Nightmares Are Memories When You Live For 1000 Years

"Something's changed," M!Byleth warned. Byleth stumbled slightly as the words left the original's mouth, the world slowly falling apart around him and the Order out of sight.

Something has changed indeed, Byleth noted, trying his best to not deadpan. Free from the questionable influence of Starloon - Oi! - Byleth knew that the words from M!Byleth's mouth were meant to protect and alert instead of snark about the obvious.

Unhooking the (still dull) Sword Of The Creator, Byleth took stock of the crumbling world around him. Bits and pieces of the bizarre flora dusted away, revealing hedge sculptures and sprawling lawns. The dirt path below turned into a well-maintained cobblestone path, although the remnants of signs of wear suggested that the road was still well used.

Slowly, the world outside Byleth's immediate surroundings began rebuilding itself. More opulent houses of artisan marble began constructing themselves; some pieces floated from the void below while others fizzled into existence. Lamp posts began to line the cobblestone path - street, now that I see the size of it - casting a muted glow in the dim atmosphere.

Byleth squinted as bright light spilled into the scene. He brought his hand up to his eyes. Looking up, he saw subtle details begin to fill in, such as clouds lazily floating by. His eyes drew downward

More importantly, the newly spawned sun revealed Garrag Mach Monastery, broken chunks slowly piecing themselves back together.

"So this must be the expensive district in the town at the base of Garrag Mach,"M!Byleth noted. "I always wanted to visit this place…"

Shall we take a look?

Turns out, there wasn't much to look at. The solo plus head ghost wandered along the street, passing manors of varying styles. Some held crests or emblems on the gates. The gardens, while less expansive than the ones in a lord's territory, were still bigger than the houses of many of the middle class. Byleth was able to confirm the emptiness both visually and physically; all the houses were devoid of people, allowing Byleth to take a leisurely stroll through hedges shaped in increasingly pompous styles.

As leisurely as one can get when stuck in some unknown realm, at least.

"Is this the Dokkalfar's plan? Trap the Order in a replica of their own worlds while the nightmare spreads?" M!Byleth wondered.

Byleth gingerly put a hand into a fountain. Deeming it safe enough, he reached to splash water on his face. His own reflection stared back with a head of dark green hair; a look he had not worn since his academy days.

M!Byleth grimaced. "Sothis thinks it is a divide and conquer tactic. The dokkalfar might be picking the Order off one by one. Be on your guard. Kiran can't summon us back to life yet."

Probably shouldn't have chanced the water, then.

Byleth opened one of the doors to a manor. Taking a seat on one of the many silk couches, Byleth stared outward towards Garrag Mach. "Shouldn't be long now," Byleth muttered. The spire was almost done constructing itself, which should signal the end of the monastery's reconstruction.

3, 2, 1…

The last chunk, a large stained glass window, fell into place. The Garrag Mach bells tolled.

Happy new year, Byleth thought without enthusiasm.

He moved to get up before his stomach lurched into his throat. His feet, before planted solidly on the ground, felt nothing beneath them.

"Ambush!" M!Byleth's Sothis cried. "I knew I was right!"

Byleth swung his Sword of the Creator high, wrapping around a chandelier that was quickly pulled down with Byleth, the rest of the ceiling following. Byleth let out a sharp cough, his torso buzzing in pain as he hit the ground floor.

"Luckily it wasn't-"

"Remember."

Byleth heard the unknown voice - female? - clearly even through the cacophony of splintering wood and shattering marble. He rolled sharply to the left, narrowly avoiding a very heavy looking statue and earning himself a splintering headache.

His vision swam as he struggled to get to his feet, the floor beneath him seemingly swaying like a ship at sea. If this is a concussion...

"You'll still fight. You'll still win," M!Byleth encouraged. "Steady now."

"See what you suppressed to the deepest pits of your mind."

Byleth swung his sword in the direction of the voice. Briefly, the sword relic glowed, carving a blazing arc through the debris and revealing the world outside.

The city was in flames. The street, formally eerily quiet without life, was filled with pained cries from soldiers and civilians. Corpses littered the avenue, some with clean sword wounds through their chest, others half-burned and half mauled by sources Byleth would rather not find.

"But you know. This is your nightmare. This was your creation."

"Creation?" M!Byleth mindlessly asked.

My future, Byleth confirmed. One of my failed runs, mostly locked behind the vaults of Time Pulse.

Byleth ran forward, the Enlightened One's robes flowing behind him instead of his mercenary outfit. He sidestepped an incoming sword swing, burying his sword deep in the attacker's chest.

An imperial soldier, Byleth noted.

"You woke too late," the voice said. Byleth swung again, the blade tearing through a hedge fence. "Woke up after your Princess stormed Garrag Mach and took back the monastery from your students."

A dokkalfar sat on a pile of rubble, impassively watching the scene unfold. "The one time you did not wake in time for the Millennium Festival."

Byleth tightened the grip on his sword. He still remembered where he found each corpse; he pointedly did not let his eyes wander lest he found the one that died here.

Triandra turned to face Byleth, face devoid of a smile.

"The one time all of your students died."