Chapter Text
Centuries had passed since the death of Edelgard and the majority of the Black Eagles. With the war long over, Byleth and Dimitri had ushered Fódlan into a golden age, one so radiant it cast long shadows over the atrocities and scars left behind. Ten years after Byleth was crowned Archbishop, her allies began to notice something uncanny, she hadn’t aged a day. Her fusion with Sothis had seemingly halted the passage of time for her.
She was there for every death, unable to bear the thought of missing even one. Slowly, the old class of the Blue Lions faded away. Time, cruel and unrelenting, spared no one but her. She spent decades in mourning, trying to come to terms with her unnatural longevity. She cursed her Crest, her circumstances. Everything but Sothis. She couldn’t bring herself to blame the Goddess. After all, Sothis had been there in the beginning: guiding her at the Academy, offering the power to rewind time, whispering wisdom in moments of doubt.
Sothis had been a part of her, more than anyone else.
As time continued to pass and the world moved on, Byleth came to a painful realization: the academy, the war, the people — all of it would be lost to time. Forgotten. She couldn’t allow that. She wouldn’t. So she turned to writing while the memories were still sharp, Byleth honed her skills and began documenting the history of Fódlan during Imperial Year 1185. Under the pen name Shelby Rineet, she published several comprehensive histories. Not a particularly clever pseudonym, but obscure enough to avoid suspicion.
And yet, the pain lingered.
She sought comfort from Rhea and Seteth, the only other immortals who might understand the weight she bore. They had experienced centuries of grief, and while they offered empathy, their words could not soothe the ache that came when Byleth realized she was beginning to forget. It started small — minor details, little moments. Jeralt’s eyes when he was proud of her, the shared laughter between the three houses, Annette and Mercedes scolded her gently for pushing herself too hard. Memories blurred at the edges, slipping from her grasp despite all efforts to hold on.
In the centuries that followed, Byleth wandered Fódlan and beyond, always yearning for something she couldn’t name. Yet no matter where she went, she always missed Garreg Mach. Once a holy monastery, it has since become Garreg Mach University, which, while still prestigious, has seen its religious influence waned. The Church of Seiros remained respected, but no longer held the power to wage wars. Garreg Mach had changed. But it remained a place of learning.
And that was when Byleth realized. She had never truly been a student, only ever a professor. So she made a choice.
With Rhea’s discreet assistance and a bit of document tampering, Byleth applied to a university as a history major. She discovered a joy in learning that rivalled even her days of teaching. Eventually, she pursued a PhD in history and, at long last, returned to the classroom. This time as a scholar in her own right.
With more forged records and glowing recommendations from Seteth and Rhea — both now esteemed faculty at Garreg Mach University — Byleth resumed her role as a professor. But this time, she carried with her not only the weight of the past but the quiet satisfaction of finally choosing her own path through time.
However, strange things began happening after Byleth started the new semester. Hanneman and Manuela, the old professors from the Officer’s Academy, applied for positions here, as a professor of evolutionary biology and a nurse at the Wellness Centre, respectively. When Byleth first saw them, her jaw dropped. They looked exactly the same, aside from modern clothing and different hairstyles. Byleth, Rhea, Flayn, and Seteth couldn’t hide their shock. Still, they were hired — thanks, once again, to a little bit of nepotism, if it could even be called that.
One day, Byleth was summoned to Rhea’s office. She walked to the Headmaster’s quarters and knocked gently.
“Come in.”
She entered and sat in front of Rhea’s desk. “You called for me?” she asked, eyeing Rhea’s serious expression. “Yes. This is of utmost importance. Someone recently applied to be the head of security.”
Byleth furrowed her brows. “I don’t see how that’s my problem.” Rhea sighed and turned the monitor toward her. The name on the application made Byleth gasp. “Jeralt Eisner?! Like, my centuries-dead father?!”
Rhea nodded slowly. “I wanted to warn you before the interview. I’m inclined to hire him, for the sake of old friends. I didn’t want this to blindside you. But if you don’t want him here, I can reject him.” Byleth grimaced as long-faded memories of Jeralt rushed back.
“N-no. Hire him. Maybe this time, we can finally get it right.” Rhea nodded solemnly and turned the monitor back. “That was all.”
Byleth left the office feeling both numb and overwhelmed. She stumbled into her own office and collapsed onto a couch. Her head spun with disbelief. Her father, reincarnated, like the other professors. He looked just as she remembered: same name, same face. She buried her head in her hands, wondering how she’d react when she finally saw him.
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Byleth hadn’t felt this nervous since the final battle between Edelgard and Dimitri. Not when she was crowned Archbishop of Fódlan. Not when a soldier noticed she never aged. Not even during her thesis defence. Her hands were clammy, and sweat clung to her forehead. Taking a deep breath, she stepped into Rhea’s office. A few days earlier, she had asked to conduct Jeralt’s interview in place of Seteth. Rhea had agreed — no one would deny a daughter the chance to see her long-lost father, the one she had watched die.
Byleth sat beside Rhea, anxiously waiting. What felt like hours passed before a knock came at the door. She braced herself as it opened, and he walked in. It was like nothing had changed. Her father looked exactly the same. Dirty blond hair braided like she used to do for him, the same beard, the same scars. Jeralt’s voice snapped her out of her trance. “Ms. Nabatea… Ms. Eisner. Good to finally meet you.” Byleth stood and shook his hand, barely managing to speak.
“I always thought my last name was rare,” Jeralt said with a chuckle. “Never expected a professor here to share it.”
His laugh — deep and warm, was painfully familiar. The sound of her childhood. It made her stomach turn. Muttering a quick excuse, she rushed out the door and nearly collided with Flayn.
Flayn didn’t strictly work at Garreg Mach anymore. Seteth had finally loosened the reins, and she had spent years travelling, learning, and living the life she had once been denied. She returned recently to help with admin work and to be closer to her father. Family, it turned out, mattered more than adventure.
“Byleth! You’re trembling. What happened?” Flayn asked. Byleth opened her mouth, but no words came out. “Let’s go somewhere quieter,” Flayn said gently, leading her into Seteth’s office. Once Byleth was seated, she realized how fast her heart was racing and how close she was to tears.
“Jeralt’s back,” she blurted, as if that explained everything. Flayn blinked. “Your… father? Like Hanneman and Manuela?”
Byleth nodded. “Oh, Goddess. How are you feeling? Sorry, stupid question. What do you need from me?”
But Byleth couldn’t answer. She couldn’t even breathe. Her vision blurred, and then the door burst open and Rhea and Jeralt entered. As Byleth teetered on the edge of panic, Jeralt knelt in front of her. “Hey, kid, you’re having a panic attack. I need you to do as I say.” Flayn stepped aside and whispered to Rhea, “Why did you bring him here?”
Rhea kept her voice low. “I figured Byleth wouldn’t be okay. She needs to see him. And Jeralt’s trained for this. He said many of his soldiers used to struggle with things like this. Bringing him was the right call.”
They watched in silence as Jeralt calmed Byleth down. Finally, she broke down and threw herself into his arms. He tensed, startled, but after a moment, he wrapped his arms around her and gently patted her back. “You’re okay, kid.”
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Byleth paced around her house. It was an embarrassing display. That’s how she greeted her dead father? By having a panic attack and hugging him like he even knew who she was? She sank into the couch before her feet could wear a hole in the carpet. Hopefully, Jeralt would forget the whole thing, and they could keep things strictly professional. No more sobbing, no more gaping like a fish. She was a real professor, for the Goddess’s sake, she shouldn’t be acting like a student who failed her first oral exam.
Taking a steadying breath, she went upstairs to her office and opened her laptop one last time. Classes start tomorrow, and she wanted to be fully prepared. She was teaching another introduction course to history. Every year, she liked to change up the material, just enough to keep it fresh for both herself and her students. After reviewing everything twice more, she finally shut her laptop and forced herself to go to bed.
She woke up to disaster.
“Shit!” Byleth scrambled through her morning routine, brushing her teeth while hopping into one leg of her pants. She had somehow forgotten to set her alarm, and class started in thirty minutes. It took twenty just to drive there. She grabbed her briefcase, only pausing to double-check that her laptop was inside, and bolted out the door.
By the time she reached the lecture hall, she was out of breath, hair dishevelled, and sweating under her coat. Frantically connecting her laptop to the projector, she faced the class. “I’m terribly sorry, everyone. I’m not usually late,” she muttered as she pulled up her slideshow and took a deep breath.
“Welcome to Introduction to the History of Fódla-”
Her voice trailed off. She had finally looked up. The faces staring back at her weren’t strangers.
They were students she once knew. Students who had fought — killed — for ideals they believed in. Faces from a war-torn past now staring at her with innocent, eager eyes. Students she had the privilege — and heartbreak — to teach again.
She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t have another panic attack. Not here. Not now.
Oh, Sothis, help her.