Chapter 16: Prayer
It was a fine morning on the cusp of autumn when Seteth discovered that Flayn was missing.
At first, the panic was contained to Seteth and those close to him like Lady Rhea. Cyril even heard one of the students joke that Flayn had merely run off to elope. He would've run over to smack the red-haired student with his broom had a girl not done so for him.
But as the week went on and each day weighed heavier than the last, the unease broke free and infected every person in the monastery. Rumors swirled of a figure cloaked in death haunting the monastery grounds at night, like a monster from the pages of a fairytale. Of things lurking beneath the grounds of Garreg Mach, waiting to crawl back into the light of day to take unwitting students back with it into the bowels it came from.
Each rumor grew more fanciful and ominous than the last.
Two weeks passed, and people began to feel dread at the idea of finding her. Seteth didn't sleep.
Somehow, the weight of Flayn's disappearance made an atmosphere even heavier than the one surrounding Lady Rhea's supposed assassination two months prior. At least then, there was a sense that it could be prevented, with Flayn, the deed had already been done.
At least then, they had known the culprit.
There were whispers of suspicion about who could be aiding them, but it was known that the Western Church were the main instigators of the attempt on Lady Rhea's life. No questions about that.
But there was no one claiming the crime now. It could be anyone, and naturally, anyone was mostly synonymous with foreigners .
Dagdans can't be trusted! The war with them has barely ended, and who knows what they do on their unblessed lands.
The people of Duscur are miscreants. A kidnapping is perfectly in line with their methods. Haven't they started a riot recently as well? This must be connected to their rebellion.
Almyrans are bloodthirsty creatures who worship death. They must've sacrificed Flayn to one of their heathen gods!
Cyril had always felt lingering gazes at his back, but now it was like a spotlight was surrounding him on a darkened stage. His usual slinking wasn't enough when everyone was on high alert and often looking specifically for people like him. Even someone like Shamir often found herself tailed. He wished he could throw a wrapping over his head and hide his hair and face that way, but that only drew more attention in Fodlan.
It was a waste of time. Flayn was missing, Seteth was beside himself, Lady Rhea barely ate, and half the monks were spinning themselves in circles following leads without substance.
Cyril took a deep breath and loosened his grasp on his broom. It wouldn't do for him to waste his time. The Golden Deer had agreed to meet that evening to pursue rumors of the "reaper", and he would only have until then to finish his duties.
Lysithea had given a stuttering scoff at the idea of a ghost who could slip between walls and disappear, but Claude had insisted that there were always grains of truth behind stories. Cyril suspected that Claude already had a theory of what that truth was. The monks and knights pointedly chose to pass their information to Byleth or Lorenz, but in the end, Claude was the one who drove the direction of their investigation. Another waste of time.
There was a loud thud. A muffled cry.
Cyril froze.
It had come from Claude's room, but the cry had sounded nothing like Claude.
He held his broom in front of him defensively defensively as he edged towards the door to Claude's room. The door wasn't locked. Claude always kept the door locked.
Cyril swallowed and slowly pushed the door open.
Even before he could see anything, a pleasant smell wafted through the door crack. It was sweet and warm—a familiar scent that he didn't have time to ponder. The door opened wider, and it was like a storm had passed through the room.
Or like he had stepped into the library after Claude had passed through.
Books were thrown about the room, piling on the floor and the bed. So much so that even though Claude's bed was at least twice the size of the standard student bed, he was certain that no one could sleep on it unless one curled themselves into the sole unoccupied corner near the pillow. The nightstand had been unceremoniously jammed into a corner to make room for even more stacks of books.
This was certainly Claude's room, but the knights standing in it were certainly not Claude.
One was fixing a stack of books, whispering in an angry hush, "I keep telling you to watch your feet!"
The second was leaned over a shelf, back turned towards Cyril. "What is this thing?" the knight said as she turned around, a silver urn in hand.
Thin tendrils of smoke drifted into the air from the white ash that filled the urn to its brim. Even before he remembered what it was, Cyril knew it was the source of the familiar scent.
He knew the shine of its silver, the curve of the cup, and even the white ash that collected itself in its depths. He knew that Claude must've lit it daily, and when he remembered the words that accompanied its lighting, he heard them spoken in his mother's voice.
The earth nurtures the trees. The trees bear fruit. The stems feed the fires. The ashes enrich the earth.
The juniper and frankincense would burn, his mother would light the hearth with the urn's flames, and once it had burned down, Cyril would dust the still warm ashes on his palms.
Cyril stared at the urn. The knights stared at him.
"P-put that down!" Cyril shouted.
The knight that had been kneeling by the books flinched and lunged forward to drag Cyril out of the doorway and into the room. The door shut with a click behind him.
"...you know what this is, don't you?" the other knight said, turning the urn in her hands.
Cyril flinched. "N-no, but it isn't yours! What are ya doing in Claude's room anyways? Trying to steal his valuables?"
"How dare you suggest that a Knight of Seiros would sink to thievery," she hissed.
"We're investigating Flayn's disappearance on behalf of the church," the other knight said. He gripped Cyril's shoulders and held him in place.
"Yeah, so's everybody," Cyril said, trying to ignore how the knight towered behind him. "What are ya doing in Claude's room?"
"It's only natural to investigate the most suspicious figures. The ones most likely to do such things on sacred grounds." The grip on Cyril's shoulders tightened. "You'd do well to remember where your loyalties should lie and stay out of our way."
Cyril gritted his teeth and twisted out of the knight's grasp. "I'm not in your way! I'm telling ya it's a waste of time! Claude wouldn't—"
"And how do you know that? No one even knows where he came from." The female knight narrowed her eyes. "He's Almyran too, isn't he? That's why you're taking his side."
"Beasts of a herd flock together," the other said.
"I-I don't know what Claude is, but he hasn't done anything—"
"Tell me, what is this for?" The silver urn was shoved towards Cyril, and the ash spilled unceremoniously to the floor. "Is this for some kind of heathen ritual?"
"No, it's for making the room less drafty."
Cyril turned towards the voice. Claude stood at the doorway, arms crossed and face set in an annoyed frown. "No offense to whoever built this place, but it can get cold and damp in here. So." His eyes slid cooly from one person to the next. "I don't recall inviting anyone over. It's a mess ." He stared at the ash pile at the Cyril's feet. "And you made a bigger one."
"We're here on behalf of the Knights of Seiros in search of Seteth's sister—"
"What? You think I'm keeping Flayn in my room? I could hear you two bothering Cyril from the stairway." Claude snorted. "I wish our walls were thick enough for me to hide someone in here. Wouldn't have to listen to Sylvain and whoever he has as company with him down the hall. If anyone was going to hide someone in their rooms, it'd be someone with better living situations. Like a knight."
"How dare—"
"I only dare as much as the two of you have when making leaps of logic," Claude said with a smile. "And that was me being charitable. I could've also assumed you were here to steal my silver. Unfortunately, despite its lovely shine, is just steel. Who asked you to do this anyways?"
"That's none of your concern."
"Oh, I think it's of great concern that someone so high up would waste their resources and send knights on a wild chase to find...an incense holder."
The male knight stepped forward angrily. "You've been disciplined many times for missing the daily prayers—"
"What, is this an inquisition now? I thought we were concerned about Flayn."
"—and for those poisons you're so fond of—"
"Which Hubert is equally fond of," Claude said, voice raised enough to ring with an authority Cyril didn't know he possessed. "But we all know why you haven't snuck into his room, so let's not drag this out any further. I know everyone's a little anxious about the number of foreigners at the monastery this year, but let's not get those who have been here for years involved, shall we? I'm sure Lady Rhea would be upset to know that someone was bothering Cyril."
"Lady Rhea would understand."
"Would she? There's only one person in this room she deigns to see daily, and it's not you—" Claude nodded towards the knight holding the urn. "—or you, or me."
Claude paused to allow the words to settle in, cold smile warming with the joy of watching the knight pale. "Tell whoever raised those suspicions to come to me directly. Now then, since you're not thieves, please leave my things be and let's meet at a later date."
The female knight half threw the urn back onto the shelf, but the two trailed out of the room without another word. Claude waited until their steps faded down the hallway and down the stairs before shutting the door.
"Figured they'd do this. They've had people tailing me for days ," Claude said, shaking his head. "What were you doing in here?"
"I heard someone in your room."
"And you thought to investigate on my behalf? Aww, Cyril I'm touched." Cyril felt himself flush and was glad that Claude had chosen that moment to crouch on the floor. He threaded his fingers through the ash pile on the carpet. "Say, you don't suppose this stuff is still good for a blessing, do you?"
"Probably not. It's unclean now."
"That part never made much sense to me. You dust the ashes everywhere for a blessing, but gods forbid it touching something else before using it for one." With a sigh, Claude stood. Cyril watched as he pulled small chips of wood from a drawer and deposited it into the silver urn.
"I can't believe you brought a fire vessel into the monastery," Cyril said.
"Pray twice a day. Once to the first lighting of the sun at dawn—"
"—and once to the first lighting of the hearth fire at night. I know. But you're at the monastery for the Church of Seiros." Cyril frowned. "I didn't think you'd be religious enough to risk it."
"It's not that risky, trust me. People here hear my prayers and think its poetry."
"I just thought...by the way ya talked about things…"
"Well, I don't believe in the gods very much if that's what you mean," Claude admitted easily. "But I won't deny nature itself. The earth nurtures, the water soothes, the fire cleanses all." With a flick of his wrist, Claude lit a match and a small flame appeared between his fingers. "The trees that drew from the earth and water, and the fire that warms us, all gather in the vessel."
Claude held out the match towards Cyril. "There's a power to that, don't you think?"
The flame danced between Claude's fingers, and Cyril found himself reaching out to answer its invitation.
The earth nurtures the trees. The trees bear fruit. The stems feed the fires. The ashes enrich the earth.
Cyril dropped the match into the metal urn. The flame spread instantly, and Cyril could no longer tell where the match ended and resin wood spread at the vessel's bottom began. The fire danced, and all inside the vessel became one.
The sweet incense carried itself through the air, warm scent filling Cyril, pushing the silent dread that had been building inside of him out until it withered in the flame's light.
When the eighth bell rang and it was time to meet the rest of the Golden Deer, the fire had burned the wood into a fine white ash. Before he left, Cyril dipped a finger into the ash at the vessel's bottom and dusted it over the sash tied around his waist.
He doubted that the goddess would listen to his prayers, but he hoped that the ashes could still bless their search and return Flayn.