Chapter Text
Byleth woke up with a gasp.
When her surroundings came to focus, she realized she was in her room at Castle Blaiddyd. Rays of sunlight shone through her window, and she saw dust motes dance in the air.
Sunlight. It was… morning—oh.
Oh, no, no, no no no no no.
She touched the back of her neck and winced. It was freezing to the touch—remnants of Patricia’s dark magic.
She clenched her jaw. Everything was going so well. Rufus had given her a lifeline, and the miracle she’d hoped for nearly came to pass… but at the very last moment, her foolish empathy won out, destroying the miracle before it even happened. Patricia was the unknown variable, and Byleth was blind to it.
Frustrated, she shoved her blankets away, made a beeline for the door, and slammed it open. She was met with the sight of two armored knights in front of her.
“What is this?” Byleth asked. “Where are His Majesty and His Highness?”
“They departed yesterday, Lady Byleth,” one of the knights said. “You’ve been out for about a day.”
Byleth felt nauseous. A day? She did the mental calculations. It took about three to four days to get to Duscur from Fhirdiad by carriage. If she rode on horseback nonstop, she still had the chance to catch up to them.
Just as she tried to walk past the knights, they blocked her way, pointing their lances at her.
“By order of Her Majesty the Queen, you are not to leave your quarters,” the other knight said.
“Get out of my way,” she said, voice frigid and hard. “The king will die if you don’t.”
They didn’t move an inch. Of course. They had to be under Patricia’s, no, Cornelia’s command.
Fuck, she had no time for this. She forcefully swallowed the self-pity, dread, regret, and every other useless emotion that rose in her throat like bile. There was room for one thing and one thing only—force.
Byleth jumped back into her room to create more distance. Before the knights could react, she raised her arms to cast Fire. The telltale magic circle manifested in front of her, blasting a ball of flame into the knights.
They were violently blown back by the explosion, sending them crashing against the stone wall. Smoke, ash, and debris littered her doorway and the surrounding halls. The great walls of Castle Blaiddyd, now marred by point-blank magic.
But there was no time to think of any of that.
After grabbing a sword from her bedside, Byleth sprinted to the stables. Pure adrenaline kept her on her feet despite the cold pangs of dark magic on her nape. Servants and other knights shouted at her to stop, but it was as if all she could see was the end of the tunnel—the only thing that mattered was getting to the fucking horses.
The stables were empty when she arrived, save for some of the stable masters and grooms.
“Sorry, Lady Byleth,” the stable master said, scratching his head. “The retinue took all the horses with them.”
Fuck.
Byleth looked around frantically, trying to figure out what to do. There were some stables in the city. She could make her way there and borrow a horse.
…Shit, but the knights she knocked out were likely awake now, and they probably would have alerted the other castle knights of her escape. They’d catch up to her in no time.
Maybe…
“Do you keep pegasi here?” she asked. It was a long shot, but pegasi were faster, cutting the travel time in half.
“We have one—”
“Take me to it.”
The stable master led her to the stall where the castle’s lone pegasus was kept. He was a stunning creature with a stark white coat that seemed to shimmer in the light. But the moment the stable master approached him, he huffed, pulling his ears back and shaking his tail at them.
“Apollo here was gifted to us by House Galatea,” he said, offering Apollo an apple. Apollo suspiciously sniffed the fruit before chomping on it. “But as you can see, he’s a troublesome steed. Are you sure you want him?”
“It’s fine,” she said. She knew how to handle pegasi.
Byleth put her foot in the stirrup, grabbed Apollo’s reins, and pulled herself up and onto his body, swinging her leg over him. Just then, she heard shouts and armor clinking in the distance—the knights grew ever closer. Apollo fidgeted and pawed at the ground in response.
Pegasi are sensitive creatures. They mirror their rider’s anxiety, Byleth remembered Ingrid saying. If they sense unease from you, you must remain calm.
She took a deep breath before squeezing Apollo with her legs. Apollo slowly walked out of the stall, but just as he and Byleth were about to leave, the knights approached.
“Stop her!” she heard a knight yell.
“Go!” Byleth tugged on the reins hard.
Apollo yowled, then reared himself on his hind legs, sending the surrounding knights staggering back. At the click of Byleth’s tongue, he sprinted to the exit, and she felt his wings unfurl and flap in harsh beats until they were no longer on the ground. She looked back and saw the knights running after her, but Apollo was faster.
He flew farther and farther away until the knights were nothing more but specks in the distance. There was a reason Galatea pegasi were the most coveted in Fódlan.
“Apollo,” she whispered to him. “Let’s hope we make it in time.”
He only huffed in return.
Dimitri stared out the window of the carriage.
The Sacred Gwenhwyvar mountain pass was a mix of greens, browns, and grays, with grass and rocks dotting the landscape as far as the eye could see. Other than trips to Fraldarius and Itha, he rarely ever left home, so the idea of visiting a new place like Duscur should’ve been exciting to him.
But instead, he only found himself waiting for the trip to end quickly.
“Is it too late to turn back, Father?” he asked.
“We’re already halfway there,” Father chided, shaking his head. “It’s not very becoming of you to sulk like that.”
Dimitri slumped into his seat. “But we left Lady Byleth behind.”
“I already told you—she was too ill to travel. Patricia told me she was in a bad way. It’d be cruel to bring her with us in such a condition.”
This was the longest he’d ever been separated from her, and Lady Byleth was horribly sick. She must’ve been suffering alone, tossing and turning in bed with a terrible fever, and here he was, going on a trip without her. His stomach churned in disgust.
“...You and Stepmother should’ve left me behind, too,” he murmured.
“Dimitri.”
Ignoring Father’s disappointed face, Dimitri looked back outside. Being stuck in a carriage with Father frowning at him for the next few days didn’t sound pleasant. He wished he was on horseback instead, like Glenn and Sir Gustave were.
Secretly, he was a little glad Stepmother rode a different carriage. If she were here, she would’ve lectured him, too.
“I know you’re upset,” Father said. “But this trip is more than just a means to a political end. I brought you with me so you could learn what it means to be a good prince—a good king.” He sighed. “We don’t just isolate ourselves in the castle waiting for a miracle to happen; we put in the work to make sure Faerghus prospers. That’s our duty as Blaiddyds.”
It wasn’t the first time Dimitri heard this speech. Sir Gustave drilled the same lessons in his head.
“I understand, but… why Duscur?” Dimitri asked.
“They’re our neighbors. We share the continent with them, so we must foster goodwill with them. We… are responsible for our family’s mistakes. Hence this trip.”
Dimitri tilted his head, confused. “Mistakes?”
It was Father’s turn to look out the window.
“King Mikhail—your grandfather was… many things,” Father said. “He wasn’t a good king, and he was even less of a good man. I—we won’t be like him. Never. I promise you that.”
Dimitri had a thousand questions, and the mention of Grandfather piqued his curiosity. He’d known Grandfather was a fierce and ruthless king feared by the people; Sir Gustave told Dimitri as much during their lessons since Father rarely talked about it.
But any question died on Dimitri’s tongue when he saw the look on Father’s face. His face was completely devoid of emotion, and there was a shadow over his eyes that Dimitri had never seen before.
It unsettled him.
Father cleared his throat. “Anyhow, there’s another reason we’re going to Duscur.”
“Hm?”
“Flowers,” he said. “There’s a field of lavenders at the end of this mountain crossing. You could bring back a bouquet for Lady Byleth.”
Dimitri felt a smile forming. “She loves flowers!”
“That’s good to hear. Your mother does, too.”
“Stepmother?”
“Ah, no, I meant… your real mother.” Father smiled sadly. “Katya. She used to make these little flower crowns with the lavenders I gave her.”
Oh.
If there was one person Father discussed even less than Grandfather, it was Mother. All Dimitri knew about her was that Father loved her very much and that she died from the plague. Other than that, Father never brought her up. Dimitri suspected Father didn’t like to talk about her, so he never asked.
Instead, he’d stare at the big portrait on the grand staircase, imagining what Mother was like. He used to feel a little sting in his chest whenever Felix and Ingrid talked about their mothers, but it didn’t bother him as much anymore.
He had Lady Byleth after all.
“Your mother would’ve loved to come with us,” Father mused. “After we wed, we traveled around Fódlan for a time—she wanted to see as much of the world as she could before we settled permanently in Fhirdiad. Of all the places we visited, she loved Duscur the most. She said their flowers were the most beautiful of all.”
“I didn’t know that about Mother.”
“I wish you had met her.” Father stared at his empty hands. “She loved you so much that she gave up her life to—”
He paused, clenching his fists tight.
“Father? Are you alright?”
Father took a few deep breaths in succession, as if he’d done this many times before.
“Forgive me, Dima,” he said. “That was… unbecoming of me.”
They were silent for a few moments. Dimitri had no idea what to say, only choosing to stare pointedly at his feet.
“...My hope is that you become a good king for Faerghus’ sake,” Father solemnly said, breaking the silence. “But as a father, I hope you find someone you love. In the future, your advisors will tell you to marry a bride of their choosing. But should you choose to marry for love, I will support you, make no mistake.” He closed his eyes and smiled. “To be with the one you love—there is no greater pleasure in this world.”
The thought never crossed Dimitri’s mind. It felt like a far-off concept, like it was something he wouldn’t have to worry about years into the distant future. But when thinking of marriage now… only her face came to mind.
“Thank you,” Dimitri said.
It was clear to Dimitri how much Father loved Mother with his heart and soul. But that ignited an old, long-buried curiosity in him, something that lingered at the back of his mind for years, yet his childish sensibilities didn’t have the words to properly articulate that curiosity—until now.
“Father?”
“Yes?”
“Do you love Stepmother the same way you love Mother?”
Father’s smile grew tight until it no longer reached his eyes.
“Dimitri, I—”
The carriage jolted and came to an abrupt stop. Dimitri was launched forward by the sudden force, and Father caught him in his arms. His sharp armor dug into Dimitri’s clothes almost painfully.
“Saints above,” Father knocked hard on the carriage door. “Gustave, what in blazes is going on out there?”
“Your Majesty, there’s–”
An awful, earsplitting explosion interrupted Sir Gustave’s voice and pierced the air. The carriage shook violently from the impact, and Dimitri curled into Father, covering his ears from the booming, thunderous noise outside.
“What was that?” Dimitri asked, ears still ringing.
“I don’t know, but… stay here, Dima,” Father said, extricating him from his hold. “Do not leave the carriage until I say so. Understand?”
“But—”
“Do you understand?”
“...Yes.”
Father embraced him tight before opening the carriage door. Dimitri curled into a ball and closed his eyes, hoping this was nothing but a bad dream.
It was like hell itself made its way to the Sacred Gwenhwyvar, desecrating the revered mountains with fire and blood.
Lambert assessed the damage from the explosion. Pillars of smoke and flame were everywhere, rendering their entourage immobile. Some of the knights and horses had fallen, and after doing a mental count, more than half his men were out. The few that still stood were either on guard or stock-still, petrified by the sight of their comrades burning in their armor.
Hells.
The carriage he’d been in with Dimitri was miraculously still in one piece, but he couldn’t see the other carriages with all the smoke blocking his vision.
Patricia. She had to be safe, or else—
“Patricia!” Lambert yelled. “Can you hear me?”
There was no response. He looked in every direction, but she was nowhere to be seen.
“Your Majesty!” A knight ran up to him. It was Glenn, covered in dirt and blood. “We were ambushed. Some mages attacked us from a distance. We need to get out of here before—”
A surge of energy clustered around them and burst, causing a fusillade of smoke and magic to blanket them. Lambert coughed with all the dust in the air, and as the magic cleared, he saw men in black, beaked masks and helmets, all poised to attack.
There was no doubting it anymore. They were sent here to kill him.
“Glenn.” Lambert rested his hand on the sword on his belt. “Guard the carriage and make sure no one gets past you. Protect Dimitri.”
“Your Majesty—”
“This is an order!” he yelled. “There is no future without Dimitri. Please.”
Glenn looked reluctant, but he bowed and went to the carriage.
One of the assassins aimed for Glenn, but Lambert was faster. His sword pierced the assassin’s neck, and after choking and gurgling on blood and blade alike, he fell, limp and unmoving.
Something in his veins preened at the sight. His hand itched for Areadbhar.
“In the name of your king,” Lambert shouted, swinging the blood off of his blade, “you will all die today!”
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This was where Lambert belonged.
In a way, he was like a doctor with razor-like precision. Whenever a masked rat approached, he knew exactly where to cut—the neck, the stomach, the heart, the bowels—then they would fall like puppets whose strings were cut.
He had the gracelessness of a butcher, too. The rats were walking bags of meat, and if slicing their guts open with his blade wasn’t enough, he crushed their skulls with his hands and felt their brains coat him.
This is what you really are, Father said, laughing at him. An animal who revels in slaughter.
So be it.
Rats kept pouring in from all directions, and Lambert continued to cut a path as he went. Their blood sprayed him as they fell, but that was of no consequence. The metallic, coppery scent of blood and guts never bothered him. His brain had long been freed of useless fetters like mercy and fear.
There was only death.
“Father!”
Lambert saw a mop of blonde hair, followed by a flash of blue hair. Dimitri and Glenn. Why were they—
“Your Highness!” Glenn screamed at the top of his lungs. “No!”
Lambert turned to face them, but his blood ran cold when he saw a rat swing at Dimitri with an axe.
Promise me you’ll take care of him, Lambert.
Promise me.
Using every ounce of power his crest gave him, he ran to them at full speed. It felt like time slowed down; every nanosecond that passed meant the axe grew closer to Dimitri, inch by inch. Lambert willed his crest to sustain his momentum—he just had to be quicker by a fraction of a moment, and then the axe would fall on him instead.
Lambert jumped between Dimitri and the masked rat, he saw the axe’s blade come down on him, dead set on separating his head from his shoulders.
It was the executioner’s axe he’d been dodging all his life.
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If you perish, His Highness will be left without a father.
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Is there anything I can do to alleviate your worries?
Only one thing, Your Majesty—stay alive.
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He felt a stinging sensation on his left index finger—from the Evasion Ring given to him by Lady Byleth.
Suddenly, it felt like his body had achieved an exponential level of speed beyond his human limit, and in an infinitesimal, inconceivable split-second, he moved.
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You clawed your way out of Ophelia the day you were born.
I wish you had died instead of her. I wish you had never been born.
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Pain.
A burning, agonizing pain lanced through him. It felt like pure torture of the highest degree, but he felt it. His brain was still somehow connected to his body.
He was alive.
But Dimitri looked at him like he saw a ghost.
“F—father… you…”
Lambert followed Dimitri’s line of sight, looked at his right arm, and understood.
There was… nothing where his forearm used to be. His shoulder was still there, armored and clothed. But everything after his elbow was just gone, exposing bone and tissue while blood gushed from the stump. When Lambert turned his head lower, he saw the severed arm on the ground, still grasping his sword.
Ah.
The masked rat raised his axe again, this time intent on killing him off for real. Lambert braced himself for another blow, but lightning suddenly appeared in the air above him and struck the assassin until he fell. From a distance, he saw Glenn, raising a jagged, golden sword.
“Father,” Dimitri whimpered, “Father, your arm…”
Lambert grew dizzy. His legs wobbled, and he nearly stumbled onto the ground had Dimitri not caught him in time.
Glenn rushed up to them, frantic. He looked less like a brave member of the kingsguard, and more like the boy he truly was, trembling beyond belief. “Your Majesty, I—I’m so sorry, I—”
“...My cloak,” Lambert said, clenching his teeth through the pain. “Tear a bit off my cloak and wrap it around the cut. Put pressure on it until the bleeding slows down. Hurry.”
Glenn nodded and obeyed, ripping off the cloth and wrapping it tightly around his stump. His hands shook all the while, no doubt terrified from seeing his king dismembered, but to his credit, he kept it secure around Lambert’s arm.
Lambert surveyed the area. There were piles of bodies scattered everywhere—a mix of his own men and the masked rats. In the distance, he saw someone run towards him, and he sighed in relief when he saw it was Gustave, covered in blood and viscera from head to toe, but blessedly alive.
“Your Majesty!” Gustave said, gaze immediately locked on his right arm. “What happened?”
“I’m fine.” Lambert waved him off. “More importantly, where is the queen?”
“I… haven’t seen her at all, sire.”
Dread pooled in his stomach. He imagined her impaled, burned, dead—
“We have to find her. Now,” Lambert ordered. He pressed the cloth deeper into his arm and hissed. “Glenn, take Dimitri and hide somewhere until it’s safe to come out. There could be more of those masked men lurking about.”
“No!” Dimitri clung to his side, sobbing. “No, I won’t go, Father!”
His heart ached at the sight of his son in tears, but he steeled himself. “Glenn, take him with you now.”
Glenn winced. “But your arm…”
“I said go!”
Glenn bit his lip until it bled. Then he bowed, picked Dimitri up with one arm, and took off. Dimitri thrashed in his hold, but Glenn was resolute and held onto him stubbornly.
With sorrow, Lambert watched them as they ran away. They were still children; they knew how to hunt and ride and fight, but they were still boys at the end of the day. And the world they lived in had never been kind to children. Lambert knew that all too well.
“Gustave,” Lambert said. “Help me up.”
As he ran, Glenn held onto Dimitri for dear life. Dimitri kicked and screamed, so Glenn willed the Crest of Fraldarius to give him the strength to keep Dimitri in his hold.
“Let me go!” Dimitri shouted. “Let me go!”
Glenn only held on tighter and kept running. As much as his mind yelled at him to stay and fight, he couldn’t disobey King Lambert—not after what happened. If he did, he’d never be able to live with himself.
“Glenn, we have to go back. Please!”
“No. You heard your father,” Glenn said. “We take cover until those masked bastards are gone.”
“But his arm… he can’t fight like before—”
“Goddess damn it all, Your Highness, if you stayed in the carriage like I told you to, he wouldn’t have jumped in front of you!”
The moment those words left his mouth, he regretted it immediately. Dimitri deflated in his hold, as if all his stubbornness evaporated in an instant. Father always scolded him for having a sharp tongue with barbed words, but Glenn brushed those lectures aside. He wasn’t a politician; he was a warrior. The sword mattered more than the spoken word.
But seeing Dimitri quietly sobbing didn’t make him feel better.
Glenn’s legs burned from exertion, and after what seemed like hours on the run, he deemed they were far enough from the entourage that they could wait here for the time being. He slowly set Dimitri down against a boulder. Dimitri slumped down, exhausted and miserable.
“We wait here,” Glenn said. He rested a hand on the sword on his belt, while the other held the Levin Sword. “Stay put, okay, Your Highness?”
Dimitri only nodded lifelessly.
Guilt lanced through Glenn’s chest. He replayed the gruesome scene in his mind again. If he had been faster… if he was able to stop Dimitri from running towards His Majesty, then maybe…
He grit his teeth. The moment the bastard with the axe came for Dimitri, Glenn froze. All that bravado about dying to protect his liege, all that big talk about honor in death disappeared in an instant when death became too real of a possibility.
He was not only a coward, but a hypocrite, too. If Father knew… if Felix and Ingrid knew, they’d never forgive him.
His only consolation was that he managed to blast the bastard with the Levin Sword towards the end.
Glenn debated bringing the damn thing with him at first; he was still bitter from Lady Byleth calling him weak. He wanted to prove her wrong by leaving it behind. He could show her how perfectly capable he was of protecting himself and everyone around him, and all he needed was a regular sword. No cheating, no magic.
…But he brought it with him anyway, and it turned out to be his saving grace.
Because you’re still a child. You aren’t strong enough.
Lady Byleth’s words echoed in his head like a bell. She was right.
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He and Dimitri rested by the boulder for some time. Glenn kept his hands on his swords the whole time, not once letting go.
It was quiet. He couldn’t hear any screams or blasts from the direction they came from. Maybe…
“I think they’re gone now,” Glenn said. “We should go back and meet up with them,”
“...Okay,” Dimitri said, still dejected.
Glenn sighed. “Listen. About what I said earlier–”
Then, he felt the air around them thicken with magic, not unlike when the masked bastards warped into their retinue. After a flash of light, three of them appeared, all of them with a weapon in hand.
“So, this is where you two were hiding,” one of them said. “Sneaky little shits.”
Glenn pushed Dimitri behind him. “Fuck you.”
Without waiting for them to strike, Glenn raised the Levin Sword, immediately striking them with bright hot lightning. It was enough to weaken them, but they didn’t fall. They regained their composure in no time—shit, they were probably more resistant to magic than normal. He raised the sword again, but this time, it only gave a weak burst of lightning before fizzling out.
Fuck. No more magic.
Glenn threw the Levin Sword aside and unsheathed his sword. His Killing Edge.
“Run back to the carriages, Your Highness.” Glenn pointed his sword at the men and blocked their view of Dimitri. “Go.”
“No—no, I won’t leave you!”
“I’ll follow, don’t worry,” he said. “I promise. I’m not losing to these bastards. Now go!”
This was his true test. All his training boiled down to this moment. If he could stop—if he could kill—these three, he could prove Lady Byleth wrong. He wasn’t weak, and he would live to see another day.
Glenn thought of Father, with his knowing smiles. Of Mother, humming lullabies his sleep. Of Felix, tugging on his tunic. Of Ingrid, waiting for him to come home.
His crest thrummed in his veins. Then, he swung his sword.
Dimitri ran as fast as he could.
A part of him screamed at him to stay and help Glenn fend off the assassins, but a more rational part of him begged him to listen to Glenn. It was Dimitri’s fault Father lost an arm. He would only get in the way if he tried to help.
Dimitri remembered what the wolf did to Lady Byleth. Tears blurred his vision, and he angrily wiped his tears, hating his powerlessness.
Glenn… he was strong. He’d be okay. He promised he’d follow. Dimitri just needed to have faith in him. Everything would be okay in the end, and they’d all go home to Fhirdiad soon. He’d see Lady Byleth again.
Just then, at the corner of his eye, a masked man sprinted towards the trees in the distance, pulling someone along with him. The more Dimitri looked, the more familiar the figure was. Long, brown hair, a purple dress…
Stepmother!
Dimitri ran in their direction instead, intent on saving her. He, Father, Glenn, and Stepmother were going back to Fhirdiad together, no matter what.
“Stepmother!” Dimitri cried. “I’m coming!”
She looked back in shock. Remembering his training, Dimitri concentrated his energy on his right hand, condensing as much magic as he could into his palm. The masked man was still too far for him to slash at with his dagger, but if Dimitri could injure him from afar…
With a grunt, Dimitri aimed and cast Thunder at the assassin, sending a ball of electricity flying at him. He yelped in pain, momentarily freeing Stepmother from his grip. Using his crest, Dimitri charged at the assassin with all his strength. He unsheathed the dagger from his belt and stabbed the assassin in the abdomen.
In an attempt to fight back, the assassin tried to reach for his sword, but before he could do that, Dimitri tackled him to the ground and stabbed his mask—deep into his brain. Umbral Steel could pierce through anything.
Dimitri pulled the dagger out. The man didn’t struggle anymore. It was over.
He—he did it. He saved her!
“Stepmother,” Dimitri said, smiling with relief. “Come with me. We have to go back to Father by the carriages. He’ll be so glad when he sees you!”
But she didn’t move from where she stood. There was an unreadable, empty expression on her face as she looked at him.
“Stepmother?”
He took a step towards her, but she took a step back.
She gave him a weak smile. “...You really are like your father. Always so blind to the hurt you cause.”
She raised both her arms in front of her. Purple and black energy swirled at her fingertips. The atmosphere thickened with magic until he could smell it in the air, and the energy coalesced into a sphere thrice the size of his own head.
Why was she—
“I am sorry, Dimitri,” he heard her say, “and goodbye.”
With a chant under her breath, the sphere hurtled itself towards him. Dimitri’s whole body was frozen. He commanded his legs to move, but they were stuck to the ground like they were made of stone. There was fear, but more than that, despair and confusion had paralyzed him from head to toe. He was going to die here, and he didn’t know why.
The last thing he thought of before the end was Lady Byleth, smiling.
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“Dimitri!"
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With blinding speed, a flash of white and green descended from above and moved in front of him. At that moment, time came to a slow, terrifying halt. He looked up at the figure that arrived from the skies, and with dread and elation alike, he met Lady Byleth’s clear eyes with his own. It was like the Goddess herself had come from the heavens to grace him with her presence.
No.
The energy sphere collided with Lady Byleth and her pegasus, and they crashed into the ground hard. The impact pushed her off her pegasus and sent her tumbling off to the side like a discarded doll.
No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no—
Dimitri rushed to her side instantly. She was covered in dirt and bruises, and blood dripped from the side of her mouth ominously. Something purple and black spread through the veins on her throat, but she wasn’t moving—she wasn’t moving—
“Lady Byleth,” he cried, shaking her arm, “Lady Byleth!”
She did not stir, nor did her crest heal her the same way it always did.
Desperate, he knelt and put his ear to her chest, right above where her heart was. He bit his fist in an attempt to stop his heavy, panicked breaths so he could hear her heartbeat. For what seemed like an eternity, he prayed to the Goddess, begged her for mercy, and listened.
But there was no sound. No matter how much he pressed his ear into her chest, there was no heartbeat.
There was nothing left.
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You know what you have to do.
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Dimitri gently kissed Lady Byleth’s lips one last time, committing the feel of them to memory. He stood up and looked directly into the eyes of the monster.
“How—how did she…” Stepmother stammered.
But he wasn’t really listening anymore.
With his dagger—his most precious, beloved gift—in hand, Dimitri shouted with all his being and lunged at the monster. She was caught off guard and couldn’t sidestep him in time, and he tackled her until her back hit the ground.
“Why?” he wailed, angry tears flowing down his face. “How could you? How could you?”
“Get off me!” The monster tried to push him off, but he wouldn’t relent.
Dimitri plunged the dagger into her eye, and her resounding, bloodcurdling scream burned itself into his brain. With rage fueling him, he twisted the blade in her ruined eye to make sure it hurt. She needed to feel the pain Lady Byleth felt a hundredfold—no—a thousandfold. She needed to bleed and ache and suffer—needed to feel the pain deep in her bones until there was nothing left of her but a pile of meat begging for death. Growling, he pulled the dagger out swiftly, sending blood spurting all over her face.
“You… you—” she panted, using her hand to cover her right eye. The blood on her face mixed with her tears, and her good eye looked at him with all the hatred in the world. “You’re not my son—you never were—”
Dimitri raised his dagger again, this time hell-bent on slaying the monster that killed Lady Byleth.
“Die!”
Byleth’s body felt… nice. Light. Like she’d just emerged from a long, restful sleep. But her bed was so soft that it felt tempting to go back to sleep again.
…No. She should wake up.
When she opened her eyes, she found herself in her old dorm room at Garreg Mach. The ceiling was the same varnished wood she used to stare at whenever she stayed in bed for too long.
“Professor?”
Oh. How many years had it been since anyone called her that?
“Professor?”
And with a voice so gentle, too. She’d die happy if that were the last thing she heard.
“Professor,” the voice, low and soft, said. “Are you awake now?”
Byleth turned to her side and saw…
Dimitri.
The same Dimitri she met at Remire. Her favorite student. Her sun, moon, and stars.
Her Dimitri.
“You fainted after the battle at the Sealed Forest,” he said, frowning. “I hope you don’t mind… I had to carry you back.”
Byleth blinked. There was no way this was reality. And yet—
She embraced him. Dimitri stiffened at her touch, but she didn’t care. He was warm and smelled of sword oil and chamomile. She felt his breath on her hair, his arms ghosting over her, and his heart beating through his chest.
“Is this real?” she asked. “Are you real?”
Like every good thing in her life, he’d disappear in front of her, and she’d wake up again, miserable and alone. This was a dream. It had to be.
She heard him let out a quiet breath. Then, she felt his arms wrap around her, holding her close. He did not disappear when she nuzzled into him. He was warm and solid and real.
“Yes,” he said, stroking her hair. “I am.”
