Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Through a blur of red and white, you arrive at your room within the Officer’s Academy. It’s dead silent; everyone else but a few patrolling guards are fast asleep and ignorant of your warping and the now stifled threat deep below the monastery. 

You try not to think about the sword Yuri threw at you. 

…he wouldn’t miss next time, that’s for sure. 

You’re troubled by what you’ve learned. Loki, who’d been a peace-disturber in the Nine Realms for thousands of years, had been the one that brought you, the Cantor and who knows what else to this world—and you don’t have much time before she enacts whatever chaotic plan she’s constructing.

Rummaging through your things, you shuffle through your bookshelf of banned books. None of them gave you any answers in the months you’ve kept them.

Careful not to make any noise, you avoid the ridiculous decorations in the room (A suit of armour? Do you seem like the type?) and make your way to your dresser. You’re exhausted, covered in dirt, grime, and revenant blood. You’ll Elfire the clothes away and buy more.

You opt to bathe yourself for now, and maybe he’ll let you plead your case before Rhea bites you in half.

Still very much alive the next day, you nervously make your way to the library after a fitful sleep. It’s odd how everyone acts normal, the excited murmur of students still discussing their excursion to the snowy north of Faerghus. 

It’s almost like the days before winter break, your peers practically jumping for joy that they won’t have to deal with their studies for a few weeks.

Most of them discuss the long journey to Faerghus. You’ve gone from Nífl to Múspell, then Múspell to Askr and back again in a few moments. Travel is nothing much to you anymore, but having to cross the country was pretty draining. 

They find the expedition a unique experience that could only happen while studying at Garreg Mach. After school, they would return to their homes or be invited to courts and work under the great Houses of Fódlan.

You try to limit your conversations with everyone, and for those nosy enough, claim to be busy preparing exams for the classes you’ve been substituting for. They don’t ask anything after that.

Byleth, it seems, is worried about some students grades. 

Namely, Sylvain, who you regretfully turn away because he’d end up talking your ear off instead of studying. He sticks around regardless, taking a lonesome seat at the nearest table to your desk and occasionally leaning back on his chair to ask you questions. 

“Why don’t pegasus let men ride them?”

Your quill scratches against the ledger, creating a sharper loop to the letter. Is there a polite way to say put a sock in it?

“They’re picky and prefer level-headed riders. Some take years to find a rider, and others stay in a family for a century or two, passing from mother to daughter. There have been exceptions.” 

Elincia’s pegasus was her grandmother's. Shigure is just an all-around nice person, and his pegasus has a strong bond with him.

Sylvain’s chair squeaks as he leans, arms crossed loosely over the arms of the chair, and he uses only one leg to stay in a dangerous, suspended position. You return to your work, stressed about Loki and Sylvain scratching the wooden floor.

“So… what I’m hearing is,” He continued after a pregnant pause, testing the waters for your reaction. You didn’t respond since you wanted the conversation to die, but it seems you’ll need to kill this one with your bare hands. 

“...I should be persistent.”

You rest the quill in the inkwell, taking a very slow inhale, then setting your entire attention on the redhead. He suddenly looks a little nervous; you’ve changed your placid, averted gaze to instead stare at him with all of your might, and the legs of his chair thump right back where they should be.

“Why don’t you ask Ingrid how she works with the pegasi?” He looks pretty unbothered by the students glaring at him for all the noise, and thankfully, he keeps his boots on the ground now. 

“Yeah. Nevermind.”

He sweeps a hand through his hair for a group entering the library, and you find your paperwork is an easy way to pretend you don’t hear them all return the gift of his display with hissed shushes . 

Eventually, he gives up bothering you as frequently and asks you questions relevant to his work. Pleased that he’d given up, you happily indulge and chat.

He leaves as the bells ring for eleven o’clock, most of the others filtering out for their lunchtime. You get to eat here and continue working, which isn’t so bad, but you’re subtly depressed at your blunder in the Abyss. 

Yuri not taking action could mean a few things; he’d told Rhea, but she decided not to act, or he’d kept it to himself, which, in your opinion, was the least likely. Shez was in a grey area. 

You had no option but to remain here doing this job until you figured out Loki’s whereabouts and dragged the God back to the Nine Realms.

I still can’t feel Briedablik. 

“Librarian?”

You look up from your bergamot tea, undeniably curious who’d miss their lunch to speak with you. And it’s a face you never see alone.

“What’s up, Edelgard?” Seeing the noble’s faces twist at your casual responses will never get old. It’s only sad that Alfonse got used to it. Her hair is swept away from her face into her usual style, though some thin, white strands frame her pale complexion and lilac eyes.

If you tried hard enough, you could see Alfonse’s stern exterior in her face. Too bad she hadn’t really opened up to you. 

“I wanted to speak with you about something. Would that be alright?” 

Well. You thought too soon!

She gives off an unusual vibe you pick up on right away—well, since she had come here alone, your interest was piqued immediately. She’s never without her retainers.

“Sure, I’m all ears.” Gesturing to the additional seat beside you, Edelgard weighs the choice with a furrowed brow but takes your offer. 

The library remains empty, which is what Edelgard must’ve preferred. You do keep an eye out for Hubert or Monica, and after a sweep, you don’t feel their particular presence.

“You seem to have a wealth of knowledge on folklore.” She begins, hands folded on her lap. You assume someone’s told her about your campfire story on the most recent trip. She rarely seeks out others who aren’t in her circle, so you’re eager to figure out what has Edelgard coming to you. 

“I wanted to ask, do you know of any tales about something called a dream-eater?”

Dream-eater? Huh. Whatever look that crossed your face seems to encourage Edelgard to continue.

“You have.” She sounds relieved, and though it helps her, you’re fibbed that your expression has given you away once more. Should I just put my hood on?

“Well,” You admit, avoiding how her hopeful eyes dim, “—it’s more like I know things associated with them. Like how there are good ones that encourage happy dreams.” Edelgard takes this in with a nod, brows furrowed.

“I see. What of the others?”

I won’t call Triandra and Plumeria‘bad.’  

“They cause nightmares. Have you been experiencing them lately?” There’s a chance Edelgard may refuse to answer on her own honour; she would outright refuse to let anything signify a weakness in her façade. 

But if she wants help, you need information in exchange. She’s your student; you don’t want Edelgard to be kept awake by nightmares. She’s still young and, as an adult, remains your responsibility, as much as Edelgard would deny. 

You remember an older Edelgard asking you some time ago to watch over her younger counterpart.

“Only recently.” She sounds tired now, and you frown for her health.

“And those nightmares…  you think a dream eater is the reason?” 

“I do not believe that such a thing may exist, but baseless theories have been proved right before.” Well damn. Does she know about the griffon, too? You nod in agreement, the subject of a guess being correct simply due to its absurdity somewhat familiar to a few of your spitfire tactics.

“Have you imagined what it looked like? That can help me narrow down some books.” Edelgard nods, her eyes flicking to the entryway when someone goes past. You look as well, only seeing the tail-end of their uniform go by.

“A girl dressed in the strangest clothes. It seems she has horns, but I’m not sure. When I woke up, my room smelled faintly of flowers.” 

Uh. Horns? I don’t have the best track record with horned people. Especially their retainers.   

“Whenever she speaks, I can’t understand it. It’s like there’s a mist around her absorbing all sounds. Sometimes, she cries. The rest are things I would rather not speak of.”

“That’s… huh. You don’t have to tell me about your nightmares, but I would like to hear if you’ve seen this girl before.” Shaking your head to deter her from assuming you wanted that information, Edelgard relaxes slightly. 

You silently offer her a cup of tea, and as she accepts, you dig out your journal from within the large desk and set it down. She watches but remains expressionless.

“Mm. Okay, I have a few ideas.”

“Already?” Edelgard, astounded, does not know that you are particularly educated in dreams and nightmares. You were the only one to recall the twists and turns of the Álfar.

“Yep. I’ve heard of something like this before.” 

It's more like we experienced it. 

That incense which put you and everyone into the dreamwords of Ljósálfheimr and Dökkálfheimr… Maybe you could find it here, too. The Redolent Censer had a unique scent and was a treasure to Askr, which may put a wall in your path. It was made to counteract the drowsiness álfar caused.

“I’ll have to ask a favour of a friend.” 

Edelgard sets the teacup down, and you instinctively turn to the gentle clink of porcelain. She looks determined.

“Whatever you need to stop them from occurring, do it. I can repay you somehow.” You chuckle at Edelgard’s readiness, then wave her proclamation off.

“All you need to do is rest and take it easy—as much as these nightmares allow. Though…” You pause, and the subject of how you’ll get into Edelgard’s dreams is dangerous. To access the realm of dreams, you had to be inflicted with the sleeping curse. That could mean you could be asleep for days.

Something in her eyes changes; those purple hues are your only way to figure out what she’s thinking, but you cannot discern anything now. She looks older. You wonder if Those That Slither has pushed her to act and take on the church. Most likely. It was supposed to happen just around the time Byleth hit a year of teaching... wasn't it?

“Just make sure no one interrupts me.” 

“How will I know you’ve begun?”

For a moment, you wonder if you should tell her how. You want Edelgard to live a long life, but that’s almost impossible knowing she’ll be twisted into the Hegemon demon in only a handful of years. You hate that you can see it now.

So you tell her.

“Have you ever tried incense?”

“They just left?”

“Vanished.” Yuri hisses with a cold expression. 

Balthus frowns, arms crossed, as the two observe the massive, collapsed ruins. Scattered remnants of rotted corpses litter what’s left of the area, bleached bones and rusted iron armour still decorating their bodies. 

If they’d gone any closer, the scent of rot would be unbearable. He didn’t want to be upset about you and the stench sinking into his clothes.

“What now?” Shez, still revolted by the smell, remained further away from the two. Yuri turns away from the decrepit site and stalks down the crumbling halls. Balthus follows, and Shez grumbles when he’s forced to as well.

“It’s obvious to me that their loyalties remain wherever they’re from. What matters the most is if they came here to cause these incidents or if it followed them here.” Gesturing to another fallen revenant, Shez steps over the puddle of… something, and continues to trail after the Wolves.

“I dunno. They looked spooked.” Shez adds with a shrug. Balthus hadn’t been there, too busy checking for any escapees. But he’d seen how angry Tasnim had turned when Yuri returned with someone else instead of you. Betrayed. There’d been a storm brewing in their young eyes, and it’d only grow worse the longer you avoided this place.

“I’ll confront them,” Yuri states. Balthus grunts in agreement and Shez’s annoyed glare at the two’s back goes unnoticed. 

“...what about me?” Shez had no-one, now. The Ashen Demon had eviscerated his company, the voice in his head had fallen silent, and the lead he had originally investigated ended up being a trap. Where could he realistically go, knowing there was some secret group plotting the demise of this monastery? And that someone in the church knew?

“You’re a mercenary. Go offer your services to the church.” Yuri can’t spare much more sympathy than that, and Shez’s gaze flicks to Balthus.

“Or, you could go to the arena. You’re a fighter, yeah? Those swords speak for themselves.” The taller man gestures to the two swords comfortably sheathed on Shez’s hip, and Shez nods—only to placate the massive man. 

That’s not a bad idea, he thought, but Shez had been facing a path that veered in two directions since his group was slaughtered. Could he abandon his mission to live in the stale air down here? Let the Ashen Demon grow stronger? 

You knew him, somehow, just like how that Cantor did. Someone told that magic-user of his existence, and you had risked your own skin to fend off the undead to ensure he didn’t get turned into one of them. No one did that without expecting a life debt in return. 

“I have questions for them, too.” Shez can’t fade into obscurity until the Ashen Demon is dealt with, and you’re the fastest route to them. Yuri’s eyes burn under the torchlight, and the two are in a pseudo-truce to get some answers.

“Get any sleep?” Under the guise of tutoring her, Edelgard meets you at the stables. She’s more alive, a rosy hue to her cheeks from the cold. She greets you formally, and you take the lead to the library.

“Some. Not as much as I would’ve liked.” You nod, and chat with her about her studies. 

Over the night, you’d scoured your books and journals, concluding that the incense could be recreated in a weaker form with your own magic and a few hard-to-find ingredients substituted for the scarce ones in Askr.

Good thing the Professor had been growing them in the greenhouse, and after you practically begged the navy-haired teacher to have some, left the glass-plated greenhouse with a bundle of herbs and flowers. 

An incense was bought in the town and was ready to be used at your bedside, simple in its design but exactly what you needed.

“Tonight, I’ll do what I can. Though,” You glance at the red-haired girl in the far corner, who remains staring at a book’s yellowed pages with clearly zero interest. Edelgard’s eyebrows twitch, and you leap to the rescue.

“The delivery is ready today. Mind lending a hand?” Surprised, her face twists at your request, and though she shoots you a confused frown, Edelgard follows you out. Monica stays behind, and you contain your relief when Hubert is nowhere near enough for you to pick up on his magic.

Edelgard remains one of the strongest students thanks to her studying the Armored Knight class and effortlessly helps you carry the new shipment of books from the Garreg Mach entranceway. 

“Where will these go?”

“My room. I check for discrepancies before they go on the shelves.” 

“I didn’t know you were in charge of that.” Edelgard sounds intrigued, and you quickly reply with a subdued smile. She’s slowly reeling into your hidden meaning.

“Well, I got a new rule book when Rhea put me in charge.”  

“I see. How are you feeling today?” Under the guise of asking about your well-being, Edelgard wants to know if you’ve gotten any further in your research. 

“A little tired, but haven’t slept in yet.” It had been difficult to source some of the assumed ingredients, and although the scent of the censer was barely a memory at this point, you were sure you’d made some ground. Edelgard nods.

“I see. I hope tonight treats you better.” Passing through the Monastery’s stony walls, you arrive at your room and quickly unlock the door. 

Edelgard leaves the books on your cluttered desk, curiously eyeing some of your trinkets. You don’t bother getting her attention until you show off the makeshift censer, setting it down atop the stack of books.

“This is it?”

“It’s humble. The last one I heard of was much more gaudy.”

Edelgard seems confused but works her way through what you’ve said.

“Thanks for your help. I wasn’t sure if you wanted them around during this process.”

“I am the Imperial Princess. It’s normal for my retainers to always be at my side.” She quips, and you pretend to be surprised.

“I’d like to say you’re just like any other student here, but we both know that’s not true.” Everyone knows those closer to royalty have access to better rooms and more privacy. 

It seems the opposite in Edelgard’s case; with Kronya watching her so closely she’s practically a parasite, or with Hubert hanging about like a crow, intelligent and waiting. 

It must be suffocating with such devout spies.

“You know,” She starts, “I’m curious about this, but I’ll keep my questions to myself.” Edelgard remarks plainly, her eyes skimming the dried remains of the frostflower and your favourite hat. 

You shake your head. Edelgard may be a master at keeping her emotions in check, but you’ve known her before, back in the Order of Heroes open halls.

Her curiosity reminds you she’s still young, so you surrender. 

“Ask away.” Fiddling with the silver metal lid of the low, square-shaped censer, you think it reminds you of those old candy trays that the past generations used to have back home. 

As you do, Edelgard approaches your bookshelf of banned books. Uh oh. Her hand brushes the spine of a particular one, and you watch her from the corner of your eye. She skims the shelf silently, away from a book sorely out of place at first, but the gleam of gold in a stack of dusty books would catch anyone's attention right away.

“What is this tome?”

“That’s an antique, actually.” Now very worried that Blizzard may react in her hands, Edelgard sets it down gently at your panic. Your relaxed expression helps ease the worry that flashed across her face.

“It’s a replica of the actual one. I couldn’t afford that, no way.” She manages a few small chuckles, her eyes dragging along to eventually end up on another dried flower hanging from a nail on the case, its reddish petals fading to the same pale blue of a certain dökkálfar’s eyes. 

The stem is littered with sharp thorns that crawl along like the spines of a dragon’s back. You wonder if Triandra’s found peace.

“I’ve never seen a bloom like this.” She appraises the hanging flower with genuine curiosity. You choose to explain where you’d gotten it from.

“I lent a hand to someone with a problem like this, and the flower was with me when I woke up.”

“This isn’t your first time?”

You purse your lips, then shrug.

“Not really. It’s not just a magical creature that causes these afflictions, but the person’s memories. They look for people who’ve had harrowing experiences and infest their minds with nightmares to grow stronger. The last person was a princess, too.” 

You’re citing Sharena, who’d met Peony when she was younger and nearly sent you into a panic when it seemed the two had swapped at some point. 

After you told Alfonse about the dream everyone else had forgotten, he was unsettled until you both confirmed it was not true. A changeling could not open a gate, and Sharena was fully capable of that feat.

Both you and him were hesitant to bring it up to Sharena. She found out when Peony spilled the beans and rightfully chided you both for thinking she was secretly a changeling. 

“A princess? Just who exactly are you?” Edelgard’s tone shifts somewhere you’d hope to avoid. She sounds accusatory, as if you’d lied. Which you had. 

“Well, I am a traveller. I used to go everywhere with my allies before I came here. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get a royal’s favour to help me travel through Fódlan’s Throat safely. This place is far more cut off from the rest of the world than you think.”

Edelgard ruminates on this, still eyeing you cautiously. So you take the dökkálfar’s flower, pluck a few crumbling petals, and drop them into a mortar and pestle. The noise of stone grinding against stone is a backdrop for your conversation.

“I travel to learn. But this place is comfortable. Maybe after all these years, I could finally settle somewhere.” 

“Would you pick Fódlan?” Edelgard asks lightly, her eyes set on the dusty remains of a treasured gift.

“Well…” You pause, raising the pestle from grinding up some of the petals. The powder glitters gently, and you can almost smell the sweet scent of dreams rising from it. It’s almost like honey and the musk of lilies, or the scent of a powder room.

“...there is a place I’m trying to return to. I don’t know if I can go there anytime soon.”

“Are you from there?” Her attention is on you now, and there’s something in her eyes that looks a bit sadder than before.

“No. I’ve lost all rights to go back to my birthplace.” You don’t know if that’s even an option after the wars end. If they end. Askr is constantly under siege, and the longer it goes on, the less you can remember about the World of Steel. 

Earth, you correct internally.

Edelgard spares you a sympathetic look. Perhaps you’d come off as harsh with your response, but you wanted Edelgard to know. There was no other way for you two to trust each other if you remained shrouded in mystery and Edelgard guarded by her enemies.

“But I can’t deny how nice it’s been here. Aside from the Professor taking me on excursions so often.” Gently, you set the ceramic lid on the censer and turn to Edelgard, who’d been watching your back as you worked. 

You hope that this display helped ease some of her worries as if she continued to feed into the paranoia, whatever dökkálfar was here. 

I hope it’s one, at least. Something I’m familiar with.

“We may be in luck.” With your hands on your hips, you’re proud of the cobbled-together censer and makeshift alliance with Edelgard. 

Doesn’t Those That Slither know if you take away a teenager’s freedoms, they’ll lash out harder? Edelgard hopefully hadn’t told either of the two about this, but if she did, you’d have a delightful time explaining that one.

“Librarian,” Edelgard calls, and you turn to face the white-haired girl. She has a pull between her brows as if she’s confused. 

“…thank you for your efforts.”

“I haven’t done anything yet.” You snort, then continue with a sincere smile, “—thank me afterwards.” 

If Edelgard cannot be confident in this unknown territory, you’ll take charge. They’re your students, and no Light’s Blessing can revive that which has not been summoned.

Just after midnight, a knock echoes in your room when the rounds pass through the dorms. On the other side of the door stands an impatient Shez and a ticked-off Yuri. No response. Shez shoots Yuri a pointed told-you-so look, and Yuri fires back a tight frown.

“How could they not be here? Geez, what kinda librarian are they—” A sharp, hissed shh cuts off Shez, who stifles his angry scoff by biting his lip. 

Yuri wastes no time unlocking the door with the borrowed keyring, silently pushing the wood with a gloved hand into unknown territory. The room has the scent of flowers invading every breath: sugary, leafy, and thick. 

Sparsely decorated beyond a tall wooden shelf, trinkets and books that belonged in the Abyss with broken spines and yellowed pages. Your desk is organised chaotically, with papers stacked on one side, weighed down by a small anvil paperweight, a long grey quill and a sealed inkwell.

A black book rests in the middle, edges in gold, with a winged design on the front. He’d seen this one before, one you’d read on quieter nights when you weren’t sniffing out the dangers in the Abyss for him. He’ll check it out after.

Shez has no idea what he’s looking for besides the person that should’ve been inside, so he slinks further into the room, eyeing all of the furniture carefully. 

Each rug, the chair angled towards the fireplace, the arm table with a teapot and empty cup, your bookshelf and the windows. All undisturbed, as if you hadn’t been here for hours.

The last place he checks is your bed; just from a look, Shez knows you aren’t there. The blankets are smoothed down to the mattress, and the pillows are undisturbed. As he rounds the bed, his boot bumps into the leg of the bed. A curse slips out of his mouth, and he shoots an irritable glare at the wood.

Well, what he thought was the bed’s wooden leg. 

“Yuri—” Shez starts, eyes snapping to the other purple-haired individual. Yuri quickly looks over, lips pursed, staring into the shadowed side of your bed. There, collapsed on the ground between the bed and the stone wall, lays your unmoving body.

Swiftly, Yuri joins Shez and, without a moment wasted, brings a candle and sets it on the bedside table. You’re still, having barely made it to the bed before you collapsed. 

“Did someone else get them first?” Shez asks, watching Yuri press two fingers into the column of your throat. Yuri shakes his head, alarmed at how weak your heartbeat is. 

Nothing around the room had been inherently suspicious, no forced entries or traces of magic.w

“I don’t think so,” Yuri leans back, surveying for blood or weapons. You’re unconscious, enough that he could barely detect your heartbeat, but there are no wounds on your body. Shez stands upright, a hand on his sword. Whoever did this could still be here.

“Do you think we interrupted whatever was going to happen? That this… Loki, did it?”

“The job wasn’t finished.” Yuri answers, nose scrunched. He was torn—should he alert Rhea, when he hadn’t even told her about your enemies? The power you’d been so secretive about? 

“...is that a yes?”

Yuri could leave another body in here, couldn’t he?

He rolls his eyes, leaving Shez with no answer. Shez opts to look around the room instead of testing his luck further, checking every wall as if it were an accomplice in your attempted murder.

He ends up at the fireplace empty-handed, briefly overhearing Yuri setting you on the bed instead of leaving you on the freezing floor. Gently, Yuri shakes your shoulder, eyes pinned on your relaxed expression for anything. 

Your breathing remains steady, and even when he checks for your pulse again, you barely so much as shift.

“Not a scratch.” Perplexed that you’d been completely unharmed and refused to wake, he thinks about what else could’ve done it. Magic or poison? There’s no magical residue, nor… Yuri twists to face Shez, staring at the porcelain object on your coffee table.

Without a word, he approaches the teapot and, after gesturing for Shez to step back with a flicked wrist, he removes the lid. Immediately, the scent overwhelms the air, and he nearly shatters the lid, putting it back on hastily. Shez reels back, waving a hand in the air to diffuse the honeyed scent.

“G-geez, that’s sweet!” Shez almost wretches, covering his nose and mouth with the other hand. 

Yuri couldn’t imagine anyone falling for such an obvious poison. The scent was disgustingly overwhelming, and he nearly gags when the urge to breathe crawls up his throat. Yuri plucks the key on your small fireplace table with a grimace.

“The Archbishop needs to know.” Muffled by his hand, Yuri leads the way from your room. You move not a muscle or pretend to be disturbed: you are asleep and would not wake up. 

Only an hour later, Rhea enters your room silently, pale green eyes open and calm. Yuri wasted no time finding her but hadn’t expected the Archbishop to request they accompany her back. Shez looked uncomfortable and stood outside instead, watching the door and their backs.

She stands at your bedside, and from the long sleeves of her garb, a pale hand appears, gently brushing the edges of your cheekbones. 

Thin strands of green hair drape over her shoulders and arms, the Archbishop ethereal in her beauty. Yuri watches the Archbishop’s hands glow gently, illuminating her concerned expression with holy light.

“Nothing would wake them.” Yuri waited to speak until Rhea had drawn her hand back. A pensive look overtakes Archbishop Rhea’s face, meaning that this affliction is most likely outside her power. 

He looked over at you, and even though he’d come here to interrogate you for answers, a small part of him was troubled. 

You did help Abyss, and had quickly snuffed out those creatures before they could become a genuine threat, so he would at least allow you to discuss it civilly. You had to be alive for that conversation to happen.

Throwing his blade at you had been… too much, yes, but he couldn’t deny the frustration of being lied to. If you had left the monastery, then he would not regret the action, but you didn’t.

You said you’d be honest and tell him, and not being one to go against your word, he believed you. Then you vanished, and now Yuri didn’t know if you’d recover from whatever poison had been put into your tea.

Another silence reigns, with Yuri eager to find a way to cure you or to hunt down those responsible. Archbishop Rhea sends Yuri away, and he does not object. He’s not a healer beyond emergencies. 

A final glance shot to you is intercepted by the Archbishop, whose eyes soften gently at him.

“Go. They will be in good hands.” 

Yuri decides to let you tell the holy woman in your own penance. Profess what you have kept hidden so he has no more reason to think you’re a danger.

Shez wisely says nothing as Yuri leads the way. Guards were stationed outside your room while the Archbishop attempted to remove the poison, leaving the investigation up to the two crest bearers. 

“What do you need me to do?” Instead of remaining in the grey area as he had been for too long, Shez pipes up with an olive branch. Yuri, who’d been buried in the thunderous storm contained in his thoughts, explains.

“We need to find who made the tea. It’s a fair assumption that the Librarian would make their own. I’ve seen it. But somewhere along the way, the poison was added.” Yuri begins, guiding the way to the cafeteria. It’s dead quiet now, and he’d snagged the key earlier, so no need to pick the lock.

“You’re pretty worried.” As they enter the large room lined with long tables and chairs, Shez eyes Yuri cautiously. With an unsurprised frown, Yuri wastes no time heading for the kitchen. 

“If they die, neither of us get any answers.” Yuri knows that this person, whoever they are, will have no leads for their vengeance and certainly can’t slay the Ashen Demon now that they’ve been swathed with future allies from every noble house in Fódlan. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Shez waves him off, nosing through a cupboard for any hint of that sickeningly sweet scent. 

How could you have even drunk something that sugary? His teeth chattered at the thought. Yuri had nosed through the jars of loose-leaf tea, frustration building like a crumbling tower ready to topple under the weight of a siege.

The cupboards show no signs of tampering, and after a quick scan, no magic clings to the light-brown wood. Shez’s lips twist into a disappointed frown. 

“The blend was too sweet. Unless they used the entire pot of honey,” He shoots a look at the very much full glass jar of the amber liquid, and Shez chuckles.

“...we’re dealing with something else.” 

Both agree that the stakes are high. The assassin would likely strike again, and only the Archbishop was with you. Anyone who’d risk killing you could be the type to want the Church destabilised without their leader or staff and thus weaken Garreg Mach and the Church in one blow.

It was too likely to even risk another glance at the cafeteria and instead rush to return to your room. Through a crevice in the buildings, the two cut-off minutes that would’ve been wasted running through the stairwells and past guards, and eventually come back to that same door. It’s silent both inside and out, and Yuri is quick to open the door and slip into the golden light.  

Rhea is still here, and it seems even the Archbishop had no luck rousing you. You look completely unaware of the situation, sleeping as soundly as before. There’s a low frown on the Archbishop’s face as she speaks.

“I will study their affliction,” She begins, then continues with a more resolute expression.

“So long as they rest, I believe time will be on our side.” 

“We should have someone watching. I get the feeling this won’t be the last attempt.” Shez isn’t one to back down from a challenge, and sitting in a comfortable room with only one goal—waiting for a fight— was just what he needed. If it sped up the entire process, he’d get those answers, too. Rhea regards the mercenary curiously.

“Oh, yeah, I’m Shez.” 

Yuri’s voice is dry when he quips.

“Mind your manners,” Directing the harshness at Shez, it melds away when Rhea’s lips draw into an amused smile.  

“He’s an ally who wants answers just as much as we do.”

Rhea observes Shez for a few seconds, her eyes paler than a flower coated in frost. She smiles.

“I am glad you’ve found peace here.”

The Archbishop takes her leave after that, though the scent of flowers remains in the room. Shez clicks the window open, hoping the cold breeze will wash out some of the sugary air. Yuri returns to the desk, where the same book from before remains. 

He takes it, lifting the weighted cover up and open. The page is dated to yesterday of the Wyvern Moon and begins simply with: if you’re reading this, I’m asleep or dead. 

“You’re joking.” Yuri scoffs, staring at your handwriting as your voice echoes in his head. You knew you’d be attacked and didn’t tell anyone? If you’d admitted this to him, then he’d at least watch your back, or have kept you in Abyss. Disappointment at your avoidance, a soul taste floods his mouth bitterly, and he continues.

Whoever you are, do not drink the tea. The scent is pretty overwhelming so I hope that helped ward you off, but still. Do. Not. Drink. It. Especially if I’m dead. 

He eyes you on the bed briefly, watching the rise and fall of your chest. 

And what if you aren’t? He thinks, and returns to the page. Shez is trying not to go insane in the room and eventually just sits down on the plush chair by the fire, tucking his hands under his arms.

Though it may be tempting, don’t bother investigating why. I’ll be fine in no-time. There’s a strange magic in the school, and I plan on finding out what it is. Keep safe.

There was nothing else on the most recent page, and Yuri has already been roped into reading, so he instead goes backward. The previous entry was the Horsebow Moon, and quickly your writing overtakes the majority of the paper.

I should’ve minded my own business. Blizzard was here, and only sensing the magic inside, people were insane enough to try and control the poor thing. It’s safely in my possession and away from eager eyes, so that’s another worry I can let burn out.

Dimitri caught the eye of the Griffon — something I hadn’t expected. But I know he deserves all the good this world can offer, to make up for everything else.

Claude thought it was unfair that Dimitri was the one the Griffon picked but quickly cut himself off. He’s a future Barbarossa, and I know his wyvern is enamoured with him. Very few in Fódlan can capture their attention.

Byleth does not like how I was captured. It’s understandable. I’d be up in arms if anyone I knew was snagged. I have been. Alfonse will not be happy with me. Regardless, I should apologise before they kick me off the team. Can’t have that. I’ll have an even harder time without their friendship.

Yuri pauses, then glances over to Shez, who’s beginning to feel the time of night, slowly drifting off. Shez’s company was slaughtered by the Ashen Demon. Why would you want to stick so close to them, when they’ve clearly done bad things before their time as a teacher?

He draws himself back to your journal.

I recalled where those snakes are named from. I only know of Thales and Solon, but the rest have no mention besides a few obscure books. It’s almost as obscure as the Chalice.

Following that entry are single letters, and judging from the first being ‘T’ and the second ‘S’, Yuri assumes that these are names. They match the two you’ve figured out.

T, S, P, B, D, C, M, C.

One was no doubt involved in the incident with Blizzard. It cannot be the first two, nor Epimenides. Greeks. I’ll think about it after I meet with Edelgard. She’s my last hope right now, after that… maybe the answer’s been under my nose the whole time, and I’m just reading too far into it.

Edelgard? Shez grunts in his sleep whilst Yuri is drawn deeper into the book, the desire to know outweighs the nagging feeling in the back of his head. He feels as if something clicks within his mind, and his hands move without control, flipping back to the most recent page. Scrawled within the letters you’d written in ink, a new sentence peeks out between the black lines, glowing gold.

Drink the tea.

When had this been written? He focuses, and the sweet, nectar-y scent increases tenfold. The message was printed in your tea, but how had it revealed itself? Yuri rises, turning to Shez, and leaves the book on your desk, nudging the other awake with a firm grip.

“Whah—Yuri?” Shez’s eyes flash open, and he quickly looks around, alarmed. His eyes are heavy with sleep.

“What’s going on?”

“It was the tea, but not in the way we’ve thought.” Yuri moves to the teapot, the unassuming glassware now under heavy scrutiny from everyone who’s conscious. Shez’s brows knit together, lip curling.

“What are you saying?” Shez sounds grossed out already, and Yuri sighs.

“They made the tea purposefully. Read the book on their desk.” He points over to it, then begins to refill the empty cup you’d drunk from hours ago. Shez stifles a dramatic wretch, then quickly leaves to read the pages. It’s golden, frigid, and holds all of the answers. 

There are terrible things people must do to survive, and Yuri has done such things, so drinking the vile tea is arguably easy to do. It’s swallowing it that presents the hardest challenge.

“You—don’t drink it!” Shez stutters, disgusted. Yuri coughs, the liquid a hundred times sweeter on his tongue. The edges of his vision blur gently, as if he’s been knocked on the head too many times, and the struggle to catch himself on the chair ends in a tremendous failure—Shez is the last thing he sees, lunging to grab him, and the light fades from his eyes.

The next moment, following the flood of darkness, is a voice echoing in his ears. He feels weightless, dreaming. As if there’s a warm magic surrounding him, reminding him of his mother’s voice and the old man’s teachings. The urge to reach for them is strong, and as he does, a hand reaches back.

“You’d drink tea I specifically wrote to not drink , huh?” The hand tugs, pulling him up and out from the blanket of fond memories and loved ones. From the past, to the present.

Yuri’s eyes wrench open, falling upon your form and the unsurprised expression you sport as plain as day. He opens his mouth, the dryness settling in quickly, as if he has a mouthful of cotton.

“Think about water.” For the first time in years, Yuri is unsteady on his feet. Your expression morphs to sympathy, and you remain holding his arm to steady him upright. He shuts his eyes, thinking about the river that used to bend around the village he lived in, and the glimmering fish under the ripping water. 

When his tongue isn’t tied in knots, Yuri reopens his eyes. You stand in a ruin, crumbling stone walls with a glowing night sky for the roof and glimmering stars. Purple flowers bloom from the ground outside, sheltering the empty spaces where the walls used to rise with large, spiked petals. He swears that on the horizon are floating hunks of rock in the starry sky, decorated with ancient ruins.

“What… where are we?” He’s never seen such strangeness before. You seem unperturbed by it all, instead concerned for Yuri.

“In a nightmare. You drank dream nectar.” You begin, explaining it plainly.

“It’s tooth-rotting sweet. I tried to make it as palatable as possible, but… eh.” Even you found it disgusting, so he doubts Shez would even think to fill the cup. You eye behind him, then to the outdoors.

“Why did you do this? We thought you were poisoned.” Now back in his body, Yuri’s eyes narrow at you. 

“I thought you’d read my book? I left it out and everything.” You look surprised, eyeing the spot where your desk would be. Yuri scoffs.

“Really? You expected me to go straight for your personal belongings?” At Yuri’s accusation, you bite your lip.

“You… Did you forget about trying to stab me? I had a very different idea of how our next meeting would go. It did not start with you risking drinking poisoned tea to find me.” You seem irked at his defensive response, even though it is true. He’d waited until everything else had been exhausted, though.

You didn't seem to realise just how many chances he's given you to be honest; you've wormed your way into a spot where he wouldn't want to kill you, while halfway to the point of Yuri being forced to.

“Teleporting after all that happened in Abyss begets suspicion. It was hardly difficult to come to this conclusion when you promised to explain, and then chose to flee instead.” He fires back, about to cross his arms, you remain holding his hand, and when you try to pull back, Yuri nearly slips into that uncomfortable-comfortable warmth trying to drag him away. You don’t let go after that, concern overtaking your defensive frown. 

“—nevermind,” you sigh, then in a few moments of silence, come to a decision.

“I’m sorry. I’ve gone back on my word, and you deserve to know.” 

“Like the Cantor, I’ve been brought to Fódlan by something else. That Loki they mentioned has been a thorn in my side for years now, and is more than likely the entire reason I am here.”

“Here, in Fódlan?” Yuri’s lips purse.

“Being from another country is no issue—” he begins, offended that you’d assume he’d share the same sentiment some lords and ladies did about that, but you shake your head. The answer to the question he’d been searching has been there the whole time. He’d figured, but there was no satisfaction in being right. He still didn't know why he was trying so hard to get you to give in; he's killed people for lying, to keep peace... what made this any different?

“It’s not so simple." A sullen smile slips out, but it fades away.

"That Cantor was from another world, and so am I.” Around him a voice seeps into his thoughts. A thunderous voice, rumbling from a far-off past in an inimaginable world. Dark skies, armies marching on, the stench of war. A flash of glowing eyes, a heavy block of iron and gold slicing through the air.

Your existence here is wrong. You are wrong. You should not be.  Yuri shivers at the intrusion, a cloud settling over his thoughts and infesting his mind with those words.

You closed your eyes, and the tenseness in your shoulder releases, as does the little grip you have on his hand. Yuri can stand now, but doesn’t bother thinking about that. He’s momentarily stunned. What had he just seen? What did you just say?

“That’s… impossible.” 

“The possibility stands right in front of you. You fought the creatures, too, and they bled just the same as anything from my world. I’m sorry to have done this to you, but you shouldn’t be here.” Your hand slips from his like vapour; weightless, made of air. You step away, a sad look in your eyes. Something lays buried deeper, and Yuri snatches it with his full attention. You're making space away from him, eyes just a little wider than before. 

“You didn’t do this. I did.” Yuri responds, frowning.

“You can’t handle these things like I can. It’s not your problem.” Firm, you raise your gloved hand, and that same weapon from before appears. This one—this one isn’t black, he notices, it’s white. 

“And how do you plan to send me back? With your weapon?” His eyes flick from the weapon’s strange shape, then to your eyes. You’re hiding behind that weapon, and if he assumes correctly, it only works in your hands. He acts, using the pommel of his blade to knock it from your hand, crashing into your curved, unprotected fingers and the weapon goes flying. 

“No, no!” You cry, and lunge for the weapon. Yuri acts oppositely, rushing to you, raising his knee into your stomach and forcing you to the ground with a choked gasp. Now on the ground with the blade pressed threateningly into the column of your throat, your thrashing ceases, staring back at him with a hateful sneer, and it slowly ebbs into a more haughty one. 

Blood beads on his blade, the other ready in his free hand. It’s not red… it’s blue?

“Now,” You drawl, eyes lidded with a tone he’d never heard from your mouth before, “—how did you see through me?” 

“There's not a trusting bone in either of you.” Whatever this creature is, it’s taken your liking and memories. In a moment, golden irises overtake your own, replacing the colour with a bright and glowing violet hue. 

“Where are they?” Yuri demands, harshly glaring at this fake.

“Oh, they’re here.” You say, lip curled.

“In this place, you cannot trust anyone. But you don’t trust them at all, so maybe you’ll outlive the rest.” Yuri remains right where he is; if they’re in your body, he can’t strike, but they can’t attack without resulting in either's death.

It’s a stalemate.

“You three are perfect. So much lies underneath the surface, and I’m eager to see it all. Drink it all in, and leave you with nothing.” A laugh escaped your lips, shrill and excited. Yuri is completely unsettled by the thing’s voice. It layers underneath yours, quiet as a whisper, but evidently there. A viper hiding in the thorns, coiled and ready to strike.

“I’ll see you at the end of this wonderful nightmare, Yuri-bird.” You laugh once more, and the world is thrown into disarray, twisting and turning until you’re not there, and the world is dark. As he drags himself to his feet, Yuri comes to the conclusion that you’re an imbecile for going here willingly.

“Yuri! Wake up! C’mon,” Shez shakes and rattles the Abyss leader to no avail; he will not wake up, and Shez is left alone with the murderous teapot and two willingly unconscious people, both laid out on your bed. 

You haven’t budged a bit, but Yuri has had a grimace on his lips for the past little while. Would that be permanent? He doesn’t know! One second Shez had been reading about you complaining about names when a voice rang out in his ears to turn around, and then Yuri was out too!

Now it was just him, the bodies, and the voice. 

“Drink the tea,” Arval echoes from the book, and Shez nearly rips his purple hair out.

“Not you, too. I thought you were dead.” He practically whimpers, sagging into the chair. 

“My existence is tied to yours. I had to conceal myself when that Cantor tried to sacrifice you, else they might have done worse. I’m sorry, Shez.”

“Eh. I’m just glad you’re back. I dunno where to go from here.” Gesturing to the bed, Shez eyes the teapot distastefully. Yuri’s head rolls to the side, but after a few seconds, doesn’t rouse. He sighs.

“If Yuri was confident enough to drink the tea, then I assume he must have an idea of what waits after. He did not stay on his feet for very long.”

At least Arval’s making sense, Shez finds a bit of relief there, but it doesn’t last. He should really go tell the guards that Yuri’s down too, but Arval tugs at his mind, towards the pot.

“Oh, no. No, no!” Grimacing at the spirit’s hold, he flinches away from the pot and nearly knocks it from the table with a clink . He steadies the porcelain, then rushes away as if it’s as hot as freshly-forged steel. It might as well be, still spilling that sugary sickness out in the air.

“Shez, they will need help. I may be able to offer more power.”

“May?” Shez repeats, incredulous. “If I take the risk and don’t get back, we’ll never find out where you come from, or me.”

“And if we go, we can ask them directly. Hold rescue over their head.”  Shez’s brows raise, but he doesn’t immediately object. You were the Ashen Demons' friend, and they’d killed his group.

“Geez, that’s a bit cruel.”

“It’s either we let Yuri deal with it, or help him. Yuri seems to be the kind of person who would be a good ally, if you prove yourself.”

Shez bites his lip, gnawing at the idea of drinking the tea. Sweets are good and all, but… it was revolting! Arval sighs.

“Plug your nose, or water it down. We’ve fought worse.”

The entire process is forced; filling the teacup, eyeing the golden syrup and glittery sheen, and bringing the shaking cup to his lips.

“D-down the hatch,” Shez swallows, then finally tilts the cup back entirely. It’s nearly sludge and the urge to gag almost overtakes him, but Arval steps in and for a moment, Shez is numb to everything.

And then the floor is rushing to him, the patterned rug right where he’ll drop. He curses, slurred, and the impact is all it takes to send him over the edge. Oddly, Shez does not land on the ground but feels as if he passes through something permeable, like stumbling into mist, and he wakes on his feet.

He’s flooded by the scent of early morning dew, fresh air and no sweetness lingering on his tongue. The area around him is a thick forest of pines, coiling dark-green roots with thorns snaking along their trunks and deep violet flowers blooming with light-blue pollen.

Cloaked in mist beneath a particularly tall tree is a figure. He squints.

“Arval?” Shez calls, hand on the grip of his blade. The shadow perks up, and the mist between fades. White, scaly clothes that cloak their entire body, shorter than Shez, and short white hair that flows gently in front of their ears where two triangular earrings dangle. 

White accents are painted along their cheeks and forehead, and once they meet Shez, a pair of pale, vermillion eyes gleam happily.

“Haven’t seen you like this in a while,” Shez remarks, eyeing Arval curiously. Arval’s feet graze the ground, away from the dark earth and grass.

“Yes. Perhaps that is a good thing, considering the last time.” Oh, yeah. Shez nods, then looks around with a frown.

“So… what do we do now?” 

“We look for the librarian and Yuri. I can sense a presence further in.” Arval sweeps a hand in the direction they’d been facing, and Shez nods, ready to brave the fog with their ally. His footsteps are muffled by the thick, ankle-high grass. Those large magenta blooms dust everything in a glowing layer of pollen, hanging from vines like snow. 

“It’s strangely beautiful.” Shez appraises the flowers from a distance, able to smell them from here. It’s clear to him that the tea must’ve been made with their blooms, but how you’d got your hands on them without travelling here first stumped him.

“In their book I recognised something. Names.” Arval replies, drawing Shez away from the bouquet of blooms nestled in the pine’s lower branches. They continue on, the trees slowly thinning out.

“Do you think it has to do with your past?”

Arval hums, pensive.

“It must. We will find them, and get them back to the waking world.” Shez agrees with a grunt, eyeing the revealed open plains. Spattered about are crumbling ruins of a pavilion with high, knotted iron gates, flowers and buds in bloom decorated in the rust, draped with the thick green stems of the massive flora here coiling up them. The gates are disfigured, hunched and snapped at the bars, as if something huge had charged straight through.

“More for decor then,” Shez notes, stepping through the gate. Arval vanishes, then reappears on the other side, eyeing the gates as well. Inside of the pavilion lies an open swathing garden, streams of carved brick leading through like the scales of a dragon in brilliant shades of blue, white, purple, and pink. They glitter underfoot, and Arval’s eyes gleam at the wondrous pathway. 

“I wonder who lived here.” They muse, curiosity stoked by the stones. Shez shrugs, scanning the gnarled trees and thorned blooms with hesitance. 

“A crazy person.” He mutters, and the two continue on. In what appears to be the centre of the garden, a fountain rises up, pouring a stream of water from a jar cradled by a human with long, pointed ears, though the rest of their head and face is shattered beyond recognition. All that remains is a low frown on their lips, and their cupid’s bow, the rest scattered in the pool below.

Not alone, either. Pieces of other statues are strewn inside; fantastical creatures with muscled, clawed limbs, billowing fur, curved horns, and wings all lay in ruin in the cold water. 

“I haven’t seen a single person yet.” Arval looks at the destruction warily. Shez is far more unsettled, a hand on the pommel of his main blade.

“Yeah. Are you sure they’re here?” At this, Arval reaches a hand forward, and their fingertips pulse with white magic. Arval makes a noise of affirmation, staring at Shez.

“Someone is. Just up ahead.”

“Let’s go find out who.”

The rest of the journey is in silence. All the pedestals where those statues would have been are empty or overtaken by greenery. A large falcon, frozen in stone, carries a bundle of flowers in its hooked talons. Shez admires the craftsmanship, but doesn’t spare much attention beyond staring at it.

Finally, as the pair crests on a slow hill, they see their first living being in this dreamscape. A young woman dressed in black and red. Shez furrows his brow, trying to get a glimpse of her, and calls out.

“Hey!” 

She turns with uncanny speed and hurls her arm in a throw, sending a throwing axe straight at him. Shez sidesteps in a hurry behind a hedge, and Arval teleports away, brow furrowed tightly together on the other side of the path.

“We’re alive!” 

“So said the other.” The girl responds flatly, and Shez mutters under his breath. Even though she remains unseen, the threat she poses is insurmountable. After a period of tense silence, Shez reaches to unsheathe his second blade. Arval clears their throat.

“We’re here to find the librarian,” Arval offers, extending the olive branch. Silence ensues. Shez feels this may have drawn more suspicion when she does not respond.

“Prove it.”

“We drank the tea, too.” Arval continues, slowly revealing themselves to the white-haired girl. Shez quietly follows, feet light as he stands at Arval’s shoulder. The girl looks fiercely at them, holding another, far more dangerous-looking axe.

It’s plainly obvious she does not believe them at all, as she remains at the far end of the pathway, not a mark in her intense stare. Did she even arrive here through the same method?

“...the librarian helped us out with some crazy stuff. There were a bunch of walking corpses in Abyss. We aren’t here to screw around, just to wake them up.” Shez explains warily. The girl lowers her axe slowly, her suspicious glare softening.

“I see…” Her poster loosens, and the axe’s blade now rests closer to the ground than aimed at Shez or Arval. Shez stifles their sigh of relief, and sheathes his own blades. The girl stares hard at Arval for a moment, then gives in.

“I’m Shez. This is Arval.” relief is such a small word that doesn’t feel adequate enough to describe the flood of emotion that goes through him; she looked like that axe weighed nothing. 

“We don’t have time for lengthy introductions; I am Edelgard.” She slighted her head gently, then that firm, uncaring expression wards off all emotion once more. Arval’s eyes flick to Shez for just the briefest moment, and Shez meets their gaze.

That lady… she’s familiar.  

Arval answers internally to his thoughts.

“Yes. Make no mention of this.”

Shez, easy to follow orders that won’t cause serious ramifications down the line, agrees. Edelgard turns from the others to the empty pathway ahead—presumably where she was headed.

“How did you get here?”

The look Edelgard graces Shez with is nothing but ire. Tough crowd, he thinks with an apologetic shrug.

“Sorry. Just trying to think of ways to get out.” Stiffly, Shez approaches the white-haired girl and surveys the garden’s ahead. Crumbling towers, one of which blasted by magic and carved into the dark-grey stone, claw marks.

“Focus on finding the librarian.” Edelgard reminds, already off and through the destruction. Stone bricks lay about the path, forcing the two to avoid them with every step. Neither bridge a conversation, eager to escape this strange place over wasting time talking. Arval remains quiet, focusing their energy on reaching out around.

“This place is lonely.” Arval’s vermillion gaze roves over the fields of grass, not quite green as it should be for a moor. It’s paler, nearly beige in colour, but rustles all the same. The pathway remains stretched ahead like a taut rope, leading them onwards.

Edelgard’s hand shoots up, arm braced. Arval freezes at Shez’s shoulder, eyes pinned ahead. Shez, unable to figure out why they’ve stopped, shoots a cautious look forwards. Past Edelgard’s armour and shield, there’s a small figure rushing towards them with light feet.

All is silent except for their heeled feet hitting the ground and… crying?

“Shez, be ready.” Arval orders under their breath, violet magic dancing on their fingertips as the person approaches. Their silhouette is framed with flowing fabrics of white, blue and deep azure, wavy white hair trailing behind their head as they grow closer and closer.

“A girl?” Edegard questions, brows furrowed. Shez steps up to Edelgard’s side, equally confused as the white-haired girl begins to cry louder. Not from fear for herself, but calling to them.

“Run, run! It’s coming!” She hollers, hands up to her face. Edelgard readies her axe, undecided if the girl is a threat or not. Shez balks.

“She’s no older than you—how could she be a threat?” Shez’s face twists into an unsurprised scowl, just as the girl digs out a bouquet of flowers from her dress and clutches it tight to her chest. Arval acts first, the glimmer of protective magic encasing the three as the girl is overtaken by white light.

The ground shudders beneath Edelgard and Shez as a massive, white-furred beast stomps its hooves threateningly, turning its lithe body and thin legs around to face down the threat. Shez chokes on a noise of surprise as the beast's long, white tail sweeps the grasses aside, coiling into a loose spiral of white and blue fur.

“ I…I won’t let you hurt them!” The girl’s voice echoes from the beast, thick with fear. Arval has not torn their eyes from it, and Shez’s mind floods with a current of thoughts.

"I have felt this power before. When? What is this creature? Does it bear a crest?"

“C-calm down, Arval!” Shez urges, shooting a look back at his ally. The white-haired person goes silent, then nods affirmatively at him.

“Yes, yes.” Arval shakes their head, still greatly confused by the massive goat-shaped beast before them. Said beast lashes its tail again, and if Shez is seeing correctly, its legs are shaking. Is it… afraid? What could this creature fear? 

“Stay behind me!” Urging, the creature stamps a hoof, and the ground trembles. Again and again, as if something heavier was coming upon them. 

There, a towering construct rises, a humanoid figure cloaked in iron and red with long, bendable arms and a blank, almost mournful expression. There’s a crest carved into the iron of the breastplate, and it looks like a single feather.

The ground trembles as the creations arms stretch skyward, bright yellow lighting drawn into its palm. Edelgard manages the firm shout of brace before the lighting flies towards them, hurled like a javelin. 

In the few seconds the lightning hurtles towards them, Shez notices three things. Arval’s shield strengthening, Edelgard’s shield raised higher and leaning on one leg, and the beast’s two floating crystals brightening to nearly a blinding blue.

Overwhelmed by the powerful magic from the white beast, the lighting disperses into nothing. The mechanical construct jolts, shuddering under its weight as it readies another blast. 

Edelgard kicks off the charge, passing through Arval’s shield and into the fray. Arval’s eyes narrow at the choice, and they opt to end the magic shield. Shez, defenceless, readies his blades.

“What is it weak to?” Shez calls out, hoping at least one of the people here may know. He avoids the large hooves that could most certainly kill him warily, joining Edelgard at the front. It looks worse when facing the mechanical… thing down, the lifeless and unmoving expression pitying for any regular person it comes across. Circular tears drop from its eyes.

If that was the last thing he’d see, Shez could only imagine the horrible pain before dying.

“It’s a Golem. They’re ancient constructs made thousands of years ago. Magic will overwhelm this kind.” Edelgard answers, and from behind Arval nods sharply. That means Shez won’t be as much help in this fight beyond… oh, no, he thinks, grimacing.

“I’m up first…” Swords drawn, Shez rotates his wrist to warm the muscles up, then with a final, firm nod to Arval, he rushes in to be bait.

This forest was a nightmare. Every step was calculated to avoid a gnarled root or fallen tree—the damnable flowers tantalizingly bright and spreading more of that godforsaken pollen. Yuri was eager to leave and even more so to ream you out for being an idiot.

Silently, he curses. The trees offer helpful cover from the skies. Moments ago he’d seen a figure dart overhead through the fog and thorns and he threw himself into a bundle of flowers to hide, waiting for silence. Wingbeats, fast and powerful, only for a few seconds.

He continues on. What purpose did poisoning yourself do? Who had been pretending to be you, words thick as poison and an even worse regard for him that some nobles. It certainly wasn’t you, not unless you were good at hiding your hate. 

What they said… was it true? Another world sounded preposterous to him—Yuri only knew this one, and all its faults—which is why he assumed you were from another continent. That’s what you told your god-worshipping ally, at least. 

The trees here felt like Abyss, packed together and creating a roof with entwined vines above. If he focused hard enough, he could hear the sounds of the arena and smell the dry, dusty air.

Clambering over a small stony ridge, Yuri lands silently on the other side. It looks more like an ancient tree’s trunk, he notes, and continues on. Beneath his next step, a hollow ring echoes out. He freezes— a trap? —and looks down.

A horrified face stares up at him, pressed into a circular shape with an open-mouthed scream, frozen in metal.

Yuri makes it ten steps before the creature bursts from the ground, stone fingers outstretched to kill. He forgoes whatever concealment to instead flee, vanishing in a flash of red light to ten paces ahead. It lumbers behind, not a word nor scream from its wide open mouth. 

The thing has no legs, dragging it’s both with muscular-sculpted arms, angling its flat face at Yuri the whole time he runs, lunging over trees and heading for where they thin out. He will not be killed in someone’s dream, never. Especially by something so unsettling.

The trees abruptly end, ankle-deep thicket and grass melding to waist-high wheat fields. Nowhere to hide, he concurs, and continues to run as fast as he can. Exhaustion would set in, soon, and then the beast would have enough time. Is that its purpose? Yuri’s morbid thoughts fill in the blanks, so he replaces them with more orders to run and run.

The ground opens into a dusty pathway, and taking a chance, he turns right.

“I’m almost done,” Breathless, Shez stumbles away from the impact of another javelin, cold pain shooting from his ankles to his knees as he moves, the earth quaking underfoot.

The overwhelming size has weakened everyone, especially the white-haired girl. She’d run out of steam and cowered behind Edelgard’s shield as Arval barraged the Golem with Thoron. Metal and stone flies from the creature’s dress-shaped armour and it tumbles to the side.

“Now!” Edelgard orders, and the gleam of her axe soaring through the air draws his full attention. There’s something unique about how it shimmers, and then he spies the flowers the girl had been clutching tied to the handle. 

There’s a moment where the only sound is the axe spinning through the air, and then it practically explodes in an impact of blue energy, smashing into the Golem’s delicate expression and bursting from the inside. Cracks splinter across its body, and light stabs its way along like veins on the body until the beast cannot hold.

It burst outwardly, sending fragments of its cold body flying, scarring the smooth landscape with it’s corpse. Shez falls back onto his behind, legs propped up, and his sigh echoes out across the landscape like the muted breeze. 

“Finally,” Edelgard dips her head down, momentarily resting. Arval sweeps past, appraising the wreckage with a curled lip. Shez can’t reach out to Arval, but he can think and hope the apparition will hear him.

Are you okay?

Arval answers.

“These are familiar. The stone inside of it… it emits the Crest of Seiros.”

Shez’s head tilts to the side, confused. The Crest of Seiros was held by the line of Hresvelg. 

Maybe Seiros made them? How else could they have that Crest?

Arval’s eyes flick to Shez only once, and the emotion… Shez is taken aback. Arval looks angry .

“Our friend Edelgard is of that line. She is the Imperial Princess, Shez.”

Oh, Shez curses internally, and nearly panics when his voice slips out from his lips. Edelgard glances over from attending to the young white-haired girl, who’d been gently sniffling the whole internal conversation.

“Sorry. I think I hit my head.”

Arval jumps to his rescue.

“It would not be the first time,” A hint of amusement really hammers the remark home, and Shez actually glares, climbing to his feet with a few pained grumbles.

“T-thank you, all.” Grateful, the white-haired girl dips her head. Shez’s eyes widen the size of saucers— she has horns! Arval notes this as well, examining the unique feature with inquisitive eyes.

“It’s rude to stare. She helped us.” Edelgard’s reprimand draws the two back to the present, and Shez’s cheeks flush.

“Sorry, sorry. Thanks for that… whatever that was.” Referring to the whole huge-goat thing, he shrugs apologetically. Arval, with more grace, does the same.

“It’s fine…” The girl murmurs, brushing off their apologies.

“I am Eitr, servant of Ginnungagap, the Nothingness.”

“... Nothingness? How can you serve nothing?” Shez repeats, a brow raised. Eitr furrows her brow, and panic overwhelms her face.

“This dream will die soon. You must leave!” Eitr implores, frantically looking to the horizon. Edelgard does as well, the horizon oddly melding to one colour, like fog in the distance.

“How… How many others came with you?”

Shez pales. 

“Yuri!” 

Eitr sniffles, wiping a tear from her eye. Shez shares a look with Arval, who'd fallen silent. They have no outward expression, and even when he reaches out internally, Arval merely guides him away.

“We must find your allies, before… before the phantoms return.”

The thing had not let up once. It crawled, dragging the stump where legs should be, leaving a deep scar along the landscape. Thankfully, it had slowed down greatly since leaving the forest, instead of the terrifying breakneck pace it had in the forest.

Yuri slows his steps, judging it safe enough to look for any signs of life. By now he’s sure Shez had gone to get help—all he had to do was find your sorry person and force you to tell him exactly what the hell you’ve been up to here.

His ears pick up the sound of hoofbeats, the patterned noise odd in this place, as if the animal was walking on something thicker than packed-down dirt. Yuri’s dagger in his hand, he readies himself for a fight.

From the fog, a white-furred muzzle appears. Yuri falters; it’s massive, towering over him like the old relics in Abyss with stone bodies and tears. It blinks down at him, planting another large hoof forwards, the small, curved horns poking from its head a deep brown and ridged.

“Yuri? You’re alive!” The familiar voice of Shez rings out, relief thick in his tone. Yuri’s eyes narrow.

“You… you came? Tell me you alerted the Archbishop.” The demand is laid like the foundation of a castle, heavy and earthshaking. Shez, who should’ve told him right away that he did tell Rhea, has just shown how little Yuri can depend on him. The group exits the thickening mist, and… is that?

“You idiot.” Yuri sighs aggrivatedly, lip curled. Well, he certainly didn’t expect Edelgard to be involved in all of this, nor a massive goat, or the person cloaked in white, but perhaps this ragtag group will be able to find you faster together than alone.

Edelgard offers a nod in greeting, recognizing Yuri right away. He returns it, then sets his eyes upon the second white-haired person. They seem reserved, content to say nothing to the conversation. 

“We’re just missing one.” Shez turns to the beast, and after a quick introduction to the beast, Eitr dips her head in greeting. A voice floats from the mist, gentle and wavering.

“We do not have much time. I can sense the last ahead.” Her muzzle points onward, creating a sanctuary from the mist’s cloaking effect. The horizon was gone, now, smothered by grey. 

“Not to be rude, but what are you, Eitr?” Shez asks, purely curious. Eitr continues walking, but her voice seems to seep into each person’s mind without a single moved mouth.

“I am a Vanir.” 

“Can all Vanir change into big goats?”

“We can choose our form. I… prefer this one. It’s safer.”

“Man,” Shez sighs, “—if I could change into a big goat, I would be too.”

“Shez,” The silent, white-robed person scolds, a pointed glare on their face. Yuri notes this interaction down, still confused as to who this person is. A cold draft goes by, the stale sweet air replaced with a fresh breeze. Eitr sniffs at the air, drawing in a deep breath.

“More magic.” She supplies the group with a nervous tilt to her voice. Yuri hadn’t moved his blade very far, narrowing his eyes at the concealed path ahead. That disc-faced creature was long gone, now. What was that?

“It’s not a dökkálfar.” Shez’s face twists at the jumble of letters that fall naturally from Eitr's lips.

“What the hell is that?”

“A dark elf. They sow nightmares. I did not realise there was one here…” Regretfully, Eitr had not done so, which seemed to have created this entire situation. How could a creature like this fail to stop one? How powerful was this dökkálfar ?

“They must be strong.” Edelgard hums, sweeping her eyes across the mist. She’s been on guard the whole time. Yuri can’t blame her.

“T-they draw their power from the Lady of Nightmare. She was defeated not long ago.” The thump of Eitr’s hooves does not echo anymore, as if the mist is thicker than it looks. The grass has been flattened, pockets of frigid snow poking onto the pathway.

“Snow?”

“There is a ward ahead.” Again, the nameless person speaks—pointing with a thin finger, the nail pale white. Yuri’s eyes flick to the direction, and if he focused, there was a small shimmer of pale blue now swirling amongst the mist. Small flakes drift by as they enter the ward, each unique.

Finally, they see a shadow. Not a gargantuan monster, nor another beast, but two people, one on horseback, and the other on foot. Yuri takes the lead, hand on the grip of their sword as they creep closer.

“Can… give some time.” He doesn’t recognise this voice—it’s far too gentle, honeyed by singing and silence. The other pipes up, and he knows exactly who it is.

“…a good idea. Thank you, Gunnthrá.” There you are. Yuri’s eyes narrow on the hooded one, and forgoes being quiet. You must know they’re here—they passed through the ward. So he walks right up to you, anger seething out.

He calls your name as the only courtesy he’ll offer, and what he assumes to be you twists in his direction. Hesitantly, you respond, worried.

“…Yuri? Is that you?”

“Obviously.” He quips. “You’re not allowed to leave my sight. Especially after this.”

The other person—Gunnthrá? —chuckles, greatly amused by his introduction. He could be rude, but so far, they seem to agree. She has not left the cloak of the mist.

“I must agree… dear friend, you cannot be so hasty. You aren’t young anymore. Remember the example you’re setting.” Chiding you was easy, and the embarrassment is plain as a hot Blue Sea Moon day. You react like a child reaching into a jar of candy, particularly affected by the mysterious woman’s words.

“I know I’m not getting out of this one,” Finally, you exit the mist, thoroughly shaking some settled snow from your hood and shoulders. You’re wearing a different cloak this time; cream and gold, with navy lining and warm cuffs. The strange weapon is at your hip, and another on your opposite side. Two, he thinks, like the apparition. 

His hand tightens around the grip, and you falter.

“Yuri?”

“I don’t know what you’re getting at, but this world is not natural. We need to leave. If you’re even them.”

You blink, lips twisting into a confused frown.

“I… uh… did something happen?” You ask, hands far from your weapons. He doesn’t budge.

“Tell me something only you and I know.”

“Oh. Well… you have the Crest of Aubin?”

“That’s not a secret.”

Something crosses your eyes. You regard him carefully, lips twisted into a barely noticeable frown.

“An old man taught you how to read.”

“How—” Yuri stutters, taken aback. You throw your hands up, fingers outstretched.

“You asked!”

“That… that’s impossible.” The words tumble out of his lips like rocks off a cliff; only his mother knew that. Everyone in his village has been long dead. Gunnthrá calls out once more. She does not sound pleased.

“Dear friend, what will I do with you? Apologise.”

“I'm sorry, Yuri. I shouldn’t have said that. I think you ran into a changeling.” You bow your head, quick to do as the concealed woman says. 

“Just… we’ll discuss that after.” Sharply, Yuri forces himself to focus. He gestures behind him.

“We need to leave. Now.” Your eyes flicker with surprise; had the ward concealed everything from view? The monsters? The landscape?

“I haven’t found the dökkálfar, yet.”

Yuri shakes his head. 

“Neither has this ‘Eitr’ person. Just what is that?”

You open your mouth to speak, then pause, confused.

“Eitr?”

From behind, Eitr enters with a long stretch of her thin legs, her white-furred muzzle hovering over Yuri. Your mouth opens into a silent scream.

“Freyja?! ” That weapon practically flies into your hands, panicked at the sight of the creature. Eitr’s ears curl back, a sort of wince on her face.

“I am not the Nightmare Queen!” Defending herself, Eitr’s avoidant nature still shines through. Yuri comes to her aide, shooting a harsh look at you.

“She’s helped us, more than you.” 

“I didn’t ask you to drink the tea. Didn’t you read my book?” You fire back, brow raised. 

…you had, though. Yuri read your book and saw the letters meld out from gold—gold .

You seem to come to some sort of conclusion, and it dawns on your face.

“The dökkálfar lured you here.” Stating this quietly, you look past him to Eitr. The Vanir no longer seems offended at your accusation.

“I’m really, really sorry about that. I haven’t been on my best behaviour.” Grimacing, you make it known that the apology is sincere with a formal bow. Gunnthrá laughs quietly, as if behind a hand. Yuri’s getting sick of not being able to see this person.

“Who’s that?”

“I am Gunnthrá; I exist as a ward for my friend here, protecting them from the dökkálfar’s powers. I truly mean no harm.” 

“Why can’t we see you?” Eitr asks, the curiosity of a child staring at something behind a curtain, ready to reach out and pull. Instead of the woman, it’s you who answers.

“She‘s not really here. Gunnthrá was a talented dreamer and could access this world through me without risking herself. She left behind enough of her power to protect my dreams.” 

Yuri angles his head to the side. Was? It’s rude to talk about people present in the past tense, especially considering she’s beside you.

Eitr oh’s. 

“What’s a Vanir doing here? I only knew of Freyja and Freyr.” 

“T-to stop the dökkálfar’s attempts in reviving the Nightmare Queen.” Swiftly, Eitr responds, as if the two could be summoned by name.

Your jaw drops. 

“Seriously?” 

“Y-yes… you cannot truly kill a god.” Eitr murmurs, and the quiet sigh you let out is telling. What role did you play in that event?

“I guess since our goals align, it’s fine.” You eye the Vanir suspiciously, not quite used to the great beast’s height. Your unusual aggression towards the girl caught his attention right away.

“Thank you.”

Behind you, Gunnthrá hums. You look back at her, and Yuri spies the gleam of gold at the edge of your forehead, peeking out from your hood. A small circlet rests upon your brow, the simple band clean and unblemished. It makes you look more dignified; a kindness you had not divulged to him. This could have all been avoided if you'd simply stayed and talked.

“Sleep well, Gunnthrá. I’ll do as you ask.”

“Mm. Goodbye, my dear friend.” In a cold gale, the silhouette breaks apart in a flurry of snowflakes, and you rest your arms across your chest, observing the ragtag team, finally noticing Edelgard.

“E-Edelgard?!”

“Librarian.” More composed, the princess dips her head at you, carefully scanning your person for anything odd. You look equally relieved as upset to see the victims of the dökkálfar.

“Thank you for helping them, Eitr. I’m sorry about the Freyja comment.”

“It’s alright…” Eitr trails off, her gentle voice echoing. You smile, then nod to the group, a hand on your strange weapon and the other pointed in the direction ahead.

“According to Gunnthrá, the dökkálfar isn’t far. From here on, we are not protected by the ward.” 

“What will the dökkálfar look like?” Shez asks, a wrinkle between his brow. A contemplative look overtakes your face, but you’re quick to explain. Yuri wanted to know, too, though Shez was faster to ask.

“The ones I’ve come across have all had wings, and are named after flowers.”

“Wings?” Purely disbelief, Shez’s response incurred a chuckle from you. Eitr agrees with a quiet dip of her head.

“They were once human. Their powers came from the Vanir gods they served. It’s odd, though. I only know of two dökkálfar.”

“Freyja’s powers cannot be contained. Time flows differently in each of the Nine Realms. She must have brought in hundreds of children.” Her pale, white snout catches the wind as the group treks on, and you hum, clearly thinking on her words. There are too many unfamiliar words being tossed around—dökkálfar, Freyja, Nine Realms—but he duly makes note that Eitr is a Vanir, and you specifically called them gods.

Does that make Eitr one? Is the reserved look you give him for the briefest moment acknowledging this? He turns his head forwards, and settles into his strange role with you at the helm.

All things considered, this could have gone much worse. Thank goodness there weren’t any other students here to weigh them down. Edelgard was more soldier than student. 

The mist has grown thick enough to encompass the wide fields now, stifling any light.

You chose to walk near Yuri, and after the others descend into quiet chatter, he figures you’re dying to ask him something when you glance over for the third time.

“Did the changeling do anything?” Yuri chuffs at your question, arms crossed. 

The thought of something else wearing your face was unsettling, but what it said remains at the top of his list. He’ll wait to ask about that, when there’s no one else to hear.

“It tried to kill me.” You wince. It’s not all that strange for you to react so expressively; you wore your heart on your sleeve. At least, when he thought he knew you, that was the case.

“They feed off negativity, I’m sorry you had to go through that because of my actions.” Yuri arches a brow at your apology.

“That explains how it knew exactly what to say.” It’s not pity that flashes across your eyes, but it sure looks like it. Yuri has an interesting relationship with that emotion—that of a friend who’s shortsightedness has lasted long enough—and a curt sigh passes through his lips.

“Nothing is ever easy when it comes to álfar. I’d hoped to come across a ljósálfar, but…”

“Ljósálfar, dökkálfar… you continue to spout off disastrous names with ease. What else do you know?” Yuri prided himself on being able to walk normally whilst having what someone may consider an ‘upsetting’ conversation. You were both adult enough to formally discuss these things.

Almost dismissively, you fall silent. It is to him at least; your evasive nature would not worm its way from his grip now. 

“If you want me to be honest, I know a lot. It’s no coincidence the changeling used my face.” The mist coils around the protective field, but cannot permeate it, creating an oddly-shaped circle around them all. Eitr had switched to her human-form, somehow remaining equally as upset as she was whilst a ten-foot tall goat.

“Why is that?”

You think for a moment, staring off into the mist. With a little push (he can see you inhale tensely), you respond.

“...changelings—in my experience, are picky. Usually, they swap with children... but in some cases, they will want someone that’s either in very good standing or disliked.”

Well there’s the reason you looked like you’d rather choke than answer. Yuri shakes his head, swiping some of the accumulated dew from his clothes. 

“Just be glad you’ve never had to deal with their matriarch. Freyja was...”

Eitr, from behind, gasps. Both his and your head snaps towards the sound, taken aback by the shrill noise. The white-haired goat girl has a hand at her mouth, a weak effort in silencing herself.

“Do not use her name!” 

“...you're right. This was her domain.” With a deep understanding, you dip your head and listen to Eitr’s request. She calms when you agree.

“The Nightmare Queen was warped by love for her brother that she was casting sleep-spells on villages to lure his attention back to her. She was lonely, and I suppose that breed of loneliness made her do terrible things.”

Yuri notes that you don’t paint her in such a negative light even though the description of this Nightmare Queen is fickle.

Eavesdropping master Shez adds his own opinion into the pot.

“She sounds like a piece of work. How’d you know all this though?”

“I fought her. The Nightmare Queen cast village after village into an endless sleep, and my friends are the selfless bunch that’d help anyone. Well…” You go to correct yourself, but shake your head, warding the valuable information away from Yuri’s grasp once more.

“These friends… one wouldn’t happen to be the princess you saved from the endless sleep?” Edelgard, one to pull her punches, aims for the throat. Your eyes flick back to her, meeting her inquisitive, lilac eyes. And you nod, the defensive harden to your face melting away like snow on a sunny day. 

“Her name is Sharena. I miss her.”

Obviously you were thinking of this person, and Edelgard’s accuracy was the level of a perfectionist.

Shez’s lips tighten.

“I apologise, Librarian. I did not mean to upset you.”

You guffaw, severely offended, and Yuri settles back to observe. 

“She’s not dead! I just haven’t seen her in some time!” He knows you’re overreacting; the twitch of your lips was another tick. Convincingly enough for him to know, but Edelgard and Shez miss it. Edelgard looks embarrassed for a princess, while Shez’s nose wrinkles distastefully.

“How were we supposed to know?”

“Assuming things can get you into trouble when you’re older and have responsibilities. Tread lightly in every conversation.” You emphasize every with a wicked grin, entertained by their different reactions. Edelgard arches a brow, on the defensive. Eitr remains staring at whoever speaks, sincerely confused.

“Are you turning this into a lesson? You and the Professor are a dastardly duo.” 

“The Professor…” Shez thinks, then his eyes narrow at your face. “—you’re talking about the Ashen Demon.” Yuri knows this nickname well. Mercenaries, bandits, vagrants… a few years ago, they whispered that name in fear all across Fódlan, the navy-haired swordfighter second to none in the craft of killing.

Now Byleth was a glorified teacher’s assistant in charge of young nobles and commoners. If they wanted their brats to become vicious on the battlefield, then this was the right course of action—but Yuri could only name a few that would want that.

“We are. I’m surprised at how much they’ve changed.”

“Then you’re fallen for their act just like everyone else.” 

Exasperation washes over your face.

“I hope you bring that attitude when you meet them.” You mutter after turning, and Yuri chuckles quietly. Shez was eager to clash with Byleth, but he was curious; why was he so aggressive at the mere mention of the Professor? You didn’t seem to entertain the thought as much as he did.

After a period of silence, Eitr pipes up, red-tinged eyes wide with curiosity. 

“Who’s your other friend?”

“His name is Alfonse. Byleth reminds me of him.”

“Stoic, broody, rarely talks?” Various traits that could be applied to the Professor fly from Edelgard’s mouth, and when she finishes, sets an expectant look on you. You cringe.

“...maybe not so much. Really, it’s just their hair and eyes.”

“...oh.” 

“He does brood, though.” Fondly, you sigh, then shake your head.

“The more I think about home, the greater the urge is to return.” This is something Yuri knows little about. Rarely do you talk about yourself, but your home? He’s only heard bits and scraps, so he tunes in as close as he can.

Shez seems intrigued and opens his mouth to ask, but he jerks to the side, clutching his ear. He’s quick to wave off everyone’s concern, tanned  cheeks tinged with warmth. 

Yuri eyes the spot where the white-haired person had been, but they’re nowhere to be seen. Oddly enough, he can sense they aren’t far.

“It’s difficult. There’s only a few times we’ve had lasting peace.”

“You fled from war?”

Oddly, a little laugh escapes you.

“Not willingly. That’s as much as I’ll say—” You cut yourself off, drawing that golden weapon from it’s leather sheathe, temperament hardened like steel smelted to a sword. Yuri joins you, his sword drawn and in his hands, staring into the mist.

“We’re close.”

The mist hums, rippling against the shell of the protective ward. Waves of mist collide into it, until it’s blown away; revealing the startlingly-blue sky like before. Islands float, hunks of rock draped with thorny vines and bulbous flowers, spreading that infernal pollen and coating the grass with a strange glow.

Ahead, in the open-plain with the backdrop of a crumbling, silvery castle, floats a strange-looking butterfly. It’s wings are prominently huge, dyed a dark violet fading into magenta, framed by black edges. Lazily, it flutters over one of the large blooms, nestled into a patch of pitch-black bramble.

“There’s our dökkálfar.” You mutter, anticipation thick in your voice. Eitr agrees quietly, holding her rustled bouquet of flowers tightly to her chest.

“We must defeat her, before the dream collapses with us in it.”

Shez brandishes his swords, and Arval reappears in a flash of red light, while Edelgard lifts her axe and shield. Their ragtag crew may stand a chance, but it may wholly depend on you and that weapon you wield for their survival. 

The dökkálfar—revealing the rest of their body—stretches out her arms and legs, dark skin entangled in lace patterns of vines and thorns along the edges of a skin-tight bodice embroidered with five-petalled flowers framing her chest like a necklace. 

Long sleeves extend from her shoulders, draping down like willow leaves, ending at her wrist where her palms appear with shining, purple nails. She turns to face them, dark lips twisting into a grin. Her eyes are dark, thick lashes framing their ebony hue, and the dusting of purple halos her cheeks.

“Finally! All this chatter about happy memories and home was dampening the mood.”

Her black hair is braided from her face, wrapped by a thick, dark vine, splitting into smaller braids that flow behind the dökkálfar’s movements, ending by her mid-back. They twist into a bright, reddish purple, flowers glowing with the same powder that drips from the flowers.

The álfar sets her gaze on you, and a vile sneer emerges onto her face.

“You…” She hisses, and you angle yourself to face the floating woman. An oddly-shaped purple flower rises to the woman’s side, pulsing erratically when she speaks.

“I was hoping I’d be the one to find you first.”

“Find me? You forced me to come to you.” At your retort, the woman simply shrugs, smile slipping back to it’s place without much contest.

“Bait is so easy with people like you. The heart is so strong, influencing your thoughts and actions—but it gave me access to everything I needed to kill you.” She spins the flower around her hand, the dark skin of her hand glowing violet from the flower’s pollen.

“Using the students was particularly cruel. Just in character for someone like you, though. Dökkálfar sowing trouble for their Nightmare Queen.” You admit, the corner of your lips turned up into a sly smile.

“Trouble?” The dökkálfar scoffs, nose wrinkling into a sneer. She did not hold her smug aura as well as others, fuming at your indifference. Quickly, the woman snaps back at you, dark eyes wide and blazing.

“My queen is dead because of you!” Shrilly, the flower in her presence peels apart, specking the ground like glowing violet snow. You purse your lips, shooting Yuri a look—she’s most likely not going to entertain much of a conversation now. He returns an equally as dry one, and you shake your head. No matter what you said, this was the end result.

Before the group, the dökkálfar throws her hands out, and violent lightning strikes the ground, drawing massive from the grass and lash threateningly at them, brandishing sharp spikes and pollen. You draw your weapon, bringing the funnel-shaped end to eye level, fiddling with the side. Yuri turns his focus to the dökkálfar, who cradles the flower gently, and encourages the plans around to attack.

She grins, and sets her burning glare on you, malice laced in her next words. 

“I, Hellebore, will slay the Summoner of Askr in the name of Lady Freyja!”