Chapter Text
Byleth
Cold. That's the first sensation to invade Byleth's hazy senses. It feels as though she's been frozen—suspended, somehow—for quite some time, her body slow to awaken as a result.
Already fading into the back of her subconscious, she can vaguely recall hearing a familiar voice...Sothis. But why? Byleth hasn't been able to communicate with the progenitor god at all since she was gifted with her power only a few short months ago. It shouldn't be possible.
And yet, Byleth can clearly recall the girl's chastising, almost motherly tone, the way she'd demanded Byleth stand on her own two feet, which— That was a work in progress. She needs to get the feeling back in her legs, first. Why is she so cold?
The answer to her question comes in the form of splashing and rough, clumsy hands dragging her free of whatever predicament she'd found herself in—a river? How did she up in a river, of all things?
"—lo? Can you hear me?"
An unfamiliar voice ultimately stirs her into full consciousness, blinking open bleary eyes as she takes in the sight above her: a man, dressed in simple farming attire and looking as though he's fallen on hard times indeed, is leaning over her, eyes wide with concern and shock. He pulled me ashore, then? she wonders dimly. With no other civilians in sight, it seems the best conclusion.
Seeing her eyes open, the farmer leans back with a relieved sigh. "Oh, good. I was starting to think I might've been too late." As Byleth stiffly pulls herself into some semblance of a sitting position, the citizen offers his hand to help her stand. She doesn't take it, instead blinking quizzically up at her rescuer, considering.
When she finally speaks, her voice is hoarse from a combination of river water and disuse. Internally, it makes her cringe. "…Where are we?"
Awkwardly, the man lets his hand fall back to his side as he answers, "Uh... We're in a farming village, at the base of the monastery." He clears his throat, hesitant, before adding, "I gotta say, I really didn't expect to find somebody floating away down the river—much less see them alive. What in the world were you doing in there?"
Byleth focuses on kneading the stiffness from her limbs as she considers how best to answer. She needs to get her bearings, first and foremost. Not sparing the farmer a glance—perhaps a bit ill-mannered, seeing as she'd probably still be floating in the river now if not for him—she focuses on a specific part of the man's explanation: "Did you say we're close to the monastery?"
From the way the other's brow furrows in confusion, it's evident this is a line of questioning he didn't expect. "Well, yeah, but..." He trails off with a sigh, seeming hesitant to go on. "That place is pretty much deserted, now. The Knights of Seiros aren't even there anymore, so it's become a hotbed for thieves and the like."
Byleth's thoughts slam to a halt. Deserted? Just how long has she been away?
Weariness forgotten in her haste, Byleth leaps to her feet with a fraction of her usual grace and speed. "Hold on," she insists, palm raised to silence him, "what year is it right now?" Desperately, she hopes she's wrong. The state of this village and the knowledge that the knights have evacuated the monastery settle in her stomach like dread. This kind of disrepair takes years to accumulate.
Startled, the man stumbles back a step, watching Byleth's movements with a wary eye. "I-it's the Ethereal Moon of Imperial Year 1185," he replies hastily. "The millennium festival was supposed to be tomorrow, but... Well"—a derisive scoff—"with the war going on and the archbishop still missing, I doubt you'll find a soul around here with enough blessings worth counting these days."
Millennium festival. The words echo in her mind, stirring a memory that she can recall with startling clarity: It's settled, then! In five years' time, we'll all meet again at this very monastery. You'll attend as well, won't you, Professor?
Dimitri's earnest request, strengthened by the excited—even pleading—gazes of his classmates, left only one obvious answer. If it truly is the year 1185, she has a promise to keep. The festival is supposedly tomorrow; she hasn't missed it yet.
She still has time.
With the Lions' promised reunion still echoing in her mind, Byleth wastes little time righting herself in the direction of the monastery. Even from this distance, it looks...lonely, somehow. Her sudden movement must startle the farmer again, but before she can even take a step, he reaches out and grabs hold of her arm as if to bar her from going.
"W-wait!" he exclaims in his panic, "Are you sure you're alright? I mean, maybe you should rest a little before you go running off somewhere..."
Byleth stiffens at the unexpected touch. It's not to say that she's averse to such actions—she still remembers how distraught Ashe had been in the month leading up to Lonato's rebellion, and how physical contact seemed to be one of the few methods that helped ease his burden—but the civilian's hold on her arm, though weak, is still an obstacle. The others could already be waiting; worse, they might start to believe Byleth wouldn't keep her promise.
Mustering her seemingly boundless patience from years ago, Byleth calmly responds, "I'm fine. I assure you, I can handle myself."
The civilian is not convinced. "At least tell me where you're going! It's not safe to wander around here on your own anymore," he persists. In another circumstance, she might applaud his dedication. But this is not another circumstance. Her response is clipped and to-the-point.
"The monastery."
The farmer fires back with an unexpected amount of indignation. "Are you insane?! Didn't you hear what I said? That place is a den of thieves now!" As if to emphasize his point, he shakes her forearm insistently. "A-and that's not all, either," he adds, voice dropping in volume as though he's afraid of being overheard, "there have been rumors about some kind of beast roaming around there these days... When a squad of Imperial soldiers went to investigate, they were all slaughtered! Every last one of them!"
If the rumor is meant to frighten her away, it has no such effect. Instead, the former mercenary simply turns on her heel, calmly removing the villager's grasp on her arm. "As I've said, I can handle myself," she responds dismissively. It's not as though she's never confronted beasts before. Memories of the incident at Conand Tower, as well as when Byleth—and by extension, Sothis—had needed rescuing in Zanado, are never truly far from her mind. She can handle beasts, no matter how vicious. Truthfully, there's little she wouldn't do for her students.
"I'm sure you can, Miss, but you don't know what you're getting into," the villager pleads earnestly. "C'mon, I promise I won't say you're a coward or anything. Just...forget about going anywhere near the monastery, okay?"
The swordswoman merely shakes her head in dissent before she sets off on the well-worn path to Garreg Mach. "My students are waiting for me," she calls over her shoulder, almost as an afterthought. The least she could do for this man now was tell him why.
With her back to him, Byleth doesn't see the sheer shock that crosses the man's face. "You really are insane! There aren't any kids even remotely near that place anymore! You're just getting yourself killed!" Despite his frustration, the villager does not follow. She's thankful for that.
Green eyes locked on the looming structure of Garreg Mach along the horizon, Byleth steers herself along the wooded path she's traversed many times by now; now, she's returning to the place where it had all begun.
To say the monastery was in a state of disrepair was a massive understatement. The walls were completely demolished in some areas, debris littered once-pristine floors, and the dormitories had collected fine layers of dust, undisturbed after all this time.
Almost subconsciously, Byleth finds herself approaching her old room first. She runs a finger along the top of the desk, bringing with it a fresh streak of dust. It's difficult to place the feeling, and yet... Her chest aches, somehow, seeing a place she'd briefly called home abandoned to such a fate.
The grounds are empty. For a brief moment, Byleth can almost imagine the academy is still running as before, with students milling about between classes and spending time with their friends. Passing through the courtyard, she pauses in front of the classrooms, her mind wandering to days long gone. Upon her arrival at Garreg Mach, she'd introduced herself to each student in the three houses, in an effort to get to know them. She lingers in the doorway of the Blue Lions classroom just a little longer than the others.
By the time she makes her way to the cathedral, the sun is beginning to rise on the horizon. Compared to the rest of the monastery, the cathedral seems to have witnessed the worst of the damage in the invasion. Part of the ceiling has collapsed into a large pile of rubble at the foot of the goddess statue used for prayers. The cathedral looks nothing like the imposing place of worship Byleth has come to acquaint herself with; rather, it looks like a skeleton. Bones with nowhere to rest. The image sends a shudder along her spine.
It's only when she catches sight of the Goddess Tower that Byleth ceases her nostalgic meandering. She'd climbed the winding tower once before, five years ago. Would the interior still be intact? The emotion propelling her forward is an unfamiliar one; a desire to cling to the past. She never used to think in such a sentimental way, but perhaps her time as an instructor has done more than just provide new opportunities and a roof over her head. At some time or another, she'd truly begun to think of Garreg Mach as home, not just her place of employment. It makes the weight in her chest settle heavier.
Being raised on the battlefield, she senses the bodies even before she actually sees them.
Absently, Byleth realizes that the villager's fearmongering wasn't some baseless rumor. Each corpse wears the vivid red of the Imperial army, littering the steps leading up the tower as if they were pitifully tossed aside by someone or something else entirely. Byleth is no stranger to blood and death, and yet the ache in her chest doesn't alleviate in the slightest knowing her Lions are not among the dead here.
Some inexplicable force spurs her on, regardless. Careful not to disgrace the dead by trampling over them, the former mercenary picks her way up the ruined staircase. Part of her is almost afraid of what she'll find at the top. Nonetheless, she reaches the top, the sound of her heels tapping against the ground being the only noise to break through the thick veil of silence.
When she catches sight of the large figure hunched in the shadows of the tower, her hand rests instinctively on the hilt of her sword. The sun's weak light filters through a large, crumbled hole in the wall, briefly illuminating a face she isn't sure if she should be relieved to see.
On the far opposite side of the Goddess Tower, still mostly enshrined in the darkness of elongated shadows and wearing a haunted expression, along with a patch covering his right eye…sits Dimitri.
She hesitates for only a moment before beginning to close the distance between them. Even just knowing that one of her students is safe feels like a solid weight lifted from her shoulders. Dimitri makes no move to acknowledge her at all, and for the briefest instant Byleth fears if he's even alive at all. It's not until she pauses before him, hand outstretched patiently, that the prince finally raises his head.
However, he only regards her offered palm with cold indifference before he speaks, his thoughts miles away from the moment. "I should've known that one day…you would be haunting me as well."
The sheer resignation in his voice strikes her like a physical blow. Does he truly believe he's seeing nothing but a specter? Guilt weighs heavily upon her mind as she realizes the prince is well within his right to assume so. It hadn't been her choice to be separated from her students during the assault, but it's clear just from a glance at Dimitri that the price she must pay for her absence is a hefty one indeed.
She wasn't here before. But she's here now.
Taking another cautious step forward, Byleth keeps her hand outstretched for Dimitri to grasp onto. Her voice is gentle as she speaks, a softness she wouldn't have thought herself capable of six years ago. "Everything will be alright, now."
Her words stir something in Dimitri's expression. Where before he seemed to be looking straight through her, now his single uncovered eye is focused directly on her with an almost crazed sort of recognition. It's almost enough to make her back away.
"You... You're alive?!" he exclaims, tone laced with disbelief. Ignoring Byleth's hand completely, he hauls himself to his feet by using his lance and the wall to steady himself. He's grown much taller, she realizes. In lighter circumstances, it might have made her smile.
Despite herself, Byleth can't quite prevent the corners of her lips from turning slightly upwards as she responds, "Yes. Alive as I have always been, I assure you." Some might argue that point, if they knew she lacked a heartbeat, but even then Byleth has never doubted her mortality. She certainly won't doubt it now.
However, Dimitri doesn't seem to take her response nearly as well. His eye narrows suspiciously, and his entire body language screams defensive and wary. "So it would seem." He scoffs, lip curled slightly in the beginnings of a snarl. "If that's the case... Then you must be some Imperial spy sent here to kill me, are you not?" His grip on the shaft of his lance tightens almost imperceptibly, and the sight makes something in Byleth's chest ache.
Did he truly believe she would raise her sword against her own student? "What are you talking about?" Byleth asks instead, wanting desperately for him to stop regarding her as some sort of threat.
The prince doesn't respond with words immediately; instead, a brief glint of steel is all Byleth can process before the former's lance is pointed directly at her chest with deadly precision.
"Answer the question."
Byleth makes no attempts to move away from the lance or adopt any sort of defensive position. Regardless of the almost feral mistrust radiating from him now, she fully believes he won't strike. If, on some slim chance, he does... Byleth is well-accustomed to the nature of turning back time, by now.
"Of course I'm here to do no such thing," she replies evenly, keeping her gaze fixed on the prince's face rather than the sharp lance aimed at her heart—or lack thereof? "I would never raise my sword against my own student. You of all people understand that, surely?"
Dimitri doesn't respond, but he does lower his lance and turn away. Small victories.
Weapon sheathed, the prince strides past Byleth without even sparing her a glance. Turning to watch him go, the woman can't keep herself from calling out, "I'm glad you're safe."
Unexpectedly, Dimitri pauses near the stairwell of the tower. "Am I?" he returns, never once looking back in her direction before he resumes his exit. As if she were hardly even there.
The sun is boldly cresting the horizon when Byleth finally locates Dimitri again. Fortunately, he hadn't wandered far; and yet, something about the sight of him standing before the rubble in the cathedral, hunched in on himself, makes grief twist in Byleth's chest. He looks so...lonely.
Silence permeates the air, broken only by the sharp tap of Byleth's boots against the tiled floor. Dimitri makes no move to acknowledge her arrival at all, and after the brief moment of silence extends into something heavier, she comes to the conclusion that she must reach out across the gap first if there's any hope of a reconciliation.
She clears her throat, inwardly cringing at how out of place the sound is. "Dimitri," she begins quietly, with a tentativeness she hadn't thought herself capable of before, "…what have you been doing these past five years?" Clearly, his answer—whatever it may be—isn't a happy one. A chill shoots its way along her spine as she imagines what the others must have gone through, as well. Must still be going through.
Dimitri is silent for so long that Byleth begins to wonder if he'd even heard her question at all, but before she can repeat herself, he scoffs.
"I have been dead, more or less."
Dead? Why would he choose such a dark phrase? But as Byleth recalls the haunted expression with which he'd regarded her in the Goddess Tower… Perhaps his answer is as close to the truth as he's willing to provide.
Quietly, Byleth shifts from one foot to the other as she considers his words. "Why do you say that?" Distantly, she wonders if she even wants an answer at all.
Dimitri lifts a hand and waves the question away dismissively, as if deciding it's not worth his attention. "It doesn't matter. There are more important issues at hand." The dark undertone that creeps into his voice is not unlike the way his composure had slipped during the tragedy in Remire Village, or when Edelgard had been unmasked in the Holy Tomb right before everything fell apart. It makes Byleth want to reach out, and it's only when she comes back to herself that she realizes she had unconsciously lifted her hand to do just that, arm now hovering awkwardly between them in midair. With quiet resignation, she lets it drop.
Instead, she gathers herself before speaking again. "Such as?"
"Have you not sensed them? Filthy rats have infested this place, crawling all over and lured by the promise of treasure," he spits back, body going rigid. "Since this place fell," he continues, "thieves have been flocking here in droves in search of any remaining valuables. What a disgrace."
Byleth's hand rests on the pommel of her sword as she considers Dimitri's words, head tipped quizzically to one side. Lysithea had once pointed out the instructor's tendency to tilt her head not unlike an inquisitive owl whenever a subject caught her interest, and the memory sends grief and fear lancing through her as sharply as if she'd just been run through. Was Lysithea safe back home? With no way of knowing, anxiety gnaws at her relentlessly even as she pushes the thoughts to the furthest corners of her mind for now.
"And what do you propose we do, then?" she asks quietly.
"Simple. I must eradicate them all."
The flatness of his words sends a chill along Byleth's spine. Was this truly the same boy who'd mourned the thieves in Zanado? It's in that moment that Byleth realizes the Dimitri she once knew is far from her reach. In his place, a tortured king spurred on by the regrets of the dead.
Almost subconsciously, her grip on the hilt of her sword tightens. "I hardly think that's necessary," she murmurs, lips downturned in some semblance of a disapproving frown. "Even thieves are only trying to survive. We don't have to kill them to stop them, Dimitri."
How ironic that the woman feared as the Ashen Demon would stand here now, voicing her disapproval of needless slaughter.
For the first time since entering the cathedral, Dimitri actually whirls around to face her, snarl evident on his face. For the briefest moment, Byleth wishes he hadn't. "You sympathize with such vermin?" His tone drips with disgust, almost making Byleth recoil as though she's been physically struck. She thinks a physical blow would hurt less.
Before she can even begin to justify herself, the prince barrels on, as though whatever she could say simply didn't matter. "Well?! Do you believe they are justified in their pillaging and senseless killing?"
Despite the rage burning in the prince's uncovered eye, Byleth squares her shoulders instead of cringing away. "No. Of course I wouldn't condone such crimes," she replies, shaking her head.
"Then you are aware of what must be done. I cannot allow a single one of them to live… The spirits of the dead insist on it." He sounds miles away, as if he's not talking to Byleth at all, but rather someone she can't even begin to comprehend.
Byleth clears her throat as she straightens her posture. "How many thieves are there? Can only the two of us even hope to prevail?" she prompts, for her own peace of mind if nothing else.
Dimitri's response is as dismissive as she'd feared it would be. "It matters not. The dead will have their tribute…" Then, without waiting for any type of acknowledgment from the swordswoman, Dimitri strides purposefully past her, his mind focused entirely on the task at hand—for better or for worse.
After taking a moment to compose herself, Byleth follows in his wake. Five years may have come and gone, but she'll be damned if she doesn't continue looking out for her students. She's already left them once before.
She won't abandon them a second time, even if it kills her.