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The Immaculate One’s roar smashed out over shifting rubble and quivering towers, swallowing the clamor of battle. As her head drew back into the dark sky, a sun was born in her jaws. Claws like swords gripped the barren earth and great wings spread, casting nightmare shadows over every jagged edge of the battlefield.
Before her, Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg stood firm, sweeping her axe in a command to the infantry behind her. As they scattered, she planted her shield, threw down her visor, and vanished in a blast of hellish light, the start of a mile-long trench through the city and into the woodland beyond.
Abruptly, the beam scythed into the ground and the dragon reeled back. Lost in the billowing dust at her feet, a cloaked figure spun, braced, and then leapt to draw a crimson stroke across her chest.
The blow rang out like a cathedral bell, shocking enough to bring a lull in the battle. As warriors from both sides stood uncertainly, slowly realizing what had happened, the lull stretched out and became the end. Men and women sagged, fell, and threw down their weapons, some laughing, others weeping.
The Immaculate One’s collapse parted the clouds, dust, smoke, and storm alike, and a circle of cold moonlight fell over her. All around, still in shadow, a matching ring of soldiers stood gazing into the crater, watching for their fate.
Edelgard slowly rose in a curtain of rippling heat, removing her helmet as the glow faded from her armor. Slamming her shield down to stand like a tombstone, she drew her axe and advanced. Her shadow emerged from the gloom, a shade bearing the malevolent Arrow of Indra in one hand and the beginning of a cruel spell in the other.
“Hubert,” she said. “Stand down.”
He dismissed the spell, threw back his hood, and took his place at her side.
Byleth had been crouching, but rose as they drew near.
“Is it over?” the Emperor asked.
Byleth shook her head.
In the crater left by the Immaculate One’s titanic body, a ragged, gasping woman lay. Even in her human guise, Rhea had been towering and untouchable. Now, with ruined armor, tattered icons, and eyes clouded with pain, there was little divine or monstrous left in her.
Seeing her, Edelgard faltered.
“Lord von Aiger, if you please,” Hubert called.
Ferdinand outranked Hubert on the battlefield, but he understood what his friend needed, and why. He spurred his horse into a canter and bellowed over the soldiers’ heads, setting unit after unit to work gathering the wounded, dousing fires, taking prisoners, and all the sundry tasks that followed battles.
That was his department, though. Hubert just wanted to get rid of the audience.
Edelgard finally advanced ahead of her assistant and professor, axe lowered, with a stone face and conflicted eyes. Hubert had never seen such uncertainty in the Emperor, but… now she was exchanging a look with the professor, drawing on strength that he couldn’t offer her.
They all had their roles to play in Edelgard’s rise, Hubert told himself. And repeated. And would have to, again and again, for a long time.
Rhea’s eyes were open. She’d gathered her senses, drawing long, shallow breaths. A bit of that power and charisma returned to carry her through her final moments. The crater had become a holy tomb.
“Do you have any last words?” Edelgard finally asked.
“Should I?” Rhea asked, struggling up onto her elbow and fixing the Emperor with hard green eyes. “For you?”
Her voice was flat and rough, uncomposed. Rather than the serene archbishop and supreme leader of Fódlan, she spoke only as a woman.
When Edelgard didn’t reply, she continued. “I guided Fódlan for centuries. I united it by force, shaped it by will, and preserved it for its people. I fought for my vision of what it should be, with all of my strength. You look upon me and see a tyrant; already, there are those among your people who see the same in you.”
Edelgard remained silent.
“I see that you agree.” Rhea lowered herself, making a pillow of jagged rubble. “Very well. I leave this world in your hands. I can do nothing else.”
Edelgard’s gauntlet trembled on the hilt of her axe. She opened her mouth, hesitating, chewing on the first word. Monster? No longer. Archbishop? Never. “Rhea, I…”
“Save your words,” Rhea said, eyes closed. Her face had relaxed, but her voice didn’t soften. “I know exactly how you feel. Once, I stood over a vanquished foe as you do now. A man and a monster, who believed that his conquest would bring a better world. Fódlan can only hope that, when you face him, you are as strong as I.”
Edelgard frowned. Her eyes darted to Hubert.
“This is among the projects that my agents have observed,” Hubert said stiffly. “We had assigned it a low probability of success. Likely a decoy.”
Rhea hacked and jolted - an attempt at a laugh. “If… if only.”
“They would raise the King of Liberation?” Edelgard demanded. “Even now, with the Church broken? Why?”
“You spared Seteth, and little Flayn, did you not?” Rhea’s eyes drifted open in a strange smile, cruel, pained, and pitying all at once. “Then the job isn’t done.”
Edelgard drew a sharp breath, but was otherwise still. “I won’t allow it.”
“I am grateful for that, at least. You were kind to them, when even your fellow students weren’t spared.” Another cough, weaker. Blood pattered on the stone. “Strange. Centuries of bloodshed, and yet the lives of these past years… feel so…”
Wind sighed. Pennants flapped, flames leapt, and the battlefield’s charnel stink rolled over them. It covered the faint rattle as Edelgard’s gauntlet tightened on her axe.
“I wish to speak with the Professor,” Rhea said. “I… I want it to be her.”
Edelgard looked to Byleth, who gave her a small nod. “Very well. I hope…” What could she say? At the mouth of a river of blood, with an ocean still to come, any words from her would be pointless. She left in a clatter of armor and swish of fabric, Hubert falling silently into her wake.
Byleth came forward and knelt. Tears gathered, but they never fell easily, even now.
“I felt so betrayed,” Rhea said. “The fear and rage of centuries came to a head when you defied me. But now I see that you didn’t understand… that you couldn’t…”
“The Crest Stones,” Byleth replied in a gentle, even tone. “The hearts of dragons. We’re laying them to rest. They won’t be weapons anymore.”
“Perhaps you were a good influence, after all.”
“I…” The tears finally rolled down Byleth’s impassive face. “I’m sorry. For everything.”
“I, as well. I failed to give the guidance that Fódlan… and you… needed.” She had settled again; if not for the spreading pool of blood, she could have been relaxing for a nap. “You saw the research notes.”
“Yes.”
“You learned that you had been born as a homunculus, a vessel for my mother. That another heart and mind was to fill your form.” Rhea’s voice had strengthened. Hope and terror surged within Byleth. What would they have to do, if she started to recover? “When you learned of Edelgard’s… history… you formed a bond. You were both creations. Both controlled.”
“I was wrong,” Byleth admitted. “You left me to my own life. I should have recognized that. Everything was… I’d learned so much, so much was happening, enemies were closing in and I hardly knew who they were…”
“And then, at the peak of your confusion, I commanded you to slay your own student. Would you have, if you knew what the Crest Stones were? If you knew of Edelgard’s plans and allies? If you saw this future?”
Byleth rubbed her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“Secrets… they killed the old Fódlan. They will kill the one to come, if you let them.”
“They won’t.”
“Such assurance. I could always trust you. Is… is Mother here?”
“She is. She can hear you.”
“Mother… I never wanted it to come to this. That my wish to see you would bring you to stand against me. Soon, I hope that I may apologize in person, in whatever follows this world.”
Byleth turned her head and mouthed, Soon?
Sothis looked away.
“I’m ready,” Rhea said.
Byleth swallowed and nodded. She stood, adjusting her grip on the Sword of the Creator, riding volcanic winds and howling blizzards in her heart. They didn’t touch her face, nor slow her hands. The Ashen Demon would claim one more victim.
She struck. Power surged, time respooled, and she struck again. And again. Byleth didn’t stop until she had delivered a perfect blow, instant and painless. An immaculate end to a lifetime of service and suffering.
Unable to look upon her handiwork, Byleth turned on her heel and strode to join Edelgard. From the corner of her eye, she watched Sothis drifting at her side. The little dragon was still looking away, but…
…but then she turned to Byleth with sad eyes, and she understood.
“Emp…er…” Byleth gasped, reaching out for Edelgard’s cloak. The ruined earth pitched and lunged to meet her, but she didn’t feel the impact. Her fingers twitched, her eyelids fluttered, and her breath stopped.
Was it really her own life?
Was this its end?
Had mercy killed her?
In the darkness, something punched Byleth’s chest. She jolted with a grunt. It struck again and she drew a deep gasp of foul dust.
“...still! Hold her still!” Mercedes snapped, from a distant planet. “Her heart’s arrhythmic! I need to…”
“Her heart’s beating?” Edelgard cried, further off. “Do you understand what…?”
Byleth didn’t. She didn’t understand much, these days. She drifted back into darkness, hoping that all would be clear when she woke.