself, silenced as if my words have penetrated her typically impenetrable façade. For a moment, she's rendered speechless.
In the prolonged silence that follows, my gaze shifts from Edelgard's now ashen face to the Vestras still positioned by the door as Hubert, stoic Hubert, finally breaks his posture and shifts uneasily. Beside him, Claudia turns her head slightly to look at me. Our gazes meet for a few seconds, and although I expect to see frustration or perhaps fear in her eyes, all I can discern is curiosity; a search for answers to a question she hadn't expected to want to ask.
Edelgard on the other hand simply looks lost, as if she's trying to piece together a puzzle without knowing what the final picture is supposed to be. I despise this traitorous sensation of discomfort at seeing her at a loss for words. This is a woman who knows the importance of appearances; I have seen her expertly wield the serene and confident countenance that people expect from their Emperor. But ever since our connection came into the light, I have seen another side of her altogether: A human—almost childish—side of the great Edelgard von Hresvelg. An insecure girl who was raised to become an Emperor, but struggles to properly manage any situation that falls outside of that scope. Declaring war is easy, but knowing what to say to your suicidal brother? That is so far outside of her comfort zone that she could just as well be peddling water in the middle of the ocean, no land or vessel in sight. And the sight of her so crestfallen is not a pleasant one.
"What now?" I ask eventually in a voice devoid of emotion, not wanting to give away any hint of what I'm truly feeling. "Shall we persist with this sibling charade, or are you prepared to treat me as what I truly am—a variable in your equation?"
Slowly, Edelgard’s gaze returns to me. “You are not simply a variable,” she says softly. “You are my brother, even if you don’t remember it. However...”
Here she straightens, pulling her hand away from mine and folding it neatly in her lap. The vulnerability in her eyes hardens into something more resolute, more distant.
“Until we can be certain that you will not use your powers against us, you will remain in those bracelets and be closely monitored. This is non-negotiable.”
Her voice is crisp and confident again; the Emperor has resurfaced, the vulnerable sister relegated to the shadows once more. The transformation is remarkable. I can’t help but feel a sort of grim satisfaction, as if my skepticism has been vindicated. It comes out as a bitter smirk, my lips twisting almost by themselves into the same kind of cold sneer that I once used to reserve only for the asinine beasts of the surface world.
“If confinement and constant surveillance are what it takes for you to feel safe from your own brother, then so be it.”
Edelgard's face remains calm, but the slightest quiver of her lips betrays her emotion. She rises from her seat, and I know that our conversation has come to an end.
"We will speak later, Lukas."
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Claudia and Hubert exchange a quick look as Edelgard pauses with her hand hovering over the back of the chair, and I can see that my words have struck home. Formality creates distance, and distance is the last thing she wants between us.
She visibly takes in a breath, as if steadying herself, and then lets it out slowly before turning to leave the room. As she passes by Hubert, he falls into step behind her, pausing only briefly by the door with a glance toward the wolf—which makes no move to get up, its eyes still locked onto me. Hubert’s gaze flickers to me as well, and then he seems to come to some decision. Without another word, he turns and leaves the room together with the guards.
Claudia remains, however, casting a lingering glance toward the door as it shuts with a muted thud. Then, her gaze finds mine.
Her expression indicates that she's on the cusp of vocalizing her thoughts, yet there's a pause, a brief dance of contemplation and restraint playing across her features. As she takes a step forward, the large wolf by her side gets up and strides forth, causing her to stop and watch as it pads silently across the stone floor and up to my side.
The animal stops beside the bed, its blue gaze focused intently on me. It seems to be examining me, deliberating on something. I wearily meet its eyes.
"Have you come to keep an eye on me as well?" I ask.
The wolf's gaze seems to soften, and with a low huff of breath, it lies down beside my bed. I look down at the animal and then over to Claudia, who meets my gaze with a slight smile.
“His name is Crow,” she says. “Apparently he was used as a carrier for the letters exchanged between Constance and my brother during the war, and since then, he’s become part of the family.”
“Crow,” I repeat quietly, tasting the name. It seems… familiar, somehow—
‘Did you receive my letter? I sent crow with it yesterday.’
‘No. No crows, no letters.’
A startled pause claims me as the memory crystallizes. Then, as I stare at the animal, an ironic, dark chuckle escapes my lips before I can catch it.
Crow. So, it was this wolf, and not a literal crow, that carried messages between Constance and Hubert? The slight misinterpretation led me to a misunderstanding while posing as Hubert, setting off a chain of events that likely played a vital part in foiling my plot to deceive Constance into joining us in Shambhala. I had been wondering what that phrase meant, and now I finally have the answer.
The twist that this very wolf, a silent participant in my undoing, now seems to have taken a liking to me is… bitterly amusing.
“Is something the matter?” Claudia asks.
"Old memories," I reply dismissively, reluctant to delve into the past; especially one she's blissfully unaware of. "Now say your piece. You seemed on the cusp of speaking before the wolf’s interruption."
She wavers, her eyes momentarily connecting with mine before withdrawing. "It's not my place—"
"Allow me to hazard a guess: You think I was too severe with my sister?”
She purses her lips, deliberating. Then, after a beat, she silently walks up to the chair previously inhabited by Edelgard, seating herself with an unexpected kind of grace.
"I understand that this situation is complicated for you," she says, clearly choosing her words with great care. "Emotions are running high, and you both have your own burdens to carry. But yes, I did think you were rather... blunt with her."
"Blunt," I repeat dryly. "Yes. It appears I am rather solitary in that particular approach."
Claudia pauses. "Would you prefer me to be more blunt with you, Lord Lukas?"
“We are not friends, Claudia. I'd much prefer tactless candor over dishonest pleasantries. What use is a servant who does not dare to speak her mind?”
Claudia smiles, but it fades quickly. "Very well, then,” she says, seeming to relax somewhat in her chair. “I shall be frank. It seems to me that you are both at an impasse. You struggle with Edelgard's attachment to a past you don't recall, frustrated by her refusal to acknowledge your current identity. However, I would be remiss not to point out that you play your own cards very close to your chest, making it near impossible for her to discover who you are now. You're both guilty of forming preconceived notions about each other; notions of which neither of you is yet prepared to let go.”
Silence lowers itself over the room. I look at Claudia, noting how she does not avert her gaze even as I hold it for several long seconds to search her eyes.
"You're awfully observant, aren’t you?"
More observant, in fact, than my very own sister. But then, perhaps that is to be expected from a Vestra.
“Forgive me, Lord Lukas,” she replies, inclining her head in an apology as she withdraws back into the role of the detached vassal. “I overstepped.”
“On the contrary,” I say softly. “You've offered me the candor I asked for."
Never mind the fact that the candor in question gave me more discomfort than I expected. Then again, I did ask for it, and I stand by my opinion about the value of tactless candor. While I am aware that I sometimes struggle to take criticism without instinctively wanting to deflect or defend my actions, I nonetheless strive to be someone who takes it well.
Do I? I catch myself thinking. Is that strive truly my own, or is it simply a remnant of Thales’ teachings? The possibility makes me pause. It… still seems like a reasonable ambition. However, I would be dishonest if I said that the momentary doubt has not brought me some measure of discomfort.
"In that case," Claudia says tentatively, "might I presume to expect the same level of candor from you?"
Instinctive suspicion grips me as I return my gaze to her, taking in her guarded expression. I can’t promise her anything, which she’s undoubtedly aware of. Still, I am too curious about her intentions not to bite. "What do you wish to know?"
Her gaze locks on to mine. "Did you truly wish to die last night,” she asks, “or were you coerced to step into the pond?