Imperial Year 1180, Great Tree Moon

Near the Oghma Mountains

Along the southern range of the Oghma mountains, spread throughout a large span of the central portion of the Adrestian Empire, a worn dirt path near the foot of the towering mountains cut through an adjacent valley running parallel to the range. Not particularly wide, but stable and well-regulated enough to allow safe passage through the mountains, the path was wedged in between the mountains running along the heart of the Empire, from Arundel to the Morgaine Ravine, and the mountains traveling north through the continent, passing west of the Garreg Mach Monastery in central Fodlan before serving as the natural barrier between the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and the Leicester Alliance.

The path continued along the mountains, passing through a sizable notch between the northern mountain range that sloped into what vaguely resembled the shape of a bowl. The shrubbery also thickened within this bowl, a few stray trees growing waywardly along the path. Rabbits and other small animals darted in and out of the nearby brushwood, wary of any potential predators traversing the tight road. A soft wind would occasionally blow through the notch, causing the dirt along the path to tumble and the undergrowth to sway. When night eventually fell, all that was visible was this occasional swaying and the bright stars illuminating the evening sky.

It was here where the Eisner Mercenary Company, composed of fifteen men and led by the acclaimed Jeralt Reus Eisner, had decided to set up camp for the night. There was a spot of empty land a ways off of the path that was clear of greenery; a circle of dry earth surrounding a noticeably large tree, which looked sorely out of place considering the terrain. A temporary base was set up for the evening just before sundown, and preparations were made for dinner after tents and sleeping rolls were set up.

Roughly an hour later, a group of five returned with a haul of local game to cook—six rabbits, a deer, and a wolverine. More than enough to sustain the group for the evening. A campfire was subsequently set up, and before long the men of Eisner Company were talking amongst themselves over bowls of rabbit stew and cooked meat.

At the front of the group, a towering man with a dash of blonde hair and shaved sides idly fiddled with his own stew as he spoke to the rest of his companions surrounding him. His voice was deep, but loud enough for the rest of the group to hear him.

"We should have left Merceus earlier," as Jeralt shook his head, the braid along the back of his head shook with him. "The plan was to reach Remire Village before sundown."

"I still think we should have pushed through the night," another voice, belonging to a man with a sloppy orange faux hawk and a spear near his feet, announced itself. "We were making good time today. We probably could have made it just before midnight."

"Too risky," Jeralt immediately dismissed the idea. "If we run into bandits in a valley without any light to help us see, we're as good as dead. There's plenty of reason to believe there are as many bandits here as there were in Merceus."

"How many bandits are gonna stake out this road at midnight during this time of year?"

"A valid point, Gorcheaux, but I don't want to run the unnecessary risk of our untimely demises in the event that you're wrong." A tiny smirk grew on Jeralt's face. "Which is often."

The man, Gorcheaux, sat a moment before shrugging in agreement. "Fair." He proceeded to take a swig of his canteen.

"I dunno, after the shit in Enbarr, I think we're due for a nice, quiet evening," another man, with skin the color of caramel and hair buzzed close to his scalp, spoke up. "That whole thing was insane."

"Got that right," another voice shouted from near the back of the group. "I almost got myself killed!"

"Wouldn't be the first time!" Another voice called next to him, and a round of laughter drowned out a series of curses.

"Alright, settle down," despite himself, Jeralt was smiling. "I'll admit that the job in Enbarr was... less than ideal. But, on the bright side, we got paid pretty well, and nobody got killed. All Enbarr is now is a good story for future days, yeah?" A chorus of hums sounded in agreement.

"Still," the man with the buzz cut continued after a brief swig. "Gotta think that something's up in the capital. There was way too much commotion for just a regular royal address. Those people hate the emperor."

"You think they're gonna rebel eventually?" A younger voice announced itself, belonging to a young man with a bronze sword near his hip. His eyes shone with a curious light. "From what I saw, those people looked ready to riot."

The younger man was promptly slapped upside the head by an older man with an imposing facial scar sitting next to him. "Don't be stupid, boy. As if the Empire would let its people rebel. Besides, who would you take in a war—arguably the strongest army in the world, or a bunch of common citizens?"

"I dunno, I think Giles might have a point," Gorcheaux countered in between bites of boar meat. "The Insurrection of the Seven was only, what, nineteen years ago? There are still plenty of folks that want Ionius's head on a pike."

"I thought Ionius didn't have power anymore," the man with the buzz cut interjected. "Doesn't Duke Aegir technically rule the Empire now?"

Again, Gorcheaux shrugged. "People don't forgive that easily, Belrose. Ionius did some pretty shady shit early in his rule. I'd wager there are a lot of people still bitter about him trying to centralize power in the capital." Another sip. "Then again, people aren't all that fond of the Duke now either."

"That's enough," Jeralt's stern voice called immediate attention to himself. "What goes on in the Empire doesn't concern us. The politics of this land neither concern nor involve us," Jeralt shot a look at the rest of the band. "It should go without saying that no mercenary of mine will be joining any country's internal power struggle. Do I make myself clear?"

"Ah, come on Jeralt," Gorcheaux gave an over-exaggerated pout. "Think of all the profit we could make! A lot of nobles would pay good money to have Captain Jeralt, former leader of the Knights of Seiros, and his merry band of skilled mercenaries lead their coup against a corrupt Empire."

"And in the event that we lose, we all get to take a fun group trip down to the Adrestian gallows. Sound like a good time to you?" All voices became silent after that. "We stay away from massive political conflicts. Simple as that."

Gorcheaux sighed, leaning back in his seat on the ground. "You need to lighten up a bit, captain." He then turned to a figure standing directly to Jeralt's right. "What about you, Byleth?"

Beside the captain, a young man paused in the middle of a bite of meat and looked up from his dinner, his countenance revealing nothing. A dark teal mop sat atop the young man's head, slightly obscuring shrunken blue eyes that gazed back at the man before him with a lack of urgency or apparent interest. "What?" His voice was young but low, with a level calmness that betrayed his age.

Gorcheaux was used to this, however, and simply asked the question again. "What do you think about this whole deal with the Empire?"

Byleth sat quietly, continuing to slowly nibble on a small piece of meat, his gaze never once leaving Gorcheaux. The man would have been unnerved had he not known the boy for as long as he had. Finally swallowing his food, Byleth answered. "I don't care. We go where Jeralt tells us to go."

"Goddess, there he goes again," the older man with the scar forced his attention away from berating his younger comrade and settled his gaze on Byleth. "Always agreeing with whatever daddy dearest says. I wonder if you've had a single original thought in your entire life."

Jeralt's voice was firm. "Terenzo, stop it. Now."

His order went ignored. "Come now, Jeralt. I'm simply trying to get to know the boy better. All this time we've spent together, and I've yet to hear him speak for longer than a few seconds at a time. It'd be nice to know if the little monster ever actually felt anything."

"I told you to stop," the man's eyes narrowed dangerously, though he suppressed the urge to sigh. Why did this always need to happen? "And you'd be wise to show respect to the people fighting alongside you."

"I'm well aware of that," Terenzo sneered, as though the fact displeased him. To Jeralt's knowledge, it probably did. "I will admit, the brat's talented. I suppose one isn't just handed the title of the Ashen Demon by chance." The man's displeasure morphed into what one could loosely call morbid curiously. "It might be that he puts all of his energy into thinking of ways to murder us all, and that he hasn't the time to look either happy or sad."

"You love to hear yourself talk, don't you?" Belrose interrupted, shaking his head. "How much do I need to pay for you to shut up? Or do we need to see Byleth kick your ass again for that to happen?"

Terenzo scowled. "To a barbarian like yourself, I suppose combat is all that matters. Which is fine—as long as the freak is kept a healthy distance away from me, I'm content." The man stood up without another word, abandoning the scraps of his dinner and walking away to the sleeping tents, disappearing into his personal quarters. Only when he vanished did the rest of the group begin to speak again.

"Sorry 'bout that, Byleth," Gorcheaux tried to lighten the mood once Terenzo was fully out of sight. "You know how Terenzo is. Guy just loves bein' a dick, is all. You know you're cool with all of us."

"I wish he'd stop being so confrontational all of the time," Giles groaned, fiddling with his bronze sword. "He really is a good guy at heart, but he's just so stubborn. Especially when it comes to Byleth."

"He's just pissed that he wouldn't be able to beat Byleth in a fight with an extra pair of arms," Belrose shrugged, to which the rest of the company agreed through a series of grunts. "Why do we bother keeping him around again?"

"Because he's an experienced soldier who knows Fódlan's terrain better than anyone else here," Jeralt answered, not without a hint of exasperation. "Though, I do wish that he'd be a bit more... subdued at times."

"Don't we all," Gorcheaux nodded, before turning back to Byleth. "You didn't answer my question from earlier, by the way." He half expected the young man to simply repeat his answer from earlier, so he was mildly surprised when instead he saw Byleth furrow his brow in apparent thought before answering.

"It's... tricky. We should avoid the Empire for now."

It took a moment for Gorcheaux to find a suitable answer beyond a simple "Ah." He eventually got around to nodding at the group's resident mute with a small grin. "Good call. For as nice as the money may be, I'd like to avoid being needlessly dragged into a war."

"Which is lucky for you, Gorcheaux, because we won't be in the Empire for that much longer." The group's full attention was on Jeralt now as he spoke up. "Listen, everyone. Once we get to Remire, I want you all to take the rest of the day off. You all deserve as much after the walk it took to get here." Before the group's excited hoots and hollers could swell too loudly, Jeralt continued. "Don't get too cozy. This is just to ensure that you're all well-rested enough for the day after. We're to cross the border and reach Magdred two days after leaving Remire. No exceptions."

Byleth thought quietly as his father went on. He had seemed rather eager to leave the Empire once their job in Enbarr had been completed, though he didn't exactly know why. It was apparent that they were trying to make quick time to the kingdom, though for what purpose Byleth was unsure.

Byleth wasn't the only one with these questions. "If you don't mind me asking," the young man from earlier asked with a tentative hand raised. "Why are we going to Faerghus?"

"An acquaintance of mine reached out to me while we were in Enbarr," the man explained. "He requested some assistance from us in the capital city of Fhirdiad. So that's where we're going."

"From one capital city to another," Gorcheaux sighed. "What are we, street performers?"

"What business do we have in Fhirdiad?" Belrose asked.

"They didn't specify." The looks of uncertainty from the men around him prompted the captain to continue. "Don't worry, we can trust them. I can personally assure you that they're not drawing us into the capital just to kill us." The unease in the air dropped considerably after his clarification, but the questions did not.

"Why did we even bother coming to Remire?" Gorcheaux commented. "Would it not have been faster to just cut through Garreg Mach and take the straight shot from there to Fhirdiad? Seems like a lot of extra trouble just to go around the monastery."

At this, Jeralt seemed to falter slightly, which didn't go unnoticed by Byleth. "The monastery is always crazy this time of year. It would be better if we avoided it for now."

Not a single soul bought the explanation, least of all Belrose. "Jeralt, we could have saved maybe a week's worth of travel if we had gone through the monastery. We've done it before. What's so different about it this time?"

"I make it a point not to visit Garreg Mach during the Great Tree Moon," Jeralt answered. "Trust me, as someone who formerly worked there for years, it's better this way." Despite the sincerity of the man's word (who were they to question a man who had led them faithfully for so long?), it still seemed like a shallow and odd reason for a detour, especially when it was a matter of full days of travel that Jeralt was forgoing just to avoid the monastery. The group would comply, naturally, but it was strange nonetheless.

Byleth was particularly curious as to why his father was so intent on avoiding Garreg Mach. In all of his years of living, he had never even seen the monastery. Not once. When the company had been requested for jobs either in or around the site, Byleth, his father, and a select few others had always busied themselves with a smaller task to handle away from the company, typically along the lines of low-profile escorting. Byleth had initially taken the jobs as a sort of affirmation that he was mature enough to handle himself and earn money on his own away from the company, but even as he grew older and started requesting to assist with jobs near the monastery, Jeralt would refuse him at every turn, citing the jobs as "easy tasks that weren't worth his effort."

It was all so strange. Byleth personally didn't feel some overwhelming need to visit the monastery, aside from simply wanting to see the landmark in person, but his father was stubborn in keeping him away. As though he were hiding him from something. Such a theory was doubtful, but Byleth couldn't help but ponder the thought.

"I trust you're all okay with this arrangement?" When no one spoke out in protest, Jeralt continued. "In any case, I thank you all for indulging me and my little detour. I know it's hard having to travel such a distance, but I assure you that it's for the better." He started finishing the rest of his food. "We leave for Remire early tomorrow morning. Be sure to get some rest before then."

The group was content to let the conversation die after that. The rest of the company eventually began to leave for their own tents one by one, and before long it was left to Byleth and Jeralt to put out the fire and clean up whatever was left. It had been a task done in complete silence, until Jeralt spoke up. "Hey, Byleth."

The person in question paused in his stomping of stray embers leftover from the fire. "Yeah?"

"I just... I want you to know," Jeralt hesitated slightly. "You're not a monster. Not at all."

If the question at all phased the boy, he didn't show it. Such was his tendency, after all. "I'm aware."

To Jeralt, that much was as good as an okay. His son was a lot of things, but secretive wasn't one of them. "Good. You don't need to listen to what anybody else says about you. You're as much of a human as everyone else in this company."

"I know," Byleth actually responded to his declaration, much to his father's surprise. What he said next surprised him even more. "Terenzo irritates me."

Was that... an insult? Byleth truly did feel things—complex things, certainly—but Jeralt had never seen anything indicating his son felt any kind of inclination towards mean-spiritedness. That might have been the first expression of anything remotely related to exasperation since... Jeralt didn't know.

Jeralt began to laugh. It started small, but grew to something akin to a bellyache. Before long he had been forced to sit down, lest he fall over on his side in a fit of laughter. Byleth simply stood and watched, eyes slightly widening at the sight before him. Was what he had said really that funny?

Eventually, Jeralt settled himself down to only a few stray chuckles, wiping a tear from his eye. "Yes, Byleth. Like annoyance." He heaved a final time, content. "Man, that was funny."

"I didn't intend for it to be funny."

That only made his father's smile wider. "Yeah, well, sometimes the funniest things in life are the things you don't see coming." Byleth chose not to say anything in response and settled for putting out what was left of the fire. He had never been called funny before. It was a new distinction that felt different than what he was used to.

Though, as he looked upon his father's smiling face, he supposed it wasn't the worst feeling in the world. Careful as to not let Jeralt see, Byleth allowed himself a small smile of his own, in an attempt to emulate his father's visage. Despite his best efforts, his neutral expression returned after barely three seconds. His facial muscles felt weird after such an exercise. Smiling was a skill Byleth assumed he would never improve at.

The two finished shortly after, and Byleth returned to their shared tent alone. Jeralt was first on the night watch, which left Byleth alone in the tent. The young man took to tidying up the space for a brief time, if only for the makeshift space to be cleaner upon Jeralt's return. It would also help in packing up quickly for tomorrow morning. After stashing their personal rucksacks away in a corner and organizing their weapons, Byleth felt content to turn in for the night. Changing into more comfortable attire, the young man situated himself into his sleeping roll and allowed sleep to overcome him nearly instantly. With all the traveling they would be doing in the near future, he would need it.

The band reached Remire Village early the next morning. It was a quiet affair—breakfast rations were handed out and consumed in silence, and not fifteen minutes later were Jeralt and his company on the move once again. Jeralt seemed intent on reaching Magdred as quickly as possible, Byleth noticed. Whatever business he needed to attend to in Fhirdiad, it was urgent.

Remire by itself was hardly a notable town of interest, even within the Empire. There were thousands of other towns like it. The only reason it was at all remembered or highlighted in the official Fódlan maps was because of some link it had to the founding of the Empire long ago. A link that Byleth didn't particularly care to remember.

Still, Byleth had passed through Remire plenty of times before, though he had never bothered with sightseeing. The town seemed to make good money off of church donations and effective appeals at tourism, but that was the extent to which Byleth knew of the village. If he could spare some free time while Jeralt and the others were too drunk off their asses to tell him otherwise, maybe Byleth would visit some of these attractions for himself. If only to enrich his knowledge of the nondescript town.

Getting themselves situated upon arriving in Remire was an easy process. Jeralt knew an old acquaintance who managed one of the town's inns, and they'd stayed there previously on many occasions. The man had nearly given them rooms for free, were it not for Jeralt's insistence on paying a discounted fee. The man very much enjoyed catering to the acclaimed Blade Breaker.

Byleth had been shoved in a single room by himself—to the ire of the rest of the band—and told by his father to shower and be ready for a travel briefing later in the day. "Just because you earned a room to yourself doesn't mean I'll let you abuse that privilege," Jeralt had said with a wry grin before leaving. And then Byleth was alone.

Deciding to make good use of his brief time in solitude, Byleth quickly showered and redressed himself into more casual attire, leaving his armored outfit on a chair near his bed. He briefly pondered using his current free time to visit the landmarks of Remire, but quickly thought better of it. It would be preferable to move at night, when there weren't as many people around and it wasn't so noisy. With this in mind, the mercenary sat himself at the nearby table, fetching the book he had forgone continuing the previous night—'A History of Swordplay, in Faerghus and Beyond'.

Byleth had almost managed to engross himself fully in the book until a knock at the door alerted him of a potential guest. Sighing, he placed the book down before making his way to open the door. He was greeted with the smiling countenance of Gorcheaux. "Hey, Byleth. A few of the guys and I were gonna hit the markets and get some hunting supplies. You wanna come with?"

Now that he thought about it, his hunting knife was getting a tad dull. It wouldn't do to have it break in the middle of their trip. "I'll come."

Gorcheaux looked surprised. "Wait, really?"

"Yes. I need a new knife."

"That so, huh..." the older mercenary seemed to think for a bit, before shrugging. "Honestly, I wasn't thinking you'd say yes. You're not really one for running errands."

Byleth frowned. "Why would I not need to run errands?"

"Just a joke, friend," Gorcheaux waved off casually. "We're meeting outside in five. You already look pretty cozy, so I wouldn't bother changing back into your normal outfit. The market's only a quick walk away." The orange-haired man retreated down the hall. "See ya in a bit."

Alone again, Byleth made to get himself ready, contemplating Gorcheaux's words from earlier. Why was it so outlandish an idea for him to do normal things like run errands? He'd done so before, on multiple occasions. When Jeralt had broken his leg a few years ago, it was him that had been tasked with gathering general supplies for the band. Did no one remember that?

His frown deepened. Sure, Gorcheaux's comment likely was just an offhand joke, but what if it wasn't? Was Gorcheaux the only person in the band who thought of him that way, or was this a general consensus? What other things did his companions potentially say about him behind his back?

Why was it so hard for people to think of him as human?

"It'd be nice to know if the little monster ever actually felt anything."

Byleth shook such thoughts from his head. Clearly, he was overthinking this entire thing. Gorcheaux was joking, and Terenzo's words were getting to him. Why did it matter what anyone thought of him in the first place? So long as he did his job and went about his business, outside comments were irrelevant.

The young man chose not to remove his current garments, and left his room shortly after finding and pocketing his wallet. Adequately prepared for a trip to the market, Byleth found Gorcheaux and a few others waiting for him at the inn's entrance. "Took you long enough. I was starting to think we'd be here until sundown."

"My apologies," Byleth didn't think he had taken that long, but he apparently had.

"Don't worry about it!" Another voice called from behind Gorcheaux. Giles, the youngest member of the band, grinned that boyish grin of his, seemingly over the argument that had transpired last night. His trademark bronze sword was nowhere to be seen. "I only just got here a minute or so ago myself. Come on!" The young man sped off in the direction of the market, leaving the rest behind.

Gorcheaux sighed, heading after the boy in a leisurely walk. "Damn kid. He's got no business getting that excited over weapons."

Wordlessly, Byleth followed.

After returning from the market with a fresh hunting blade, Byleth had attended the travel briefing some time after. It had gone relatively well, despite running a bit long. The course he and Jeralt planned wasn't far off from what Byleth had anticipated it would be—after leaving early tomorrow morning, the band would reach Magdred in two days sharp. After recuperating for a day, they would travel along the established trade route near the Oghma mountains through Charon to Galatea, before following the nearby river through the Tailtean Plains, eventually finishing their trip in the capital city of Fhirdiad after roughly two weeks, with another day or two's worth of supplies packed just in case.

All in all, a sound plan by Byleth's estimates. Even with the detour around Garreg Mach, they'd still make relatively good time, barring any mishaps along the way. He still had no idea what his father had to do in the capital, but he'd never led them astray before. There was little point in worrying about it now.

Byleth had gotten hungry after the meeting, but rather than eat with the rest of the band, he figured that it would be as good a time as any to visit the attractions. If only to satiate his curiosity, and to avoid having to babysit any of his drunken companions for the night. Going hungry for a spell was a small price to pay for a quiet night in his own room.

The sky had darkened since the briefing began, and the stars were out in full force. A benefit of traveling along the mountains, and thus being exposed to higher elevations, was that one was able to see the stars much more clearly at night. Byleth had never been one for stargazing, but some of his earliest memories as a child had been counting and naming the constellations with his father outside of their old home. They would still stargaze together from time to time, but it lacked the innocence and tranquility that it once possessed. Byleth couldn't quite understand why.

The stars helped illuminate the sign that pointed in the direction of the nearest, and most popular, attraction. If Byleth was reading the sign correctly, then it was a statue that he would be looking for. That piqued his interest. What did the statue depict? The goddess? Saint Seiros? Some other deity that Byleth was unaware of?

Admittedly, Byleth's knowledge of the church was meager at best. General figures and notable battles stuck out to him in bits and pieces, but anything beyond that was unknown. He didn't even know the Goddess' name. A trip to the monastery might have remedied that—he had heard tales of Garreg Mach's extensive library—but it was more likely that he would stick out like a sore thumb and learn nothing. Visiting a massive religious site with little knowledge of the religion itself seemed a tad daunting, not to mention disrespectful.

Byleth eventually found what he was looking for—a large stone statue, fitted near the back entrance of the village, placed squarely in the middle of a round, circular fountain. In all honesty, it looked sorely out of place given the village infrastructure, and the only reason that came to mind explaining why it was even here was that the church itself had sent its subordinates to build it in the village. Byleth doubted anyone else in Remire knew how to build such a thing. It looked to be the only purely-stone building in the entire town.

Still, Byleth thought the statue to be visually appealing, though Byleth was hardly one to judge a monument's beauty. For as out of place as it looked, it appeared well done and equally as well maintained. The statue itself appeared to depict a woman with flowing hair in an elegant robe pointing towards the horizon with her right hand, while her left hand gripped a strange weapon of sorts. It looked to vaguely resemble a sword, but Byleth couldn't really tell due to how dark it was.

For a while, Byleth was content to simply stare at the statue. It didn't seem to resemble any of the saints or battle heroes Byleth had read about in bits and pieces. Was this woman a saint? A hero? What was the significance of the woman frozen in time before him?

His mind briefly drifted towards the visions of war. Of vast armies pitted against each other, endlessly ravaging each other until only few remained standing. Of a man and woman, standing opposite each other in the field of battle, clashing violently until the other was met with a bloody end. These thoughts had been plaguing his mind more often than he would have liked, for reasons still unknown. The statue before him compelled him to think—who was the woman in this dream, who fought with such anger and hate? She seemed worlds apart, yet familiar all the same. She who had invaded his dreams night after night, replaying the bloody scene in his mind seemingly without end.

It seemed answers would not come this night. The statue before him was just that, a statue. And for as elegant and strong as she appeared, she wouldn't provide any satisfaction with regards to what Byleth was searching for. The knowledge the young man sought after.

Why these dreams pestered him so, why his life persisted despite his lack of a heartbeat, the nature of why he was born to begin with. Byleth was content with his life as a mercenary, but a small, nagging part of his consciousness urged him to uncover the truth, as vague and abstract as it sounded. So many questions, so little known, and he didn't have a clue of where to start.

Turning without a sound, Byleth began the trek back to the inn. He'd spent longer than he would have liked staring aimlessly at the statue. He still needed to eat, and figured he would turn in immediately after to get some rest for the long journey ahead. He wasn't particularly looking forward to the idea of confronting his strange dreams again, but he supposed that he didn't have a choice in the matter.

Byleth didn't see a practical use in hope, but that small, nagging part of him that confounded him so wished for a time when these tormenting dreams of his would simply vanish.

Welcome all, to my first attempt at a multi-chapter length Fire Emblem story, featuring the cast of Three Houses. A brief word before we get started.

As I'm sure you've already guessed, this will be a retelling of the general story based off of the Silver Snow route. I've taken the liberty of adding a few elements to the story (like making Byleth's mercenary group actual people, for instance), and I plan on mixing these elements with the existing story as it goes along. I won't add anything too wild to the story, as I want this story to still resemble Silver Snow, so you needn't worry about excessive changes. That means no crazy-OP Byleth, no random OC villains, and no outlandish plot twists out of nowhere. Only my own moderate twists and turns.

I've been wanting to do this for awhile. I was a bit late to the Three Houses party, but I still adore the game. I think Rhea is easily one of the most interesting characters, next to Edelgard and Dimitri. To me, she seems firmly entrenched in the morally grey area, and that's something I really want to explore as this story goes on. Byleth and Rhea's relationship is complicated, to say the least, and I think that's what makes Silver Snow so interesting. Seeing as there aren't a lot of fics on this site that really elaborate on that, I figured I'd take matters into my own hands, even if I was super late.

That's enough babbling for now, though. Thanks for reading. I'll likely keep these post-chapter notes in later installments short, if I even include them at all. I really just want to keep the story going. I'm sure you do too.

Thanks again for reading. Stay safe.

~Slalem