Crimson Wind (A Fire Emblem: 3 Houses AU)

Vocalist · Aug 4, 2022

Kostas was a tough man, a stubborn man, who tended to bull through life's challenges by running straight at them, screaming and waving an axe. Unfortunately, his normal problem-solving strategy was failing him, and that put him in a bad mood.

"Are you listening to me?" he said to the creepy masked man who had hired him for his most recent job – the one that had gone tits up. "We can't hide out in the canyon forever. The Knights of Seiros are on our trail, and when they catch up, I don't like our chances!" He shook the heavy bag of gold that was just handed to him, the agreed-upon payment. Normally it would please him greatly to be holding such a thing, but not now: "I can't spend this if I'm dead!"

"That seems like a big problem for you," his employer agreed. His face was hidden, but Kostas had the uncomfortable feeling he was being laughed at. He fought the urge to punch him. The man wore a belted tunic in eye-searing white and stupid-looking poofy trousers, but a gleaming breastplate was visible beneath the tunic's neckline, and Kostas had to assume that the rest of him was armored, too. Plus, they weren't alone – to his employer's left was a white wyvern, a stubby little thing but still big enough to bite a man's hand off, and to his right, a warrior in heavy armor that gleamed with the unhealthy light of sorcery. Black armor, though. Clearly, this one was rebelling against the color scheme set by his two companions.

"Is that all you're going to say?" Kostas asked, frustrated. "You hire me to kill a bunch of noble brats without saying anything about their guard detail – not to mention the damned Blade Breaker being camped a few miles over. Me and my men had to run away with our tails between our legs, and now you're just going to hand me the gold and say, 'Have fun, try not to die!'" Kostas had fully expected his employer to make himself scarce after their failure (not that it was really their fault, considering how wretchedly bad their information had been) or perhaps show up to berate them self-importantly. But he hardly seemed displeased at all!

"Mm, I think I know why you're confused. The thing is, Kostas, I told you a lot of lies." One gloved hand absentmindedly scratched the wyvern where its velvet-covered antlers were beginning to grow in. It quirked its head to lean into its master's touch, but kept its beady little eyes focused on Kostas. He glared at it in return. "I did lie to you about the students being unguarded – oh, but the Breaker's Band was a surprise to me too. Complete coincidence that they were there. I also lied about the reason I hired you. Sure, you completely failed to kill anyone, but that wasn't the point. I only wanted you to scare off one or two of the more battle-shy professors so that I could get my own people into the empty spots."

"What?" said Kostas.

"What I'm saying, friend, is that you did a very good job! Professor Lysander quit because of you! Sure, the Archbishop decided to replace him with one of the mercenaries, instead of any of my candidates, but that's not at all your fault."

For the first time, the black knight beside him spoke up: "A pity, that. I was looking forward to taking on the role of a teacher." The voice coming from beneath that blank helm was unmistakably female. Surprised, Kostas revised his assumptions.

"If you're getting bored running errands for your current liege," the man in white said to her, "I'm sure I can find something fun for you to do in the coming months. But we shouldn't ignore Kostas; he's just getting angrier. Now, as I said, I'm actually pleased with your performance. In fact, you managed to keep a surprising number of your men alive for someone on a suicide mission. I've given you a little bonus, for that."

As he surmised, Kostas was only getting angrier the more he heard. "What is this condescending bullshit? You set me up to die! And you still haven't given me a way to escape the knights!"

"Yeah, you're probably going to die," he said casually. "But who knows? Fortune turns in strange ways, and you've already shown a talent for running away from a superior force. If you survive, you'll really have earned that gold. Maybe you should use it to set yourself up in a less dangerous profession."

This pretentious schemer had as good as killed him and all his men, and he had no apology, just smug advice. All the gold in the world couldn't buy him back into Kostas's good graces. "I'll get you back for this! When the Knights of Seiros come, they'll hear of you, and how you hired men to attack them. Even if I die, you'll be next!"

"By the Lord of Wisdom, you've got me!" he replied, with exaggerated shock. "Dame knight, what should we do?"

"My lord, we are both concealing our faces, and we travelled here under careful stealth. I do not believe these ruffians could tell the Church anything that would lead to the discovery of our true identities." Kostas could hear the laughter in her voice.

"Well, there you have it, then. Hold a grudge if you must, friend, but there is nothing you can do to hurt me."

The bandit leader snapped. Unhooking his axe in a single motion, he swung it at the man in white – aiming for the vulnerable joint between shoulder and neck, where any armor would be weak. His roar echoed over the weathered stones of Zanado.

His swing, and his cry, were cut short by a horrible dull clang. Faster that Kostas believed possible, the black knight interspersed her armored arm between him and her master, taking the full force of his blow with only a shift of her weight. Even worse, his axe was stuck into a gap between the plates. Where his axe pushed the armor plates apart, no chainmail layer or padded undergarment was visible – only an eerie violet glow. "How sloppy. How uncontrolled," she chided him, like a disappointed teacher. "Some of you truly are beasts." And then, with a kick to the gut, she sent Kostas skidding to the rocky canyon wall. Stones and grit scraped against his leather armor, and the final impact stopped him with a painful thud.

All the while, the masked man in white never moved a muscle. "As I said. There is nothing you can do to hurt me. Let's go…actually, wait." His knight stopped doing some gesture with her hands – a spell? Kostas's vision was blurry from pain. "I swore by the Lord of Wisdom, didn't I? Damn it, I need to work on that habit."

"I did not bring it up, because that would only have made him more likely to remember, but yes. Try 'By the Goddess!' instead. Or 'By Cichol's hat!' Or 'Cethleann's tits and Cichol's spear,' if you're being vulgar."

He chuckled. "I'm not sure I can use that last one in polite company, but it is funny. Anyway, thanks to my indiscretion, our friend here has heard too much. Kill him, Hypatia."

Kostas's heart thudded as he scrambled to his feet. "You'll have to work for it!" he spit out, lunging for his fallen axe.

A sonorous sigh echoed from beneath the black knight's helm. "I wish that were so." She produced a staff, made of the same matte-black metal as her armor. In her hands it extended to the height of a man, a blade springing out through Goddess-knows-what mechanism. She wielded the enormous scythe as if it were light as a woodaxe. With unbelievable swiftness, it swept over him. The blade crackled with violet lightning that stung like a nest of wasps, and its strange metal parted his armor with ease.

"No," he gasped, feeling something warm and heavy spilling out over his belly. His legs could barely hold him upright. "This isn't fair…"

Barely listening, the knight dealt another blow.

"Morning, Teach! Are you feeling ready for your first day as a professor?" Claude von Riegan sauntered into his classroom with a surprising amount of energy, given the early hour. His short, dark hair was smoothly combed, and he wore the uniform of the Golden Deer's house leader with poise and confidence. Byleth Eisner could admire that. Then she thought back to the last time she'd heard the clock tower's bells.

"Claude. Class doesn't start for another hour."

"I'm aware. But I thought I'd check up on you, see if you needed any help preparing. It's a class leader's job to make sure everything goes smoothly. Not as the dictator ordering students around – that's your prerogative, heh – but as a facilitator. A liaison." He sidled up to Byleth's desk and, flipping the papers around, started reading through her notes.

Well, I can certainly admire his enthusiasm. You must admit, you need all the help you can get! Those words came from Sothis, the green-haired gremlin who lived in Byleth's head now. Gremlin? GREMLIN? Why, I –

"Not so loud, please," Byleth muttered under her breath.

"Did you say something?" asked Claude.

While it can be amusing to watch you stumble through your conversations, I suspect this particular joke will wear out its welcome before long. So I'll remind you that you need not talk out loud for me to hear you. But you'll get naught else from me today! A gremlin, of all things. I saved your life… Sothis's voice faded away, to the quiet place behind consciousness where she stayed when not inserting herself directly into Byleth's thoughts.

Byleth was pleased. Listening to two people at once was really hard. "Don't worry about it," Byleth told Claude. "Anyway, my idea for today was to spend time getting to know all the students. I'd ask them about their strengths, weaknesses, and goals. Then we'd pair off in sparring matches outside so I could get an idea of their current expertise. What do you think?"

He shrugged ambiguously. "That sounds like a good plan, if your class is going to be mostly about learning practical skills. I guess I'm not surprised that's what you'd focus on, as a former mercenary."

"I don't have much education. I can't really lecture to you about history or theology or…" Byleth struggled to think of another subject that future lords and knights would like to learn. Any ideas, Sothis? No, still sulking. "…tea ceremonies. That is, I like drinking tea, but I wouldn't be able to tell you the proper etiquette."

Claude chuckled, as if she'd said something funny. "I suppose we have to work with what life gives us. It's not exactly what I expected from the Officer's Academy, but I don't mind the idea of improving my combat skills. I'll just have to make up for the rest by studying independently."

Byleth knew she was probably not the best fit for this position. It would be a shame, though, for these kids to miss learning things they really needed, or to take on an extra burden of work, in order to cover for her own deficiencies. Perhaps she could ask Hanneman and Manuela what the Officer's Academy usually taught.

Oblivious to her thoughts, Claude was looking though her notes again. "You have great handwriting for someone who's never set foot in a classroom before. Very sparse notes, though. How am I supposed to be able to rifle through your papers and learn your secrets?"

"I can give you my lesson plans ahead of time if you want," Byleth told him. "They're not a secret. And I write well because I've handled the mercenary company's finances for years. My father cannot be trusted with money." A worrying thought occurred to her, and the tiniest furrow creased her brow. "As captain, is he responsible for the Knights' budget now?"

Claude raised his eyebrows. "He probably has a lot of discretion, but I wouldn't know exactly. What kind of –"

"He drinks," Byleth said darkly.

"So the legendary Blade Breaker is a drunkard, huh?" Claude let out a sigh. "They say to never meet your heroes."

"No. He doesn't get drunk. He just drinks." In response to her student's confused look, she explained, "Most men have to stop eventually, even if it's because they've fallen unconscious. My father doesn't have those limits."

"Uh, how?"

Byleth shrugged. "He says it's his Crest of Seiros. The Archbishop has one too, right? Have you ever seen her get drunk?"

"No, but now I'm curious…"

After getting sidetracked by a discussion of Crests (Claude swore that his Minor Crest of Riegan gave him better night vision; he was shocked to hear about her own, and disappointed that she had never managed to identify it) the two managed to get back on track long enough for Claude to give Byleth a quick description of each of her students, and a copy of his own notes on them. She supposed it made sense for a house leader as diligent as Claude to keep dossiers on all his classmates. As the clock tower rang out the eighth hour of the morning, the rest of the Golden Deer arrived. With Claude's help, Byleth was successfully able to place a name to every face.

The earliest to arrive (besides Claude) was orange-haired Leonie Pinelli, a commoner who was apparently hoping to become a mercenary. Byleth recalled her talking to her father; she thought this one would be quite easy to teach.

Next was Lorenz – uh, she had to check her papers again – Hellman Gloucester, heir to Gloucester. In all caps, Claude had written VERY PROUD OF NOBLE STATUS. He had also gone on a worrying digression about how his family and Lorenz's family were rivals over something, and if he ended up suspiciously dead this year the Gloucesters should be her first suspects. Byleth truly hoped he was just being paranoid.

Two more nobles, Maegelle von Ordelia and Marianne von Maurice, paused just outside the door to finish up a giggling conversation. Claude had pegged Marianne as a particularly shy girl, but it seemed the vivacious Maegelle ("Oh, call me Mae, professor!") had been able to draw her in.

"Oh, thank the Goddess we're not late!" yelped Ignatz Victor. "Raphael, we need to eat more quickly next time!" Behind him, Raphael Kirsten entered, still munching on a piece of fruit.

Lorenz was not pleased. "Professor Eisner, is eating food allowed in this classroom?"

"If you don't make a mess," she replied, as the last peals of the bell faded away. "We're still missing a student."

"We might as well start without her," suggested Leonie. "If she doesn't care enough to be on time for the first day of class, she deserves to miss out."

"Um, I wouldn't mind waiting a few more minutes," piped up Marianne. "She might have gotten lost. We shouldn't judge someone without knowing their whole situation…"

"Well, as someone who does know Hilda, I think she probably overslept," Claude declared. "I can run over and—"

His idea turned out to be unnecessary. At that very moment, glaring as if she disagreed with the concept of time itself, Hilda Valentine Goneril, Duchess Goneril and Keeper of Fódlan's Locket, wielder of the fearsome Freikugel, one of the five voting members of the Alliance Roundtable, stumbled into the classroom, her uniform askew and her snow-white hair sticking out everywhere.

"All right," said Byleth. "Let's begin."

Vocalist · Aug 5, 2022

Garreg Mach Monastery laid claim to beautiful, sprawling grounds – but given its location high in the mountains, it was all rather steep and wild. There was exactly one broad, flat field monastery residents could access without going all the way down the mountain, and it had been artificially smoothed out at great expense by one of the early Archbishops. Nevertheless, all agreed her efforts had been worth it. The Knights of Seiros and the Officer's Academy used it for maneuver exercises, squires learned to ride there, and on festival days it filled with musicians, food stalls, and pilgrims.

Today, it would be serving yet another purpose, as the site of a mock battle between the Academy's three houses. Just a little something to kick off the school year – this field was far too small to host something like the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. A good thing, that, Jeralt thought, noticing the unpracticed way most of the students held their training weapons. He fought the urge to bark corrections at them. In their current state, if these brats were handed battalions, ballistae, and live steel, he didn't doubt that some of them would manage to get themselves killed.

On the rise where he stood to watch – no, preside, he was the Captain here again – a sizable crowd was gathered. Not just Academy staff, but inhabitants of the monastery and its town; he heard them sharing gossip about this year's students and the sudden arrival of a new professor.

"…crown prince and the heir to Riegan, so every family with a child of the right age has sent them to the Academy for schmoozing this year…"

"…another princess. No, I don't remember her name. The Emperor has far too many…"

"Honestly, Lysander never struck me as someone who liked teaching. I was surprised when he stayed on for another year…"

"…obviously throwing Eisner a bone by putting his daughter in the position. He must be a hard bargainer…"

None of it troubled Jeralt. He'd lived long enough that petty gossip just rolled off him, like water off a pegasus's wings. What mattered was what he did, and worthwhile people would judge him based on that. Anyone who got taken in by rumors was an idiot, and could be ignored. He'd check with the kid later, make sure no one was giving her a hard time – but Byleth generally cared even less than him. Her inhuman stoicism still worried him sometimes, but he'd learned to appreciate his daughter and her unique strengths. Like the fact that she gave no shits what anyone thought about her.

That said, listening to the crowd did give him one idea. "Hey. Alois," he said. "Someone here must be taking bets, right?"

"You're not wrong, Captain! For the past few years, Anton the night porter has been handling that kind of thing. He's a swell guy, even if he does some, heh, shady business." Alois responded to everything he said with such sincere affection and enthusiasm that it was almost painful. It was like having a puppy around that got ready to play fetch every time he lifted his hand – and he always had to explain that no, there was no stick or ball, he was just adjusting his hair. Down, boy.

Alois hadn't been like this as a squire, Jeralt was certain. Had he missed his old mentor that much? If so, he could only hope that the shine of Captain Jeralt's return would wear off with time.

"Can I assume that you want to put some gold on the Golden Deer, Captain?"

"Damn straight." He dug out a few coins and handed them to Alois without bothering to count.

The other man did bother to count. "This is enough to buy a good horse, Captain."

Jeralt shrugged. "Well, you can put some money on her, too. Or whoever you want – I'm not about to tell you who you can root for."

Alois chuckled, saying, "Oh, I'm not about to bet against anyone that you've trained! I'll just…go see Anton now." Jeralt saw Alois give the coins a worried look as he walked away, which made him roll his eyes a little. He was getting paid a salary again, right? He'd have more money soon.

From a hill overlooking the field, Captain Jeralt's gruff voice was audible: "The first mock battle of the year is about to begin. Ready yourselves. Last house standing is the winner. And just in case it's not obvious, this is a mock battle. Don't actually kill or maim anyone. Am I missing anything? Okay, begin."

Next to his professor, Claude looked over the battlefield with a hungry smile. "All right. I see Mercedes waiting by that tree right there – she looks vulnerable, but there's someone else, hiding in the branches. Probably an archer."

"Sharp eyes," Byleth complimented him. "The Blue Lions seem to be holding defensive positions for now. Let's focus on—"

"To me, my Black Eagles!" The cry was loud enough to be heard from halfway across the field. Its source was the red-caped house leader, one Ferdinand von Aegir, whom Claude had described to her as "basically Lorenz but Adrestian." Behind him, several of his classmates were struggling to catch up to his reckless charge.

Isolated on open ground? A fatal mistake, on the battlefield. "Mae, Claude. Bombard him," Byleth ordered.

"Oh, with pleasure," said Maegelle, her smile turning momentarily vicious. A magical sigil appeared before her, and crackling lightning began to condense from the air. Meanwhile, Claude loosed an arrow with admirable speed – he clearly had years of practice behind him.

However, while reaching for a second arrow, he hesitated. Another figure was racing across the field, getting dangerously close to their target. A violet-haired figure.

"Aha! Ferdinand von Aegir, it is an honor to meet you on the field of battle. No doubt you will learn much today, after I defeat you utterly!" Turning back around, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester yelled at them: "Distract him with your projectiles while I take him apart!"

"You were right, Claude," Byleth observed. "They are very similar."

Claude sighed through gritted teeth.

"Uh," Maegelle said, sweating from the effort of keeping her spell in check, "I'm not sure I can be accurate enough to—"

"Then do it now, before they get stuck together in melee," Byleth ordered.

Maegelle was off-balance, or perhaps just unlucky – her spell missed, scoring a harmless burn in the grass. Lorenz and Ferdinand met, trading blows with wooden lances. More Black Eagles were coming. Byleth looked over at her remaining troops: Ignatz, Hilda, and Leonie were positioned to guard against the Blue Lions – could she afford to move one of them?

A high-pitched scream from Black Eagles territory interrupted her thoughts, and one of their attackers turned around, distracted. "That was Bernadetta! Ferdinand, listen – I think the Lions are attacking us!"

Ferdinand could not respond, but Byleth could. "Leonie, Hilda, get down to help Lorenz! Ignatz, you raise the alarm at the first sight of any Blue Lions. Claude, Mae, give us cover, but I want you ready to help Ignatz!" Readying her sword, Byleth advanced to join her students in battle for the first time.

"Look at that Adrestian with the braids," Jeralt commented to another knight. "You can tell she knows her way around a sword." Seeing them in action, he had to raise his opinion of this crop of students – a little. Some of them were clearly terrified of their own weapons. Most of the rest handled themselves like typical noble brats: plenty of tutoring but no actual experience. Their form looked fine as long as they were standing still, but in the chaos of battle they froze up or made stupid mistakes. And then there were those who actually knew a thing or two, who could keep their cool and keep moving. Hilda Goneril, who made full use of her Crest-granted strength when swinging her axe. Two skinny boys from the Blue Lions who successfully ambushed the Black Eagles' reserves. And that girl with the braids, who had dispatched one of them in return.

"She's Brigidian, actually," replied the knight. What was her name again? Shamir, right. Goddess, so many new faces to memorize. Only a few knights remained from his previous stint in the Knights of Seiros. "Is she the last of the Eagles? Good. I have money on the Lions." A razor-thin smile cracked Shamir's face as the other two houses overran Black Eagles territory. Surrounded and overwhelmed, the Brigidian girl surrendered.

On Jeralt's other side, Alois gave him a grinning thumbs up.

As the last Black Eagle sighed her way off the field, the Blue Lions and Golden Deer found themselves frozen in a moment of uncertainty. Their mutual enemy was gone, but remnants of their unspoken truce held them still. Should they retreat and refortify themselves, or press onward to a new foe?

Against such wavering opponents, Byleth bet on an aggressive approach. "All in, Deer!" she screamed. "Attack!"

And the field fell to chaos. Dimitri of the Blue Lions sagged back from one of Hilda's bruising blows, only for one of his classmates to shield him from her follow-up. Raphael was being ganged up on by two enemies at once. Ignatz fled from the lance of a red-headed Faerghan boy, while Claude tried to ignore the chaos and line up a clean shot on Professor Manuela, who was assisting with her healing magic.

This is a mess! complained Sothis. It's a dozen duels, not a battle!

Yes, it was a mess. But this was a mock battle. At the end, all the fallen would get back up again, no harm done. So all she needed to do was ensure that at least one of her students remained standing.

A poor policy! You cannot afford to be so cavalier with the lives of those under your command. In a real battle…Are you listening?

Byleth was not listening; she was running to Ignatz's aid. The red-haired student saw her coming and braced. One, two, three, his lance parried her sword. Then a thunderbolt tore into his shoulder; one arm paralyzed, his lance faltered and fell. Using the flat of her blade, Byleth gave him a neat whack on the head.

"I got him!" cheered Maegelle.

"Ow," her enemy agreed. "I guess I'm out of the fight now. Well, at least it was two beautiful ladies who did me in."

"Your impression of a dead man's not very good, Sylvain," remarked another Blue Lion, with lavender hair – Byleth tried to remember his name. Something very Faerghan-sounding. He was coming her way with a freshly-healed Dimitri. "Do you really think any woman would want to get with a corpse?"

"I'm using artistic license, Yuri," Sylvain informed him.

"Sylvain, you need not pretend to be dead. Just get out of the way!" said Prince Dimitri, and then the two opponents were upon her.

The first time her sword deflected Dimitri's lance, it sent a bone-aching impact all the way to her shoulder. A still-growing teenager should not have that kind of strength. It had to be a Crest. Byleth grit her teeth and revised her strategy.

She sparred with her father all the time, and he'd taught her how to deal with Crest-bearers. If your opponent had crushing, supernatural strength, then you had to avoid getting hit. His partner made that easier said than done, though. While Dimitri commanded her attention, Yuri floated at the sides, falsely-innocent eyes searching for vulnerability. When she dodged away from Dimitri's deadly lance, Yuri's sword was in her path. They must be used to working together, she thought. They were too good. She couldn't defend everywhere at once.

Aggression. She'd bet it all on aggression, on being the only one here who wouldn't falter. She pushed herself forward, turned her dodge into a charge – past Yuri's sword, into his reach. Her shoulder slammed into the slim boy, sending him off his feet. They tumbled to the ground, tangled together. Byleth kept hold of her sword, but reached out with her other hand to get control of his arms.

Yuri hissed like a cat. He writhed underneath her, boneless, trying to escape. Byleth made a fist and punched him, hoping desperately that Dimitri wouldn't come to tear her away before she could knock him out. His lavender eyes were narrowed to hateful slits. One hand slipped free to claw at her face and she realized that those glossy nails were deliberately cut long as blood started to well in the scratches. He didn't let up, even when she let go of her sword to punch him again. Instead of slick warmth, the blood on her face was chilling. Yuri's nails groped, dug into the corner of her eye, and her vision went blank with pain. Almost possessed by animal instinct, one last thought remained in Byleth's head – We're killing each other.

Get off him! Get off him! He's not going to give up – you have to do it! begged Sothis.

Gasping, Byleth rolled away. She curled her body half-upright, cupping her ruined eye. The sounds of battle continued, but not nearby.

She heard Dimitri's voice: "Yuri! How are you? Oh no. Oh no. Professor…"

There were frost crystals in the blood. How could that be? Had someone cast magic at her? As they melted, once-numbed skin bloomed with renewed pain. Byleth moaned.

I think…I think he gouged out most of your eye…

"Professor Manuela! We need healing! Please!"

Healers couldn't replace eyes. Too complicated.

"I didn't mean to, I just – I panicked, Dima—"

A member of the Breaker's Band who lost an eye on duty was entitled to 200 gold pieces and continued employment in a role they could still perform. A right arm, 600; a left arm, 500. Fingers were 100 each. The numbers swam in her head; she'd memorized them as soon as she could read.

"They're going to expel you for this, street rat."

"Ingrid! You're not helping!"

Would there still be a professorship for her? Or just a pouch of coin and an early retirement? And what of poor Yuri?

Byleth, I know you are in shock, but you are not dead yet! So look alive!

"Sothis," she said, "I don't even know what you mean…"

The air shattered like glass; the skin of the world was flayed open. Colors bloomed backwards through the nonexistent atmosphere. All was still save for the decorated gremlin, who floated beside her host.

Did you forget I could do this?

With no air, no sound, and no movement, Byleth could not speak. So she willed Sothis to understand her.

My thoughts exactly! But if you get yourself maimed again today, I will truly be cross. Turning back time is not effortless, you know!

It looked effortless when she did it. Sothis strolled backward through time like a musician strumming across her lute, each moment a note bleeding into the next. She never took a step, but the world itself moved to carry her destination to her. Byleth moved too, a rider on time's vehicle – flashing through moments of pain, adrenaline, tension – until her injury was just a phantasmal ache. She looked out of both eyes, at the figures of Yuri and Dimitri. At Maegelle, preparing another thunderbolt. At Ignatz, bow in hand, catching his breath.

So she'd made the same mistake as Lorenz, in the end. How embarrassing.

Life, breath, and movement resumed. "Sylvain, you need not pretend to be dead. Just get out of the way!"

The advice was not meant for her, but Byleth took it. Her feet pounded the grass, and she marvelled at how not-injured she felt. Yuri and Dimitri followed after her, eager to catch up to an opponent they knew they could take down together. Their plan blinded them to Maegelle's thunderbolt, which scorched quite a bit of Dimitri's hair.

"Don't worry, your Highness," she called chirpily, "If you have to chop it all off, I think your appearance would actually improve!"

That struck a nerve, apparently. "You seem to have a lot of breath for chatting, Ordelia," Dimitri said, advancing on her. Yuri, well-trained, disengaged to follow him – but there was already distance between them.

With Dimitri too far away to cover his classmate, Byleth struck.

"See?" Jeralt commented. "She's letting the kids cover her while she takes down the Lions, one by one." Byleth was fighting smartly, as a mercenary ought – though he still thought she could take them all single-handedly.

"We get it, Captain. You're very proud of your daughter," Shamir said wearily.

"Brilliant job, Teach," Claude crowed, bouncing on his feet with the high of victory. "So we didn't even need to slip anything into their food!" In the supplies room, the Golden Deer were chattering amongst themselves while they set training weapons back onto racks or stripped off sweaty armor.

Byleth looked at him suspiciously. "Did you, Claude? I specifically forbade that."

"Of course not!" he claimed. "What's with that stern look on your face? You're not smiling at all! Come on, at a time like this, we should all be happy!"

"I am happy." She especially appreciated having her eye back.

"Well, you sure don't show it." He looked at her, a little uncertain, before stepping close: "Look. I know as a mercenary, you're used to taking battles seriously, as life-or-death things. But no one's supposed to die here. The next year is going to be…pretty frivolous, actually. Making friends and making enemies in pointless house rivalries. Running errands for the Archbishop. If we'd lost that battle just now, there wouldn't have been any real consequences." He ran his fingers nervously through his hair. "And I…would have still had fun. It's nice to be here, in the sun, doing frivolous things." For a moment, something raw and emotional was visible in his green eyes. Then they crystallized again. "I know you were upset when I brought up the possibility of me being assassinated. I think, yeah, that was too paranoid of me. So I'll make you a deal. I'll try to take all this less seriously, if you do too."

Byleth appreciated his concern, but it was truly unnecessary. "I will take your deal, but believe me when I say I am happy." She tried to put some emotion in her voice, but it only came out as emphasis. "I just don't smile. Ever. Ask my dad."

"If you say so, Teach." Claude looked skeptical, but that expression was quickly wiped away by a smile. In contrast to her, a knowing smirk seemed to be his default expression. "Hey, Deer! I think a celebratory feast is called for! What say you?"

"That sounds like a great way to celebrate!" agreed Raphael, perfectly cheery despite the impressive collection of bruises he'd acquired.

"I'm not sure it'll be that special, though, if we're just eating in the dining hall with everyone else," fretted Ignatz. Byleth was beginning to mark him as something of a pessimist. He was best friends with Raphael, though. They must balance each other out.

"If I can get space in the kitchen, I could make us a delicious dessert!" said Maegelle.

"I know how to cook too," said Marianne.

Claude smugly said, "No need. I already bribed the kitchen staff to make us something special, so we just have to show up."

Leonie put her hands on her hips. "And just what were you going to do with that food if we hadn't won?"

"Well, in that case, we would have eaten it anyway, to cheer ourselves back up!"

"Ah, that's an Almyran tradition," Lorenz said knowingly. The way he avoided putting weight on his just-healed leg made him look like a purple flamingo. "Feasting in victory, and in defeat."

Claude ignored him to talk to Byleth. "Will you join us, Teach? It was your leadership that led us to victory, so you deserve to celebrate too."

"That sounds nice, but my father already invited me out. He and some of his knights won a lot betting on the Golden Deer, apparently. They're going out on the town."

Claude raised his eyebrows. "And you don't want to leave him unsupervised, right? I understand. No hard feelings." A thought occurred to him. "Actually, was one of the betters – did you see a Leicesterian man, messy dark hair, doesn't believe in shirts?"

"Yep."

Claude sucked in a long, painful breath. "Okay, um. Yeah. They are going to need a responsible adult tonight. Please go. Don't worry about us."

It had been twenty years since Jeralt had last lived in Garreg Mach, but its steep, narrow streets were unchanged. His feet found themselves tracing familiar paths, worn into his memory over an uncountable number of days. He led his companions to a tavern that stood right where he'd left it; a grey and withered (but still alive) version of the woman he remembered was manning the counter. Her eyes met him and flashed with recognition. As she stepped forward to greet them, Jeralt thought the Goddess was being kind today.

Then he felt the old lady's finger jabbing him in the chest, and realized that she didn't actually look happy to see him.

"Jeralt Reus Eisner," she growled. "Somehow, I always knew you'd be back."

"Evening, Agnes," he replied. "How's, uh, how's Bertrand doing?" He hoped he was remembering her son's name right.

"Save your pleasantries. If you want to drink here, you'll pay off all you owe, first."

"What are you talking about?" He towered over the aged woman, but she refused to stop blocking their passage into her business. "I gave Alois money and instructions to pay off my debts in town. We've been square for twenty years." He shot his former squire a look. Alois had always been trustworthy for that kind of thing, but right now he was looking uncomfortable.

"It wasn't enough!" Agnes insisted. "Do you see that counter, there?" She waved her arm at the wooden bar, with its Alliance-style tiled top. "Twenty years ago, it had to be rebuilt! Because you threw a man into it so hard it broke in half!"

Jeralt blinked. While that sounded like something he could have possibly done, he had absolutely no memory…

"Did my dad actually do that?" he heard Byleth asking.

"I'm afraid it's true," Alois replied. "It was an embarrassing night. I'd never seen him so drunk before."

Oh. Now he knew what must have happened. While Jeralt's Crest granted him enormous resistance to alcohol (and poison of all types, which had come in handy during the last House Vestra succession crisis), it wasn't actually impossible for him to get shitfaced if he put in the effort.

The last time he had bothered was in the days after Sitri's death. When he tried to look back on them now, they were all a haze of grief, anger, and intoxication. Some pink embarrassment stained his cheeks as he asked, "Ah, was the guy okay?"

"No." Agnes took a sizable portion of his winnings and warned him that he would absolutely not be allowed to run a tab before finally allowing him into her establishment. He thanked every single saint that his daughter wasn't pressing him for more details of the incident; instead, she was distracted as one of their companions, Balthus von Albrecht, told a long story about his own history with bars and property damage.

"…and the magistrate ruled we were both equally at fault, but I'd already skipped town by then so I didn't actually have to pay any fines!" he said, as if it were a new and innovative trick for saving money. "Well, until last year – the Academy wasn't willing to hire someone who was technically a lawbreaker, so I had to scrape together some gold and learn on noble friends to get the rest dropped." He mumbled that last part into his drink; Jeralt got the sense that it hurt his pride quite a bit.

"So you work for the Academy, Balthus?" Byleth asked. "Not the knights?"

"Yeah, but I'm just a humble weapons instructor. Not a full professor like you. I do swords, axes, archery, a little bit of hand-to-hand…"

"The new professor might be taking over some of your normal workload, Balthus," Alois suggested.

Byleth shook her head. "I can't do everything myself. In fact, you seem to have a very broad set of specialties. I'm sure I'll be referring students to you."

"…Thanks," Balthus said. "If I'm being honest, I kind of hoped I'd be tapped to cover the Golden Deer after Rhea's first choice quit. I'm not saying I have any hard feelings about you being here, just…well, if you ever need any help, I hope you'll think of me. Homeland pride, you know? I know some of those kids." The burly Leicesterian smiled wistfully into his ale.

"That brings to mind an interesting question!" Alois piped up. "Byleth! Which of the three nations were you born in?"

His daughter shrugged. "Dunno. Dad?"

Jeralt rubbed his face, pretending to search his memory. "It was…on the border, between Faerghus and Adrestia. We were travelling, so I can't say exactly where."

Byleth accepted this with her usual nonchalance, but Alois made a pained face. "Giving birth on the road? That must have been rough on her poor mother!"

Fucking saints. No one ever asked questions like these when hiring him for mercenary work; it was all just "can you kill things?" and "is it okay if I pay you in bear hides?" So perhaps Jeralt was less composed than he really should have been as he said, "Well, she was – really tough. Not a fragile woman. Anyway, that's all in the past – you said you have kids now, Alois?"

Alois beamed, and launched into a story about his own daughter. Internally, Jeralt breathed a sigh of relief. He could finally enjoy Agnes's whiskey, which was just as good as he remembered it.

Meanwhile, his daughter was already taking Balthus up on his offer of advice: "I've noticed something going on between Lorenz and Claude. They don't like each other, and I think it has something to do with Alliance politics?"

Balthus raised his eyebrows. "Sharp of you. Yeah, I'm not one for politics, but even I know about this one. So the Alliance is ruled by a council of lords, with the Sovereign Duke being the one in charge. That's usually Duke Reigan, but it doesn't have to be. About five years ago, Duke Oswald von Reigan's son was killed and it looked like the house had no more heirs with the Crest, so a bunch of other lords started competing to be the next leader."

She nodded. "I remember the Alliance infighting being worse than usual back then. Lots of work for us."

"Yeah, I'm sure you mercenaries lined your pockets on it. Last year, though, Claude turned up, and Duke Reigan made him his heir as fast as he could. Everyone else who thought they had a chance at the top spot is holding a grudge now, the Gloucesters most of all."

Jeralt listened to this with more and more of his attention. It was his important to his daughter, after all. And noble drama could actually be entertaining – in small doses.

"He 'turned up?'" asked Byleth. "Are you saying House Reigan lost track of some of its members?"

Balthus chuckled, but his eyes were pained. "That's pretty much what happened. Tiana von Reigan, Goddess keep her soul, ran away from home years ago. She wound up in Almyra, where she married a sellsword – and then died in the civil war. No one this side of the mountains had any idea, until the Hero of Daphnel tracked down her last surviving kid and dragged him out of that hellhole." Byleth listened and sipped her ale, her face unreadable; as usual, not even Jeralt could tell what she was thinking.

It was probably something like, 'poor kid', though. The Breaker's Band operated in Fódlan, but their members came from all over, including a smattering of Almyrans. Jeralt was always happy to grab a skilled wyvern rider – and there were more of them in Fódlan than ever before. As the once-strong nation of Almyra continued burning in the flames of war, many of her people sought better lives across the border. Jeralt had heard terrible stories from his Almyran friends, of villages razed and streams choked with bodies. For any kid to come of age there was a genuine tragedy.

"So that explains why Lorenz has been bringing up Almyra so much," was all Byleth said.

Balthus grunted. "If you see Gloucester or anyone else give that kid a hard time for being half-Almyran…let me know. I'll give them extra-special attention in the training yard."

Vocalist · Aug 6, 2022

The Archbishop received most guests in her audience chamber, sitting on her throne. However, she had stood up to greet Byleth, and did not seem to be sitting back down. Byleth wondered if that had special etiquette implications or something.

It means she's treating you with especial respect, Byleth, Sothis lectured. Hmm, I wonder whom else she does this for…

"Professor. As I do not believe I have done so already, I would like to extend my congratulations for your victory in the mock battle last week." Archbishop Rhea had eyes like cool mint tea and a voice just as soothing. She never fumbled her words or spoke too quickly; her hands, when not making a poignant gesture, were clasped as if in prayer; her tiny steps never wrinkled her cloud-white skirts. She seemed the perfect image of a benevolent authority figure, more like a character in a story than a flesh-and-blood person. Byleth wondered how long she had been Archbishop, if her father had served under her. Perhaps her amazing poise simply came from long experience.

"Thank you. People have been quite impressed with that. If battle tactics are so important at the Officer's Academy, perhaps you should consider hiring more mercenaries as professors," said Byleth, who had expected struggle and failure her first week teaching, not the admiration of the entire monastery.

At that, Rhea raised her mint-green eyebrows – putting the lie to the impression that her face was an exquisitely-carved piece of marble. "Well, folk of all backgrounds have served at Garreg Mach; I consider it a goal of the Officer's Academy to expose the future lords of Fódlan to people and perspectives they never would have encountered at home. That said, few of the professors in recent years have been of a martial inclination. That is not necessarily a bad thing. We are living through a time of peace, are we not?"

Byleth shrugged. "Relatively. There was that rebellion in the Kingdom a few years back." And the infighting of the Alliance lords, the occupation of Ordelia, the entire Brigid-Dagda war… Sure, none of the three nations were about to go to war with each other. But there was still plenty to keep a mercenary busy.

"Perhaps your arrival is a message…that the wheel is turning, and these peaceful days will soon end. That the children of this land will need to arm themselves and prepare for strife," the Archbishop mused.

Oh come now! Sothis was rolling her eyes. This Rhea woman was the one who hired you! She cannot claim to read omens of the Goddess's will in actions she took deliberately. Look, I'm spinning! Her normal leisurely drift turned into a tight spin, her festive ribbons flying out from the force. When she stopped, it was abrupt, wobbly. Sothis bobbed as if dizzy. That too was a sign. Clearly, great turmoil is coming! Oh, one of my hairclips fell off…

Byleth did not disagree, but she reminded her headmate that this woman interpreted the will of the Goddess as her profession, and might well know something they didn't.

"At any rate," continued Rhea, "I have summoned you to deliver your mission for the month."

"I'm going to be assigned missions?" Byleth asked. "Like one of the knights?" Wouldn't that interfere with her teaching job?

"Yes and no. This is a mission for your entire class – for the students to grow through service to the Church and the people of Fódlan. You may think of it as a class project, if you wish." An indulgent smile; this was probably the closest Rhea ever got to cracking a joke. "This Harpstring Moon, the Golden Deer will be charged with dispatching the bandits who attacked previously – the ones you drove back at Remire." Rhea's face turned serious as she announced, "In an effort to evade pursuit, these knaves have taken shelter in Zanado, the Red Canyon."

Byleth nodded. "I've never been there. Is that close by?"

"…Your father truly taught you little of Seiros's work. The Red Canyon is a holy place, where the Goddess alighted to bring life to this world. It is where Seiros first heard Her voice. And yes, it is close by," Rhea sighed. "It is also forbidden to all who do not have special dispensation from myself. This band of bandits is polluting the Goddess's home with their sin. You and your class will be bringing Her judgment down upon them."

"With our swords. Lethally?"

"Correct. But," a sudden smile broke out on Rhea's face, and she reached forward with a warm, entreating hand to cup the professor's face, "I do hope that you will also take some time in Zanado to…listen for the voice of the Goddess. A visit there is a precious opportunity for any of the faithful, even myself. I usually retreat there for meditation every five years, and always I return awed and restored."

Uncomfortable at the sudden contact, Byleth backed away. Smoothly, as if nothing were amiss, Rhea returned her hands to their prayerful clasp.

"So, you're gonna need nine horses total," said the bored-looking stablehand with the dark red hair. "Minus, uh, did any of you bring mounts of your own? I know you did, Mari – I have Dorte right here already."

Byleth, Claude, Ignatz, and Raphel were the only ones who didn't, apparently, forcing them to borrow mounts from the monastery. As the stablehand gently led horse after horse out to the yard and the students made last-minute checks of their luggage, Lorenz started chiding: "Claude, I am surprised you do not own a mount of your own. Horsemanship is one of most useful noble arts, in war and in peace."

"Relax, Lorenz. I know how to ride." Claude leapt easily into the saddle, proving his words. "I just figured it wasn't worth the hassle. One horse is about the same as another, to me."

"Only a man who knows nothing about horses would say that," Leonie said, patting the gray mare that had come with her from Sauin.

"I'm not sure why we need them. The canyon's close enough that we can walk," said Raphael. The stablehand looked at him cautiously, before bringing out an enormous animal that looked more suited to plowing fields than carrying riders. "Nice horsey! I'm Raphael."

"It means reaching our goal in one day rather than two. I don't want you all to miss too much class time," said Byleth.

Maegelle sighed. "You're a bit of a slave driver, professor."

Fairly sure that her comment was said in jest, Byleth ignored it. From atop her horse, she scanned the hustling students. "Final preparations, everyone! Claude, where's Hilda?"

"Forgot to pack underwear. She'll be back in a jiffy."

A few of the students had a giggle at that. Lorenz, however, started pawing through his saddlebags with a furrowed brow. "Ugh, how could I have…Professor! I need to go back for my hair pomade!"

"Is it really that important, Lorenz?" asked Leonie, who had saddled her horse quickly and professionally, and by now was getting quite impatient with those lagging behind. "I don't want to wait here while you go back for fripperies."

Lorenz bristled to his full pointiness, which was a head taller than Leonie. However, Byleth had never seen her intimidated by this when they were face-to-face, and doubted it would work when Leonie was mounted and he was on the ground. "Frippery? Do you even know what pomade is?"

"I've never heard of it, which is why I think you can probably do without, Lorenz!"

Byleth stepped in. "Just go, if there's something you think you need. But be quick about it. And remember, we are trying to travel light!" At that, every other student started looking in their bags pensively, and Byleth let out a miniscule sigh.

Hilda and Lorenz's return was welcome, and as the Golden Deer finally set off, a certain amount of tension drained out of everyone. The road to Zanado was sunny and scenic, down slopes too rocky to support thick vegetation. So there was nothing to block their view of the Oghma Mountains, clustered around the monastery and the canyon as if to protect Fódlan's sacred heart. Veins of green clung bravely to life on peaks that soared to the heavens, spearpoints hunting the sun in the sky.

Byleth had never thought about it much, but she supposed that she liked travelling all over Fódlan for mercenary work. She liked seeing new vistas and picking new flowers and buying new food from the markets. Would she miss it, as a professor tied to the monastery? Would Garreg Mach and its mountains become bland and ordinary before the school year was up?

Well, she'd deal with that if it happened. For now, they were quite nice.

Your lack of inner turmoil is amazing, mused Sothis. You know there are people who agonize over the past and future constantly?

That sounded rough. Maybe they could benefit from Sothis's time powers.

On the contrary! I like that you mostly accept events as they come. A more anxious personality would wish to reset time after every little mistake, and pester me to madness!

Being pestered to madness? How terrible. Byleth didn't know anyone willing to do that…

Hmph. So it seems you are capable of sarcasm to some degree. While I may "pester", it is entirely for your own good!

They descended into Zanado on a road that had once been paved and flanked by pillars. Time and neglect, however, had shattered all the craft here, and left pieces large and small for the horses to step over.

Ignatz made a disappointed sound. "I think these pillars had designs carved on them, but they're sandstone. They haven't weathered erosion well at all."

"Maybe things are more preserved deeper in," Raphael suggested. "Better sheltered from the weather? We've got a whole day to explore tomorrow." Ahead of them, Zanado was taking shape as a cleft in the mountains, strangely bare of vegetation, sheltered by yellow-brown rock walls. Lumps of the same yellow-brown stone arose from the canyon floor, shaped into steps and spires and mesas. A curtain of dust hung over the landscape, further blurring outlines softened by time, but Byleth thought they might…

Yes, those are buildings! And roads, and agricultural terraces – these are the ruins of a city, Byleth! She had never heard Sothis so excited.

"Why is this place called the Red Canyon? It's not red at all," said Claude.

"Perhaps we need to see it in a different light," offered Ignatz.

"I need you all to focus," said Byleth, quieting the children around her. "The report from the knights says our quarry is taking shelter in the ruins. We dismount now and continue on foot. Even you, Lorenz. You don't have enough practice fighting on horseback, and the terrain here is rough." They obeyed without a fuss (even Lorenz). No one spoke as the Golden Deer readied weapons for their first real battle.

They crawled down the treacherous slope, trying their best to stay together. Byleth looked, worried, at the gaping, gutted stone gatehouse that stood at the entrance to the city. Assuming the top story was still accessible, that was exactly where she would put a lookout, if she were defending this place.

A loud whistle confirmed her theory. "Run to the gatehouse! NOW!" Arrows started coming their way, as the Deer pushed themselves to make it to the inner range of the lookout's bow. Was it just one? Byleth couldn't measure the rate of fire to make sure – she had to look back at each student, make sure they were okay. Raphael, the slowest, was the last to make it to the shelter of the archway, clutching a bloody wound on his shoulder.

"Ah, Marianne, could you," he wheezed, "I think I can still fight, but…"

As Marianne summoned the glow of healing magic, Byleth glared at the dusty staircase that seemed to lead up to the gatehouse's second floor. "We can't have this guy at our backs. Hilda, go up and deal with him." She turned her gaze to the plaza before them, where a ragged crew of opponents was forming up. They crept forward, with fast-decreasing caution.

"Hey, where are the knights?" one called out. "All I see are a bunch of kids!"

"The knights of Seiros have underestimated us," said another. "Big mistake!"

Leonie cleaned the last of the bandit blood off her lance, then gave it a quick burnishing with an oily rag. Satisfied with the way it gleamed in the setting sun, she set it down against one of Zanado's plentiful walls – and found herself suddenly at a loss for something to do. Their chosen campsite was a building intact enough that the professor had told them not to bother setting up their tents. Maegelle had already managed to build a fire (with more magical explosions than Leonie would have used, but she couldn't argue with the results). And now Raphael was stewing millet and cured meat into a porridge for their dinner.

There just wasn't any work left for her. A lot of the other students had already zipped off to explore. Hilda was stretched out on the remains of an old stone bench, sunning herself like a cat. Raphael was busy with dinner. And Ignatz was staring into the fire, clutching his knees, brow furrowed like he was studying for the most important exam of the school year.

All right, fine. Leonie squatted next to Ignatz, barely drawing a reaction from him. "Hey. What's up with you? You seemed really excited about exploring these ruins earlier."

"Oh, Leonie. Hi." He sighed and uncurled a bit, sitting up. "I just had to…think. About the battle."

"What about it?"

"Well, it was my first battle, and it was…a lot. Even though it was actually over very quickly. And I didn't get wounded, so, uh…" Ignatz rambled.

"Are you just feeling overwhelmed?" Leonie asked.

"No, that's not exactly – I mean, I am, but – oh, let me start over. I killed people, Leonie. I shot at them, and they died. Sometimes it was someone else who dealt the killing blow, and sometimes me, but I don't feel like that makes any difference. It doesn't feel good, either way! I just…am I the only one who's worried about this? Is it so strange that I don't want to kill people?" Ignatz's voice rose, the most strident she'd ever heard him. Words poured out that he'd clearly been turning over and over in his mind.

She had to take a moment to consider her response. Something he'd put so much thought into deserved some thought from her in return. "I don't think any of us want to kill people. But how much it bothers you, that depends on the person."

"It's not just you, buddy," Raphael piped up. "Marianne's gone over to spend time with the horses like she does when she's sad. And she brought an icon to pray to."

Leonie sighed. "I'll be honest with you, Ignatz. I want to be a mercenary; it's my dream. And I know that in that line of work, I'll be killing a lot. So when I killed someone for the first time today, I tried not to let it bother me." She thought of her lance, every cranny scrupulously stripped of blood and then polished to a gleaming finish. "I don't think," but there she was, doubting herself, "that makes me heartless. There's a difference between being proud of your skills with a weapon and being happy to kill people."

"But if all weapons are good for is killing, is that really something to be proud of?" Ignatz said dolefully.

Leonie narrowed her eyes, but forced herself to think through his point before getting defensive. "No, that's not all they're good for. Weapons kill for a lot of different reasons, Ignatz. When my village was being extorted, we were close to starving or being forced to move. Captain Jeralt saved us then. You know, he didn't actually have to kill that many of them – once they figured out that our territory was being guarded by a bunch of well-trained mercenaries, they knew they didn't have a chance and left. Maybe they went back to being bandits somewhere else, I don't know, but my home's been safe ever since. That's what I want to be able to do: protect people and support my home. Violence is just…what I'll use to do that."

Ignatz gave no response, just sighed and curled his arms around his knees again.

"You're here to become a knight, right?" Leonie asked. He mumbled an affirmative. "Well, you're going to have to find some way to cope. Knights aren't too different from mercenaries in that respect."

A new voice chimed in: "Have you tried dehumanizing the enemy?" Leonie, Ignatz, and Raphael looked over in surprise. Hilda was stretching herself with the artful flexibility of a cat, squeezing the sleep out of her muscles. "Claude says it works wonders."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Hilda barely talked in class and only seemed to be friends with Claude – not even the other Alliance nobles – so Leonie thought this might be their first real conversation.

"So, humans don't like hurting other humans. That's just a general principle." Hilda got up off her bench to stretch more, still talking. "That's why we can walk around, like, trusting people not to be mean for no reason. That said, if you can pretend to yourself that someone isn't human – that they're just 'a criminal' or 'a barbarian' or 'a beast' – you can do whatever you want to them without feeling guilty. De-human-ization. Making someone not human. Get it?"

Ignatz looked concerned. "Uh, that seems a little bit…wrong? Like it could be used to justify so many evil things."

Hilda smirked down at them in a way that made Leonie bristle. "Never said it wasn't. If you really want to keep your hands clean, Ignatz, you shouldn't become a knight."

"That's not a choice for me, Hilda. My family paid a lot for me to enter the Academy. I can't betray them and waste everything they've invested in me." No one missed the pained look in his eyes as he said this.

"Is it just about money?" Hilda scrutinized him. "I bet you don't want to tell your parents 'no', either. Well, the fees here are pocket change for me. Let me know if you feel like leaving, and I'll reimburse your family."

That took everyone aback. Leonie wondered how some people could be so disgustingly rich that a price that had taken all the hard currency in her entire village would amount to mere "pocket change".

"That's real generous of you, Hilda!" said Raphael.

Ignatz stammered incoherently.

"You're a nice guy, Ignatz," Hilda said in response to his poorly-articulated question. "You deserve the chance to do something you actually want to do. Don't stay here and torment yourself, if you hate battle that much." She shrugged, and this time her smile was something softer. "It's up to you, okay? Think about it. Anyway, is dinner almost ready? That smell is making me hungry!"

The other students and the professor soon arrived, summoned by Raphael's booming voice. No one turned up their nose at his cooking, and soon after sunset they were all asleep, tired by a long day of travelling.

Oh, hurry up, you slow-poke! Why must I be forced to experience the day at your laggardly pace? Had I a body of my own, I would already be outside! Sothis yammered to her host as she straightened her uniform, pinned her cape and combed her hair. It was the next morning, and Byleth would probably have been in a bad mood if she were not so good at ignoring annoying sounds.

Something about Zanado had Sothis in a complete tizzy. It was tickling at her missing memories, she claimed. Thus, last evening she had had Byleth running from place to place, haphazardly inspecting the ruins in the hope that this empty vista, eroded carving, or piece of broken masonry would be the thing to unveil her mysteries. It seemed that she intended to spend today the same way. Byleth didn't mind exploring, but she did wish that Sothis would calm down. How was she supposed to quiet her mind and listen for the voice of the Goddess, as Rhea had asked, when there was an excitable little gremlin in there?

She stepped outside, to be greeted by a, "Morning, Teach!" The class leader was up long before her, as usual.

Byleth stopped to take the bread Claude offered her for breakfast, though Sothis raged at the delay. She was getting a lot better at mentally managing two conversations at once, though it was still hard to interact comfortably with Claude with Sothis yelling at her.

"I'm glad you're awake. I was up early, and I found the place where the bandits must have been sleeping. Now, I hope you don't have strong feelings about going through the possessions of the dead, because I already did that." He held up a heavy-looking purse. "You would not believe the amount of money I found."

Byleth gestured, and he handed it over. She drew it open and swished her fingers through a pond of golden coins. "Did you count these?" she asked.

"One hundred twenty Leicester half-suns."

She raised one to the morning light, inspecting its designs. Then she gave it an inquisitive bite. It deformed, soft and pure. "Genuine. The purse is good leather, too. Quiet, I'm thinking."

"I didn't say anything," said Claude.

"This isn't their war chest; that would be mixed currencies. And they must have gotten it extremely recently, since it hasn't been distributed among them or spent. From my experience with such men, they ought to have gone right to drunken partying after stealing a windfall like this, instead of going back to steal more." Byleth's eyes narrowed just the tiniest fraction. "The night we met, they were being paid to attack you."

Claude raised his eyebrows. "You sure about that, Teach?"

"I just explained my logic. There's no way to be certain, but it's the most likely possibility. As I said, I am familiar with such men." As the quarry she hunted for hire, as business rivals, and as occasional allies – the line between a group of marauding bandits and a rowdy, undisciplined band of mercenaries was thin indeed, and she had seen men slip across it in both directions.

Her student let out a short, simple sigh. "Well, I think I have to agree with you. Damn, though... If we assume the goal was an assassination, half the noble heirs of Fódlan were there that night. It would be easier to figure out who couldn't have benefited from this scheme. Kind of a pity we killed them all, right?"

He was right. They had no more leads, her students might well still have a murderer after them, and it amazed her how terrible that made her feel. "Rhea will need to hear about this," declared Byleth. "Whoever was behind these bandits might send someone to attack you again."

"But you're not making us leave right away, are you Teach?" Claude asked, making eyes like a hurt puppy.

Listen to him! We still have so much to explore in this place!

"A clean assassination takes a while to arrange. We should be safe for now."

If your enemy sends assailants of the same caliber, why, you and your little ones should be able to dispatch them without a problem!

Byleth massaged her temples, trying to break apart the beginnings of a headache. "We will stay here one more day as planned," she ground out. "Claude, tell the other students and then go back to the bandits' campsite to check for more clues. Otherwise, you have a free day. Get me if something happens – but I need some quiet right now."

Sothis, thankfully, took the hint.

Vocalist · Aug 7, 2022

Neither of them could sleep, so they huddled together by the oasis pool, a blanket their shield against the night air. After so long in a place where their only comfort was each other, they refused to be apart. Fingers constantly reaching out to brush familiar skin, and the bones under the skin, and to interlace when they met each other. They marveled at the wind, at the stars, at the water that pooled here so cool and so sweet – not the sour stuff that dripped from stones or hot and stale from metal bowls.

Khalid still remembered the names of the stars as his mother and father had taught him. With a magician's hand, he traced constellations and told her their stories – she didn't know how much he was making up on the spot, but it was all fine. She loved that he could lie, lie that he could protect her, that he could ensure they survived another day, that they would be free someday – lie until it became the truth.

"And that line, crowned by all those bright stars, is Mitra's torch. They were the very first stars to be put in the sky, so that the people could have light even at night. Of course, after he had that idea, every yazata wanted their own constellation in the sky, and it became filled up. In Fódlan they call it Saint Cichol's spear. His spear, ah—"

"The Spear of Assal."

"Right. It has these little wings on each side of the tip, see the stars make two triangles, one-two-three one-two-three. He was the father of the land, who taught men of Fódlan how to sow and harvest."

"Who was it who did that in Almyra?"

"Anahita of the Waters. Those stars are her river, which stretches from heaven to earth and back again…"

They whispered, so as not to wake their rescuers – escorts? Captors? Who knew? Who knew if they were who they said they were, if they were really taking them back home. Hilda and Khalid had long since stopped trusting the future. They could be going to the most horrible dungeon yet.

Even so, these people were pretending to be nice to them and giving them a chance to see the stars, which made it possible to dream that things would be okay.

"Hilda…Hilda…you lazybones, wake up!" Hilda felt hands infiltrate her sleeping nest, threatening to grab away her blankets. She held on with stubborn strength and growled.

Behind her, a different blanket was stolen away. Her eyes shot open at exposure to the cold morning air, and she let out a cry of betrayal. "Claude!" If it had been anyone else, she might have bit them for this attack – but, of course, no one else would have dared. She hugged her remaining blankets to her. "You'll need to rip these apart if you want to take them away from me!"

"Will you still want them after I empty a waterskin on your head?" asked Claude, who did indeed seem ready to do what he was threatening to. Hilda threw the rest of her bedding at his stupid face.

Prideful in defeat, she kept her back to him as she stalked over to her bag and got out a set of clothes for the day. "This is our free day, Claude. It doesn't matter what time we get up." This was the sort of thing she expected from Ferdinand of the Black Eagles – she heard him crowing like a rooster at the door of her neighbor Edelgard – but not Claude.

"You're not wrong, but, first of all, it's an hour after classes normally start, so I figured you'd gotten enough. Secondly," a quick scan to make sure the room was clear, "I have news you need to hear."

Hilda did her own check, out of habit. This long, low building might have been a hospital or a brothel or absolutely anything, but for now the Golden Deer were using it as an improvised dormitory. Bedrolls and packs spotted the floor in rows, little six-pace units of personal space, neat or messy as the owner was inclined. Hilda's was the messiest right now, but that could be blamed on her and Claude's little fight with the bedding. And, as usual, she was the last to get up, so she and Claude were alone.

"I went digging through the campsite of the previous tenants and found…a sum of money," Claude explained. Still wary of possible eavesdroppers, the exasperating paranoiac. "Teach has concluded that they must have been hired as part of a plot to assassinate one or more of the students at Garreg Mach."

"Oh no," Hilda drawled. "Assassins? I sure hope whoever hired that gang doesn't send any more assassins against you or me or the other Golden Deer." She rolled her eyes so hard they nearly popped out of their sockets. "You woke me up for this?" Done listening to his 'news', she grabbed the waterskin Claude had threatened her with earlier and filled a bowl to wash her face.

"I didn't want the news to surprise you, okay?" She could hear the pout in his voice. "Give you a chance to compose yourself." He meant that she should at least try to look a little concerned in front of the other students, as if that weren't a bag of her own money Claude had just handed over to their professor.

She'd kind of hoped she would get to recover it, actually. Being Duchess Goneril gave her control over a significant fortune, but she and Claude had a lot of projects to fund. Too-competent-to-replace stewards giving her a hard time over poorly-documented "charitable donations" were the bane of her life right now.

"I'm sure our professor can keep us safe from hypothetical harm," she said, pulling on her student uniform. Claude looked away politely, not that she cared. He was the one person in the world she felt comfortable showing her uncovered body. She could be sure he was only averting his gaze out of politeness, rather than disgust.

"I actually thought Teach was pretty impressive. I didn't give her any hints, you realize? She just stared into space for half a minute and announced, 'They were being paid to attack you.'" Claude's impression of Professor Byleth was grim, but high-pitched. It was a hilarious combination. "She's smart. In a very worldly way. She can fight, she can command, she can keep her cool amazingly well—"

"You know people aren't supposed to be that cool all the time? She has eyes like a dead fish." Hilda considered it her job to dump cold water on the conversation when Claude got too excited about one of his little ideas. "I agree that we're going to learn a lot from her…"

"I have in mind more than that." She had not finished dressing, but Claude turned halfway to her – revealing a single gleaming eye and his I've-just-had-a-brilliant-idea grin. "She's spent her whole life as a mercenary. Poaching her from the Church shouldn't be that hard."

"Spend some more time evaluating her first. Actually, Claude, didn't you say this year was our chance to just be kids again? You're running too many projects." Her white cravat was the last part of the outfit to go on, smooth and tight to make sure not a single scar was visible. Finally, she grabbed a comb and began straightening her short-chopped white hair.

Claude turned back around fully. "Isn't it a little difficult to get neat hair if you don't use a mirror?"

"I've been doing it successfully for years."

"Uh, not really. Trust me, I've been able to see the results. Unlike you."

Hilda fought the temptation to throw her comb at him. "You know I can't stand mirrors. I'll never be pretty, so why bother?"

"I don't think there's anything wrong with the way you look," he said, like an excellent liar.

This time she did throw the comb at him. "Your teasing is relentless this morning. Go bother someone else."

Claude made one last push: "Are you sure you don't want to explore the ruins with me? Ignatz says he found a mosaic somewhere. We're going to dust it off and take a look at the design."

"Vacation day. I get to do what I want, which is napping in the sun and sewing a cute felt hedgehog, not working up a sweat in dusty ruins. Enjoy your archaeology."

Byleth had convinced Sothis to adopt a less haphazard approach to their search today. They would be investigating only the most important and unique sites in Zanado. Surely those would evoke more in Sothis than a shattered pot or common dwelling.

The first step: looking up. The buildings of Zanado were largely one-story rectangles, with flat roofs. But a few structures poked above the dull skyline: stepped pyramids, terraces built into the canyon walls (where the inhabitants had grown their food, claimed Sothis), and a single blocky spire. This spire was not quite the same yellow-brown color as everything else, and for that reason Byleth chose to go see it first.

She picked her way through the streets. Sothis was out, darting here and there to look at things, but always following her like a kite on a string. The gremlin stayed quiet, and with the fresh morning air Byleth's headache began to subside. It was not hard to find her way to the spire: Zanado's streets were straight and wide as the greatest thoroughfares of the Imperial Capital. Even when a building had collapsed, spilling rubble into the street, there was always room to skirt it and keep going.

Before long she reached the broad empty plaza that surrounded the spire – further evidence that it had been something important. A temple, perhaps? A palace? But it seemed a little too small for that – not a lot of room to house people.

Well, it has a few underground levels too, Sothis said, before freezing. How did I know that? Get closer! Your idea is working! No, wait. Stop!

Byleth stopped. Ahead of them, the mysterious structure waited, rising higher and narrower in blocky stages until the very top was just a needle pointed at the sun.

This plaza is circular, but the spire is not in the center. There is a reason for that. It has something to do with the design in the paving stones. Please, Byleth.

Those stones were covered with years and centuries of fine yellow grit. Sothis could not touch them, so Byleth knelt, brushing the dust away until it was worked into her nails. Then she took her waterskin and poured a libation onto the ground of this vanished civilization. The water splashed the parched stones, instantly darkening them, and made clear what she had uncovered: An eight-pointed star, black against a white background.

The stars, Sothis said wistfully. This plaza is a map of the night sky in winter, and the spire takes the position of my…the Blue Sea Star, I believe you call it. The architect was so proud of her cleverness when she told me. Why can't I remember her name?

"It seems that you are remembering plenty already," Byleth said, moving forward. The spire awaited. The steps leading up to it were brown sandstone, but the structure itself was something else: waxy and cool to the touch, perhaps stone or perhaps metal. Underneath the omnipresent dust, it was colored a deep green. The portal beckoned, its doors long since vanished.

Inside, the light was so much less. Byleth looked up, seeing no sign of a window. "How did they get light in this place?" she muttered, waiting for her eyes to adjust. With only the illumination from the entrance, she shuffled forward. Indecipherable green shapes rose up from the floor – plinths and pillars and tables, many with dark fragments of metal and glass embedded in them. Debris poked into her feet: pieces of tarnished, patina-coated metal, smashed apart so it was impossible to tell what clever shapes they had once been part of; shards of glass, sharpness ground away by the dusty wind. Byleth could see the pattern on the floor, where the wind blew in a new layer of dirt every year.

Small and quiet, Sothis hung in the air. When she wasn't moving, her limp ribbons stretched all the way to the ground. What happened here? It shouldn't be like this.

"It seems like someone came in at some point and smashed a lot of stuff." Concerned, Byleth kept her eyes on Sothis. Was this melancholy? An emotion she had never seen from the little gremlin.

I don't remember that happening. Her face changed; a new emotion arose. The ribbons began to flutter again, violently. Who would do that? Who came in here and destroyed my things? This was – this was my – this was a special place! I – I did things here! Made things here! I was trying to help people! Sothis jabbed a finger at one of the raised plinths of stone, a cylinder crowned by a ring of broken glass. I always had something growing in that tube! Did they just kill it?

Emotion this strong was pretty much foreign to Byleth, and she'd always let her dad deal with the diplomacy. But now, faced with a friend literally no one else could help, she had to do something. Goddess help her, though, she had no idea what.

There should be running water here! There should be gardens, not this denuded dustbowl! There should be human emissaries! There should be people living here! Where did they all go? What happened to my home? Sothis was screaming, far, far too loud. The sound filled up her head, pressing out thought. Byleth felt her headache return with a vengeance. Her skin felt hot, feverish. Her legs trembled.

"…I know you said this blue figure was a dragonfly, but look at its tail. I think it might be a four-winged bird. Have you ever heard of a creature like that?" Ignatz chattered, tracing his fingers over the ancient mosaic.

Claude drew in a sharp breath, interrupting him. "Do you hear something? It sounded like someone was…screaming?"

Ignatz gave him a puzzled look. In the corner, where she was maintaining a simple spell to give them light, a bored Maegelle shook her head.

"Um. All right." Unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong, he poked his head outside. "Marianne?" he called. "Are you all right out here?"

"I am, thank you," his blue-haired classmate replied. "I thought I heard something like the cry of animal in pain. I would like to help, but I can't figure out where it came from…"

Hilda knelt on the ground, shaking. What the hell? She'd gotten up to stretch, a break from sewing. She'd been musing about getting a snack. Then…she'd felt her skin grow hot, a stabbing pain in her head. Distantly, a voice screamed in incandescent rage...

"Sothis. Sothis!" So rare for her to raise her voice. But Sothis stopped, for the moment. She glared at Byleth as if demanding an explanation. Eyes burning, hands clawed. The hair trailing behind her seemed, in flashes, to be something more like green fire. Byleth struggled to find her words. But if she kept talking, it would keep Sothis from doing – she didn't know what Sothis could do, but she was scared of it. "You're just angry, right? You found a place that was important to you once, but all the people and things you cared about there are gone and you don't know what happened to them."

That's correct. And it is frustrating!

Byleth nodded. "You still don't remember what happened here."

Someone must have deliberately destroyed this place. But I have no idea who! I dearly want to take vengeance, to find the rest of my people. But they're all vanished! Clues swallowed up in this damnable dust!

"Sothis, I don't know how long ago this place was abandoned. But I think it's been long enough that you're not going to find any of the people you knew. Or the enemies who drove them away."

Byleth could see the moment her rage broke. The glow faded out of her eyes and her very form seemed to diminish. If you are correct, and all my kin are long since deceased…what am I, then? How did I come to be living in a future era, bound to you?

Byleth could only shrug. "Sothis, you told me that I'm abnormally good at not worrying about the past and future. So maybe this advice won't work for you. You seem a little high-strung, to be honest. But in my life, the most important day has always been today. The most important year is this year, and the most important job is the current job. And since you awakened a month ago, I've appreciated having you around. I have no idea where you come from, but that honestly doesn't bother me at all. You give me advice on talking to people and planning lessons and your time powers have saved me twice now."

Her green eyebrows knit, in a mixture of tenderness and exasperation. Oh, Byleth. You've never given a speech in your life, have you?

"You also criticize me constantly, which can be annoying," she continued. "The point is that, if you want to keep on looking for answers about your past, I'm willing to help you. But I think we've been doing pretty well together. So…if you feel like you have nothing, that's not true."

The words were awkward and stiff. But they were enough to draw out a weak smile. Thank you. I will have to think on my next goal, but…oh, I think I have tired myself out. Sothis might have said something else. But the extremely close roar of a Demonic Beast drowned her out.

What the--! Oh, that resonance. I see. Sothis muttered a few arcane formulae to herself as Byleth drew her sword and peered out the door. I, ah, believe I called that thing here. Accidentally. It is probably in a lot of pain right now. Not enough to disable it, but certainly enough to enrage it. Very careless of me, I admit. I believe I understand enough now to avoid doing that ever again.

Byleth yanked her head back inside. "Can you rewind time so you didn't do it?" she said, in a tone that, from anyone else, would bespeak mild concern.

The ground was beginning to shake in time with the creature's steps.

Well, the thing about quantum vibrations is that, when they originate from an atemporal source—

"Sothis. I do not want to fight this thing by myself."

I can't undo it! I'm sorry!

Breathing deeply and deliberately, Hilda dabbed her face with cool water and tried to think about what had just happened. Those no-eyed butchers had warned her about potential problems with her body, right? "Unpredictable entropic interactions" or something like that. Well, 'warned' was putting it generously – more like they'd smugly congratulated themselves, in front of her, for sharply reducing her life expectancy. She'd never experienced an attack like this before, but it was most likely the beginning of her body's inevitable breakdown.

She curled her lip in disgust. Fuckers had said she'd live to thirty at least. Even their alleged successes were shoddy.

Her recovery was interrupted by a bone-shivering screech. Nerves twanging like violin strings, Hilda tried to pinpoint the source of the sound. Could it be a wild animal?

Another cry came, louder. Ugh. Wild, yes. Animal, not quite. Somehow a Demonic Beast had wandered near their campground, and something was enraging it. It occurred to Hilda that the target of its wrath was most likely one of her classmates. Furthermore, she was the only one who had stayed at their campsite instead of going out to explore.

Their campsite. Where the weapons were.

Hilda swore loudly, leaping back inside. In the space of a breath, she grabbed Freikugel, her family's Relic. She didn't even take time to marvel at how creepy the damn thing was as it shuddered awake – its Crest Stone rolling about like a questing eye and its spines glowing burnt-orange in response to the Crest of Goneril in her blood. She hated Freikugel, hated that she had to wield it and not Father or Holst, and she imagined sometimes that it hated her too (because, come on, it was clearly alive somehow). But when overwhelming force was needed, there was no better option than its apocalyptic flame.

Who are we killing today, Hilda? she imagined it saying.

Just a beast. Calm down.

There was no room for further conversation. As she darted outside, listening for a third cry so she could figure out where the hell to go, she felt a shadow from above. Two birds, great demon-blooded vulture things, were soaring past. They gave their own cries, calling out to distant brethren that a feast was imminent. They may have been demons, but there was still enough of nature in them that they followed a vulture's instincts. Wherever blood was spilt, they arrived to scavenge.

The monsters' giant wings carried them at incredible speed. Gritting her teeth, Hilda reached for the forbidden power in her blood. A sigil began to form in the air before her – Goneril's Wheel and something else – but she didn't bother to let it complete before dashing through. It scattered into motes of light, far behind her already. Hilda's blood burned, invigorating, crushing. Even with both her Crests active, she was only a little faster. But she was able to pound through the streets of Zanado without running out of breath. When a building loomed in her path, she was able to leap forward, crack a handhold in the stone with her fingers, and pull herself up and over. Then she was able to keep running, charting a new path on the city's rooftops.

Who needed to breathe? The fire within was enough. It drove her, sustained her – rebuilt her, even as the delicate mechanisms of her body were pulverized by the power flowing through them. Joints cracked, membranes burst, blood evaporated; all replaced before it could stop her. That was the power of the Wheel of Fortune, Goneril's Crest: endless circular renewal.

Time is endless. Humans are not.

Shut up, Freikugel. But it was correct. Already the pain was beginning to build up, a full-body burn that she could only ignore by guzzling more power. Beneath her skin, veins were glowing the same burnt-orange as her axe. She knew she could only keep doing this up to a certain point.

She wouldn't reach that point today.

Ahead of her a broken plaza stretched empty of buildings, save for an important-looking central spire. The Demonic Beast loomed before it – a frightful thing, lizard-like and covered in armored scales. It was taller than a house but squat in proportions, like a turtle. Its stubby tail quivered as it butted its head up against the too-small entrance and roared. Venomous purple slime dripped from its fangs. Above, the two great birds wheeled and waited. Hilda could hear more of them calling in the distance – and perhaps the howl of a giant wolf, too. Was every monster in the Oghma Mountains converging on this location? She could not take them all. The only option was to finish this one quickly, and then run.

Part of her wondered what the point was, if she was dying anyway. But on the day she became Duchess Hilda had made a promise to a boy who lied about his name. He lied as a way of life, but she believed him when he told her his true goals, she believed him when he promised her revenge, and she believed in his capabilities. She'd hoard the years of her life, however many remained to her, to be spent fighting for him. Hilda took a breath she didn't need, just to scream out her rage and pain. The Beast turned, reacting to a new threat. It saw a burning comet, jumping from a roof, soaring overhead.

Bone spines gleamed hungrily before punching through the Beast's armored back. It roared, trying to shake off the vicious thorn, but Hilda had a firm hold of Freikugel and refused to let go. She'd been aiming for the neck, actually – thinner armor there – but this was fine. She could reach the neck from here anyway.

Wedging her feet into gaps between the scales, Hilda pried her axe free and brought it down again. Blood spurted out, a stream in proportion to the Beast's size. It flecked her grin red. "Pierce through, Freikugel!" she exhorted. Fed by her flaring power, the axe came down like an executioner's sword. The spokes broke what armor remained, then the main blade cut the rest. Behind the Beast's head was now a huge slice of open meat.

It pitched forward, shaking its head in agony. This movement dislodged Hilda where others had failed. She yelped, trying to absorb the fall and only partially succeeding. Rolling back to her feet and ignoring the scrapes, she dared not take her eyes off the enemy. Already, it was growling, rising upright, starting to rear back its head in a motion that she knew presaged its poison breath.

That was the trouble with Demonic Beasts. In addition to their giant size and unnatural viciousness, they would keep fighting through any injury until you hacked them to pieces.

Hilda's mind flicked through her options. With its attention focused squarely on her, there was no way to run away or distract it, was there? Fine then. While its lifeblood poured out a gaping wound and it gathered up the strength for its greatest attack, she charged forward. Freikugel swept across the bottom of its throat, tearing through delicate scales – still thick as plate armor – releasing a mix of blood and dark venom. The Beast screamed and slammed its head down, vomiting a spray of violet fluid that evaporated quickly to mist. Hilda had no way to avoid being soaked. Despite herself, she wailed. It burned all over her skin and attacked her eyes with vicious, blinding pain. She struck out blindly and hit nothing.

The Beast screamed anyway. Hilda heard someone calling her name.

"Get clear, Hilda! To your right! The others will show up soon!" It was the professor. Hilda stumbled away, before cracking a teary eye to see what was going on.

Armed with only a steel sword, Byleth Eisner darted in to slash at the Beast's wounds, before dodging back from the bite of its enormous teeth. Hilda noted with some satisfaction that its attacks were slower and weaker. She and Freikugel had done some good.

"Hilda! Teach!" came Claude's voice. "There are other monsters coming! We have to get out of here, now!" Hilda tried to run in his direction. Her vision still swam and burned. Even worse, the aftereffects of her earlier exertion were beginning to make themselves known. Her lungs felt like they were melting. It was a relief when Claude stopped his horse and, seeing her condition, helped her mount behind him.

The professor was running their way too – her own surcoat now dripping the Beast's poison. It followed, still stubbornly alive.

"Hey!" Claude called out to blurry figures she assumed must be their classmates. "Can any of you help get this thing off our tail?" His horse's hooves pounded to the edge of the plaza, past Maegelle and Marianne, grimly preparing their spells. As soon as they'd reached the back lines, he turned around to look at her. "Hilda. Hey, eyes open. How hard did you push yourself?"

"As hard as I could," she huffed. It still hurt to breathe, to speak. Her skin still burned from the venom. She wondered if Marianne could spare a healing spell.

"Use this, okay?" He handed her a bottle of antitoxin. Bless him and his paranoia – he never went anywhere without one, though, as he loved to point out, there were plenty of common poisons it couldn't help with. Hilda splashed the stuff on her face, neck and arms before taking several gulps for good measure. She breathed a sigh of relief as the enchanted serum did its work, cooling the pain internal and external. Her vision cleared enough that she could see Claude wrinkling his nose at the amount she was using of his expensive potion. But as soon as he saw her recovering, he reached for his bow and turned back to the fight.

The Demonic Beast was still coming their way. It bore the marks of lightning and ice; a truly disgusting amount of blood painted the plaza behind it; and yet it was still coming. Claude's arrow sank into its hissing, drooling mouth. It kept coming.

"This thing isn't that fast," someone said frantically. Leonie. Hilda could see empty hands clenching anxiously and realized she had rushed here without a weapon. "If we're all on horseback, we can outrun it. It's got to bleed to death eventually, right?"

"Teach isn't on horseback," Claude said, loosing another arrow. "If she can make it to us ahead of the Beast…" She wouldn't, Hilda could see that. They were just about keeping pace with each other. "Fucking Mitra – I mean Cichol. If any of us could actually fight from a moving horse, this would be the time to do hit and run attacks. But all we can do is hit or run." One more of Marianne's blizzard spells climbed up the Beast's foreleg, an attempt to slow it. Claude clenched his teeth. "Who here has the fastest horse? Lorenz. But we couldn't find him. So it's me. I'll stay. Hilda, mount up with Mae. I need you all ready to move." Her tired body obeyed, slipping off the horse, even as she argued:

"Claude, that's a stupid risk. I have Freikugel. I can still fight—"

"You have burst blood vessels in both eyes, Hilda! You're not using your Crest any more today!"

She lingered on the ground, shaking. Feeling useless.

How is it that you bear such power, and yet cannot end a simple beast?

Claude spoke to her, softly. "Hey. This is a fight we weren't prepared for. We held it off as best we could, but there's no shame in leaving to—"

From another entrance to the plaza, a few streets over, they all heard it: the unmistakable battle cry of a man who insisted on shouting his own name so that even unintelligent monsters might know whom they faced.

"In the name of House Gloucester! Begone from my sight, foul creature!" Hefting a lance like he was riding at tourney, Lorenz emerged into the field. Byleth and Beast alike turned to stare at him – the former, thankfully, had the presence of mind to redouble her pace while the Demonic Beast was distracted.

It decided to deal with this new threat in its customary manner: by rearing up and gurgling a fountain of poison. Lorenz's gleaming charger continued, undaunted. The flat ground of the plaza was as perfect as any training field, and his classmates all watched as he executed a textbook cavalry pass, ripping through the Beast's exposed throat with his lance. Blood and venom poured out in a vile tide that he easily outpaced. Wailing through its torn throat, the Demonic Beast collapsed, never to finish its final attack.

The Golden Deer were stunned still. In the distance, they could hear Lorenz crowing, as well as the giant wolves and the gleefully descending vultures, reminding them that this place was still not safe. But no one could move quite yet.

Numbly, Hilda accepted Claude's help back onto his horse. "He took advantage of another wound I already made in the same place," she told him. Claude nodded soothingly.

Meanwhile, Lorenz was graciously helping their professor onto his own mount. "Cethleann's tits," Leonie quietly swore. "He's going to be insufferable."

Vocalist · Aug 9, 2022

The spring sun bathed the Golden Deer in its honey-warm glow as they trooped into the training yard. Though it was normally free at this time, Byleth saw Professor Balthus sparring with what looked like an unusually frustrated Caspar von Bergliez (at this point, she could just about remember all the students' names, and Sothis would prompt her if she forgot).

I should stop giving you the help, though. You have been teaching here for a month now. If you forget a student's name, you deserve to bear the consequences!

Her students all paired off to work on their usual subjects (Claude and Ignatz on archery, Leonie and Lorenz on lances, et cetera). None of them needed help to do their warmup drills, and Byleth was able to simply watch, chatting idly with Sothis about this and that.

A shout took her attention – not from one of her own students, though. "I don't get it! I just don't get it!" Caspar yelled.

"Okay, buddy, I think it's time we took a break. Get some water, yeah?" Giving his student an encouraging pat on the back, Balthus made his way over to the water barrels, where Byleth was standing.

Caspar was grumbling something about stupid tall people and Linhardt, but he perked up immediately once he saw Byleth. "Oh, hey Professor! Claude had the wildest story the other day. Is it true that Hilda saved your life from an entire pack of Demonic Beasts?"

Now it was Balthus's turn to look grumpy. "You'd better tell me the kid was exaggerating."

"It's a little complicated," Byleth replied. "There was one Demonic Beast. And a pack of giant wolves. And some giant birds." Two pairs of eyebrows raised before she clarified: "We only fought the big one and ran away from the rest. Everyone got involved, although Hilda had to hold it off on her own for a while. And, yeah, I would have been in pretty big trouble without her."

"Aw, when Claude told it, it was way more exciting," Caspar whined. "How do you make life-or-death battles sound like you were shopping for vegetables?"

Byleth shrugged.

Ah, Caspar. You simply need to learn to read her micro-expressions.

Balthus still had a dark expression. "That's worse than I thought. I've never heard of a monster attack that bad in the Oghma Mountains before."

Byleth shrugged at that, too. "I think I triggered some sort of alarm while I was exploring. There was this screaming sound, and then all the monsters started coming for my location. A bunch of the students heard it too." That was the theory Claude had floated after gathering everyone's stories, and Byleth saw no point in contradicting him. Sothis was still reluctant to reveal herself (and also, embarrassed at putting everyone in danger).

Caspar, who was still stuck on his own vision of events, said, "I can't believe you guys got to fight bandits and monsters on your first mission. All we got to do was practice bouts with the knights. And I'm not complaining – your father is seriously cool, Professor – okay, maybe I am complaining a little bit…"

"If it helps," Byleth said to Caspar, "teacher gossip has it that the Black Eagles will be getting the bandit mission this moon. And," she said to Balthus, "Seteth had a pretty similar reaction to you. He said he'd make sure we get a non-combat mission." This managed to satisfy Caspar, who soon zoomed off to attend a lecture. Balthus, however, still looked pensive. When he volunteered to help her students with practice, she accepted. Byleth was several minutes into a sword drill with Claude, who constantly needed his grip corrected (he was clearly more used to an axe) when the sound of shouting brought practice to a screeching halt.

"Dammit, Hilda! I never would have told you those stories about Holst if I knew it would make you run off trying to be just like him!"

"I know I'll never be like Holst! But you can't stop me from trying, Balthus!"

Belatedly, Byleth realized that their argument had been escalating for some time. She'd just been too good at tuning it out.

I have been listening, but I am afraid I have no idea who 'Holst' is. So I cannot explain much.

Balthus was a big man, deep-voiced, broad-chested. He had muscles that were exceptional even to the eyes of Byleth, who had spent her life around mercenaries who lived by the strength of their sword arm. Without his normal joviality, his sheer size was enough to activate threat alarms in the human brain. Like running into a bear in the forest that suddenly decided to rear up at you.

When she was angry, Hilda was almost as scary. Her sweaty shirt clung to her own physique, and her short-cropped hair gave her a dangerous air. She looked at the towering weapons instructor without any awe, only a burning stubbornness that said she would challenge gods and monsters if they stood in her way.

Claude was the first to step in: "Whoa there," he said, "what's the—"

"This is your fault!" Hilda screamed at him – not limiting her anger to just one target. "Keep your mouth shut next time!"

"Hilda." Byleth made her voice as hard as iron. "That's enough."

With a frustrated cry, Hilda turned away from her classmates and threw her wooden training axe at the wall. While the splinters fell to the dirt, she stormed out.

"…Okay." Balthus took a deep breath. "Okay. Yeah, I'm gonna go too." He left – hopefully not to the same place as Hilda.

For a few moments, the yard was silent. Then came Raphael's uncertain voice: "Uh, Professor? Should we go back to training?"

"…If you wish," she decided. "But you're all excused until afternoon classes. I'll see you then."

Byleth's first instinct was to look for Hilda, but Sothis had a compelling counterargument: Balthus seemed much more in control of himself. If you get an explanation from him first, then you will be better equipped to calm your student.

So she asked the monastery's denizens if they'd seen a bare-chested giant, and followed their directions to the bridge. Most bridges crossed rivers, but this one crossed a great chasm in Garreg Mach's rocky grounds, connecting the main complex and the cathedral. Down below, rock walls descended into shadow and mist. The tops of a few conifers were all that emerged from the hidden bottom. Perhaps there was a river down there?

One could stand on the bridge's battlements and gaze down forever into the empty mist. That was what she found Balthus doing. He grunted in acknowledgement as she stepped up beside him.

After watching the mist together for an uncountable length of time, he spoke up. "Sorry about that. Shoulda had that conversation another time. Not in the middle of your class."

Byleth accepted the apology with a simple nod. "What were you arguing about?"

A sigh came out of him, roughly, as if it had been dragged up by a fishhook. "I guess…since you're her teacher, you should know. We already shouted it to half the monastery, anyway."

"I still don't know what's going on. Who's Holst?"

Balthus looks up, to the sky; the gorge suddenly not empty enough for him. "Holst Marius Goneril was Hilda's older brother. He was also my best friend. We graduated from the Academy together: Golden Deer, class of '72. He was…more than a great fighter, he was a great person. Always trying to be better than he was yesterday. Always treated everyone with respect." The words were becoming harder and harder for him to say. "And he loved his little sister. He used to say that he had to get stronger to be able to pick her up when she got big…" Balthus rubbed at his eyes. "Saints, I'm just getting more emotional here."

And yet, Hilda is the head of her House now, Sothis remarked sadly. I think I suspect what's going on here.

In the silence, Balthus took a deep breath and resumed talking. "It was a few years ago when…all the Gonerils were at the Locket. The Almyran civil war was in full swing, and a big warband hadn't attacked in a while, so…it was thought to be safe. The old Duke wanted to show his children the ropes, you know. And while they were there…a raiding party came. Snuck in under cover of darkness. Killed off their guards and made the whole family vanish. Everyone thought they'd be held for ransom, but…" His hands were clenching the balustrade as if trying to crumble the stone with his bare hands. "…there were never any demands. No one knew what happened to them.

"Not until Judith von Daphnel came to me and said she had a lead, and needed some trustworthy help to follow up on it. Past Fódlan's Throat, into the Sandhills, all the way to the Valley of the Moon. There was a fort there, nearly abandoned. That's where we found the kids." Balthus gazed out into space. Byleth waited for him to continue, but he seemed to be finished.

"You found Holst and Hilda?"

"What? No. Claude and Hilda." He let out a terrible sigh. "Holst died trying to escape, or so I heard. I'd say it was good he went out fighting, instead of…what happened to the others…but it still hurts like hell. Where was I even going with this? Right, our fight. Those two kids, they don't have any family left, you know? Sure, Claude's grandfather is still alive, but he treats his grandson with about as much affection as his fuckin' chess set. So Claude and Hilda, they need someone to look after them. Someone they can trust to be on their side, who isn't trying to use them in any fucked-up schemes. And I, you know, the disinherited brawler with a gambling problem," he chuckled darkly, "happen to be their best option."

Byleth took some time to process his story. It answered a few questions: why Claude and Hilda seemed so close; why Balthus had wanted her teaching position so much; why Hilda was a Duchess with a Hero's Relic at such a young age. "…So. Did your argument start when you tried to tell Hilda not to take on a Demonic Beast alone?"

"Pretty much," he grumbled. "Just because her brother did it once…I mean, I was right there, ready to step in if things got dicey, and even I think in hindsight it was kind of stupid. We made it, but that might only be because the Goddess decided to have mercy on our dumb asses. I don't know. Sometimes I believe we really were that awesome."

"You're more right than you know," Byleth said. "Hilda came close to dying out there."

It was a rare warrior who didn't rely on their eyes. Blinded, but still trying to fight, Hilda stepped right in the path of the Beast. It knocked her down and pinned her under its enormous foot, an attack even it seemed surprised to land.

Still, it knew how to take advantage. Though Hilda struggled, no amount of Crest-granted strength could free her from that weight, channeled through a leg like a tree trunk. The dripping crocodilian maw reached down and ripped and tore.

When she heard Claude's screams, Byleth knew the other students had arrived.

The memories were terribly sad. But Byleth knew something new about herself now. With perfect sincerity, she told Balthus: "I didn't let her, though. I'm not going to let any of my students die."

The other inspected her like a man who had been scammed before. "You really mean that, huh? I'll count on you, then. Call on me and I'll come running, but the Deer will be in your hands most of the time. Don't make me regret this."

Two weeks later, Byleth began her morning class without preamble: "I have our mission for the Garland Moon. Margrave Edmund of the Alliance, one of the five council members, has not been tithing to the Church. We will travel to his castle on the northern coast and try to convince him to resume. This is intended to be a diplomatic mission only, no combat. Any questions?"

Most of the students seemed intrigued by the chance to travel, or the prospect of an easy mission. But Hilda squashed her face against her desk and groaned like Byleth had just told them to go mining in Ailell. Without looking up, she raised her hand.

"Yes, Hilda?" She'd been glum ever since the fight with Balthus – and pushing herself harder in practice. They had forgiven each other, near as Byleth could tell, but her instincts told her something was still not quite right.

"I want to be excused," her student mumbled.

"Why?"

Claude looked ready to jump in with a clever excuse, but Hilda lifted up her head to say, "I hate Edmund. On the list of people I hate, the number one spot is for the ones who murdered my family, and the number two spot is for Margrave Beric von Edmund." She took a deep breath. "If I go there, no diplomacy is going to be happening. In fact, someone's probably going to get murdered. So the best way I can contribute to this mission is by staying home." She turns to look at Claude: "If he tries to haggle, you can promise him something from my demesne. I'll sign the papers for you."

"That's generous," Claude said, "but I think I can convince my grandfather to pay up this time – if we need to. Don't underestimate my silver tongue."

The professor spoke again, decisively. "I will not force you to go with us, Hilda. However, I would ask that you accompany one of the other houses on their mission instead. From what I recall, the Black Eagles will be hunting bandits in Nuvelle. And the Blue Lions will be providing security for a noble wedding." An excuse, Manuela had told her, for the host to have more heirs and heiresses at his event, but no one was complaining about being told to attend a party. Except for Felix, said Manuela, who hated everything. "Since the goal this month was to give you all time to recover from Zanado, I'd prefer if you went with the Blue Lions."

Hilda smiled gratefully. "I'm not a big partier, but that sounds like just what I need. Thanks, professor."

Byleth pulled out a map, getting ready to plot their route. "I'll talk to Professor Manuela for you. Are there any other questions? Marianne?"

The blue-haired girl rarely raised her hand in class, but she had seemed unusually interested when the Margrave's name came up. "Um, since we're leaving Hilda behind, would it be okay if my adoptive sister came with us? She's been there before, and she's very good with woodcraft. And, um, I don't really want to travel so far without her…"

"Where does she live?" Byleth asked. "If it's not too far out of our way…"

"Oh, right here at the monastery!" chirped Marianne. "You know Hapi the stablehand, right? Um, she was the one who gave us our horses before we left for Zanado. She's my sister."

"Your sister is a stablehand?" Claude asked, raising his eyebrows. "There must be an interesting story there."

"It bespeaks someone being derelict in their responsibility," Lorenz sneered. "For a woman to be doing manual labor while ostensibly part of a noble family is a situation I never thought to find outside a satirical play."

Marianne blushed. "She—she's doing fine! It's just that we didn't have enough money for the both of us to attend the Academy, and Hapi said she didn't really care, so—so I could…"

"I don't see how she can be 'fine' if your parents are not taking proper care of her," Lorenz interrupted.

"My parents are dead, Lorenz!" she burst out. Face red, Marianne looked down at her desk, embarrassed and angry in equal measure. "And we don't. Have. The money."

Lorenz's expression was simply extraordinary, as if he had stepped into a hot bath only to be bitten by a snapping turtle. Silence ruled.

"Hapi can come if she wishes," Byleth said evenly. "More questions? Raphael?"

"May I give Marianne a hug?"

"Ask her, not me. Anyone else?" She tapped her map with a baton. "Okay, so who can tell me what route we take to enter the Alliance from Garreg Mach?"

The route, proposed by the students with only a few necessary corrections from their professor, was to descend via the southern road to the Empire, then swing east, crossing the Great Bridge of Myrddin into Leicester. Then up well-maintained roads, passing through several large towns and even skirting Derdriu on the way to Severn Castle, the fortress guarding the prosperous port of the same name that had made Margrave Edmund the richest man in the Alliance.

They would not be spending the night in Derdriu until the journey back. Byleth was very firm on this, to her students' disappointment. It was, to her mind, simply good sense: one did not party until after the job was done.

The journey was swift and pleasant. Leicester had a temperate (if somewhat rainy) climate; its winter snows were all completely melted, and its fields were bordered with tulips and early roses. The Garland Moon was said to be the month of flowers, which was why it was one of Byleth's favorites. Her gaze always lingered on the blossoms growing by the side of the road, and when they had the chance to stay at an inn with a few flowerbeds or honeysuckle vines, she took her time outside with the bees. She picked some, when the fancy took her. They would be braided into her horse's mane or passed along as a gift to one of the students. They never stayed in her hands for long; flowers were only lovely when fresh.

Marianne, she learned, favored delicate ground flowers, like hyacinth or lily of the valley. Maegelle loved bold, bright tulips. Lorenz was so obvious about his love of roses that she never had to ask, and Claude insisted on playing a guessing game instead of simply telling her ("No, not that one, Teach! It is pretty, though."). And Hapi simply preferred nature's edible bounty instead.

With the class, but not of it; Marianne's sister would disappear in the morning and reappear at noon as if she had been right behind them the whole time, calmly asking about lunch. This shocked the others, but not Marianne, who only sighed and took up a brush to knock the leaves out of her sister's hair. Often Hapi would return with saddlebags full of fresh-picked strawberries or crabapples, and once a load of lush apricots that had obviously come from someone's orchard – though Hapi denied stealing with a face as blank as anything Byleth ever wore.

"Maybe there are a few apricot trees growing wild around here. Who knows!" Claude declared, ending the argument. "They're delicious, anyway. Do you think you'll find more?"

Like Claude, Byleth was well-disposed to Hapi from the beginning. She came recommended by a student, she was exceptionally good with horses, and she gave Byleth food: all respectable qualities. Sothis quibbled with the last two, but she neither rode horses nor ate food, so she didn't understand their importance.

As they left Riegan territory, climbing into a more sparsely-populated region of scattered forests and villages, Marianne became more wistful. "This is the way to my home," Marianne said one day, stopping at a crossroads so old it was only marked by a moss-covered stone. "I know you said we do not have time to visit, Professor, but I still wish…well. Perhaps it is for the best. My family's manor is very humble. It might not be suitable for hosting members of council houses." She sighed, and with a shift of her weight set her horse to moving again.

She always refers to her family's lands or her family's manor, Sothis observed. Never her lands.

Byleth found that interesting, and repeated it. Marianne didn't blush – just sighed again. "I suppose I still have not gotten used to it. To being Baroness Maurice."

"I've never heard you use that title before," came Claude's aghast voice from behind them, as he spurred his horse to let him join the conversation. "I didn't even know you were a baroness. And don't get the wrong idea, Marianne. I'm not annoyed at you. Just myself."

"We are not by any measurement a notable house," Marianne told him. "So please forgive yourself, Claude. My mother was a merchant of common blood, in fact."

"Did your parents marry for love?" he asked, surprisingly taken by the idea.

"I think so," she replied. "Though it cannot be denied that my mother's business made more than my father's meager lands ever did. They both worked so hard for it; travelling a great deal. I think one of the reasons they adopted Hapi was for me to have a companion during their absences." Byleth had seldom heard Marianne say so many words together. She had a lovely voice, cool and misty like winter fog; delicate and unobtrusive like the flowers she loved.

The question hung between them, unasked, like a stormcloud with a belly-full of rain. It darkened the air, though the sun was high in a clear sky.

"They disappeared on a road like this," said Marianne. "Travellers do that sometimes – lose their way in the dark, or bleed out on a brigand's knife, or become part of a…a monster's feast. Sometimes it's simply impossible to know." Her voice is a breath of winter wind as she says, "I held out hope for one full year before making funeral arrangements."

Horses' hooves scraped against the dirt road.

"I think you owe me a question now, Claude."

"I don't disagree," the house leader replied.

"When my parents died, Margrave Edmund lent his aid. He is a distant relative, you see, and my father knew him from a young age. He attended the funeral, and purchased my mother's business from me for a generous price. That is what allowed me to attend the Officer's Academy. So I wish to know: what has he done to earn such enmity from Hilda?"

Claude's usual smile was completely gone. "When was the last time you met?"

"About two years ago."

"Mm," he said, not giving any indication at all why he asked. "So, it's worth telling you at this point that I also despise him; I'm just far better at swallowing my emotions than Hilda. I am going to politely refuse to go into the details. Suffice it to say that his true face is far from the one he wears in public. If he was polite and understanding to you after the death or your parents, then I would say that he simply didn't see you as a potential victim." Claude pauses for a moment, before breaking into jarring laughter. "Whoah! I'd better stop there. Everything I just said was said in confidence, do you understand? The Margrave and I do not like each other, but we are political allies. I need his support at the council. I know that neither you nor Teach care much for politics, but…consider it a personal favor for me. Please," he said, his smile returned, less polished, more strained, "don't bring this up again. Not while we're still in his territory."

He kicked his horse, taking him farther ahead, until Marianne and Byleth were safely out of earshot of any dangerous words that might fall from his lips.

"Claude is scared of him," Byleth said.

"You may be right," said Marianne, "However, I still wish to wait and see before passing judgment."

Byleth, however, could feel herself passing judgment already. She wondered how Beric von Edmund had hurt Claude and Hilda. She wondered if she would need to stop it from happening again.

Vocalist · Aug 15, 2022

On the last day of their journey, the breeze began to blow with the scent of the sea, and they passed more and more laden carts, bound for market or export. Where the road split, those carts took the branch winding down to the city, while Byleth and the Golden Deer took the branch that climbed up to the castle above. They were welcomed there by an escort of knights and more pomp than Byleth had ever had directed at her in her life. She suspected it was mainly for Claude, though it was amusing to imagine Margrave Edmund giving such hospitality to all the merchants and mercenaries he ever met.

He is said to be the richest man in the Alliance, after all. He could afford it, snickered Sothis. Oh, look at this carpet. It's silk, Byleth!

Indeed. The carpet lining the entrance hall was masterfully woven, soft as a baby's skin, and extended the length of the entire hall. Byleth could see Ignatz staring at it, jaw open.

The rest focused on the man standing on the carpet. Of average height and build, he wore a dark green suit and waistcoat (probably in a fashionable cut, but she wouldn't know) with a few tasteful gold accents and buttons. The color complemented his teal hair and thin mustache. He carried no weapon. Overall, he looked like a merchant – the kind who had gotten rich enough to stay at home and pay others to do all the trading. Byleth had been hired by such types a dozen times.

Beric von Edmund smiled to see them. It was a businesslike smile. He might well have practiced it in the mirror that morning. The same for the handshake he gave Claude. "Young Riegan, it has been too long since your last visit. I hope you are well – and Lady Goneril, too. I notice she does not seem to be with you."

Claude chuckled, perfectly friendly. "No need to worry, Edmund. The Blue Lions requested her help with a mission this month, and after talking it over we agreed I could handle negotiations without her. She's on guard duty in Faerghus right now."

"Well, that kind of work certainly meshes better with her personality…Faerghus, you say? Would she happen to be attending the Gaspard wedding?"

Claude raised his eyebrows. "That's correct. You know of it?"

"I doubt the Kingdom will have a more notable event this year!" Edmund said. "Have you seen the guest list? At any rate, with dear Hilda there I am sure all the guests will be perfectly safe." He raised his voice to address the rest of them. "Allow me to welcome you to Castle Severn. Have the servants taken your luggage already? Please, take some time to refresh yourselves. Supper will be served in a few hours." The Golden Deer began to mill about like sheep released into pasture. As Byleth stood watching them, she saw Marianne approach their host with hesitant steps, Hapi her silent shadow. Edmund smiled blandly at them for a few moments, before recognition lit his eyes. "Ah…Marianne. So you ended up at the Academy after all. How are you and your sister finding life there?"

"The students and faculty are kind, sir," she said, curtseying. "I have few complaints."

"It's a huge place," Hapi added. "With so many people and animals living there, there's always work to do."

"We must catch up later," said Edmund, already seeming distracted. "Please make yourselves at home here." His eyes passed over Byleth, lingering for a moment – and then sliding away. Having dismissed the rest of them, he strode off.

Dinner at Castle Severn was, unsurprisingly, a luxurious experience. Swans baked in creamy sauce, asparagus rolled in thin slices of cured ham, plums stewed in rosewater. The common students did not hide their awe. Byleth filled her plate multiple times.

Though he praised the food eloquently, Byleth saw Claude eat sparingly, only a few bites at a time. She worried for him.

He's normally much more enthusiastic about food. Hmph. Well, you are eating enough for three people, so I am sure the Margrave will not notice. Do not stare at him so, Byleth! Wait for him to do something objectionable before you make him your enemy.

When they had finished with the desserts, servants cleared away the dishes and came back with tea, nuts, and a few sliced cheeses. The Margrave smiled down at them from his seat at the head of the table. "That was lovely. Now, I know the Archbishop has sent you here for a reason, but anyone who does not feel the need to attend some boring negotiations may retire. It is getting late."

Byleth spoke up, "Actually, I would like all my students to stay. This is a learning opportunity for you."

"Ah, I see. If you wish, Professor." Edmund rested his interlaced hands on the table. "Now. Does the Archbishop have something she wishes from me?"

"She wishes for you to resume your normal tithe," Byleth replied. "From what I'm told, you stopped without explanation five years ago."

"The same year you replaced Countess Daphnel on the council," Lorenz added. "It is well-known that your fortune has done nothing but grow since then. Why would you refuse to disperse any of it for the good of Fódlan, as dictated by virtue and tradition, when you were willing in your younger years?"

Unfazed, Edmund explained, "I have been using my resources for the good of Fódlan, young man. The roads, bridges, and watchtowers you saw on your way here are all my work, contributing to the safety and prosperity of all travelers. The port below this castle is the safest and cleanest in all of Fódlan. And surely you have heard of the soldiers I contribute to the defense of the Locket, working to prevent Almyran incursions such as brought the Gonerils to tragedy?"

"You will forgive me if I am not overly impressed that you maintain your own demesne and fulfill the basic obligations of a council member," Lorenz replied. "How can any of that truly be called charity?"

"Lorenz," Marianne broke in, "I do not wish this night to be one of accusations. My lord, if you explain what objections you have to the tithe, perhaps we can soothe them."

He nodded to her respectfully. "It is a question of what young Gloucester called, 'dispersing my wealth for the good of Fódlan.' Specifically, I do not believe anything I give to the Church will serve that purpose." Eyebrows were raised and brows furrowed around the table. To deny the benevolence of the Church was, well, a radical position. Byleth had seen it before, in her father, and was quite neutral on the Church herself, but all the students save for Claude and Hapi seemed some degree of scandalized. "It seems to me that the current leadership of the Church is far more interested in maintaining its own entrenched power and bloated bureaucracy. The Archbishop does not need my help to fill her coffers." With a tiny smirk, he said, "Remind me again, just how much does she have you paying her to live in her palace and run these little errands?"

The table burst into a hubbub. Lorenz and Maegelle started demanding more evidence for his claims, Ignatz was defensively listing all the benefits of the Officer's Academy, Leonie seemed to be trying to calculate sums in her head, and Hapi was suppressing giggles. The Margrave simply sat back and watched, smug.

Byleth stuck two fingers in her mouth and blew a piercing cavalier's whistle. The students quieted immediately.

"You have them well-trained," said Edmund. She couldn't tell if he was being mocking or not.

"So," Claude said, "this is a matter of principle for you." Alone among the Golden Deer, he seemed calm and unsurprised.

"It is," replied Edmund. "And since mere students, well-meaning as you may be, cannot promise any meaningful change on the Church's behalf, my objections will remain. Do not take this as an insult, but you will be disappointing the Archbishop this month."

"It's a matter of principle for the Archbishop as well," Claude said. "Having a prominent noble refusing to tithe undermines her authority. It posits an alternative order, an alternative morality, to the one determined by her." Edmund's smirk was only growing.

Stars, this is the most unorthodox form of flattery I've ever heard, but it seems to be working!

"Lady Rhea would concede a lot," he continued, "to put an end to such a threat."

"If what you say is true," oozed Edmund, "then she should send someone with the authority to negotiate those concessions. Perhaps that green-haired adjutant of hers, Seteth. Or one of her cardinals."

"I could urge for such a thing," said Claude. "But I would need some promises from you, Margrave. Some sign that all this won't be in vain, that you are willing to negotiate."

Their host suddenly chuckled, a deep and throaty sound. "What is your game here, young Riegan? Are you that eager to gain favor with the Archbishop? Or the other students of the Officer's Academy?"

Perhaps Claude had an answer, but before he could give it, Maegelle jumped in: "I fail to see how it is suspicious for our class leader to do his best to succeed at our class mission!" She snickered behind a napkin. "Besides, if you knew Claude at all, you would know how he hates to lose. He could not abide falling behind the Lions and the Eagles!" Byleth saw Claude's eyes flicker to her, crinkling in a hidden smile.

"Aw, Mae, you say that like it's some kind of flaw," he pretended to complain.

"Only when you drive the rest of us at your relentless pace!" she fired back.

Amused, the Margrave waited for the table's chuckles to die down before speaking again. "Very well. I suppose I, too, have something of a stake in the Golden Deer. It would not do for Leicester to appear weak before the other nations. You wish to challenge yourselves? You wish to prove that those acting on the Church's behalf can do some good in the world?"

"You have a challenge for us?" asked Raphael.

"I do. In the woods nearby, there lives a unique Demonic Beast, long spoken of in local legend. Supposedly, once a man, who was cursed to forever be tormented by his rage and pain – the details are not consistent, and not important. It has been more aggressive as of late, attacking travelers at its savage whim. If you can slay it, and bring its body to me – for I know scholars who would be very interested in it – I will send you back to Garreg Mach with a portion of the gold Rhea desires from me, and an invitation to further negotiations. Is that acceptable?"

"That's not nothing," Leonie said, "but it does sound like you're asking us to risk our lives in exchange for very little on your part."

The Margrave sighed. "I cannot offer more to the Archbishop without receiving anything from her. What if I offered, as a gift to your class – hm. I have a supply of alchemical elixirs of the highest quality. The sort that can bring a man back from the verge of death."

"We'll want those now," Leonie demanded. "If we're fighting a legendary beast, we will need them." Byleth caught her eye and gave her an approving nod.

The deal met with general approval, and the students soon retired. The next morning, Claude and the professor were eager to get moving. They discussed the likely places to find the Wandering Beast with Margrave Edmund, while the students double-checked weapons they had hoped not to need on this trip.

Hapi found Marianne with the horses. Not necessarily a bad sign, but she had dark circles under her eyes, and she leaned into Dorte's side like she was wishing the horse could hug her. So Hapi gave her a hug instead.

"Oh, Hapi. Good morning," she mumbled.

Hapi took up a place beside the horse, giving him a nice scratch between the ears. "What's up with you, Mari? Not enough sleep?" Hapi had found their accommodations a bit stuffy, with the exception of a truly nice feather mattress. She wondered if it would be feasible to get it shipped back to the monastery somehow.

"No," Marianne sighed. "I had a nightmare. It was…I dreamt I turned into a rampaging beast, who had to flee from the weapons of my own comrades. After I awoke, I lay in bed, petrified, not knowing if it was a dream or a memory. I decided that it had to be false, but…I still could not get back to sleep for hours."

"Yeah, that definitely never happened," Hapi confirmed. "Edmund's story must have freaked you out."

Marianne looked down. "You're not wrong. It reminded me of what my father always said. About the curse, and what it could do to us." Hapi sighed, but before she could dismiss Marianne's fears, the other girl was clinging to her jacket and pleading, "I need you to promise me. If I – if the curse takes me – you must make sure I don't hurt anyone!"

She was so scared. Hapi never quite knew what to say when she was like this. "If that happens, I'll do whatever it takes. If you turn into an evil, bloodthirsty monster. I don't think that's gonna happen, though. I've been checking out the library in my spare time, you know. They have plenty about heroes with Crests, but nothing about a Crest that can turn people into beasts." She'd been skeptical for years, but the problem was finding evidence that would convince Marianne. Proving that something had never happened (or perhaps only once, a thousand years ago) was pretty hard. "I just don't think you need to worry about this the way you do."

Marianne gave a wan smile. "Well, if I have you by my side, I know I don't need to worry. Even if the worst should happen, you will keep everyone safe."

Hapi sighed again. "Yeah."

Hapi had been nine years old when she ran away from home to see the world. In hindsight, she hadn't been very prepared. After several weeks of being lost in the woods, she had been laid low by some kind of food poisoning. A miserable experience that she barely remembered, thank the Goddess. Baron and Baroness Maurice later told her that she emerged into a Faerghan village on the back of a wolf, dizzy from dehydration and in too much pain to stand. The villagers gawked at the strange wolf-child, but the Baron quickly came to her aid, taking her into his care. Because, as he always said with a dark smile, he too was kin to beasts.

When they figured out just how strong Hapi's gift for beast-taming was, they declared her Marianne's sister, and told the two girls never to be apart. If their daughter ever turned into a monster due to the family curse, they reasoned, then their other daughter would be able to stop her from going on a murderous rampage! It would have been a brilliant plan, if the fucking curse actually fucking existed, which Hapi seriously doubted.

No one could name anyone who had turned into a beast except the family's progenitor, good ol' Maurice himself, who, again, may not have existed. She certainly hadn't found any mention of him in the monastery library. From Hapi's perspective, it looked like the real von Maurice curse was passed down from parent to child by word of mouth. Whispered warnings to never trust your own humanity, to never stop fearing a terrible fate that had never happened and so could happen at any time.

She was grateful to the Baron and Baroness for what they had given her, of course. But she also loathed them for leaving Marianne so helpless, so dependent on her. It was the work of days, months, and years to coax Marianne to leave her manor, to enroll at the Officer's Academy, to start making friends that didn't eat hay or birdseed.

Hapi took a deep breath in, and a deep breath out. Mari had been doing better, much better – sitting with classmates in the dining hall and introducing Raphael to her favorite birds. It was just Edmund's stupid story that had her all scared and clingy again – a temporary regression, Hapi told herself. They'd go find the beast, kill it dead, lug its corpse back to be dissected, and everything would be fine.

The first sign that everything would not be fine was the fog. It spilled through the air, turning the dark, dense forest into something truly impenetrable. Up ahead, Professor Byleth was pausing to re-check their map. Hapi was beginning to think of her as "Teach," because Claude never shut up. That was a problem. She needed to give people her own nicknames. It was a matter of pride.

She considered the possibilities while the group waited. Claude was already Chatterbox, but…what if she made that Byleth's nickname instead? Which would be better, the ironic or the straightforward? Claude could be…

"Huh, speak of the devil," she said, as the man himself approached. "What do you want, Apricots?"

He only paused a little at the new nickname. This one was hard to faze. "I wanted to talk to Marianne, actually. Teach says we're taking a break, so might as well chat." He held up a bag of dried fruit with a winning smile (it included apricots, so Hapi felt vindicated in her choice). Hapi, Claude and Marianne all squatted or sprawled against the ground and passed around the snacks.

"Not to sound ungrateful, but you came here with food bribes," Hapi said while munching on an apple ring. "So I think you want a little more than a chat."

"Hapi, you needn't be so cynical," complained her sister.

Claude shrugged. "She's not exactly wrong. I have a few more questions about your family, Marianne."

She immediately tensed, like a threatened rabbit. "You think we have something to do with the Wandering Beast?"

"Uh, do you? No, I – please don't run away. That's not what I was going to ask." Claude rubbed his hair and chuckled awkwardly. "This is actually about what happened in Zanado."

"Oh!" Marianne settled back down to the ground. "I don't see what light I could shed on those events, though. No one in my family has ever been to Zanado, as far as I know."

"But you were one of the people who heard something before the monsters attacked, right? Me, Hilda, Lorenz, Teach, and you all distinctly heard some kind of scream at the same time, even when others nearby heard nothing." He was leaning forward, some kind of gleam in his green eyes. In this fog, he looked like a figure from a tale: a kind of mysterious magician who came forward to make bargains with desperate young fools. "I was wondering about what common trait connected us all."

"All of you are nobles?" Hapi guessed. "Except for the Chatterbox."

Claude squinted. "Do you mean Lorenz? But he's –"

"Chatterbox is your teacher. It's an ironic nickname."

"Hapi never calls anyone by their real name, I'm afraid," said Marianne. "But it's a harmless habit."

"If you have more of these, I'm gonna have to ask you to make a glossary," Claude sighed. "But it was a good guess. We're looking for something that's true of everyone in that group, and not true for everyone else who was in Zanado at the time…Give up?"

Hapi snapped, "No, I'm still thinking! Uh, dark hair?" Marianne pointed to her powder blue bun, frowning. "Cool colors, then."

"Ignatz's hair is green," Claude pointed out. "And Mae…well, you can classify magenta as a warm color, I guess."

"Fine, I give up. Tell us your idea."

"As I said, you made a good guess before. The set of nobles in our class overlaps very closely with those who heard that scream. With the addition of Teach, who I happen to know is the bearer of a mysterious Crest that Professor Hanneman is studying right now. And not including Mae, who was born without any Crest." Marianne was getting nervous again. Claude's eyes were glittering like a hunting cat's, but unfortunately, Hapi couldn't pick him up by the scruff of his neck and move him somewhere else. "The only exception to that pattern would be you, Marianne. Unless…you actually do bear a Crest?"

"You don't want to ask about this, Claude," Marianne said.

He laughed. "You mean you don't want me to ask. If it's a secret, I'll keep it – but I'll be very intrigued as to why. Most nobles are so proud of their Crests, seeing them as marks of the Goddess's favor, as the keys to prestige and legitimacy. What could make you so ashamed of yours?"

In that moment, Hapi wasn't sure if she loathed or loved him. He was pressing her sister so hard, uncaring of the discomfort she was in. But at the same time, here was another person on the verge of discovering their family's "dark secret" – and saying to Mari's face that it was bullshit.

"I have my reasons," Marianne said hotly. "I am trying to protect you, in fact! You don't understand the burden I was born with!" She seemed close to tears. Hapi thought the others must be able to hear them – not that she could see the turning of heads through all this fog.

Claude only leaned in closer. "If I don't understand, then explain it to me," he wheedled.

Hapi huffed and pushed the young man back. "Enough. You're making her cry! Have some damn tact!" Their eyes met – his still stubborn and hard – and for a single moment Hapi dearly wished someone would come to teach him a lesson: that he couldn't just push and push to get what he wanted. Something hot and sharp spiked behind her eyes.

From the forest nearby, there came a monster's roar.

Marianne immediately sprang up. "It's the curse! It's coming for me!"

"There's a curse?" asked Claude.

"Mari, it's just one of the beasts—"

Both of them reached for the blue-haired girl, but she shied back. "No, stay away!" Seeing doom and disaster everywhere, but especially wherever she was standing, Marianne ran.

Vocalist · Aug 16, 2022

Marianne tumbled through the forest, snapping twigs, bending branches, scaring birds. The fog blocked sight, narrowing her world to a single room of this tree-formed maze. She felt so vulnerable, but perhaps keeping her vision would have been worse. She didn't want to see who or what was trying to follow her. There were sounds in the forest, too many to just be her wild passage.

Her logic, as much as that word applied right now, was as follows: Something terrible was about to happen. When it happened, she and everyone near her would be doomed. So she ran, to outpace both the danger and her friends.

The terrain was hostile, exhausting. After squeezing through a tightly twinned set of trunks, Marianne could only stumble back to a walking pace, taking harsh breaths through a raw throat. Space was opening up around her – now, her instead of being penned in by trees, her world was bounded by a gradual dissolution into fog. The breaths came easier. Should she start running again?

Something massive moved before her. She shuffled back with a gasp. Coming into view was a quadrupedal beast – no, a Beast. Its steps ponderous but deliberate, there was no mistaking that she had gained its attention. It had a strange appearance. Weathered muscles shifted openly as it moved, as if it had been flayed of skin, but so long ago that it no longer bled. Armored in crocodilian plate, it bent its horned, eyeless head down to sniff the top of hers. Marianne saw the ropy scars, like tree roots, from old war-wounds. Its teeth were brown and cracked, and moss grew between its scales.

Below its horn, between knobby scales, was a single place smooth and clear of weathering. At this close distance, Marianne was just able to make out the Crest inscribed therein.

"Oh no. Goddess, please…" The strength to run deserted her. All she could do was stare at the awful fate ahead, and think of what had occurred to her last night, lying fearful in her bed – a thought that she had not even dared bring up to Hapi.

Her parents had disappeared on their travels, final fate unknown. It had been in this part of Leicester, though. It had been three years ago. When did the Margrave say the current spate of beast attacks had started? Only a few years.

Was this, then, the Goddess's way of reuniting father and daughter?

Hair loose from its bun danced in the creature's warm, fetid breath. When it spoke, the words were like the cracking of a rotten trunk. "Young woman...you stink of fear, but beneath that I can tell we are kin. What brings you to this forest?"

Amazingly, Marianne found the will to speak. "I seek the Wandering Beast. Is that you?"

"Perhaps. I wander, and I sleep, and when my blood burns and the rage takes me I become truly a beast. For what purpose do you hunt? Have you ambitions of slaying me, like so many others before?" It shook its head back and forth, kneading the ground with stone-splitting claws as it chuckled – a sound like an avalanche of gravel.

"Um, that is correct. I have been charged with slaying you," said Marianne.

It laughed even harder. It was still laughing when someone burst into the clearing, crying, "Mari! Don't you dare run away again!" and, shortly thereafter, "What the fuck?" Happi skidded to a stop, breathing heavily and covered in bits of twig. It occurred to Marianne that she probably looked the same, and they were both about to die an absolute mess. "Oooh, fuck me with a rusty lance, that's a – that's – are you telling me the fucking curse is real?"

"There are now two of you," the Beast said. "Your chances have marginally improved." Those claws kneaded the ground again, but in a way that struck Marianne as – nervous? fidgety? "You may leave, and fetch others. I recommend it. Make haste," it said, voice dipping into a growl.

It was letting them go? She could barely believe it. Logically speaking, this was a blessing. But if she left now, she would never know. "Wait! I need to ask—" Marianne stepped forward, causing the Beast to hiss and rear. Its enormous bulk pawed through the mist.

"Get back!" screamed Hapi, hand outstretched. Light traced a Crest in the air before her: the New Moon, the sign of Timotheos.

The Beast came down heavily on the earth. "Beast-charmer. Shadow-blood," it said, its voice somewhat clearer, as the two girls backed away. "Never before have I met one of your power. Perhaps if I had, my tale would have ended long ago."

"Yeah, I'm pretty awesome," huffed Hapi, not daring to stop using her Crest as she tugged Marianne away. "I can't say it was nice to meet you – in fact, you've kind of ruined all my plans for the future, so…"

"Can you tell me your name?" Marianne cried, interrupting her sister.

"My name?" it echoed. "Are you determined to mourn a man long dead? My name was forgotten long ago, as is right. My children did not dare to sing funeral songs for me."

Marianne had passed beyond fear. The situation was simply too surreal for logic. "Would you like me to? I will pray for you, if your children did not. Everyone has that right."

"Are you serious? Mari, I can't keep this up much longer!" Hapi urged, her words ragged.

"…You have strong convictions, granddaughter. Very well. You are lucky you found me on a good day…I am Maurice, of a clan I no longer recall. Once, I was a Hero, a Dragonslayer, who fought at the side of my King…"

Three youths listened, wide-eyed, to the voice of this figure from a time of legend. One paused, then continued her measured retreat. One could not force herself to move an inch. One forgot himself, and moved in closer. The branch that snapped under his foot was loud as a robber's forced entry, or so it seemed.

All attention fell on the young man at the edge of the clearing. Though the mist, Marianne could recognize Claude von Riegan's feigned nonchalance. "Oh, no need to stop on my account. Please, continue. You were saying something about your king?"

Lowering its head, the Wandering Beast growled. Hapi cried out, her hands shaking; the Crest dissolved, its light fading from the clearing.

"Oh, dear," said Marianne, as Hapi screamed, "RUN!"

The three pounded back into the cover of the dense woods, where undergrowth hid treacherous roots and uneven ground. The Beast gave chase. Its roars sounded nothing like a human voice, now.

"Can it get through these trees? It's so big, the forest has to be slowing it down, right?" asked Claude, having dropped all pretense that he wasn't terrified.

Behind them, the sound of splintering wood. "Not enough!" replied Hapi. "Where are the others? We'll only stand a chance against it together!" Claude couldn't answer. "Are you telling me you thought snooping was more important than getting backup for this foggy, monster-infested forest?"

"Fine, I'm an idiot. I have an idea, though!" Claude said desperately. "You can make fire, right?"

"You want me to set the forest on fire?" Hapi screamed.

"No, I want you to make a signal that they'll see through this damn fog!"

Hapi was angry, but still able to recognize a good idea when she heard one. Pausing atop a fallen log, she concentrated, forming a magic sigil. Hands fluttered like she was trying to balance an invisible ball, and light ignited into fire. It streamed into an empty space in the canopy, boiling away the fog in a circle meters wide. Hapi was already jumping away again, moving through the forest with grace neither Claude nor her sister could match to catch up with them.

"If we keep moving," Marianne huffed, "then that beacon will no longer tell them where we are."

"You're right," Claude said. "Hapi, can you keep doing that?"

Hapi groaned, but when she felt they had gained enough space she paused and summoned a fireball once more. And once more after that. Marianne felt guilty for specializing in ice, for her sister was looking truly ragged – but then, she was too. Human endurance only went so far, and it was not as far as a Demonic Beast's.

As her lungs burned and trees crashed down behind her, Marianne once more began to think she would die today.

It wasn't fair, she thought. Okay, well, if the Goddess decreed it, it must be for the greater good somehow, but it wasn't what she wanted. She had wanted to return to the monastery. Raphael needed someone to introduce him to the birds. Lorenz had said he wanted her help transplanting some flowers they'd collected to the greenhouse. And her sister definitely didn't deserve this. Claude…well, she couldn't say she truly knew him. But he had never struck Marianne as a bad person.

"I'm sorry," she gasped. "I can't…run anymore." She stumbled to a halt, doubled over. "If you two keep going…I can distract him."

The others stopped. "I'm not leaving you here to get eaten!" snapped Hapi, though her words were almost as breathless.

"Damn it, there has to be a way out of this," Claude muttered. While he scanned their surroundings with urgent eyes, his hands were already readying his bow.

"I don't want you to die," Marianne begged her sister.

"I don't want that either! But do you think this is something I can live with? I never wanted to leave you like this!"

"Wait," Claude said. "Wait…You two! Listen!"

Behind them, somehow, the crashing of the Beast had stopped. The only sound was their terrified panting. What was going on?

Claude knew. The Crest of the Moon traced itself in the air before him and his eyes gleamed greener than the rarest jewel. Absolutely focused, he drew his bow, aiming beyond the mist and trees to something neither Marianne nor Hapi could see. His teeth shone white as the smile returned to his face.

Just a few minutes ago, Byleth had been complaining to Sothis about the prospect of searching these woods for hours to find a single creature. She was not much pleased by the current change in circumstances.

Before her, the Wandering Beast paused in its charge – taking notice of the mercenary, it changed direction. Byleth gripped her sword and took up a ready stance, but the creature was actually slowing its pace. It stopped a good ten paces away. Then, amazing her, it spoke:

"That scent…the blood of my king. Are you here to free me as he could not?"

"I'm here to kill you," she said bluntly. "If you would welcome that, lie down and stay still."

"My beastly blood is roused," it growled. "Do your best, and we shall see if it is enough."

Her eyes flicked to each side: there, Ignatz was crouching, trying to be invisible. There, Lorenz crashed through the underbrush, unable to be stealthy on a mount and with no desire to. He was escorting Maegelle, who immediately raised her hands and began forming a magic sigil. The Wandering Beast lowered its head, presenting its man-slaying horn, and—

No one saw the archer who loosed an arrow from the mist, but they all heard the Beast scream, rearing. Byleth needed a moment to comprehend what happened: the Wandering Beast had no eyes, just long, thin nostrils that fluttered open and shut with its breath. One of them was now deeply pierced by a feathered shaft.

With a willing shout, Lorenz threw a javelin while Maegelle and Ignatz loosed their own attacks. The Beast's throat was pierced and scorched. Truly enraged now, it lunged forward with steps that shook the earth. A blow of its terrible claws broke through Lorenz's attempted parry and sent him flying from his horse – which bolted.

Byleth dashed into the fray. One of the others – she hoped – would see to Lorenz, if she only kept the monster busy for a time. Her sword drew a line of blood across its limb. Thin as the stroke of a pen. Damn this thing's hide! She'd fought monsters before – why did this one have to be so tough, even where it wasn't armored?

She kept dashing down its side. Penned in by trees, it struggled to turn, to bring its teeth or horn to bear at the mercenary biting it with her sword. On its other side, she could hear Raphael's war cry as he made his own attack. A leg lifted and slammed down blindly; Byleth simply darted back, and then close again.

What was this? Marks she'd already made were fading, barely bleeding anymore.

This creature is not merely tough. It heals fast enough to recover from its wounds mid-battle!

"Cichol's fucking hat," she swore. She retreated – just a few paces – to plan a new strategy. She saw Lorenz back on his feet – thanks for those elixirs, Edmund – barely catching snapping teeth on the edge of his shield, keeping the beast at bay while Raphael and Leonie harassed its sides. She was proud of them, but they couldn't defeat it that way. "Deer! This thing heals itself! We need to take it out all in one go!" Did they hear? They better have, or she'd rewind time and drill them on battlefield awareness until their ears fell off.

Did the Wandering Beast have a weak spot? A place unprotected by its ancient, mossy hide? That nostril shot seemed to hurt it a lot. Byleth hustled forward. "New plan, Lorenz. We aim at its face."

"A bold one, Professor," he huffed. Not even he was comfortable remaining that close to that many teeth. He rolled his lance in his hands. "Shall I feint and you strike?"

"No. You've got the lance. Drive it in deep." And they were off, each warring for the creature's attention. It was slow to react, as one would expect for a creature without eyes. But when Byleth risked a slash across the blackened tendons holding its jaw together – getting close enough to smell its offal-pile breath – it lashed out at her. A jutting tooth scraped painfully through her leather sleeve. She didn't retreat, circling her sword back under the jaw to strike again. Quarters so close she could see the ridges in the skin where countless warriors had tried just the same thing, and probably died for it.

It lowered its head to protect its throat and to better bite at her – right onto Lorenz's precisely-angled spear. "This is the end of your reign, King of Beasts!" he gloated, driving it in with all his strength.

The Beast whipped its head away hard enough to snatch the lance from his hands. Hard enough to drive Byleth to the ground, when it collided with her.

Oh, we should have seen that coming.

She hit her head on something hard. Pain bloomed – too many places. Sword? She'd lost her sword. That was bad. Get up, get up. She could smell blood. She could smell the Beast's breath, like a pile of dead animals and wet leaves.

Byleth, if you don't move right now, I'm going to go ahead and stop time—

"I won't let you do this!" It was the shrill voice of someone very unused to shouting. Cool air blew in from somewhere, and Byleth finally blinked enough of the dizziness away to see what was going on.

Marianne was here. Marianne had cast a wall of ice between her professor and the eager maw of the Beast. She was running to Byleth now, holding Byleth's sword in her hands. "Professor! Are you injured? I can—" Sword-claws tore through the construct of ice, a lifesaving but amateur work. As the Crest-marked snout pushed back in, Marianne raised the sword in a poor imitation of Byleth's stance. "No! Get back!" It lunged, and Marianne swung her sword at its open maw.

If they had had the time, Byleth would have told her that was a terrible idea. You didn't slash a Demonic Beast's open mouth with a sword. You stabbed there, with a lance. Using a sword just put your arm in range of all its teeth. But Marianne had used every excuse possible to avoid holding a weapon in Byleth's class, and so she didn't know these things.

The Wandering Beast's jaw snapped shut on part of Marianne's arm. Then she screamed. Teeth cracked and her own flesh tore as her sword-hand came free, the sword with it. The blade sheared through the leathery tendons of the jaw, driven by a moment of unbelievable, unearthly strength.

A Crest formed in the mist. It looked, Byleth thought, like a pair of curved horns.

It dissipated after only a moment. The sword dropped from Marianne's bloody fingers, and Byleth lunged forward to grab it. The Beast was backing away, lowing in pain, one side of its jaw cracked open and unable to close.

From the forest, arrows peppered its wounded flesh. But it refused to turn away from Marianne. Roaring like a man on the last lap of a thousand-mile race, the Wandering Beast charged headlong at the two women, horn lowered to gore.

Byleth only had time to position her sword and brace, and she needn't have bothered with the latter. The hand of the Goddess Herself could not have kept that juggernaut from sweeping her off the ground. She felt her sword embed deep in its wounds and crack bone. She felt its horn like a hot knife against her chest. It took all the leverage she could muster to keep it from slicing deep into her ribcage. Then she slammed against a tree, painfully dislodging her, and the point became moot. The horn tore through her, laterally.

At least the Beast's breathing sounded just as pained as hers. She rolled her head over to see Raphael's worried face. Not sparing a glance for the enemy, he scooped her up and carried her away. She wanted to scold him on situational awareness, but only blood came out when she tried.

"Oh, you look bad. But don't worry!" He set her against a tree with a mix of gentleness and haste. "Man, Leonie was a genius for asking for these." A stone vial, its cork designed to be openable by one's teeth. The lemony, peppery contents were poured into her mouth; she swallowed on instinct. It burned a little, not unlike the touch of strong alcohol – but she could feel that burning travelling with her blood, pouring into her limbs. Where she was uninjured, it tingled. Where she wasn't, it hurt. She gasped and writhed, overwhelmed – but the pain vanished as quickly as it had arrived.

Byleth looked down. A tear stretched all across the front of her gambeson, but underneath was untouched skin. Healing elixirs that good were too rare to be sold in stores. It had probably been the most expensive thing she or Raphael had ever touched. For a brief moment, she considered going back in time to save it.

You want to go through this ordeal again? Look at the Beast, Byleth! It's dying! You've won!

The Wandering Beast had indeed collapsed to the ground. Its wounds leaked a steady stream of black blood. Of all the people to dare approaching it, she was surprised to see Marianne.

As she crouched down by the massive, listing head, it spoke to her: "Well done. This thousand-year nightmare is almost at its end…"

"I will keep my promise, Maurice. I hope you can find peace in the hands of the Goddess."

"My own gods rejected me. But perhaps yours might not, if you are willing to intercede on my behalf…" It groaned, shuddering. "My heir…now that this body is decaying…the sword…I leave to you…" The red-orange light of a Hero's Relic was spreading out from the Crest on its brow, tracing the ancient sinews, the mossy scales, the black veins. Where it touched, flesh crumbled away, to naught but soil and bones and the stuff of the forest floor. Finally the light retreated to a single red star, over which Marianne bent her head, and wept.

"I'd like to apologize," Claude told her. He, Marianne, and Hapi were once more the three of them alone, after the rest of the students had retreated from the impromptu funeral of Maurice to rest for the night. "In my curiosity, I was pretty insensitive to you today. And to your, ah, ancestor. It put us all in danger, in addition to making you uncomfortable."

Marianne looked up from where she was kneeling by the grave. There was nothing to mark it but a cairn of stones and some forest flowers, but it had a quiet dignity that she hoped Maurice would appreciate. "I suppose it all came out after the battle, anyway." But she had been quite distressed, in the moment. "So I forgive you."

"Glad to see you've got some self-reflection in you, Apricots," Hapi groused. Her eyes were looking unhappily bloodshot, but she refused to leave Marianne's side. "But don't think I haven't seen you shooting glances at me. You're curious about my Crest now."

"One mystery is solved, and another reveals itself," he sighed theatrically. "Can I assume that you'd prefer for me not to tell anyone else?"

"Yeah. You're gonna have to show me you can be trusted before I, you know, trust you."

He smiled like a cat trying to insist that it had definitely not already been fed today. "No need to worry. You two aren't even the first people I know who have secret lost Crests that they want to hide. Of course, I can't tell you who I'm talking about. Because I am so trustworthy in these matters."

Despite the funeral setting, Marianne giggled. Hapi just rolled her eyes. Claude's smile softened, then, to something almost concerned. "Are you planning to tell the Margrave about what happened here?"

"I think he ought to know. No," Marianne considered, "more importantly, I…don't feel I need to hide so much anymore. Maurice, the Wandering Beast who cursed our Crest, is dead. Perhaps…there never was a curse, or perhaps it vanished when he died. It is curious…Even after a thousand years as a beast, so much of him remained human. All my life, despite seeming human, I feared that deep inside I was truly a beast. But if even Maurice was human enough to ask me to pray for him…"

Claude nodded as he said, "He tried a lot harder to be human than some people I know. He should be commended for that." Shifting his weight, he continued, "But, if you're going to tell Edmund…I owe you a warning."

Something in his tone made Marianne scramble to her feet and Hapi stop leaning against a tree. Not a trace of his usual smile could be found on his face – not in any of the teasing, smirking, grim, triumphant, prideful, self-effacing, or falsely-innocent variations Marianne and the Golden Deer had become used to. Claude without a smile, she realized, looked like a completely different person.

"He'll be interested in your Crest. Hapi's too, if he finds out. He'll want you. He'll try to bribe you however he can to get you to stay with him. It's…not a good idea to accept." His eyes were wide, and curiously dead. "If you can make your excuses and get back to Garreg Mach, you can string him along from a distance, bargain him up, down, whatever." A nervous breath that somewhat resembled laughter. "I'll be honest. Since I'm your class leader he'll be leaning on me to convince you. It strengthens my position with him to be in control of something he wants," he rambled.

"Claude," she said, clasping him on the shoulders. "Are you all right?"

He looked at her. Blinked. Drew in a very deliberate breath. "You bring out the worst in me, Marianne," he said. "Yeah. I'll be fine. I'm just going to go…take a walk." He put on another smile which, while shaky, was so convincing that Marianne immediately wondered how real any of them were. "Think about what I said, okay? I'll leave you alone now."

He left the clearing in a random direction. "I'm starting to worry for him, Hapi," she said.

"You're real nice like that," her sister sighed. "But you need to worry about yourself first. Although, actually – you need to worry about yourself less. Worry about everything less." She looked down at Maurice's grave with a bizarrely fond expression. "It seems like meeting Maurice gave you some kind of reassurance, at least."

"It did," she smiled. Then she said, "Hapi, when we were running and I didn't think I could go on, you told me that you never wanted to leave me…like that. Does that mean you were thinking about…leaving, some day?"

Hapi averted her eyes and let out a doleful sigh. "Yeah. You know that I left my home because I wanted to travel the world, right? It didn't work out so well the first time."

"You were only nine," Marianne said. "It could have gone far worse."

"Ugh. Anyway, I still want that! Lands and people and animals that I haven't seen before are – beautiful," she stuttered, with a tongue unused to speaking of anything poetic or abstract. "But I know it's not your dream. You want to live a quiet life in a place you know and be very safe. So if…if we're both going to be happy, we have to take separate paths. Up until now, I never wanted to tell you this, because you were so…"

"…Afraid," Marianne supplied. "I thought I always needed you nearby, because of the chance I might hurt people."

"Exactly. I never wanted to break your heart, Mari, so I…didn't know if I would ever get to leave. Though I dreamed of a day when I could."

"I see," said Marianne, clasping her hands. "So I've been a burden to you, for years…"

"No! Don't – don't go around hating yourself. That's the whole big problem in the first place. I want you to be happy and strong and have people you can ask for help when you need it. And then, I'll feel like I can go, and you'll be okay. Okay?" Hapi's eyebrows were raised, as if she wasn't sure what she was saying made sense. But Marianne understood perfectly.

She looked down by the grave, where a long, dangerous shape was wrapped in a white shroud. For a time, she had been tempted to bury it with Maurice's bones. But she knew, if she did that, it would be out of fear. When she lifted it up, it glowed dimly, even through the wrappings. "The professor already told me in no uncertain terms that I would be taking remedial sword lessons." Her right arm twinged at the reminder, still aching even after Hapi's healing spell. "I wonder if learning to use this would make me stronger."

Carved from a single rippling horn, Blutgang was about as beautiful as a sword could be. Its glowing Crest Stone flickered quiescently in the pommel; below that, its wire-wrapped hilt continued the curve of the blade. Marianne appreciated its organic simplicity, its lack of ostentation. It was, still, a horribly powerful tool of death that had accompanied its last wielder to a terrible fate. But all swords were like that to some degree. And if she had to use one, Marianne thought she might as well honor Maurice's last bequest.

"I think trying something you're afraid of and being good at fighting will both make you stronger, just in different ways," Hapi said. "I want you to know that I'm not going to leave before you're ready. Or before I'm ready; I think I really need to get better at defending myself too. Do you think your professor would let me sit in on lessons sometimes?" A yawn slipped out. "Oh, is it sunset already? It's been a long day."

Marianne smiled at her sister and took her hand, cradling Blutgang in the other. "Come on. They must have already set up camp by now. Let's not make them worry for us."

Vocalist · Aug 17, 2022

"You must accept our apologies that we were unable to return the body as promised," said Maegelle to the Margrave as he debriefed them over tea. "It happened to, ah, disintegrate. A consequence of the monster's unique origins, I suppose."

Edmund seemed unconcerned. "That is no fault of yours, and I will not hold it against you. Consider your end of the agreement filled." Setting down his tea and steepling his hands, he said, "I am far more intrigued by the revelations about my young kinswoman here."

Marianne did not like the way he looked at her – as if she were a piece of merchandise he was appraising. She hid her face in her cup of chamomile.

He continued, "I was familiar with the story of Maurice…but all my sources left me with the impression that his Crest had died out centuries ago. Your ancestors must have kept the secret well."

"Those who bear the Crest of the Beast are often the targets of scorn and fear," said Marianne delicately. "It was a matter of shame, but also self-preservation."

"I am ashamed that you thought you had anything to fear from me. Dear Marianne, if you had confided in me after the death of your father, I would have been able to help you."

"What do you mean?" she asked, forcing herself to meet his eyes.

He spoke with a politician's earnestness. "Your line may be shadowed, but the House of Edmund has never gained anything by deferring to the past. I recognize the practical and political benefits your Crest could bring, especially to an 'upstart' house without its own connection to the Ten Elites. Marianne, it would be my honor to adopt you as my heir."

Marianne goggled. She'd expected – she didn't know – but not this. "My lord, that's extremely – a lot. Um." As Claude had warned, he was trying his hardest to make her his. Her insides twisted in trepidation, that the rest of his advice might hold true as well. She looked around, for help. Lorenz was beaming, Maegelle looked aghast, Hapi seemed to find the situation absurd. Claude gave her an encouraging smile. "Do you…not have closer relatives who will be expecting the inheritance?"

His nose wrinkled. "I have nephews," he said vaguely. "You should not concern yourself with them – I do not foresee that any of them will be an obstacle."

"And what of Hapi?" she asked. "Would you adopt my sister as well?"

Margrave Edmund gave an indulgent smile. "Well, I don't suppose she's hiding a Crest of her own?"

"Nope," said Hapi flatly. "Totally normal, here."

"Then I'm afraid not. But rest assured that I have the resources to make sure she lives in comfort for the rest of her life."

Marianne knotted her fingers. "Um, my lord, your offer is most generous. But I think any decision so major should be postponed until after I complete my education at Garreg Mach Monastery…"

"Hey, look, guys! Hilda's waiting for us!" On the steps of the monastery, their classmate stood and waved. There was a spot of color to her now: she wore a blush-pink beret over her hair, and a still-healing bruise on her face.

Abandoning his horse, Raphael ran ahead. "Hilda! So much happened! This was supposed to be an easy mission, but we actually ended up fighting another giant monster! And it turned out to be Marianne's great-great-grandfather who was under a curse!"

"Not so loud, Muscles!" Hapi yelled out crossly, as Marianne winced.

"Wow, sounds like we all had an exciting month," Hilda laughed. She stepped up beside them as they made their way to the stables. "Did Edmund give you trouble?"

"Oh, he was his usual self," said Claude, hopping down from his own horse and stretching in that lackadaisical way of his. "But after we amused him enough by risking our lives for a small increase in his profits, he agreed to open negotiations with the Church. Nothing's going to come of it, I'm sure, but it's not my time he's wasting. So I'm calling this a successful mission." Then he paused, giving her a look. "…Nice hat, by the way. The color looks good on you."

"It looks like you encountered some trouble yourself," said Byleth, staring at Hilda's bruise.

"Yeah, well, the Bishop of the Western Church is pretty strong for a supposed man of peace," Hilda replied. "And now you're all staring at me! Fine, I might as well tell you the whole story now…"

When Professor Manuela announced to the Blue Lions that Hilda would be assisting them on their mission, the general reaction was one of bemusement.

"You requested backup? Why?" said Felix scornfully. "This is already make-work. We don't need more people."

"Hilda is here because she is unable to go with her own class this month, and so needed something else to do. Take a seat, dear," the Professor told her. "And don't mind Felix."

Felix was currently glaring at Hilda as if he suspected her of lying just to get an easy mission. She chose a desk far away from him.

"I, for one, look forward to working with Hilda," declared Prince Dimitri. "It is all right if we call you Hilda, correct?"

"Yeah," she said. "I mean, what's the alternative, 'Duchess Goneril?' No, please don't call me that," she said in a rush as Dimitri opened his mouth. "And I'll just call you Dimitri. No need to get worked up about rank."

"Lovely to see you getting along," said Professor Manuela. "Now, I'm going to go over the mission details again, for Hilda's benefit. Lord Gaspard has requested the Blue Lions to serve as additional security at the wedding of his son, Christophe Artyom Gaspard, to Lady Cassandra Rubens Charon."

One of the students – she thought his name was Ashe? – was almost bouncing in his seat, a huge grin on his face. "The groom is my adoptive brother," he informed Hilda. "I was afraid I'd have to miss class to see the wedding, but now we all get to go!"

"And now," Felix said acidly, "I hope you see why this so-called 'mission' is an utter sham."

"We all know, Felix," said Sylvain, whom Hilda had eaten lunch with before. "We just don't care, because weddings are fun."

Felix set his shoulders stubbornly. "At least tell me that we will be truly guarding the place, not drinking and chatting with the guests."

"Well, of course," said Manuela. "I'd hate to see you all deprived of fun, though, so I thought I'd deploy you in shifts. Half on guard duty and half enjoying the party. What do you think of that?"

Felix's groan was drowned out by the chirping of a diminutive girl with orange hair: "We'll need to pack proper clothes for a ball, then!"

"Ooh!" said the girl next to her. "We can go shopping! Ingrid! Hilda! Come with us!"

A blonde – who had to be Ingrid – balked. "I, uh, have a dress already."

The two pairs of eyes turned to Hilda, who felt curiously like a lamb approaching the slaughterhouse.

No, Hilda decided, she was not a lamb. She was a chicken, being plucked naked, and then festooned with…new plumage? The metaphor was breaking down. But her discomfort was only rising.

She categorically refused to let anyone see her undressed, but Annette and Mercedes were distressingly patient. Whenever she emerged from the changing stall, there they were, rushing over to coo and offer suggestions. She couldn't even accuse them of offering bad advice. The dresses they found her were all lovely things, treats to look at and to touch. The only problem here was her.

"I can't wear that, Mercedes," she found herself saying for the umpteenth time. "I have – a lot of scars, okay? I need to be covered up to the neck."

Mercedes gave her a sad look. "That's really a shame." Then her gaze turned back to the dress, a thing of black velvet and pink ribbons with a plunging neckline. "I really want to take advantage of your figure. Some girls would die to have cleavage like yours!"

"Um," said Hilda. She could feel a blush rising. "If that's true, they need to get their priorities straight."

"Hilda! I was just looking for things we could do with your hair," said Annette, rushing over with a stack of accessories. "It really, um, clashes with a lot of the things we're trying to do. Also, I thought it could use a spot of color. You look depressing in black and white!"

"Good idea, Annie." Mercedes gathered up a few dresses in her arms. "I'm going to just put these back now."

Hilda's blush did not go away. She sat herself down in one of the shop's chairs and brushed futilely at her horrid white hair. They didn't need to know that she cut it herself, as quickly as possible, barely looking in the mirror. She hated that hair – brittle, dry, and the wrong color. She couldn't abide spending any time on it. "I don't really want anything that draws attention to my hair. If you can cover it up, that would be nice."

"Hairnet?" Annette asked. "I think the pearls on this one would go with your eyes."

"Don't you need, like, a certain volume of hair to fill those up?" Hilda sighed.

"Right. Okay, what about hats? I got this, um, felt thingy!"

"It's called a beret, Annette. Let me see that…" Hilda took it in her hands. It was pink, and lined with a simple ribbon band to keep the felt from being too itchy. When she put it on and looked in the mirror, she noticed immediately that the color matched her eyes.

Just like her old hair used to.

Hilda tucked more of her hair into the beret. "I like this one. I think it's a keeper."

"You do? Wonderful! Let's find a dress that goes with it, then," Annette beamed. "Can you go show Mercedes? I want to try on some of these barrettes." Grabbing her own chosen dress – a clingy cobalt piece – she started color-matching it to the hair accessories.

Hilda obeyed, ducking out of the back room and into the main shop. Dressmaker's forms stood everywhere, positioned in little twos and threes as if they were already having a party of their own, one which you, the customer, were rudely interrupting. Hilda had made the mistake of mentioning that impression to Mercedes, who responded with an airy giggle and a promise to tell her the story of the Scorned Tailor's Curse later.

Or, well, maybe it hadn't been a mistake. These two seemed like such nice girls. And how bad could their ghost stories be?

"Hilda!" Mercedes's ash-blonde head poked out from a gaggle of mannequins, as if she'd been holding them in conversation. "Ooh, take a look at this!"

Coming closer, Hilda said, "Have you found something you like?"

"Oh no, I'm still deciding between those two dresses from earlier. I wanted your opinion on this style." Mercedes indicated a mannequin whose puffy velvet skirt and sleeves contrasted with a tight bodice. The bodice showed – of course – a lot of cleavage. But there was actually quite a bit of fabric above that, covering the neck and shoulders, so that the décolletage was more of a cut-out. "I don't know where your scars are, exactly. But would something like this work?"

"Um, I'd have to try it on."

She tried it on.

"Um, do you think the dressmaker can make a version of this where the neck is just a little more covered? And, um, I'd like it in black and pink."

Two weeks later, when she met Yuri Leclerc in his room, he gave a satisfied nod of appreciation. "Annette and Mercedes sure know how to choose a tailor. I'm sure all three of you contributed to the final design, as well. Sit down. Time for me to do my part."

Hilda took the chair at his desk, which seemed to house more makeup and sewing supplies than schoolwork. She smoothed the rich, furry velvet of her skirts – a very popular fabric in Faerghus, she had been told. She hoped it wouldn't be too warm for a Garland Moon wedding. Skirt and sleeves alike were a dark pink slashed with black, falling in rich, puffy folds – though the sleeves were cinched tight at the wrists to keep her skin hidden. Black cloth covered her shoulders and neck, gold edging accented her pink bodice, and between them a diamond-shaped window showed off her, uh, "amazing body."

Belatedly, Hilda thought to wonder if Mercedes had been flirting with her.

Yuri flung a towel over her shoulders and got to work with his scissors. A soft rhythm of feathery snip-snips backgrounded his next words: "Goddess, your hair is a mess. Did you cut this with your axe?"

"Knife," Hilda said.

"Hm. You know, normally someone this aggressively unconcerned with their own appearance wouldn't take so well to wearing fancy dresses…" Yuri felt her shoulders stiffen, and gave them an encouraging pat. The soothing rhythm of the scissors continued. "I'll stop prying. Fashion can be…complicated, I know. The way you style yourself can lead others to make so many assumptions about you, beyond just that you like to look a certain way. So many people get scared away by that. Unfortunate. The world could use more people as gorgeous as myself."

A giggle escaped Hilda's lips. "You're modest."

"I'm common-born, Duchess. I never would have gotten here if I didn't know my own worth," he said coolly.

She couldn't help but compare him to Claude – the monastery's other secretive outsider. Where Claude always approached you with a smile and a game, Yuri's demeanor was cool and impenetrable. His smiles were thin and cold as a Faerghus winter, and they were only for himself. Claude deflected, self-deprecated, tried to be everyone's friend. Claude called himself your friend even to the very moment he was sliding a knife in your back. He did this, Hilda knew, because he was terrified of actually being attacked. Claude thought the best enemy was one who was unaware of your existence.

Yuri, in contrast, was widely considered by the entire school to be sketchy as fuck. He seemed quietly proud of that fact.

"I didn't know you could cut hair," she ventured.

"I wouldn't call myself an expert. But I am the reason Dimitri still looks halfway presentable after your classmate struck him with lightning during the mock battle." He hummed in consideration, made a few more snips, and slid a mirror in front of her. Silver-backed and silver-edged, Hilda noted. Yuri Leclerc may have been of lowly birth, but he sure had developed a taste for the finer things in life.

As for her hair, it was still short and bristly and the wrong color, but it didn't stick out in all directions now. Maybe when it grew out a bit, it would end up looking like Leonie's. That wouldn't be too bad. Leonie's hair looked good on her.

"You've done about as much as I could have hoped for," she told him. "Thank you."

"Well, we're not done yet," he said with a grin, dragging out a tray of small, expensive-looking bottles. "This is the fun part."

"What, we're not using any of the stuff that's already here?" she asked, waving at the rows of makeup on his desk.

He sniffed. "Trust me, you and I do not benefit from the same color palette. Annette gave me a description of your dress and, on that basis, I went on a little shopping spree." He selected three creamy powders in near-identical shades of pink. "Come on, hold out your arm. I need to see how these look against your skin." As he painted swatches of color onto her arm, she poked through the other things he had bought for her. Saints, this was strangely exciting. It was almost like…like…

Hilda's chubby little fingers scrabbled through her mother's collection before closing around a particularly pretty-looking bottle. Bringing it close, she turned back around to ask, "Mama, is this gold?"

"Yes, dear. That's gold leaf. On very special occasions, I paint it onto my nails." A warm smile. "Would you like to try it?"

Hilda nodded. "I want a lot of gold!"

"Oh, Hilda, you can't go overboard with the gold. You must balance it out with other colors, or else it looks so tasteless." Long arms, reaching around the little girl on her lap. "Now, what else can we use here? A bit of blush, hm?"

Yuri looked up from his work to see Hilda, frozen still. She was staring at a bottle in her hand. "Duchess?"

"Is this gold?" she asked in a weak voice.

"Mica powder. It's much easier to blend with. And, speak of the devil," he plucked it from her hand, "it's exactly what I need." Unscrewing the cap, he carefully spooned a tiny amount of the virulently glittery powder onto Hilda's skin and started blending it in with the color swatches. "Something worrying you?"

"…No. I'm just not really used to this." She could feel the memories threatening to rise back up, like bile in her throat. She tried to swallow them down, focusing on the feeling of Yuri's makeup brush and the grip of his hand. She looked at the dormitory desk, ever-so-slightly battered under its coat of varnish. She counted the bottles on the shelves, almost all in cool shades of blue, green, silver, and violet. "It's been a long time since anyone…pampered me like this."

Her words gave him thought, so much that he actually paused in his work. Violet eyes uncannily perceptive, he asked, "Is it the makeup and dresses? Or the attention people are giving you?"

She smiled weakly. "Both, I guess."

He asked, almost grim, "Is it bringing back bad memories?"

"No," she replied. "They're very good memories, actually. But often, I can't think of my family without remembering how they died. All my good memories are of things that I've lost." She closed her eyes, willing the tears prickling there to go away. "That's all. I really do appreciate what you and Annette and Mercie are doing for me. I'm just…having a hard time."

She felt a tentative touch on her shoulder. When she didn't shoo him away, he drew closer; a twilight shadow, a comforting pressure. They stayed like that for several moments before he withdrew.

"I'll keep going, then," he said, the words businesslike. "Take a look at your arm." The three patches of makeup were now each divided into two, a glitter and a matte. "I think…I'll restrain myself on the color layering, but I'd like to fade this into this for your eyeshadow, and then a…taupe. Definitely taupe."

"Will that go with my hat?" she asked, trying to visualize the effect.

"Eh. It's taupe, it goes with everything in a mediocre way. The point is to let your eyeshadow play gently with your eyebrows." He poked at them, and Hilda realized for the first time that her snow-white eyebrows had their own part to play in this. "Let's try it out."

Yuri's brushes skittered over her eyelids for an uncomfortably long time before he announced that she could open them. Then they needed to choose a color for her nails, for her lips, for her cheeks. To get a glossy lacquer on her nails, he layered on multiple concoctions in a process that was more complicated than anything her mother ever did. There was a long stretch of drying in between each one, during which Hilda amused herself with small talk.

"So, Yuri, how did you become such an expert at this stuff?"

He was inspecting his own nails, as if the process of doing Hilda's had reminded him. "My mother taught me. Cosmetics are one of the most important tools in her trade, after all."

"Her trade?"

"Prostitution." He smiled to see her flinch, then leaned over to make sure she hadn't messed up her nails. "I thought the rumors had reached everyone in the Officer's Academy by now. It's not something I bother hiding."

"I, uh, assumed it was a lie? There are a lot of weird rumors about you," Hilda said.

His smile grew. "Oh, this ought to be fun. Tell me what you've heard."

She sighed. "Fair warning, this is mostly from Claude, who loves passing on this kind of stuff. And probably made some of it up himself." Thinking, she said, "Okay, I've heard that your mom's a prostitute, and that you, um, did some of that yourself before you met the prince. Or perhaps you were a thief. And then, uh, in Fhirdiad, you seduced a lot of noble ladies, and men…" Ugh, she can see herself blushing in the mirror. "Apparently two people dueled to the death over your favors, or something?"

"Oh, don't stop," Yuri said, looking immensely flattered. "I can tell you have more."

She would have facepalmed if her nails weren't still drying. "Are you seriously having fun right now? Ugh. So Claude thinks that you must be a spymaster of some kind, probably with blackmail material on half the royal court." Of course, Claude had then wondered if Yuri kept any of that material in his room, and if it would be worth breaking in to have a look around. "And…well, some of the girls think that you and Prince Dimitri are a couple. Is any of that true?"

"Dimitri and I are not sleeping together," he chuckled. "As for the rest, no comment." Leaning over her nails, he said, "I think these are done, now. Time for coat number three."

"Don't just change the subject! What was the point of all that, to make me uncomfortable? And here I thought you were some kind of gentleman," she fumed.

Yuri painted her nails with a delicate touch as he explained, "People thoughtlessly say and assume so many things. Sometimes it amuses me drag that out into the light and make them confront it. But I also benefit from it – in truth, I'm pleased to hear that I'm developing the kind of reputation that I want." He smiled with infuriating smugness. "It acts as a buffer for my real secrets."

Macuil's sword and Cichol's spear, Hilda thought, this must be how other people feel when they have to interact with Claude. "And you're not going to tell me any of those, of course," she said, rolling her eyes. "You just brought them up to wave them smugly in my face and seem more mysterious."

"We could trade," he said lightly. "A secret for a secret."

For a moment, she actually considered it. She had plenty of secrets. But none came to mind that wouldn't have horrible consequences if they got out. Consequences like "Claude blocked from ever holding political power" or "Yuri, and everyone else he had ever talked to, tortured to death in an underground dungeon."

"I really shouldn't. No offense, Yuri, but we don't know each other that well."

"None taken," he said. "But now we have to find something else to entertain us while we wait for this to dry."

A thought occurred to her. "Can you tell me how you became the prince's retainer? Or is that another secret?"

He settled back into his chair, stretching. "I don't mind telling that story. It was…five years ago, when we first met. You see, King Lambert of Faerghus is a man very concerned with the common people. So much so, that it is said he sometimes disguises himself as an ordinary citizen to walk among his subjects and observe them, their conduct and their condition. Perhaps he even brings his son with him on some of these ventures." Yuri's voice was lilting, dreamlike. He told it like a story; like something that might or might not be true. "It is also said that a wise healer used to make his home on the lowlier side of Fhirdiad. He treated all who came, never asking for payment, and lived on the charity of grateful citizens. And there were many, for this man's skill and knowledge were without equal.

"He could have earned a fortune administering to the noble classes, but he did not wish for wealth, and especially not for recognition. So he stayed in the shadows, where he could help those who needed it most. Despite this, rumors of this man reached the ear of the king, who resolved to seek out the truth of the legend. Taking only his son and his most faithful knight, Lambert Blaiddyd set out into the unmapped depths of his own city. He kept asking after the healer, pretending only to be a concerned father with an ill son.

"Eventually, he found what he sought. In a ramshackle house on a street he had never known existed, he revealed himself to the wise elder. 'One of your great talents should not be languishing here!' he said. 'I admire your desire to give help to all who need it. How much more could you do, with the backing of the Crown? I would grant you all the funds and facilities you wish, if only you would agree to spend some of your time attending to the royal family.' He thought himself very generous and clever for that offer. It was a good offer, in truth. But King Lambert did not understand that what the wise man truly wanted was not something it was in his power to give."

"Yuri," Hilda broke in. Her nails were almost dry. "I'm enjoying the story so far, but…is it going to have you in it?"

He pursed his lips. "All right, all right. I'll hurry it up a little." Resummoning his misty air, he continued, "The healer refused entirely. 'I have no desire for recognition, and as for apprentices, my current one is sufficient,' he said. 'In fact, that you have been able to find me is a sign that I have lived here too long and drawn far too much attention! You will not find me here again.' Then he summoned his apprentice to show the nobles back to familiar streets." He dipped his head in a mock bow. "His apprentice, a youth of astonishing beauty but only middling passion for advanced medical sciences…Happy now, Duchess?"

"Wait, how'd you become a legendary healer's apprentice?"

He spread his hands wide in exasperation. "You asked me for the story of how I met Dimitri! Saints, learn to appreciate the mystery a little! Anyway, the healer's apprentice tried to lead them out of that neighborhood. But, well, it was a very bad neighborhood. And the king tried to look normal, bless his heart, but a good footpad can usually identify a noble who's slumming it."

She raised her eyebrows. "So you got mugged together."

Dropping his storyteller's conceit entirely, he sighed. "Yeah. King's dumbass kid jumped in front of a knife for me, when I was armed and perfectly ready to defend myself. Then we had to drag him all the way back to my teacher's house, where I had to do the surgery because my teacher was currently skipping town. I'd been wanting to leave his service for a while, so when I had to choose between a rendez-vous with my teacher and a prince who swore I'd saved his life, I chose the prince." His annoyance shifted to something warmer. "Haven't yet had reason to regret it."

"Wow. So you just left your apprenticeship? Without a word?"

He shook his head. "He knew that I'd learned all I wanted to. You don't have to understand. Just know that we parted on good terms, to pursue our own separate goals."

Curiosity fuelled by their conversation, Hilda kept an eye on Yuri as they departed Garreg Mach for the southern hills of Faerghus. It was fascinating. There were differences in how he interacted with each classmate – he was willing to joke with Sylvain and swap stories with Ashe, while he had nothing but scorn for Ingrid. She even saw him trying to cook with Annette one night, though it ended with him taking over entirely in frustration. But he kept his icy composure with everyone, she found, with one clear exception.

He saved all his warmth for Dimitri. The smiles he gave him were unlike the smiles he gave anyone else. He chided his prince, sometimes, like a concerned mother hen. And fussed over his hair, although it was far beyond him to make something good out of those limp and greasy locks. And sometimes, when the class rested, the two of them would just sit together in silence, leaning on each other and looking up at the changing moon.

Hilda could definitely see why some people thought they were a couple.

Gaspard territory was relatively close to the monastery, so their journey lasted only a few days. Near the end, sharp-eyed Ashe took the lead, pointing out familiar features of his homeland – Castle Gaspard greatest of all. It was a blocky thing tucked into a corner of the hills, built more for defense than grace. But the welcome they received was warm enough to chase all trepidation away. The entire town was in high spirits, anticipating the wedding. Many called out greetings and directions, and as they approached the castle Ashe was mobbed by a gang of children who couldn't possibly all be his siblings.

When the Blue Lions finally reached the castle gates, they found two men and a woman waiting there for them. The oldest, a craggy, sun-browned man whose hair had gone completely white, stepped forward. "Hail the Blue Lions! I am Lonato Gildas Gaspard, and I am honored that you agreed to come."

Professor Manuela laughed. "However could we refuse this opportunity? Manuela Casagranda, professor, healer, available. Now, how about we discuss the boring details of our stay, and leave the kids to have some fun? It looks like…Ashe! Why is Ashe upside down?"

"I'm fine, Professor!" Ashe struggled to give a thumbs up, but couldn't quite figure out how to orient his thumb.

"He's gotten taller," explained the young man who was holding Ashe upside-down – himself as tall and thin as a fencepost, with cerulean hair. "I wanted to make sure I could still pick him up."

Lord Gaspard made a sound that was part sigh and part chuckle. "Christophe…one wonders if you're actually mature enough to get married yet."

"I'm the one who gets to be the judge of that, and I say yes," declared the third member of the welcoming committee – a tall blonde woman in trousers and a white longcoat. "Now, I think I can carry two of these students at once. Any volunteers?"

The lord turned back to Manuela. "Yes, let's leave the children to their amusements."

Vocalist · Aug 18, 2022

The wedding celebration was to last two full days. Hilda found herself assigned to guard duty on the first one, along with Felix, Ingrid, Sylvain, and Mercedes. Her post was on an indoor balcony, overlooking the main ballroom where noble guests drank and mingled. So many people had been invited that the little castle was full to bursting.

Hilda supposed that, if she knew more about the nobility of Faerghus, she would be able to gather reams of information from her lofty perch. Claude would have loved to be in her shoes, probably. But Hilda's talents were not in spying, they were in smashing things. She found some amusement in examining the fashions on display – the Faerghans loved their fur trim even in summer – but she was mostly just bored.

Felix, her assigned partner, was also bored. By midday, when he came over to hand her a lunch of meat skewers, they had both given up watching the glittery crowd in favor of chatting dully.

"I can handle night watch," Hilda said. "But this is giving me a headache. I want fresh air."

"This is so useless," Felix complained. "What are we watching for – one guest suddenly stabbing another?"

"Is that likely?" she asked. "I mean, do you know any nobles here who hate each other that much?"

He grimaced. "I am not the person to go to for gossip. Besides, that's what duels are for. If two people here want to kill each other, you can bet they'll be announcing it loudly and making a big deal about their honor," he said with a roll of his eyes. "The duels themselves can be fun to watch, though." A thought occurred to him. "Ashe told me that Lady Charon only agreed to marry his brother once he defeated her in a duel. She was using Thunderbrand, too. I wonder if I'll get a chance to spar with her before we leave?"

Leaning back against the balcony railing, Hilda mused, "Is a duel really a good reason to marry someone? I hope their relationship is based on more than just that."

"Respect is necessary for any strong relationship. And I know I'd respect someone who could beat me in a fight," Felix told her.

"Yeah, but if I duelled you right now and won, you wouldn't want to marry me, would you? You'd probably just swear revenge and go off to train harder."

Felix looked like he was about to reply, but the sight of someone coming up the stairs made his eyes widen. Hilda looked, too – it was a nobleman, with familiar long, night-blue hair. As he drew close, he opened his arms wide. Too late, Felix tried to dodge away.

"Felix! Saints, it's good to see you again! Why don't you ever write home?" Trapped in the taller man's arms, Felix endured his affectionate hair-ruffling with the approximate willingness of a cat in a bath.

Hilda almost expected him to start hissing and clawing, but he settled for a terse, "Let me go, Glenn."

Surprisingly, Glenn obeyed without a fuss. "I'm glad I found you. I just couldn't wait a whole day to talk to my little brother after finding out he was at the same party." Hilda could see the resemblance in their faces, now that she knew they were related. Perhaps the biggest difference was in their height, or their eyes – Glenn's ocean-blue to Felix's warm amber.

"I'm on guard duty. I can't talk," said Felix stubbornly.

"Felix, you were just saying that you felt like you had nothing to do and you were bored," Hilda said.

"As I suspected," Glenn said smugly. "You've never been good at standing still. Oh, but where are my manners? I'm Glenn Hector Fraldarius, heir to the Fraldarius dukedom," he said to her. "You must be Lady Hilda of the Golden Deer. Ashe told me about you – not Felix," he glared, "who never writes any letters."

"Let's make a deal. I'll write a response to every letter you send," Felix replied coolly.

Glenn winced. "Okay, I get your point, but – come on, Felix. I've been so busy. Father has me doing just about everything for him while he's at the capital, and by the Goddess, it's…" He leaned forward, lowering his voice somewhat. "Are you sure you don't want to inherit? You're the one with a Major Crest. By tradition, you should have priority over me."

Hilda debated whether to back away politely, or draw closer to the juicy gossip. She took a subtle step forward.

"You're going to have a hard time convincing me and Father of that," Felix replied. "Not to mention Count Galatea."

Glenn made a disgusted sound. In that moment, he sounded very like his brother. "If that man tries to foist Galatea's problems on me too, I think I'll jump out a window. Why can't I just be Ingrid's trophy husband and run around slaying her enemies?"

"Because House Galatea needs money, and they don't want you if you don't have a dukedom attached," Felix said bluntly. "And Ingrid likes slaying her own enemies."

"We could be comrades on the battlefield," Glenn whined, quietly.

Felix looked back at Hilda, remembering for the first time that someone was listening to this. "Are you drunk, Glenn? You only say things like this when you're drunk."

"I've had a few glasses," he said defensively, "because I am enjoying my vacation. I'm at a friend's wedding. I'm allowed to!"

"Well, you shouldn't have any more," Felix told him. "Go outside and cool off." To Hilda, he gritted his teeth before reluctantly whispering, "Cover for me?" She motioned for him to go ahead, and the younger Fraldarius dragged his older brother away.

"Are you having fun at the Officer's Academy?" she heard Glenn ask. "Goddess, I sure miss those days…"

She kind of felt for Glenn. She certainly knew what it was like to get saddled with a load of responsibilities you didn't want. But, by that same token, she didn't think it was right for him to try shoving them all on Felix. Really, the two brothers playing a game of keep-away with the most valuable inheritance in the Kingdom would have been kind of funny if it didn't remind her of her own situation.

Left alone again, she leaned over the balcony railing, trying to spot people she knew in the crowd. There was Christophe Gaspard, the groom, who seemed to be introducing Ashe to some other guests. Annette was speaking to an old soldier-looking type who absolutely towered over her – but they had the same orange hair and he was wearing the Crest of Dominic, so they were probably family. She saw Yuri's distinctive purple head, and beside him was Dimitri, as expected. The Crown Prince was surrounded by a knot of people hoping to talk to him, and he was giving them all equal attention as best as he could.

Considerate, handsome, chivalrous, and gentle; Dimitri Blaiddyd was possibly the closest thing to a storybook prince that could exist in the real world. He stumbled, of course, like a knobby-legged fawn, but by that same token he was just so adorable and earnest about whatever he was doing that it was hard to hold that against him. He seemed to hold a sincere belief that the world was kind and people were fundamentally good at heart, and, well, events around him tended not to contradict it. She'd be jealous if he weren't so impossible to hate.

She wondered if people actually acted differently around him. Were they just trying to impress the prince, or were they being hammered into some better shape by relentless rays of sunny idealism?

A small noise from behind caught her attention. Turning away from the railing, she saw a man in Gaspard colors, looking hesitant. He was holding a triangular leather case, like what one might use to carry a harp – a musician? "Oh, didn't see you there. Am I in your way or something?"

"Ah, yes," he said. "We're going to set up instruments on the balcony for the dancing later." He gave a bashful smile. "Could I ask you to leave?"

"I know I might not look it," she said, tugging at her Officer's Academy uniform, "but I am actually on guard duty here. Leaving could get me in trouble. I'll do my best to stay out of your way, okay?"

The man's brow furrowed. "…Okay, then. Could I ask you to hold this for a second?" He pushed the case into her hands. It was surprisingly light, she thought. What was in there? Then as he moved past her, she saw the glint of a blade. Instinct took over and she shoved the leather case in between the dagger and herself. The man was forced to stumble back and kick it away.

"Should have just gone downstairs, girl," he growled, as Hilda unhooked her axe and he revealed two more knives.

"You should really take some time to talk to Hilda, father. She looks scary, but she's actually just kind of shy. She's sweet once you get past her shell, and she has a great eye for fashion. And she's also very mature for her age, running a duchy and all. If you want to see what kind of person she is, I could arrange a meeting for later today…" Annette said, in a way that she hoped was calm and mature, and not wheedling or rambling or coming across like she had a crush on Hilda, which was Mercie's thing and not hers.

The craggy face of Gustave Dominic remained unmoved. "I don't believe the character of Lady Goneril is what is at issue here. Frankly, Annette, a Hero's Relic is too great a responsibility for a girl of your age to bear. I doubt Lady Goneril would have been allowed to bring Freikugel to the Academy if she had anyone around to tell her 'no.'"

Annette fought the urge to gesture and jump – she was not a girl, she was seventeen! – lacing her fingers together and almost vibrating with the effort of keeping still. "I'm not asking to go off to war! We'll just be training together. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for me to learn from someone who wields the Relic most similar to Crusher – it could teach me and Hilda so much. I'm trying to become a better servant of the Kingdom, father. Why would you want to get in the way of that?"

Baron Dominic sighed. "I thought you wished to serve the Kingdom through your talents as a mage."

"I did, until I met Hilda!" Forgetting herself, Annette started to wave her arms. "What are you worried about? What do I have to do to prove myself worthy of this 'responsibility' in your eyes?"

"Like any Relic, Crusher contains enormous power," he began, a lecture she had heard a hundred times before. "As its current custodian, it is my role to ensure that that power is not used for evil. To do otherwise would betray the trust of the Goddess. I do not exactly worry about…evil intentions in your case, so much as youthful impetuousness."

"Saints, father, I'm not going to bring it out willy-nilly!" She persisted in speaking in the future, not the hypothetical, as if she could trick her father into thinking he'd already agreed to her request. "Hilda saves Freikugel for training or emergencies. She didn't even bring it on this mission, because of the low chance we'd see combat."

He sighed again. Annette hated those sighs. They were the sighs of a busy man dealing with some tedious bureaucracy, or a parent explaining to their young child that they couldn't have any more candy today. "I must…think about this. The martial path is not easy, Annette. Why do you seem so intent on rushing down it before you are even a woman grown?"

That was quite a question, and Annette had to spend some moments thinking on her answer. All her thoughts were scattered, however, when a loud scream of "GUARDS!" came from the upper balcony, followed a split-second later by the whistle of a crossbow bolt. This was followed by a great deal of chaos.

Eyes wide, Gustave looked at Annette as though she had been shot. She put a hand on his arm to steady him, and he took a breath – before stiffening up, eyes even wider. "The prince!" he said, and bolted.

Gustave Eduard Dominic was a broad man with a commanding air. These features, which served him well in pushing through panicked crowds, had not been inherited by his daughter. She lost him in seconds. It occurred to her that the attackers might still be here, killing people, and that in this crowd she'd be very vulnerable. It occurred to her next that there might be wounded, probably being attended by Mercie, and she ought to be helping out with that. Not that she knew where Mercie was right now. Uncertain, disoriented, she wiggled to the edges of the ballroom, where the press of people was less. A number of the guests seemed to have already fled the room, and she didn't see any visible bodies, which was nice. Now, think…where was the danger? That shout had come from above – Hilda!

Annette looked up, to the balcony ringing the room, just in time to hear wood crack and see a tangle of limbs and knives falling down from above, screaming in two voices. Annette thought she screamed too, while outstretching her hand to make the worst-looking improvised spell of her life, the sort of thing that would get her a failing grade in any class and was only a spell by dint of basic definitions: it used wind anima, and it did something. What it did was blow the falling combatants apart and send them rolling across the floor in different directions. What it was supposed to do was break their fall. Whether it fulfilled its intended purpose was difficult to determine by eye – but Annette, in the spirit of optimism, chose to believe that it had and she was being helpful.

Of the two people on the floor, Hilda was first to get up, flaring Goneril's Crest as she did so. She advanced on her opponent and, undaunted by the fact that she had lost her weapon, kicked him in the face. There was an ugly crack.

"Augh, mercy!" he said through a broken nose, curling up on the floor. "In the name of the Goddess, have mercy!"

"Who sent you?" she demanded.

"No one!"

She kicked him again.

"Hilda!" cried Annette.

"Ugh. Hi, 'Nette. Help me get this guy secure, and we can keep him around for someone who's better at interrogations than me."

"Are you hurt, Hilda? I tried to break your fall, but I don't know if I—"

Hilda brushed off her hands on the skirt of her uniform. "I'm a tough girl. It's just scrapes and bruises. Can you check him out? Make sure he's not about to die."

Annette thought that this was just about the most impressive thing she had ever heard anyone say outside the pages of a novel, and Mercie would definitely be hearing about it later. She stood over the prisoner, forming the sigil for a basic Heal spell. It washed over him in a wave of light, and his posture changed. He was no longer curled up in agony, just keeping his head down in justifiable caution.

The two students did not have to wait long before Cassandra Charon strode in, white skirts spattered with blood.

"You got one of these scumbags, Hilda?" she asked, a truly thunderous expression on her face.

"I think he was trying to snipe from the balcony, but he didn't count on me being there," she explained.

Charon looked up at the balcony, eyes widening to see the splintered railing. She gave an appreciative nod. "Good job. But his partner got a few shots off. Who was supposed to be on the other side?"

Hilda shifted uncomfortably. "Uh…Felix. But he had to go deal with…one of the guests who was drunk."

"Well, tell him thanks for that, because the prince has been shot and we can't find the man who did it!" She looked down at Hilda's prisoner, eyes narrowing to hateful blue slits. "At my own wedding. You've got some fucking nerve!"

The man stayed annoyingly silent.

Charon grunted and had the two students help her search him for more weapons, before marching him out of the ballroom and into a dungeon cell. She then went raring off after her fiancé. Lacking any direction of their own, Annette and Hilda followed her.

They found Christophe Gaspard in worried discussion with Professor Manuela and Annette's father. Most of the Blue Lions were also present, including a shirtless Prince Dimitri, who waved at them even as Yuri was smearing some kind of healing salve over his wounds.

"Hilda! Annette! I caught a glimpse of your admirable performance. Only a glimpse, because I was at that time being ushered rapidly out of the room," said Dimitri by way of greeting.

"I imagine the crossbow bolt in your shoulder was also distracting," Yuri snarked. Annette tried not to look directly at them, even at the risk of being rude, because the prince had the body of a healthy young man who spent every day at the training grounds, and she could feel her thoughts going in a direction that was entirely inappropriate to the current situation.

The mood was tense. Dimitri, normally radiant, was colored by solemnity, and so was Mercedes as she took Annette and Hilda both in a hug. "I'm so glad neither of you got badly hurt! We were so lucky today. If the assassin had been a little more accurate, he would have killed the prince."

"The Goddess is kind, but perhaps not as kind as she could be," said a haggard-looking Professor Manuela. The adults had scattered to attend to their own tasks, and the Professor's, logically enough, was her students. "The guards will be searching the castle grounds for the man who got away. Until we're sure no more assassins are lying in wait, the prince is going to be staying right here in this room, under our eyes."

"So we're sure Prince Dimitri was the intended target, then?" asked Annette.

"It was either Dimitri, or someone standing very close to him," replied Yuri. "And I'm not currently aware of anyone who wants me dead this badly."

"It's not even the first time someone's tried to kill me," the prince said far too casually. "Have I ever told you about the Miracle of Duscur? I imagine, like that incident, this one was motivated by a disagreement with my father's policies." He paused, before something else occurred to him. "By the way, does anyone have a spare shirt? The one I was wearing is rather soaked in blood."

As the lowly Deer, Hilda found herself volunteered to go get some of Dimitri's clothes from his room. She couldn't keep herself from scanning every corner she passed with twitchy eyes. This sort of attack – audacious yet untraceable – reminded her far too much of what she'd seen from them. If they'd suddenly decided Faerghus's royal family should go the way of Almyra's, how would she know? They told Claude the bare minimum, and her even less.

She told herself that chances were this was someone else's doing. The Holy Kingdom had plenty of internal discontent. What she knew of King Lambert's reign was a cycle of power centralization, smacking down pissed-off nobles, then using that as the excuse for more power centralization. Although if that were the motivation, it was still odd to go after the son before the father…

In her current state, it didn't take much to set her off. So when she saw a shadow moving under the door to Dimitri's room, Hilda rushed in ready to fight. The woman inside found herself beaten down before she could react.

The prince's things were obviously disturbed, and there were letters on the floor. So she hadn't just punched out an innocent servant, Hilda thought with some relief. Pinning the spy to the ground, she asked, "Anything you feel like telling me?"

"I…got lost," the woman said. "I thought this was my room."

The audacity of the lie took Hilda aback. Then she realized the woman was dressed in the robes of a monk. "Oh. Ah…you're a guest here? My apologies, sister, but I'll need to confirm that." She retreated warily, allowing the woman to sit up.

"Well, I cannot blame you for being a little…cautious," she said, in a tone that suggested she did blame Hilda for other things. "But if you would only speak to my master, Bishop Kirill Sidorov of the Western Church, I am sure we can get this whole matter worked out."

"Bishop Sidorov. Yeah, okay, I'll do that," said Hilda, before punching the woman again.

"Kirill!" said Lord Gaspard, finding the bishop where he was speaking to a knot of other guests, appealing for calm. "I need to speak with you. Urgently." Flanked by Hilda Goneril and Cassandra Charon, he was an intimidating sight. The guests took one look and immediately broke out into nervous twitters.

The bishop sighed to see his work undone, but turned to face his addresser. Kirill Sidorov was a coldly handsome man, with that sort of reserved solemnity some priests liked to cultivate. He had the freckled skin and bluish-white hair of a Faerghan peasant, though he was more meticulously kept than most nobles Hilda knew. His hands clutched a tall bronze-capped staff, and as he began to walk with them, Hilda realized he had something of a limp. "What is it, Lonato? Has your investigation turned up something relevant?"

"It has. One of your people was implicated, Kirill."

Sidorov's eyes widened, and his face hardened into a grimace. "What? Who? Take me to them."

"I will do so. But Baron Dominic will want to question you as well, in the king's stead. Considering how strained your relationship with the Crown has been recently—"

"And that's why I wished to make my case to the prince here, and gain his support! Do you really think I'd benefit from killing him instead?"

Lord Gaspard looked equally unhappy. "I believe you, my friend. But…"

"Oh, just come out and tell him!" Cassandra snapped. "We found a letter in the spy's possession, in handwriting that even my father-in-law admits could be yours. It mentions a plot to assassinate the Archbishop herself – on the day of the Rite of Rebirth!"

Sidorov's face went gray. "Maiden preserve me," he breathed. "I mean, that's very serious –"

"It's fucking abominable, that's what it is!" Cassandra yelled. "I know you people like to be all holier-than-thou to us normal worshippers, but I thought you at least had the respect and decency the Goddess gave a louse. You're supposed to be a priest, a servant of the Goddess!"

"Cassandra! That's enough!" cried Lord Gaspard, as his daughter-in-law reached out to strike the bishop. Very quickly, his staff raised to shield him, and then then swung out low in a blow meant to sweep her feet. Cassandra dodged. Hilda, who'd been circling from behind, didn't – and the other end of the staff caught her in the face.

"Ooh!" she cried. Meanwhile, Lord Gaspard successfully managed to get in between his religious teacher and his daughter-in-law, shouting them both down with a voice that had once commanded battlefields.

"You're lucky you're in home territory," Cassandra growled. "If you'd tried this at Castle Charon…"

"I will pray for the Maiden-Saint to teach you the virtues of peace and compassion," replied the scornful Sidorov. "Do try to prove yourself worthy of your new husband." To Hilda, he only said, "Please accept my apologies, madam," before following Lord Gaspard to an uncertain fate.

In the end, Hilda returned to Garreg Mach without getting to wear her new dress. She was surprised at how much that disappointed her. A dejected Ashe told her that the bride and groom were going to take some time to work out their new differences, and hopefully have a smaller wedding in a few months.

The way back was busier than usual, as pilgrims began to gather for the Rite of Rebirth. Perhaps some of them were assassins in disguise. The Knights of Seiros sure seemed aware of the possibility – all pilgrims were being questioned at the town gates under the eyes of watchful guards. Mercifully, the Blue Lions got to waltz right through.

There was but one final hurdle before they could enter the monastery and retire. Waiting expectantly on the route from the stables to the dormitories was a prim young woman in a student's uniform. She had chestnut hair and violet eyes, and Hilda recognized her as Edelgard, from the room next to hers. She was a Black Eagle, she swung an axe respectably well, and, judging by the way the prince blanched when he saw her, she was here for him.

"Welcome back, your Highness," she began. "How was your fun, celebratory vacation of a mission?"

Some of the Blue Lions politely averted their eyes and sidled past. The gossipy ones, Dimitri, and Yuri stopped in their tracks. "I get the feeling that you're angry with me," the prince said delicately. "I'm not sure why, though."

"Yuri," she demanded, "when he was attacked, did my brother act like an idiot?"

"Well," he drawled, "it took a lot of people yelling to get him moving for cover, but once we got him to safety he pretty much stayed put. So I'd say that little flame of self-preservation is still burning."

Dimitri looked rather put out to hear them talking about him like this. "Personally, El, I think you should be most angry at the men and women plotting my death."

"Well, now I am. Just had to get a little bit of indignation out. Do you know how worried I've been?" Dimitri dropped his bags to accept her hug. She looked small in his arms – but everyone did, because Dimitri was taller and wider than some brick walls. "I know there's been unrest in Faerghus for years, but – Goddess, this is ridiculous! Attempts to kill you and the archbishop?"

"So you've seen our messages, then?" Yuri asked.

"Not officially, but Hubert was able to 'acquire' a copy. I simply couldn't not keep abreast of a situation involving threats to my younger brother's life."

The prince sighed. "I am surrounded by mother hens. I wasn't even wounded that badly—" He flinched as she poked him in the right shoulder, putting the lie to his words.

Fascinated, Hilda said, "Sorry to interrupt here, but…I didn't know Dimitri had a sister? In the Black Eagles?"

"Ah, yes," said Dimitri, seemingly eager for a change of topic. "El, this is Hilda Goneril of the Golden Deer. She came with us on our mission. Have you been introduced before?"

"Not formally," said Edelgard. "Edelgard von Hresvelg, ninth princess of the Adrestian Empire. Dima here is my stepbrother. The story's a little complicated, but the short version is that after my mother left the Empire she remarried to the King of Faerghus. We've known each other since childhood."

"Although she enjoys calling me her 'little brother', I feel it is worth noting that she's only older than me by six months," added Dimitri.

"And I used to be quite a bit taller than him, if you can believe it," she muttered ruefully. "At any rate, Professor Manuela wrote a glowing account of you in her report. I must thank you for doing so much for my brother, Hilda, even when you barely knew him." The Adrestian princess gave her a formal bow.

"Oh? That's not…I was just doing my job, really," she shrugged, feeling a strange little warmth. "I mean, I know him enough that I wouldn't want him to be hurt. And I was pretty angry about the wedding being ruined, too!"

"I want to second that thanks," said Dimitri. "And also convey my sincerest respect. I know your time with the Blue Lions is coming to an end, but I would love for our friendship to continue – if that would be all right with you." He rubbed awkwardly at his hair. "I'm at the training grounds every day before class, so if you'd ever like to spar…"

"Oh, I-I could do that!" stammered Hilda. "I mean, I'm not much of a morning person, but I've noticed you there in the afternoons sometimes—"

"I can come by in the afternoon! That's fine!" Behind him, Hilda could see Edelgard and Yuri whispering to each other suspiciously.

"Do the two of you have anything you want to say?" she asked with narrowed eyes.

"Not at the moment," replied Edelgard. "But we do agree that the both of you should get some rest." She gave Hilda a smile and a wave, before taking Dimitri's arm with a bossy air. "Come along, now!"

"She's only like this because she never gets to be in charge of anything at home," he told Hilda tiredly, before letting himself be dragged away.

Vocalist · Aug 19, 2022

Garreg Mach's library was a cozy place of dark-varnished wood and venerable tomes, kept clean and organized by conscripted students and a devoted staff. Cleverly-crafted lanterns spilled their light like warm oil onto the reading tables. This metaphorical oil was produced by the burning of actual oil, which Hapi knew was expensive, made horribly messy spills, and smelled like damnation when it went rancid. But no-one wanted an open flame by all these books, so every day a poor soul had to top off all the lantern wells and hope nothing went wrong.

Today that poor soul was Cyril, the Almyran, who gave her a nod as she passed by. "Hapi. Haven't seen you much, recently." He kept his eyes on his work, bringing the oil to the well's very rim and then removing the nozzle without a drop spilled.

Something twisted a little inside her. Embarrassment? She didn't let it stop her from being frank: "My sister's professor agreed to take me on as a student. My shifts at the stables have been cut to a quarter." It was far more than she had expected, but Professor Chatterbox could get favors from the Archbishop like the latter was her indulgent mother or something. The normal student fees had been, apparently, "worked out."

With a bit of a smirk, Cyril said, "Oh, I heard about that. It happened after some kind of commotion with your sister, right? She doing okay?"

"She's fine now," Hapi stonewalled. Cyril was alright, but Mari still wanted everything with Maurice and Edmund to remain private. "I'm studying here because of my own ambitions, not because of Mari."

"Huh. Well…" Cyril picked up his supplies and prepared to move to the next table. "If you're here to study, don't let me distract you. Unless you're after that new atlas with all the maps and illustrations. There's a waiting list half a mile long for that thing."

Darn, that actually sounded like a really good read. She ought to get her name on that waiting list. "I'm here to meet other students, actually. One of the Black Eagles put up a bulletin about making a study group…"

"Ugh, we're late! Thank the Goddess no one else got here before us," huffed a voice from the entrance. In strode Edelgard von Hresvelg, inspecting the room like she personally suspected it wouldn't be up to standard; behind her slithered Hubert von Vestra, who inspected the room like he personally suspected it contained assassins. In that moment, Edelgard reminded Hapi of a rich noble's pampered cat, while Hubert reminded her of a spider. One of the big ones, that ate birds.

Hapi waved. "Hi."

"Oh! Are you—" Momentarily taken aback, the princess let her companion whisper a few words in her ear. "Hapi. That's right, you're a student now. Are you here for the dark magic study group?"

"Yep. Milly's going to be along too. She just said she'd be a little late because she had a lunch date." Cyril had moved a few paces away, but she could feel his eyes on them. He was definitely the kind of servant who liked to amuse himself with upper-class gossip.

"Milly?" asked the princess, politely mystified. Her shadow couldn't help her here.

In answer, Hapi pointed back to the entrance, where Maegelle von Ordelia was trotting in. "Hapi! Lady Edelgard! I apologize for my lateness; I couldn't cancel my usual chess game with Sylvain. Is this…hmph. Is this all who answered the bulletin?" She looked more smug than disappointed.

"Dark magic is a difficult field with an unsavory reputation," Hubert noted. "I was prepared for no one to answer."

Taking charge, Edelgard sat them down and revealed the disappointingly short list of books the library had on the subject. "This is less than what I had hoped for, but it should be enough for us to master the basics. This one comes recommended as a very good introduction to the field. It even explains the mathematical concepts involved."

Maegelle leaned forward, trying to read upside-down. "Hmm. What mathematical concepts are we talking about, say, for a basic Miasma? I might not need the review."

Edelgard flipped through the chapter. "It looks like…oh dear. I didn't even know you could combine matrices like that." Maegelle looked, gave a small wince, then admitted she could indeed use the review.

Hapi didn't know what a 'matrice' was, but she didn't like the sound of it. "Is this going to involve a lot more math than normal magic?" The math was her least favorite part. When her teachers weren't looking over her shoulder, she tended to avoid calculations and just fudge the sigil until it looked right.

The other students all looked at her in a way that suggested she'd said something very embarrassing. "Dark magic is known for that, yes," said Hubert dryly. "In exchange for the complexity, one can achieve a variety of esoteric and disturbing effects. Did you truly come here without even knowing what it was you were studying?"

Hapi refused to let the Spider cow her. "Dark magic is the magic that looks like this, right?" She unfolded her palm, where a silver spiderweb of a sigil was inscribing itself in the air just above her skin. As its symmetry completed, a dark mist coalesced into a roiling void the size of an apple that shed a curious violet shadow-light. The violet shadows cast everyone's faces in a ghoulish aspect and reached to every corner of the room. Where they touched the oil lanterns, their cozy light was smothered in heavy veils; forced back to nothing but a tiny flame.

Hapi's fingers beckoned, and the shadows answered. With impossible rapidity, the lantern-flames were plucked from their wicks and drawn back, waving like yellow ribbons, to the little ball of darkness in her hand. As her fist closed, the spell extinguished, and the monastery library was thrown into complete darkness.

From elsewhere in the room, there was an indignant, "Hey! I just finished lighting all those!" from Cyril.

"Sorry!" she called into the darkness. Beside her, Maegelle had the presence of mind to summon up a magical light. It revealed three wide-eyed young faces; even Hubert was not bothering to hide his astonishment.

"You have clearly studied this before," he probed.

"Not exactly," explained Hapi. "My adoptive parents hired a magic tutor for us, but he always bored me so much that I came up with a lot of spells on my own. That one I used to sneak into the kitchen at night and steal snacks."

"That's unbelievable," Hubert said. Not as an exclamation, but a flat statement that he did not believe her.

She shrugged. "It's the truth. If I'd actually learned dark magic from a secret old master in the woods or something like that, I'd tell you. I don't have a reason to lie."

"I don't think it's worth making a fuss over this, Hubert," said his mistress. "At any rate, it's an incredible talent you have there. The rest of us might be starting at a…different level."

"Nah," said Hapi. "I'm here to learn the nasty spells, for self-defense. That's going to leave me staring at these books with the rest of you."

There was little staring to be done until Cyril finished re-lighting all the lamps (she really ought to go into town and buy something for him as an apology). So a conversation started up, somewhat awkwardly, about their respective reasons for pursuing this particular course of study: "I know Hapi has an inclination for it, and I simply wish to be the best mage I can be," said Maegelle. "But what about the two of you?"

"The effects it offers seem unique and useful," said Hubert. He paused, before admitting with a chuckle, "It is also very intimidating to be known as a practitioner of dark magic."

The princess clasped her hands before her on the table. "Personally, I wish to excel in an uncommon field, to have a notable achievement to my name. I feel that's sure to win me respect."

Hapi raised her eyebrows. "You're an imperial princess. It seems to me like you're already pretty notable and respected." There were, to be sure, nobles that were better off dead, buried and pissed on, but Edelgard wasn't one of them. The worst that could be said about her was that she was bossy – but to everyone, not just the lowborn like Hapi. Hapi was indifferent to her, and given how badly her rapscallion nature reacted to authority figures, she figured that meant everyone else must think Edelgard a pretty fine fellow.

"There are…different levels of notability," Edelgard tried to explain. "Being a child of the Emperor is one of them. Being notable in comparison to my ten siblings is quite another."

"Even with that in mind, there are certain of the Black Eagles who do not show her Highness all of the respect she is due," Hubert noted delicately. "Thus, seeking to prove herself superior to them in some way."

"Ah," Maegelle said with an impish grin. "You must be talking about Ferdinand."

Edelgard's jaw tensed in a way that told all she had guessed it right. "He is…a busybody. And a…he often has good advice, I suppose. But the way he assumes everyone needs his advice and his help is so grating. Especially me, because 'House Aegir has advised House Hresvelg since the foundation of the Empire!'" she mimicked. "Dark magic is one thing that I know he's never even tried, so he can't try to explain it to me."

"He might try," mused Hubert. "His opinion of himself is higher than the moon."

Outside, in the bustle of the town's markets, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester glared up at the sun, which was glaring right back but in a considerably more powerful way. Admittedly, he ought to have predicted that an afternoon in the middle of the Blue Sea Moon would be a) hot, and b) extremely crowded. And he should have drawn the further conclusion that those burdensome conditions would hinder the progress of his courtship with a certain Marianne von Maurice (soon-to-be Edmund).

It had seemed like such a clever idea at first. Marianne was uncomfortable as the target of his focused attention, which made dinner or tea unsuitable. He had done much better by inviting her to the greenhouse to help him transplant some flowers he had gathered on their trip to Leicester (all ones that she liked, of course). With their gazes and hands occupied by work, Marianne had seemed to relax, gently patting the earth into place and whispering encouragements to grow. When that work had ended, however, Lorenz found himself in need of another activity they could do together. Shopping had seemed just the thing, before he'd seen her wilting in the heat and cringing away from the noise.

Waiting in a long line to buy iced fruit juice, Lorenz allowed himself a few minutes of self-pity. Then he straightened himself up, handed the vendor his coin, and marched back into the street. What else could he do – blame the sun? Blame the pious, who gathered at Garreg Mach at this exact season every year? No, the one responsible for this mess of a date was himself, and he would likewise be the one to salvage it.

Marianne was at the stall where he'd left her, listening to a merchant with berry-red hair explain the extraordinary journeys that justified her fantastical prices. "You can't get in or out of the steppes right now, not since they set fire to Darband. You see anyone else here selling imports from Almyra? I risked my neck for this stuff, I tell you!"

"Okay, but…I still don't think I'd like saffron at that price. What about this?" Marianne pointed to a painted wooden box. "Oh, thank you, Lorenz." She took the drink from him and watched as the merchant flipped open the box, revealing a game board painted with long triangles.

"Nard, the most popular game east of the Locket! Forty gold pieces, and I'll write down a copy of the rules for free." He could see Marianne wince.

Lorenz stepped in: "My good woman, I hope you do not take it as an insult when I say that your prices are outrageous."

"No offense taken! I hear that multiple times a day," she said with good cheer and a cocky grin. "But it's all relative to supply and demand. I traffic in the rare and exotic. I travel great distances and take great risks. The compensation I ask for is only appropriate."

"But look at this item! Hard as it was to acquire – and I doubt that was very hard, if it is truly as popular an entertainment as you say – it is nothing more than wood and stone!"

The woman crossed her arms over her chest. "The dice are ivory," she said.

"I think they're tagua, actually," chirped Marianne. "Which is better, since it doesn't come from an animal," she assured the glaring woman.

"And the paint," Lorenz informed her icily, "is chipped. If you wish to traffic in rare and valuable items, you ought to take care with them. Ten gold pieces, for the craftsmanship."

"Twenty. This thing's been halfway around the world!"

"Twelve, I suppose, if you insist on taking advantage of my generosity."

She clutched at her heart. "You're a scoundrel. How is a woman supposed to make a living, when no one wants to pay her the worth of her labors?" From her belt, she drew a bright-shining dagger. Lorenz and Marianne flinched, but she only brandished it dramatically at an invisible enemy. "Poor Anna was waylaid by brigands twice, and that was just getting from Darband to al-Alaya! So many of my guards and travelling companions have perished!"

"Um, you don't need to – I mean, I'm willing to pay fifteen," Marianne stammered.

The merchant – 'Anna' – immediately dropped the act, smiled greasily, and held out her hand for the money.

Lorenz sniffed, but let the transaction go ahead. He could have negotiated a little more, he thought. But his attention was on the dagger, still clutched in her left hand. It shone with more than just the luster of well-polished metal. "I beg your pardon. Is that an enchanted dagger?"

"This? Carnwennan? Yes, but it's not for sale." Yet she couldn't help but show off a little, spinning the blade between her fingers. When it stopped moving, Lorenz spotted a Crest inscribed on the blade – but it disappeared back into her belt before his eyes could make proper sense of it. "My life is the one thing I can't replace, so I always guard it well. With things that are almost as hard to replace, like an enchanted mithril dagger. If you're interested in magic items, I have a few talismans…"

Interest piqued, Lorenz let himself be persuaded into buying an amulet of spell resistance. In addition to being genuinely useful, it would also keep him in Anna's memory, in case the woman ever came back with a find as valuable as that dagger. Afterward, Marianne complained of tiredness, and it was only when they were halfway up the monastery steps that he thought to ask her what she wanted with a foreign board game.

"I'm sure you know," she said in her silvery, wind-through-snow-covered-branches voice, "but Claude's birthday is on the twenty-fourth. I thought he would appreciate a gift to remind him of home."

"Oh," he said, feeling quite embarrassed for the second time that day. "You are a more considerate friend than I, Marianne. Claude's birthday had quite slipped my thoughts." He put a hand to his head, thinking. "I suppose I should thank you for reminding me while I still have a week to prepare."

"Why don't we say it's a gift from both of us?" she offered. "I would not ever have bought it if you had not haggled the seller down so far."

"Oh – I – well, first of all, I negotiated. One of my station does not 'haggle'. But your offer is most generous," breathed Lorenz. Internally, he was at war. One side argued that it was within both his duty and his capability to find a proper gift on his own. The other side proposed that letting Marianne do a favor for him would further their courtship, and also feel really nice. A third side sneered that a man raised in the dirt, like Claude, would likely appreciate this battered old trinket more than anything Lorenz would choose for him.

Outnumbered, Lorenz's pride bowed out. "I would be ever so grateful, Marianne. Would you keep it safe until the day? Claude sleeps next door to me, and I do not want to chance him seeing it."

As if he were the one doing her a favor, and not the other way around, Marianne smiled at him. Behind his ribs, Lorenz's well-bred heart melted into a gooey puddle, and he congratulated himself on a choice well-made.

He didn't even need to keep an eye on the other eligible women of the Academy any more. All he had to do was convince her to accept Margrave Edmund's offer of adoption. Then they could marry, form an unassailable power bloc, and have beautiful children with abundant Crests.

Lorenz's good mood lasted until he stood in the hallway outside his room, and a redolent herbal odor hit his nose. It was so surprising that he whirled around, as if he could track it with his eyes. The scent was not foul, per se, but by the Goddess it was strong. As if some forest witch had set up her cauldron in his room – but he checked, and his room was exactly as he left it. The odor was weaker there, in fact.

Lip curling in distaste, Lorenz knocked on the next door over. "What is it?" called Claude, sounding somewhat harried.

"I assume you can smell as well as I can. So you must be aware of the problem," Lorenz said through the door.

"Ugh, Lorenz. Weren't you supposed to be out riding with Marianne today?"

Lorenz nearly facepalmed. Riding, of course! She loved horses! He should – but now was not the time. "Shopping, actually. We came back earlier than expected. Marianne's delicate constitution was affected by the heat."

"You'll have to give her my best wishes on her recovery." The voice sighed behind the door. "If you could convey those wishes to her right now, in fact…and stay by her side for the span of an hour or so…"

"Claude. What. Are. You. Doing." There was no answer. He rattled the doorknob unsuccessfully, and wondered for a moment if he could modify a Fire spell to melt through the lock. No, not with enough precision to avoid setting the whole door on fire. Such violent thoughts were uncharacteristic of him; Claude's Almyran-ness must have been dragging them both down.

Entreating himself to calm, Lorenz sat down against the opposite wall. True to his word, after the span of an hour, Claude opened the door and made as if to wave in some fresh air. He froze when he saw Lorenz sitting before him. "You stubborn bastard. What are you still doing here?"

"My parentage is entirely legitimate and not at all in doubt," Lorenz informed him, craning his neck to peer into the revealed room. What he had spied of Claude's room before always surprised him with its normality; nary an exotic touch. The only things he could criticize were the messiness of the unmade bed, the books piled everywhere, and the papers strewn on his desk like leaves. This time, the room was messy in a new way. The books had been pushed to the side, and the center was dominated by bowls, tins, measuring scales, and a tiny portable stove. The floor was covered by towels – many stained with drips of something dark. Claude was also wearing leather gloves and an old linen shirt, his Academy uniform nowhere to be seen. All in all, Lorenz felt safe in concluding that some unwholesome concoction had just been brewed. He stood, giving Claude a vindicated look. "I repeat my earlier question. What were you doing all that time? If you do not answer, I'll have to bring this to a professor. We cannot run the risk of you trying to poison us all. Or perhaps just me – you do have a motive, after all."

"If you're referring to the fact that you have been ceaselessly antagonizing me since the day we met, I suppose I do have a motive," Claude bit out. It occurred to Lorenz that, for all the arguments they had had, this was the first time he could recall seeing those green eyes narrowed in such undisguised anger. "This is not your business. But if you insist on being this way about it, I was dyeing my hair." He stripped off the gloves like he wanted to slap Lorenz with them. The motion sent his loose sleeves fluttering, revealing old, layered scars around his wrists that Lorenz had never seen before. "Henna. Indigo. Olive oil. Warm water. You couldn't poison a baby with it." Now that he looked, Claude's hair did seem quite wet. And, perhaps, blacker. Wait, had it been black or brown before? "I need to spend a day on it every month or else the color fades. Sorry about the smell."

Lorenz furrowed his brow. "I don't understand. What's your natural hair color, then?"

The question seemed to agitate him, for reasons Lorenz couldn't comprehend. "This is my natural hair color! You—" He bit his words back. With a visible effort, he reassembled himself. Emotions retreated behind his eyes, and his next words were delivered calmly, if not with one of his customary smiles. "Hilda's not the only one who went white at a young age. It's just that black hair dye's a lot easier to mix up than pink." He then slammed his door in Lorenz's face.

"What a crude disguise this makes," Khalid heard the tall woman laugh as she rinsed henna paste out of his hair. "One must work with the tools available, though."

His hair still felt heavy and gluey, even as she said she was done and beckoned to Hilda. Hilda glared, and did not come. "This is so stupid."

"But the people fooled by it – they will be the stupid ones, yes?" she said with an indulgent smile. "Come now! If we wish to cross the desert, we must follow the oasis network. And if we wish to pass through the oases without trouble, we must hide how special you are." She motioned for Khalid to go, and he obeyed, back to the campfire under a starlit sky.

The other two paused in their conversation as he approached. "Goddess," the leader woman said in Fódlani. "You look so much like Tiana now, kiddo."

"He does, doesn't he?" murmured the man.

Crimson Wind (A Fire Emblem: 3 Houses AU)

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