Chapter Text
Guts lay motionless, the call of his name piercing through the haze like a desperate plea.
“Guts! Guts!” The voice was urgent yet muffled, distant yet insistent. He struggled to open his eyes, his body heavy and unyielding, as though bound by chains unseen. His mind, clouded and disoriented, was not the haze of the Berserker Armor; this felt deeper, like a suffocating weight pressing against his very soul.
Again, the voice called out, closer this time. "Guts!" He recognized it—Schierke? Farnese? The faint sound of murmurs followed, rippling with strange energy. Sparks danced along his body, pulling him from the abyss. Slowly, painstakingly, his eyes fluttered open, and the light of the world spilled back into him.
The stillness of the cavern was broken by a faint, almost imperceptible vibration. Farnese’s eyes snapped open as her bracelet—the charm she had painstakingly crafted for Guts—emitted a dim, wavering light resonate with the bracelet in her hand. She sat up abruptly, clutching her wrist, her heart pounding with unease. It wasn’t just the light—it was the feeling that accompanied it, like a thread of tension tugging sharply at her soul. Something was wrong.
She scrambled to her feet, her breath quickened. “Schierke!” she hissed, hurrying to where the young witch lay curled beneath her cloak. She gave her a firm shake, her urgency evident. “Wake up! It’s Guts. Something’s happened.”
Schierke stirred groggily, rubbing her eyes. “What… what are you talking about?” she murmured, sitting up. But when she saw the bracelet glowing faintly on Farnese’s wrist, her expression hardened. “The charm—it’s reacting?”
“Yes,” Farnese said, her voice tight with worry. “The charm that I make to protect us, but this… this feels different. It’s like it’s warning me. We need to go to him.”
Schierke nodded, already gathering her staff and pouch of magical tools. “If the charm is resonating, it means his spirit is in distress. It could be the armor… or something worse.”
Farnese’s stomach churned at the thought, but she pushed it aside. “We can’t waste time. I’ll get Elara.”
The two women moved quickly, their footsteps echoing softly in the cavern. Farnese found Elara near the entrance, her hands busy arranging herbs for the night’s preparations. The healer looked up, startled, as Farnese approached. “What’s wrong?” Elara asked, sensing the tension in Farnese’s face.
“It’s Guts,” Farnese said without preamble. “The charm I made for him—it’s reacting. Something’s wrong. We need to go to him now.”
Elara’s eyes widened, but she nodded without hesitation. “Lead the way.”
The three women hurried toward the hot springs, the atmosphere growing heavier with each step. Farnese couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding that clung to her. She clenched her fists, silently praying that they weren’t too late.
As they approached the steaming waters, the faint glow of the bracelet intensified, flickering like a warning beacon. Farnese’s heart sank. She exchanged a glance with Schierke, who looked equally grim.
Schierke, Farnese, and Elara hovered over him, the air thick with tension. The ritual was complex, weaving threads of magic and healing to navigate Guts' fractured psyche. Much like the ritual they had once performed for Casca in Elfhelm, the trio now ventured into the depths of Guts’ mind, where memories and illusions tangled into an incomprehensible storm.
As they plunged deeper, the currents of his thoughts grew erratic, distorted. They glimpsed flashes of his memories—raw, violent, and unforgiving. Each fragment revealed his past: the Band of the Hawk, the eclipse, and the endless bloodshed. The images sharpened, converging toward a figure that took their breath away.
It was Griffith—or so it seemed at first. The figure was strikingly feminine, almost delicate, and emanated an emotional depth entirely unlike the cold, calculated Griffith they had known. This ethereal form—the one Guts knew as Griselda—radiated vulnerability. The trio felt the magnetic pull of her presence, just as Guts had, and they were drawn into his memories of her.
They saw how she approached him, her every movement deliberate yet tender, her voice like a whispered promise. They saw her closeness, her tears, and the way her fragility seeped into Guts’ defenses. Griselda was unlike anyone he had encountered—Griffith’s essence cloaked in unfamiliar softness.
The trio watched as the scenes grew more intimate. Guts, always so guarded, faltered against her subtle advances. Her vulnerability disarmed him, leaving him exposed. Schierke, Farnese, and Elara gasped in unison as they saw the memory unfold—the culmination of her seduction and Guts’ confusion. His struggle to distinguish illusion from reality blurred in the raw, physical act that followed.
Their shock reverberated through the spell. Schierke froze, her face pale and her hands trembling. Farnese’s lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. Elara was equally stunned but quickly pulled herself together, steadying the ritual before it unraveled entirely.
Guts’ eyes snapped open, and he inhaled sharply as though surfacing from drowning. His vision was blurry, the world around him unfamiliar. A thick silence hung in the air, broken only by the sound of shallow breathing.
He sat up, his head pounding. The three women stood before him, their expressions a mix of unease and something unspoken. Schierke’s eyes darted away, refusing to meet his gaze. Farnese’s hands were clenched tightly at her sides, her face unreadable but darkened by something between anger and pity.
Elara, ever the diplomat, stepped forward, her expression carefully neutral. “You’re awake,” she said softly, her tone soothing. She crouched beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder as though to ground him. “You were…unwell. We had to intervene.”
Guts frowned, his memories hazy, but fragments of the ritual and the sensations of his dreams began to surface. “What happened?” he rasped, his voice hoarse.
Elara hesitated, glancing back at the others. “Your mind…was tangled,” she said carefully. “It’s been affected by…illusions. By something—or someone—that haunts you.”
Schierke finally spoke, her voice trembling with restrained emotion. “We saw everything,” she whispered. Her words hung in the air like a dagger poised to strike.
Guts stiffened, his expression darkening. He didn’t need clarification; he knew what she meant. The shame and confusion that had plagued him in the waking moments after Griselda’s presence now surged back, a tidal wave of guilt and self-loathing.
Farnese’s gaze bore into him, her usually judgmental demeanor softened by something that almost resembled pity. “That…was Griffith,” she said, her voice low but firm. “But also…not.”
Guts clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. His mind raced, trying to reconcile the conflicting truths. He knew Griselda wasn’t real—she couldn’t be. And yet, the feelings she had evoked, the connection they had shared, felt as real as the blood that flowed through his veins.
Elara placed a gentle hand on Schierke’s shoulder, signaling her to step back. “This is not the time,” she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. She turned back to Guts, her expression softening. “What’s important is that you’re here, alive. Whatever has taken root in your mind, we will help you face it. But for now, you need to rest.”
The silence stretched on as Guts sat in the dimly lit room, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions. The hot spring outside glimmered under the moonlight, the faint sound of trickling water beckoning him. He felt the weight of their stares, the judgment in their silence, but also their hesitation.
Griselda—or Griffith—was no longer merely a memory. She was a fracture in his reality, a wound that refused to close. As the trio left the room, their faces etched with quiet turmoil, Guts remained behind, staring at the faint glow of the moon.
His mind churned with questions. Was Griselda truly an illusion born of his desires, as they seemed to believe? Or was she something more—a fragment of Griffith that had bled into his world, reshaping itself to exploit his deepest vulnerabilities?
The echoes of her touch lingered on his skin, and the shame of what had transpired weighed heavily on him. Yet, buried beneath the guilt was an ache he could not ignore—an ache that threatened to unravel him entirely.
The steam curled around Guts like ghostly fingers, the silence stretching as if the world itself held its breath. He sat with his knees bent, hands loosely clasped in front of him, his face a mask of exhaustion and turmoil. Despite the stillness in his body, a storm raged behind his eyes.
The others waited, unsure of how to approach him. Farnese finally found her voice, trembling but resolute. “Guts,” she began hesitantly, “are you saying Griffith—or whoever this… Griselda is—has been manipulating you?”
Guts didn’t look at her. His gaze remained fixed on the rippling water. “I don’t know,” he admitted after a long pause. “It doesn’t feel like manipulation, at least not in the way he used to do it. She—Griselda—didn’t come with promises or grand speeches. She came to me soft, like she wanted something from me instead of the other way around. That’s what threw me off.”
Farnese flinched at the word “soft,” her mind struggling to reconcile this image with the monster she associated with Griffith. Schierke, though equally shaken, remained quiet, her analytical mind working through the implications of what Guts was saying.
“She wasn’t like him at first,” Guts continued, his voice rough. “Not at all. She acted… lost. Helpless, even. Like she needed me.” He let out a bitter laugh, though it lacked any humor. “And maybe that’s why I didn’t push her away. For once, someone needed me. Not my sword. Not my strength. Just… me. Just being besides me. ”
Elara tilted her head, her calm demeanor unbroken despite the tension in the air. “And yet you doubt her intentions,” she said gently, her words probing but not accusing. “Why?”
Guts’ jaw tightened. “Because it didn’t last,” he said bluntly. “She changed. After… after what I did to her, she wasn’t the same.”
Schierke’s eyes widened, her voice a whisper. “What you did?”
Guts’ fists clenched, his knuckles turning white. “I… forced myself on her,” he said, his voice barely above a growl. “It wasn’t about her, though. It was about him. About Griffith. Ah... It feels worst when I said it, it just... About feeling like, for once, I had the upper hand. Like I could take back even a sliver of what he stole from me.”
The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Farnese gasped, her hands covering her mouth, while Schierke recoiled, her face pale with shock. Even Elara, who had maintained her composure until now, looked visibly shaken.
“And after that,” Guts continued, his voice hollow, “she wasn’t innocent anymore. She started… touching me. Lingering. Like she wanted to pull me back in. And I—” He paused, his breathing heavy. “I didn’t fight it. Not like I should have. Part of me wanted to run my sword towards her, but another part… another part wanted to stay. To let her take me away from all of this. This hell.”
Schierke swallowed hard, her voice trembling as she spoke. “But… why? Why would Griffith—if it really is him—do this?”
Guts finally looked at her, his eyes dark and haunted. “She told me she was doing it for me. Said she wanted to help me, And maybe… maybe I believed her. Maybe I wanted to.”
He shook his head, his expression bitter. “But tonight, it was different. When she came to me, she wasn’t Griselda anymore. She was Griffith. The mask slipped. And he told me something…”
The others leaned in, their breaths shallow as they waited for him to continue.
“He said there’s a mastermind behind all of this,” Guts said, his voice low and steady. “Behind everything that’s happened to us. That our fate was never our own but part of some bigger plan. He said the God Hand were watching me and him, always. That I’d never see the truth as long as they kept their eyes on us.”
Farnese’s brow furrowed, her voice tentative. “Do you think he was telling the truth?”
Guts shrugged, his shoulders heavy with weariness. “I don’t know. And that’s what pisses me off the most. I don’t know if I can trust anything he says. But the way he looked at me… I could tell he wasn’t lying about one thing.”
Schierke hesitated before asking, “What was that?”
Guts’ voice dropped to a near whisper. “If I wanted, he’d become Griselda again. He wouldn’t have to say a word. He’d just… do it.”
The silence that followed was unbearable. The implications of Guts’ words sank into each of them like a stone in deep water, their minds racing to make sense of what they had just heard.
Finally, Elara broke the silence, her voice firm but kind. “Guts, whatever this is—whoever she or he is—it doesn’t define you. You’re still you. And we’re here for you, no matter what.”
Guts didn’t respond immediately. He simply stared at the steam rising from the hot spring, his expression unreadable. Deep down, he knew Elara’s words were meant to comfort him, but the truth was far more complicated.
Griselda—or Griffith—wasn’t finished with him yet. And he wasn’t sure if he was strong enough to fight what was coming next.
Schierke folded her arms, attempting to mask her unease behind a veil of lightheartedness. “So it’s true, then. You’ve been smitten by a ghost!” she quipped, her tone dry but tinged with humor, trying to defuse the tension in the air. “A ghost who wears Griffith’s face, no less. That’s... quite the predicament.”
Farnese stared at her, aghast. “Schierke! This isn’t the time for jokes!”
Schierke sighed, her expression softening. “I know, Farnese. But if I don’t lighten the mood, I fear the weight of all this will crush us before the real fight even begins.” She turned back to Guts, her voice growing more measured. “Still, it is quite the revelation. And now that we’ve seen what’s been happening to you... we need to decide what to do about it.”
Guts grunted, his lips curling into the faintest hint of a smirk despite himself. “If you’ve got answers, spellcaster, I’d love to hear ’em. ’Cause I’ve got none.”
Schierke’s humor faded, replaced by a somber resolve. “The question is… who are we truly fighting, Guts?” she asked, her tone serious now. “Griffith—or whatever form he’s taken—is a part of your torment, but is he the real enemy? Or is there something greater at work, as he implied?”
Elara nodded thoughtfully. “And what of the plans we’ve already made with the other leaders? The alliances? The fight to resist Griffith’s empire?” Her calm voice carried a weight of practicality, cutting through the lingering unease. “Are they still viable, or has this revelation changed everything?”
Guts leaned back, staring up at the dark sky above the hot spring, the stars obscured by rising steam. “The plans stay,” he said gruffly. “The fight doesn’t stop, not for this. Whatever happens between me and… her, him, or whatever, it doesn’t change the fact that Griffith’s still leading that empire. He’s still destroying lives. That hasn’t changed.”
“But you’re tied to him now, more than ever,” Farnese said, her voice trembling with concern. “Shouldn’t we try to sever that connection? To… to cure you of whatever hold he has on you?”
Schierke shook her head slowly. “It’s not that simple. Griffith—or Griselda—has become entwined with Guts on a level that’s beyond mere magic or manipulation. It’s… psychological. Emotional. And if what we saw in Guts’ memories is any indication, there’s a part of him that doesn’t want to let go.”
Guts’ jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists. “You think I want this?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “You think I like feeling weak, confused, like I’m losing my mind every damn day?”
“No,” Schierke replied firmly, meeting his glare without flinching. “I think you’re human, Guts. And that means you’re vulnerable to things you can’t fight with a sword. That’s not weakness—it’s reality.”
The group fell silent, the weight of her words sinking in. Farnese hesitated before speaking again, her voice tentative. “Then… should we let Griffith—or Griselda—keep coming to him? Should we allow this to continue, or find a way to stop it?”
Schierke sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “If we try to cut him off completely, it could destabilize Guts even further. But if we do nothing, there’s no telling how much influence Griffith—or whatever he’s become—might gain over him.”
Elara looked to Guts, her calm gaze steady. “What do you want, Guts?” she asked softly. “Do you want us to help you fight this? Or do you think you can handle it yourself?”
Guts didn’t answer right away. His mind was a tangled mess of conflicting emotions—anger, shame, guilt, and a small, treacherous spark of longing he couldn’t fully extinguish. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and rough.
“I don’t know,” he said. “But what I do know is that I’ve fought through worse. And if this… thing between me and Griffith—or Griselda, or whatever—ends up being a weapon he tries to use against me, I’ll cut him down. Same as I’ve done to every other bastard who’s stood in my way.”
Schierke nodded slowly, though her expression remained troubled. “Very well,” she said. “But know this, Guts: whatever path you choose, you won’t walk it alone. We’ll fight alongside you, even if the enemy lies within your own soul.”
Her words hung in the air, heavy with promise and foreboding. The group exchanged uneasy glances, each of them silently bracing for the battles to come—not just against Griffith’s empire, but against the unseen forces that threatened to tear them apart from within.
As the group made their way back to the cavern, the atmosphere remained thick with tension. The night was quiet save for the crunch of their footsteps on the rocky path. Guts walked ahead with Elara, his broad shoulders stiff as if carrying the weight of the world. Behind them, Farnese and Schierke trailed, their hushed voices carrying only between themselves.
Farnese stole a glance at Schierke, her face still pale, though a subtle flush lingered on her cheeks. The memory of what they had witnessed within Guts’ mind—the raw, unfiltered intimacy between him and that haunting, spectral version of Griffith—was impossible to shake. Her cheeks grew warmer at the thought, though she quickly averted her gaze, feeling both scandalized and confused by her own reaction.
“This is…” Farnese began in a low voice, her words faltering. “It’s… difficult to comprehend. That someone like Griffith—no, that version of him—could ever… surrender like that. It’s absurd, isn’t it?”
Schierke’s face reddened slightly as she nodded, avoiding eye contact. “Absurd, yes. But we saw it with our own eyes. That wasn’t an illusion conjured by his mind alone. It was real—or as real as such things can be within the realm of dreams and memory.” Her voice was quiet but steady, though there was a hint of unease beneath her calm façade.
“It’s not just absurd—it’s unsettling,” Farnese said, her voice dropping even lower. “To imagine such a thing… Guts, of all people, and Griffith—or Griselda, or whatever we call her…” She hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line as her blush deepened. “I shouldn’t even be thinking about it, but… it’s hard not to.”
Schierke sighed, her own face tinged with embarrassment. “You’re not alone in that,” she admitted reluctantly. “It’s… hard to reconcile what we saw with the people we know. Griffith, submitting so vulnerably… and Guts—” She stopped herself, her voice catching. “It’s not like him. Or maybe it is, in some deeply buried part of him we’ve never seen before.”
Farnese gave her a sidelong glance, her brow furrowing. “You think there’s truth in it? That it wasn’t just some distortion of his desires, of his guilt?”
Schierke shook her head. “I don’t know. But if there is truth in it… it means Guts is struggling with something far deeper than we realized. And Griffith—if that really was him, even in part—he may have exploited that struggle for his own purposes.”
Farnese frowned, her hands clenching at her sides. “Exploited it, perhaps. But there was something… human in what we saw. Something vulnerable. It didn’t feel like a calculated move. It felt…” She trailed off, her face flushing deeper as the memory resurfaced. “It felt intimate, in a way I can’t explain.”
Schierke’s lips tightened, and she adjusted her hat nervously. “It was intimate,” she said quietly. “Too intimate. And that’s what makes it so dangerous. If Griffith—or Griselda—is truly capable of such vulnerability, it means he—or she—has found a way to reach Guts on a level none of us can. And that’s something we need to be very cautious about.”
Farnese nodded, though her expression remained conflicted. “Cautious, yes. But what do we do about it? Do we try to sever that connection, or… let it run its course?”
Schierke hesitated, her gaze drifting to Guts’ back as he walked ahead. “I’m not sure. But one thing is clear: this isn’t just about fighting Griffith anymore. It’s about understanding the bonds that tie us to him, and to each other. Only then will we know how to truly break free.”
Farnese and Schierke’s steps slowed briefly as their conversation deepened. Their blushes only grew as the image of what they had seen in Guts’ mind continued to surface, unbidden and relentless. It wasn’t just the shock of seeing Guts in such a vulnerable, intimate state—it was the sheer gravity of what it represented. The act itself was one thing, but the emotions intertwined with it—the longing, the confusion, the betrayal—were something else entirely.
Farnese pressed a hand against her cheek, willing the heat there to subside, but it was no use. “I can’t shake it,” she admitted in a hushed tone, her voice barely above a whisper. “The way he… the way they… I’ve never seen Guts like that before. And Griffith—or Griselda…” She trailed off, shaking her head as if to dispel the thought. “It’s too much to process.”
Schierke clutched her staff tighter, her face equally flushed. “It’s not just that,” she said softly. “It’s the emotions behind it. Guts isn’t someone who lets his guard down easily, especially not with someone like Griffith. But with her… it’s like he couldn’t resist. Like a part of him wanted to give in.”
Farnese nodded, her expression growing more somber. “And what about Casca?” she asked, her voice tinged with worry. “If he feels that way toward Griffith—or Griselda—then what does that mean for his feelings for her? For everything he’s fought for?”
Schierke glanced up at Guts, who was still walking ahead with Elara, his figure dark and imposing against the pale moonlight. “I don’t think it’s that simple,” she said after a moment. “Guts loves Casca. That much is clear. But love isn’t always straightforward. It can be tangled, messy… especially for someone like him. His feelings for Griffith—or for what Griffith once was—are just as complicated. There’s love there, too, in a way. Or maybe it’s something else entirely.”
“Something else?” Farnese echoed, her brow furrowing.
Schierke nodded. “Guts has always been drawn to Griffith, even when he hated him. It’s like a gravity he can’t escape. Whether it’s love, longing, or something darker… I don’t know. But it’s there. And Griselda—if she really is a part of Griffith—has found a way to use that against him.”
Farnese’s hands tightened into fists, her face pale but resolute. “And Casca? Do you think he’s betraying her by letting this happen? By not fighting harder against it?”
Schierke hesitated, her gaze dropping to the ground. “I don’t think Guts sees it that way. He’s not betraying her—at least, not intentionally. But his mind is fractured, just like hers was. He’s caught between his past and his present, between his love for Casca and his… whatever it is he feels for Griffith. He’s trying to survive, just like the rest of us.”
Farnese frowned, her blush deepening as her thoughts spiraled. “But how can we help him? If he can’t even untangle his own feelings, how can we expect him to fight? To lead us?”
Schierke’s expression grew firm, though the flush on her cheeks remained. “We don’t need to have all the answers right now,” she said quietly. “But we need to stay by his side. We’ve seen his heart—his pain, his guilt, his love. And we’ve seen what he’s fighting against. That’s enough for now.”
Farnese let out a heavy sigh, her blush still lingering. “I suppose you’re right. But I can’t stop thinking about… about everything we saw. About how close he was to Griffith—or Griselda—or whoever she really is. And about Casca… and how she’d feel if she knew.”
Schierke nodded, her own thoughts clouded with unease. “I’m thinking about her too. But right now, we can only take things one step at a time. For Guts, and for all of us.”
The two women quickened their pace, catching up to Guts and Elara. But even as they rejoined the group, their minds remained heavy with questions—about love, loyalty, and the tangled web of emotions that bound them all together.