It's dark.
That is, well...
Byleth is rather accustomed to it by now.
Sometimes, when the nights are restless and her walks lead her to the lakeside, Byleth thinks she spent a long time here. Years she was dead to the world, adrift in a dreamless sleep.
But much like a dream, those memories are hazy. Lost to time.
Clearer, instead, are her memories of-
"Honestly! What are you accomplishing with that little stunt?! It's like you're trying to get me killed, you fool!"
She shakes her head, dispelling the recollection. The throne is not here this time, nor the short, brazen girl who once sat atop it. A vast plane of darkness stretches before her, and save the soft glow of the Sword of the Creator at her side she is alone.
Her grip on its hilt tightens, and her heart pangs in her chest.
How did she arrive here? Her thoughts seem as clouded as Sothis's once were, sluggish as if from sleep. In the past, this world inhabited only her dreams. Then Sothis saved her, and some time later...
The spell. Solon. Those Who Slither in the Dark.
Their leader had been nearby, said he'd be watching the battle. Arundel, Thales, one in the same. Had he done something? Banished her to this eternal blackness once again?
She needs to leave this place. Infinitely vast as it is, the shadows seem to grow nearer - a sense of claustrophobia permeates the air. She was doing something important - the battle, yes, but there was something else-
Edelgard.
She needs to protect Edelgard.
Her heart thuds, and this time the sting lingers.
In a single fluid motion she raises the Sword of the Creator high, wreathed in divine light as it cuts down through the darkness.
The light fades, and the void remains. Unfazed, immutable. The receding glow of the blade illuminates the expanse she stands upon - not stonework, but some sort of thick dark fluid. It supports her weight, though by her impression only just. It's as if she's standing upon a sea of black - boots barely dipping beneath the surface, prone to send her sinking beneath the still waters at any moment.
Unsettling as this knowledge is, Byleth is forced to file it away for now. The light illuminates something else, a shadow just on the edge of sight. She wills herself forward, and all at once she is standing just yards before the figure. They're kneeling, head bowed - body half-submerged in black ooze.
They look up, and green eyes meet green eyes.
Rhea looks awful. Seiros, rather, though she cannot bring herself to use the name. She wears the armor of a warrior, one half of her winged crown shattered. Viscous shadow drips down her face, staining her white garb, and her once-vibrant hair is punctuated by streaks of verdant blood.
Her gaze bores through Byleth's heart.
"Professor."
Rhea stands slowly, sludge sloughing off her body as its trickling splashes echo through the void. She grips her sword in one arm and shield in the other - sacred relics, hidden beneath the surface at first. Her face is frozen, and for a moment Byleth is confused. Ever since the Holy Tomb, Rhea has been raging - spewing cryptic threats and merciless damnations. To see calm across her features reminds Byleth of earlier days, of better days. When she was not the emotionless Ashen Demon stalking the continent, but Byleth. A teacher, with students, and a home, and family.
Byleth raises her blade in a defensive stance. Hesitation is death, and Rhea is the enemy.
Rhea laughs as she stands her ground - a slow, silent, broken thing. Byleth recognizes the look upon her face, now.
It is not resolution, but true fury, scarcely concealed. Her father wore it similarly on a handful of occasions. Rhea is at once the eye of the storm and volatile, unrestrained chaos.
"On the day of your betrayal, I swore an oath."
Byleth tenses, her boots digging into black sludge.
"That when the hour of judgment was upon Nemesis's scion, she would share his fate."
Rhea raises her blade high, tip leveled at Byleth's chest.
"I cut out his heart, and allowed the Tailtean Plains to run red with his blood. And if my blade should break-"
Rhea sprints forward, her roar cutting the still air like a knife as she leaps, blade bared like a dragon's fang.
"-my BARE HANDS will SUFFICE!"
Byleth scarcely raises her sword in time to parry the strike, and in an instant they have slipped into the violent thrums of combat.
Her earlier experiences facing Rhea are hazy, more instinctual than anything premeditated. What is immediately evident is the fact that she knows the Sword of the Creator. Rhea's technique is the storm - a relentless onslaught. With every slash, every leap, every piercing thrust she slides close to Byleth, nullifying her advantage of reach with each labored breath of the duel. Rhea counters each attempt at pressing the offensive nearly before Byleth makes it, as if she has played her role in this dance a thousand times. Relic clashes against sword and shield, the echoes of metal and splashes of upturned muck resonating through the darkness.
The seconds stretch like hours, yet Byleth claims ground - deflecting a spinning slash from the archbishop with enough force to send her flying head over heels. The failure morphs into a graceful somersault, and Rhea wastes no time charging back into combat. Their swords clash once more, Byleth spies an opportunity, a swift fist knocking Rhea's shield aside as the movement flows into her next strike. Rhea's rhythm is broken, and their clash is in sync - blades meeting inches from their faces. Creator's sword grinds against Saint's steel, sparks flying like embers of light against the blackness.
Byleth's eyes meet Rhea's own once more, and in this moment she does not know how to feel. She has felt hatred - against Kronya, against Solon, against Arundel, even the Flame Emperor for a time, when allegiances and motives were as blurred as the oozing void permeating the air.
Yet she cannot muster it against Rhea. She cannot muster it against this, by all accounts monstrous woman - she who executed dissenters, who terrified her father, who did something to her.
She cannot muster it against this woman she once thought to call 'family'.
The duel's song of clashing steel bears no victorious triumph, nor looming threats of doom.
It is the solemn dirge of a funeral, as unfit for the void as the white petals of Rhea's flowers scattered to the skies.
Her heart thrums in-time.
"Tell me, child," she growls, visage every bit the tapestries of Seiros's vengeance given flesh. "Why this betrayal? What could possibly lead one blessed by the Goddess to this pitiful existence of... sin, and madness?"
Conflicted as her thoughts are, this, at least, is a question she can answer with unwavering certainty.
"You ordered me to kill her."
Byleth presses back against the locked blades, and with a grunt of exertion she pushes Rhea away, expression unreadable. Emotion fades away, and cold logic takes priority as her blood thunders in her ears. A swift kick to the gut sends Rhea stumbling backwards, and the advantage is hers once more. In a great swathe of golden light the Sword of the Creator unfurls - pointed tip of its chain of blades just barely missing Rhea's stomach as she swings her torso back from the onslaught. Byleth brings the whip around again, carving through the sea as Rhea ducks into a roll, and once more in a powerful overhead slash.
The blade wraps around the Sword of Seiros, and Byleth sees her folly play out before her eyes as Rhea takes advantage without hesitation. She pulls, wrenching the sword from her grasp and sending both blades vanishing into the abyss. Rhea rushes her head-on, fist poised-
Byleth takes in a breath through her teeth, the bitter chill of the Red Wolf Moon contrasting the burning sense of exertion permeating her body. Dawn cuts through the cloud cover, illuminating the private training yard tucked within Garreg Mach's ramparts. Eyes locked upon the wooden training swords flung to the side of the arena, she is caught entirely off-guard by a powerful uppercut, followed up with a swift kick to the chest that sends her tumbling to the ground.
A gasp echoes, and Byleth's vision returns to see Rhea (strangely small in typical - if somewhat ornate - leather training garb) staring at her, emerald eyes wide in worry.
"Professor, are you alright?" A cold hand presses itself to her wounded chin, and Byleth is strangely reminded of her father fussing over a similar injury sustained on one of her first hunting trips. She dismisses the memory, unimportant to her current situation.
"I'm fine. When you offered to teach me what you know, I..." Byleth frowns, searching for her words. "I did not think brawling was a skill typical to archbishops."
Rhea smiles softly, standing up and offering her hand. Byleth accepts it gratefully. "I suppose I am not a typical archbishop."
Byleth nods, though she knows no other archbishops to compare Rhea to. "Your style is... unique. I've never faced someone like you."
Rhea laughs - a tinkling, melodious thing, though she strangely feels as though it's tinged with sorrow.
"There are very few like me."
-and Byleth ducks, grabbing Rhea's arm and throwing her to the ground with all her weight.
They tumble together, waters splashing in their wake. Rhea throws a punch to her gut, Byleth bites her arm in response, and all at once they each have daggers in their hands - leveled at bare throats. Rhea's eyes are ablaze, verdant fire and death and vengeance boring into her almost painfully with the sheer weight of her emotion.
Strangely, the same passion does not flow through the broken, detached tone of her voice.
"Why her? Why the Hresvelg, the thief, the traitor? I called you family, and you-"
Her beating heart echoes in time with the truth of her words, laid bare to the void before even her own mind had reconciled them.
"I love her."
And she remembers.
She remembers... the battle, the Immaculate One, Edelgard, and then...
Byleth drops the dagger, watching at it sinks beneath the surface.
"You're already dead."
She needs to leave. The battle is over, Edelgard must think she's...
She needs to protect...
Byleth stumbles to her feet, gazing down at Rhea's wide eyes, clutching her beating-
Beating...
Her heart doesn't-
As quickly as she stood she's sent slipping back down, one hand against her chest as her knees vanish beneath the darkness.
Rhea is upon her instantly, and she wields no weapon to defend herself, let alone the strength to push her away. But Rhea does not plunge her dagger into Byleth's chest, does not carve her heart out with her bare hands.
"No. No, no, no..."
She presses her ear against Byleth's chest, and she prays.
"...Mother. Mother, please. Do not leave me. Not again."
And she pleads.
"I just wanted you back. Was that too much to ask? One selfish wish amongst a cruel world?"
And she cries.
"I... have fought so hard, sacrificed so much. I have lost my... brothers, my children, my home. It was not for nothing."
Silver tears piercing the darkness.
"TELL ME IT WAS NOT FOR NOTHING!"
And the darkness erupts into light, the fires of eternity blazing in time with Rhea's grief, and then...
...
...
...
The fire fades, and a voice breaks through the void.
"It's just a stone, little one."
Byleth looks on in stunned silence, mouth slightly ajar. Rhea has no such reservations, rushing forward, sobs doubling in intensity as she falls to the ground and clings to-
"Mother!"
Sothis is older than when last they met. Shorter than Rhea yet, though it's difficult to tell with Rhea's face buried in her mother's robe. Sothis stands atop the waters with casual ease - her hair longer, robes flowing, thin ribbons trailing against the sea.
"Seiros, my sweet child. Forgive me."
"No!" she protests, choking on her own breath. Rhea even cries gracefully, two thin streaks of liquid carving their path down and no more. Though, considering she is a dragon, Byleth supposes the noise should be expected.
"Mother, you don't understand, I- I have done terrible... abhorrent things, all to see you, I can't-"
"Ssh," Sothis hums, and all at once Rhea falls still. "You can remain here and wallow in your misery, or you can come with me."
Sothis inhales, and Byleth is still looking on with the strangest mix of - awe? She's never felt it before, and yet this mature, motherly Sothis defies every expectation. The sound of her voice on the verge of tears sends a chill down Byleth's spine.
"You have fought and bled for too long, my sweet child. It's time to rest."
Rhea has begun to compose herself, and she meets Sothis's gaze, still kneeling amongst the sludge. "Cichol, Cethleann-"
"Will join us one day, as will your wayward brothers. But, for today... the rest of your family is waiting."
Rhea nods after a moment, gently, just so - and her mother's arms embrace her.
The darkness shines with golden light and stardust, and Rhea is gone.
Byleth stands, heart still pounding in her chest, thump, thump, thump.
"Well?" Sothis asks, eyebrow raised. "Are you going to just stand there gawking? You were never very emotional but even this is a bit ridiculous."
Her voice cuts through the black, and it is then that she knows, this is her Sothis. She stumbles forward through the fog, yet her movements feel labored, her thoughts unsteady.
Sothis frowns, playful expression fading as her brow knits. "My mind, my memories, my daughter... reunited at last, and yet I still feel as though I have failed."
Though the void grows hazy and her senses faint, Byleth knows she must make time enough for this.
"Thank you," she says, eyes meeting Sothis's gaze. "Thank you for everything."
The blurry green blob sighs, her hand resting on Byleth's arm. "Fódlan has outgrown its need for gods. But, even if we cannot speak..."
Thump, thump, thump.
"...I will always be watching over you."
Byleth wraps her arms tight around her friend, and although she can no longer see she can hear Sothis's indignant squeal, feel the weight of silver tears piercing a sea of stars, and then-
Thump, thump, thump.
She is in someone's arms, and for a moment Byleth thinks she has not gone anywhere at all.
She frowns, blinking her eyes open as she speaks. "Why are you crying?"
The air is punctured by sniffles as the woman in question wars against her emotions. She leans back, lavender eyes meeting Byleth's gaze.
"I... I thought you had..." Edelgard does not voice her fear.
"Oh," Byleth murmurs, gazing back at her. "It's alright, El. I'm not dead."
An incredulous laugh bubbles forth, and Byleth's heart pangs strangely as she's overcome with how cute Edelgard's laughter is. She leans forward, and though their noses bump once or twice, the two eventually fumble into what Byleth supposes is a kiss. She's never kissed anyone before, but her lips are indeed meeting Edelgard's and it feels very, very good.
They part after a long moment, gasping for breath, and as Byleth is beginning to realize they're both covered in blood and making out in the burning capital city of Faerghus, Edelgard leans back and tilts her head.
"Byleth, you're crying."
She frowns, and leans forward a bit.
She remembers the battle, and collapsing, and then...
Why is she crying?
Her thoughts are jostled as Edelgard shifts. Her arms are still wrapped around her and hers are still wrapped around Edelgard. It's warm, and the soft, tentative kiss pressed to her neck is warmer.
As they lay there in each other's embrace, a smile worms its way across Byleth's face. Tears cloud her vision, azure locks and crimson cloth blurring together as one.
She doesn't remember.
But as they lay there, and Edelgard leans her chin against Byleth's shoulder, Byleth smiles, and she thinks to herself, That's okay.
She's ready to wake up.
This is the 3H fic I've been waiting to write since the moment I finished Crimson Flower. If you enjoyed, please feel free to leave a comment, poke me on my twitter (ULiopleurodon), or come check out the cozy-sized Fire Emblem fanfic discord I'm a member of, unlike Byleth we don't bite! (discord .gg/9XG3U7a)