Work Text:
Bile rises to the back of Amamiya Ren’s throat as the skin on his hand begins to flake away, brown flesh dispersing into ashy motes before vanishing into the aether, joining the non-existence his friends had been banished to just moments ago. The only consolation he has as he exchanges one final glance with Morgana is that at least the Phantom Thieves’ suffering was quick.
As blood rains from the heavens and reality is reborn, the Sea of Souls claims the final victim of the world’s most unjust game.
… But not forever - he is a Trickster, after all.
.....
In Imperial Year 932, ships sail from Faerghus’ blustery shores.
When Leicester split from its motherland, it took most of the now-frigid nation's prime farming land with it, and while the people of Faerghus are hardy folks, in a rare flash of insight, King Artem III realises hardiness alone isn’t enough to keep his nation alive. While the thought of absorbing a foreign land along with its foreign people into his Kingdom makes Artem’s lips curl in distaste - he’d been a devout follower of the Church his entire life, and the Goddess only made the people of Fódlan - dire situations call for dire answers.
And unlike Leicester, the people of the island nation of Yamato have no Crests or Heroes’ Relics.
The ensuing war is bloody, but short, ultimately won via the cowardice of several of Yamato’s minor nobles turning on the so-called Sun Emperor in return for lands and titles under the governance of their new king.
(And that is how, 248 years later, a group of teenagers find their paths converging at Garreg Mach.)
.....
Ren Amamiya comes from a family of nobles so minor he’s pretty sure most merchant families have more prestige than his. But a long time ago, an uncle’s mother’s father’s son had married a member of House Gerth, and the rare Crest of Ernest had popped up a few times in the bloodline, so the main House tolerated the Amamiya’s despite their Yamato heritage.
While the Amamiyas had neither the fortune nor time to indulge in pretty frivolities all that much, his father’s aid in securing a trade contact with the nation of Albenia had earned the current Duke’s favour, and with it, a journey to Enbarr to see the Mittelfrank Opera.
And that is where Ren’s life falls to pieces.
Walking out of the opera house to get a breath of fresh air - his parents were getting a bit too drunk for Ren's tastes - he barely gets a moment to enjoy the star-clad skies before a shrill yell pierces the air.
“Get off me!”
Heart catching in his throat, for a moment, the noble is struck. For all his life, he’d been told to keep his head down, to understand the situation before making any rash actions, but he’s far too old to not realise what’s going to happen if he doesn’t act now.
Ren sprints around the corner.
“Listen here, you common skank.” A rotund man’s lips curl, his face flushed with liquor and his arm gripped like a vice around a pretty young girl’s arm. “You should be honoured by my attention. Is your education truly so lacking that you fail to realise who I am, or, more importantly, what I can do to you if you don’t comply?!”
The girl isn’t even his age, and anger bubbling in his chest, Ren steps forward, placing himself between the man and the woman, and pushing his shoulder with a feather-light tap. The man is so sloshed, however, he manages to stumble and fall on his face. As blood dribbles from his nose, only a few shades darker than the drunk's reddened cheeks, bile rises up the back of Ren's throat as he's struck by an inexplicable sense of déjà vu.
Ren feels no surprise as the man screeches, calling for his guards, and half a dozen men in armour with wicked blades suddenly emerge from the shadows. It is a surprise as they chase him beyond Enbarr's bounds, however, twigs and leaves ripping at Ren’s skin as his surroundings change from city to forest. By the time he can no longer hear his pursuers, Ren is well and truly lost.
But it’s fine. Even though his hands tremble in fear, logic is still in his grasp. Ren can find a village, go to its inn, send a message to his parents, and all will be well.
And so he does. It burns through most of his gold - he was hardly planning to get chased out of the city - and Ren thinks he’s never been so tired in his life, but for a moment, he’s confident he’s going to be okay.
Two days later, he gets a very official letter back from the Duke of Gerth telling him he’s been disowned for the attempted murder of Duke Aegir.
As he sinks to his knees, eyes wide, the inn’s barkeep looks at him with pity. “If you have nowhere to go, you could always try the Church. The Archbishop might grant you clemency, especially if you’ve got one of those Crest things.”
Ren nods, the air still feeling like it’s been squeezed out of his lungs.
Later that day, he walks out of the village for the last time, following the road to Garreg Mach.
.....
For as long as he could remember, Ryuji Sakamoto wanted to be a knight. His ma would tell him fantastical tales about his dad’s adventures, about bandits felled and monsters slain and maidens saved. Even when his dad started to come home smelling all funny, screaming at ma and hitting them both for reasons Ryuji couldn't understand, and then stopped coming home at all, Ryuji still wanted to become a knight. This time, however, it was to prevent people from hurting others like his dad had hurt them.
He learns the hard way that his dad wasn’t an aberration amongst the Knights of Seiros, but their baseline.
While he doesn’t have the money or the name to get into the Officer’s Academy proper, the Church runs similar classes for the children of knights without noble backing, and minor nobles without the talent to make it into the main course, nor the gold to account for that. They don't get classes about tactics and strategies and whatnot, but they're still taught how to swing a sword, along with all the other things they need to know once they enter service.
And just like the Officer’s Academy, they had Sir Kamoshida as their grappling instructor.
In the lead-up to their first lesson, Ryuji is practically bouncing on his feet. While Kamoshida is no Thunder Catherine, Blade Breaker Jeralt, or Silver-strike Niijima, the man is a legend. His dad talked about him occasionally with a reverent glint in his eye before he got too deep into his booze.
(Ryuji should have realised that was a sign.)
Entering the training yard, Kamoshida’s face is flat with indifference as he stares down at the general class like ants nibbling at the heels of a king.
“The first thing you need to learn to be a worthwhile recruit for the Knights of Seiros...” The instructor grins, grabbing a pair of hefty wooden gauntlets off the wall. “Is how to tolerate pain.”
Beyond wanting to be a knight, there's one other thing Ryuji has in common with his father. Namely, the fact that he has a temper.
He withstands Kamoshida’s abuse for four weeks before shouting at him to stop as the man continues beating Mishima after he’d already collapsed to the ground. Kamoshida’s ugly grin slides his way, and Ryuji barely manages to scratch him before the instructor breaks his knee.
It doesn’t heal right. Professor Casagranda is deeply apologetic, but Ryuji knows it’s not her fault. Faith magic can’t perform miracles, and Ryuji partially suspects that’s because there’s nothing to even have faith in at all. If the Goddess were real, why would she allow such cruelty to even exist?
There’s no point returning to his classes - you can’t be a knight with a bum leg. Ryuji can’t stomach the thought of returning home either, however. Because he’s just another man who’s failed her, making her so many promises and keeping absolutely none of them.
Ryuji finds himself heading into the Abyss.
.....
Ann knows she’s a beautiful woman. In her case, it’s nothing but a curse. After all, what good is beauty without the right blood? No - it makes her desirable, but only as a petty fling. Something to be nibbled at, then promptly discarded.
After one too many close encounters with the roaming hands of the petty little nobles her parents catered their wares to, she asks if she can go to the Officer’s Academy. Because it’s painfully clear that words alone cannot keep her safe, and a blade in the hands of one who doesn’t know how to use it is a hindrance as opposed to a help.
While the request catches them off guard, her parents eventually acquiesce. They have the money, after all, and even if Ann doesn’t become a soldier - which she really isn’t planning to - it’s a good networking opportunity. The three future leaders of Fódlan are all studying this year, after all.
And at first, the Officer’s Academy is like a dream. While Ann’s a mediocre tactician at best, and her physical conditioning is merely average, she takes to magic like a fish to water. Most of her classmates are nice, too - seriously, compared to the stuffy Black Eagles and brooding Blue Lions, she feels like she’s dodged a bullet.
(... Whatever a bullet is.)
Her best friend, however, ends up being Shiho Suzui. She’s a plain girl - the daughter of a squire from Faerghus - whose parents managed to secure her a position in the general course. While she’ll probably end up following her father’s footsteps and join Count Galatea’s retinue, Shiho confesses she has a loftier goal - to catch Prince Dimitri’s eye and get an invitation to join the royal knights.
As the weeks go by, however, Shiho’s once blinding light begins to dim. And as she walks out brawling class with a limp, eye already blackening, something inside Ann snaps.
“Oh, Takamaki!” Kamoshida smiles jovially as she storms into the training grounds. “Need some help with your moves?”
“No.” She trembles, fear bubbling in her stomach despite full well knowing there’s only so much he can do to her. She's a member of the Golden Deer, after all, with wealthy parents and noble friends, not some borderline peasant from Faerghus. “I’m here about the general class. You… you’re going too hard on them.”
The warmth in the instructor's eyes splutters and dies, and with a sigh, he stows his practice weapon. “Being a knight isn’t an easy business, and it’s a simple fact of life that the general class is going to end up in far more battles than proper members of the Officer’s Academy. If they can’t handle a bit of pain, then they need to rethink their career choice.”
“You’re not just putting them through a bit of pain.” Ann’s voice cracks, the words that should have been powerful instead sounding as if they were coming from a scared little girl. “You’re brutalising them! Shiho leaves your classes barely able to walk!”
Kamoshida merely rolls his eyes, and at that moment, a revelation sinks in. While there’s nothing he can do to her, there’s nothing Ann can do to him, either.
“You know…” Kamoshida purrs, closing the distance between them before tilting up her chin so she’s forced to meet his eyes. In them, she sees an oh-so-familiar hunger. “As silly as I think you’re being, I hate to upset such a pretty woman. If you really want me to go soft on Suzui, I’m sure we can come to an… arrangement.”
She doesn’t need to be the daughter of a merchant to understand the deal Kamoshida wants to make.
Swallowing dryly, Ann nods her head. “... Okay.”
.....
“Pack your things, Yusuke. We’re travelling to Garreg Mach.”
“Sir?” Yusuke blinks, eyes drawn away from his canvas and towards his room’s door. Though perhaps calling it his room is a stretch. It’s merely the doorway of one of the Gonerils' spare bedrooms, offered to the artists while they worked on the family’s latest portraits.
(... While Yusuke worked on the family’s latest portraits.)
“The Church requires our services - Archbishop Rhea is searching for artists to create a new mural to be unveiled at the millennium festival.” Madarame explains, a twinkle in his eye. “To immortalise the Goddess in such a way… it would be the greatest honour in my life.”
And that it would be, indeed. While Garreg Mach monastery is the home of some of the continent’s finest art, it’s rare for the Church of Seiros to add anything new to their collection - in his sixteen years of existence, Yusuke has never heard of the Archbishop arranging anything like this. Madarame’s haste makes perfect sense - in fact, Yusuke can already feel his own heart rate spiking. The Goddess is the wellspring of all life, after all, the source of beauty and creation and everything Yusuke has ever held dear. To be able to make art not of nobles and their children, but of the very divine itself… Yusuke would like nothing more.
(And it’s fine that Madarame’s name will be the one that goes down in history. Yusuke doesn’t need glory, only art. It’s fine.)
Scanning his latest painting, Yusuke nods. The portrait of Lord Holst beams at him sunnily, near complete. He can easily add the final touch-ups while on the road. He’ll likely finish it before they even leave the Gonerils' territory - Madarame travels slowly these days, too much time in shaky carriages playing havoc on his bones.
“I will be ready soon, Master.” He bows to his teacher, and with a grin nearly as brilliant as Holst’s, the older man makes his leave.
It doesn’t take long for Yusuke to gather his belongings - Madarame has never believed in possessing material wealth, claiming it's nothing but a distraction from art and the Goddess herself. Asking one of the maids to bring the canvas to their wagon, stressing that she must not lay a finger on its surface, Yusuke wanders through the manor's halls in search of his mentor.
He spots Madarame near the entrance, chatting to a woman with Goneril-pink hair whose face he can’t quite place. Opening his mouth, Yusuke is mere seconds away from calling to his teacher, when the woman passes Madarame what looks like a bag of coins, and an expression unlike anything he’s ever seen passes across his mentor's face.
For a split second, an image flashes in Yusuke’s mind - of Madarame, his sickly yellow eyes almost as disgusting as the gilded gold of his kimono. It fades almost instantly, but the ice running through Yusuke’s veins lingers.
And then, for a split second, the Goneril lady’s body flickers, showing skin far too pale to belong to any human.
Trembling, Yusuke knows deep inside his soul that he just stumbled upon something he was never meant to see. Something far deeper and darker than anything he has ever encountered before.
Forcing a smile, he walks over to his teacher.
.....
Most of her fellow Blue Lions chatter with excitement as the carriages from Faerghus draw near to Garreg Mach, the monastery growing larger by the second. Kneading her thumb into her palm, however, Makoto does her best not to be sick. Her nausea - and hope, this would be so much easier if her lungs weren’t ready to explode from hope - only grows as they come to a stop.
As Seteth guides the new students around the monastery, his words go in one ear and out the other. Makoto’s eyes are too busy roving the grounds in desperate search of a flash of silver hair. For a second, she thinks she spots it - spots Sae - but no, it’s just a girl from the Empire with pale white locks.
The second the tour ends, she dumps her belongings in her room and heads immediately towards the knight’s barracks.
(She’s always been smart, after all - Makoto didn’t need to devote her attention to the Archbishop’s advisor to remember what he said.)
As she stands in front of the buildings - far less grand than even the most minor noble’s mansion, something Makoto knows from experience, but far homier than any barracks you’d find in Faerghus outside of the capital - the rolling in her stomach reaches a new crescendo.
The Tragedy of Duscur had had a profound effect on Faerghus. To Makoto, however, it did not just mark the death of the king and the start of an era of turmoil, but the end of her entire world.
Viscount Niijima was a small country lord of Yamato descent; his ancestors granted a pitiful split of land for their help in spreading the Goddess’ divine word to their heathen kin. Nobody but his daughters and a handful of servants bothered to attend his funeral, something a deeply buried part of Makoto’s heart still rages at to this very day. Because he was a good man - the best.
When Sae said she didn’t want marriage or children, despite all of the suitors vying for her Crest - and the generous donations they’d pay for her hand, ones the poor viscounty needed - their father had respected her wishes. When Makoto hadn’t developed a Crest at all, he didn’t banish her to the servants’ wing, a fate all too common for nobles born with lacklustre blood.
No matter how good a man is, however, the dead cannot shield the living. While he didn’t bother attending the funeral, no, Margrave Gautier was more than willing to grace the Niijimas’ doorstep the day after, marriage proposal in hand – a lifeline for an impoverished lordship and a lifelong chain around Sae’s neck. The day after that, Makoto woke up to an empty home, the only sign of her sister being a note containing nothing but a two-word apology and a statement that she’s joining the Knights of Seiros.
It was the end of the Niijima line. Makoto was too young to wed, even by Faerghus standards, and without a Crest, no proper noble would have wanted her anyway. The Gautiers were kind enough to get one of their cadet branches to foster her, a so-called apology for her father’s passing, and while they did not love her - a feeling very much mutual - they did agree to send her to Garreg Mach, almost certainly knowing that she wouldn’t be coming back.
And now, four years since they last set eyes upon each other, Makoto is going to reunite with what’s left of her real family.
As the sun dips closer and closer to the horizon, students clad in black and gold flitting across the grounds and towards the dining hall, Makoto continues to wait, shuffling in nervous anticipation.
It’s then, however, that she hears it - a man and a woman’s voices engaging in idle conversation. Staring down the road, Makoto’s eyes land on two knights clad in Seiros’s pale armour, and her heart lurches in her chest.
Sae looks subtly different from what she remembers, her silver hair just a tad longer, the bags under her eyes and the muscles of her shoulders more prominent. There’s affection in her eyes as she looks to the knight at her side, who, in a burst of shock, Makoto realises is a brown haired, red-eyed boy around her age.
(If bile wasn’t already rising up her throat, it would have started to then, as a nasty voice in the back of Makoto's mind whispers that Sae had replaced her.)
The moment that her sister spots her is obvious. Eyes flicking in the direction of the barracks, the knight suddenly does a double-take, all joviality dropping off her face in lieu of raw shock.
Slowly, tentatively, Makoto takes a step towards her.
And in turn, skin pale, Sae takes a step away, and the fledgling hope in Makoto’s chest crumbles into dust.
.....
Humming a half-remembered tune, Sojiro taste-tests the soup, adding in a tad more salt before giving it a quick stir. The Adrestian flavours are flat compared to the tantalising spices of Yamato, but at least it’s not traditional Faerghus fare, so Sojiro can’t complain. Much. Hopefully there’s a good crop of Yamato students this year, or at least some adventurous native Fódlaner ones. He hasn’t had the excuse to make his - her - signature curry outside of his home for almost two years.
Bustling across the kitchen, careful to dodge Mathilda and Mattias - Garreg Mach’s kitchen is always full in the lead up to dinner - Sojiro removes a rack of pheasants from the oven, prodding the fold between the thigh and the body with a knife. As clear fluid begins to spill from the gap, his shoulders don’t quite slump in relief.
Staring at the roasted birds, a wave of resentment rushes over him. If this were his own, personal kitchen, away from people's prying eyes, he wouldn’t be forced to rely on rudimentary tricks like this. He’d be able to force the oven to cook at a consistent temperature, and rely on a proper meat thermometer as opposed to his faliable eyesight. Surface-dwellerers had barely made thermometers for people, however, let alone meals, and if the Church has anything to say about it, it’ll likely stay that way.
Lady ‘Rhea’ would likely have a conniption if she set eyes on a proper gas oven.
Yet again, however, Sojiro can’t complain. He’d chosen to flee to Garreg Mach, the one safe haven from Wakaba’s old colleagues. If putting up with the Church of Seiros’s draconian persecution of technology was what he had to do to keep his daughter safe, then Sojiro would do it, no questions.
His pocket then vibrates, all thoughts forgotten as ice runs through his veins.
“Sorry, ‘Tilda.” He grimaces, patting his coworker on the shoulder. “Mind finishing off my grub? The pheasants just need to be cut, and the soup taken off the boil when it’s time to serve. My stomach’s acting up.”
A flash of understanding crosses the middle-aged woman’s face. “No worries, Sojiro - we hardly want sickness spreading amongst the students this early in the term. You owe me one, though!”
With a chuckle, he waves her off, the smile dropping from his face the instant he leaves the kitchen. Finding a quiet alcove shielded from sight, he whips his phone out of his pocket, entirely unsurprised by the message he sees there.
Futaba: pls come home i heard something im scared
Sojiro: I’m on my way.
Slipping the device back into his pocket, he hurries towards Garreg Mach village, heart rate slowly beginning to spike. He ignores his neighbours as he hurries towards his home - he can always apologise later.
On the surface, the house is typical by well-off commoner standards, like most in Mach village. It might have a few extra locks on the door, but Sojiro can easily blame most of his eccentricities on his Yamato heritage, not that he’s lived in his birth country since he was a young man. Right now, however, the extra security is more of a bane than a boon, and the aging man curses as he fumbles his keys.
The door finally swinging open, Sojiro shuts it firmly behind him, a wave of relief sweeping over him as the sigil on its back glows - whatever Futaba heard (if it was anything real at all), it hadn’t managed to breach the home’s barrier. Striding down the hall, threads of magic gather at his fingertips, and with a few muttered words, a door slowly fades into sight.
Despite his panic, he knows not to barge in without announcing himself. “Hey, Futaba? It’s me - I’m coming in.”
Opening his daughter’s door, Sojiro’s eyes land on a young girl with stark red hair and skin too pale to belong to any human. The rest of the room is as alien to the Nabatean stronghold as she is - filled to the brim with glowing gadgets and gizmos even Sojiro barely understands, as much as he likes to think he knows his way around Agarthan tech.
“S-Sojiro!” She wails, wrapping her arms around him as she sobs into his chest.
“Hey - hey. Don’t worry - it’s okay.” Sojiro's voice is a soothing murmur. “I’m here - you’re safe now.”
Pulling away from him, Futaba’s wide, terrified eyes meet his, and it’s at that moment that he realises deep in his gut that whatever spooked his daughter was more than some guilt-driven hallucination.
“I-I heard voices.” His daughter whimpers. “They were using a filter - there are Agarthans in the village.”
Coldness grips his heart as Sojiro’s whole world suddenly tilts on its axis.
They’re here.
And there’s nowhere left for them to run.
(He wouldn’t notice that his phone had fallen out of his pocket until the next day.)
.....
When Haru first entered the world, taking her mother's life in exchange for her first breaths, Kunikazu Okumura had sobbed and howled, a broken man. He’d loved his wife, and she’d loved him - loved him enough to leave her noble family and marry a mere Yamato merchant.
“It’s not all bad news.” The healer had told him, patting his shoulder with blood-cleansed hands. “I’d recommend further testing, but… I believe your daughter has her mother’s Crest. She’ll be a great boon to your family, one day.”
His words might as well have been prophecy. Because Kunikazu learned a lesson that day - that love is temporary, even if one is smart and cunning, while gold is eternal as long as you use your wits. It’s a lesson that Haru would pay the price for, seventeen years later.
Walking into the dining room, dirt-stained workclothes replaced for a dainty dress that said so much less about her personality, Haru bows politely at the Okumuras’ guests. Her father was a shrewd businessman, and as their company’s clients shifted from casual restaurant owners to nobles’ kitchens, he ensured she learnt the etiquette to match. To become a noble requires knowing how to play a noble’s game, after all.
The first of the men, she recognises. Count Gloucester is a distinctive man, donned in lavish purples and with a beautifully preserved rose pinned to his lapel. If Haru finds the opportunity, perhaps she’ll enquire about what magic he surely must be using.
(Then again, flowers are always so much more beautiful when blooming in a garden. Perhaps she won’t ask, after all.)
The second of men, however, is a stranger. His arched features and elegant garb signalled as clear as day that he was another Gloucester, even if his hair was a brownish red and he favoured white over the House’s usual richer colours. The man likely belonged to a cadet line, then - a distant cousin of the reigning Count’s.
“Ah, you must be Miss Okumura.” The stranger states, his voice an elegant noble’s drawl. Yet, the look in his eye is unbecoming of one of his station - he stares at Haru as if she were a fine cutlet of meat, gaze lingering on her chest.
Discomfort welling up in her stomach, she stifles the urge to shield her bosom. He’s a customer, not some drunkard in a bar - he’s been raised better than to besmirch his honour like that.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, kind sir.” She curtsies.
“I assure you, the pleasure is all mine.” He grins, his statement very much the truth - it is all his. “I’ve always admired exotic beauties.” Turning back to her father, he continues on as if she isn’t even in the room. “You’ve tested her fertility, yes?”
As Haru’s stomach clenches, a sensation of deep discomfort seeping throughout her as she realises what this is, Kunikazu does nothing but laugh. “Of course I have. The Okumura family only deliver the finest goods - it’s our creed.”
“Very well.” The man actually licks his lips, and even Count Gloucester winces a bit. “Bring me the contract. I’ll need to discuss this with the family, of course, but I’m sure we can come to a mutually favourable agreement.”
The conversation soon moves on from there, the Count talking about his days in the Officer’s Academy and her father prattling on about his travels across the continent in turn. Even if it wasn’t Haru’s duty to listen, not speak, she doubted she could have voiced anything regardless.
Logically, she knew one day that her father would arrange a marriage for her - her Crest was simply too valuable to squander. She didn’t realise it would come so soon, however.
Nor that he wouldn’t consult her on it at all.
As she half-listens to the adults’ conversation, however, the sprout of an idea begins to bloom in her mind.
Once the Gloucesters leave, purses lighter and with some very fine wine in their possession, finally, Haru finds the courage to speak.
“Father…” She swallows, knowing just how important it is to play her cards right. “Tonight’s dinner has made me think - you heard the way Count Gloucester spoke of the Officer’s Academy, yes?”
“Of course I did.” Kunikazu scoffs. “It was hard not to, given how much Erwin prattled on about it.”
In for a penny, in for a pound. “Before I marry into the family, perhaps it might be beneficial to attend.” As her father’s expression turns sceptical, Haru’s voice speeds up. “It’s clear the family puts great value into their time at the Officers Academy - it could help me earn a better bride price, and would give me something to bond with my new in-laws over.”
As her father rubs her chin, a wave of relief runs through her. She’s bought her freedom, if only for just a little while longer. “I suppose the heirs to all three nations are attending this year…”
.....
Ren stares at the dark, dank door before him, brown wood rotten and overgrown with moss. No sun shines on the apparent entrance to the Abyss, the place where the Church shoves all the undesirables they deign to have clemency on.
He tries to push up the rusted handle, but the iron refuses to budge no matter how much muscle he puts into it, and for every second he’s exposed, his panic mounts. Seteth had been very clear that he was to go to the Abyss immediately, and dilly-dallying would not end in Ren’s favour. Every few seconds, Ren glances over his shoulder, expecting to see the Knights or Aegir’s men looming over him. The only thing there, however, is a cat with sharp blue eyes that’s playing with a small slab of stone, something he would have found quite cute if not for his paranoia.
Suddenly, the door lurches open, sending Ren tumbling forward and crashing straight into the person who opened it from the other side. There’s just enough light for Ren to make out the face of the boy he knocked over - he can’t be any older than Ren, and oddly enough, he's wearing what looks like an inverted rendition of the Garreg Mach uniform.
“I’m so sorry.” Ren grimaces, offering his hand to the boy. Seiros’s tits - what an awful first impression.
“Nah, don’t sweat it.” The blonde shrugs, accepting Ren’s hand with a firm grip. As he rises to his feet, he squints at the former noble. “Did ya get kicked out of the Academy or somethin’? Ain’t a lot of people our age down here.”
“Something like that.”
“Man, that stinks.” The blonde’s frown deepens as a dark glint enters his eyes. “It wasn’t Kamoshida, was it? The bastard treats the Officer’s Academy like it’s his own Goddess-damn castle.”
Opening his mouth, Ren’s about to respond when an oddly distorted woman’s voice chimes from behind him, and the world begins to ripple. Rubbing his eyes, he can do nothing but gape as the tunnel fades away, replaced by an ancient citadel taken straight out of Faerghus that looms omnipresently under a blood-red sky. If it wasn’t for the way his blonde companion was gawping at the castle too, Ren would have sworn he’d lost his mind.
“Finally!” A chirpy voice squeaks, and jumping around, Ren blinks slowly as he stares at what can only be described as a talking, bipedal cat. “It’s been way too long, Joker!”