As the days pressed on, Cetanu simply did nothing but watch. He kept an eye on the progress of all of his students as they continued to train and prepare for the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. Things were going rather smoothly, but Cetanu found a few things worth noting above others.
Firstly, the lack of Flayn. Despite all attempts to find her, there wasn't a peep of the missing girl. Cetanu was curious about her, as her Crest was the one he was searching for. Finding her was one of his primary focuses as well, but he was beginning to wonder if the endeavor was fruitless.
Secondly, the relationship between Dimitri and Bernadetta. He'd caught them spending time together rather often, and Cetanu began to wonder if it was hindering the Prince's training. He'd hate for Bernadetta to simply use their friendship against him. It would be a rather hideous scenario if it happened on the battlefield.
Other things piqued his interest, like Ashe's continued training and progression, and the interesting friendship being forged between Rathalos and Caspar. Everything was going accordingly, and he knew that he could be complicit at his situation, but enough was never enough for the demon who called himself Agito.
Samyaza watched closely as his eyes scanned the courtyard of Castle Formorian. He had the odd draconic creature that hatched from his family's ancient egg walking about, Azazel and a few Nephilim watching it closely. It was the odd one out, a giant creature that was slightly larger than Azazel as the days and weeks since it's birth passed.
Samyaza was a descendant of a legendary Wyvern Lord named Valter the Moonstone, and with his Crest, he was gifted with unique abilities tailored for himself. He understood Wyverns very, very well and thanks to his Crest, he was able to use his minute magickal ability to speak with them. This creature was different, as he didn't have a good enough connection to it for that to work.
"What do you think, Azazel?" he asked, and the blue, feather winged dragon glanced to his friend.
"He's an idiot, but he has no lack of strength or stamina." he mused, the dragon sighing as he tried to communicate with the black dragon, who could barely commune with any of them.
"He's not a true Wyvern or Dragon, but something made in our image. I assume one of those creatures you call friends made this one?" he asked, and Samyaza hummed.
"I think it was the Kid. He's never used that weird magick that Cetanu does before so I'm not sure he could do it well. He might've made a peabrained creature, but as long as we can train him, he's our family as well."
The smooth scaled dragon looked to Samyaza before staring at the black dragon as it simply watched other Nephilim training. He nodded, closing his eyes and sighing at the amount of work he'd have to do for this creature to be a real member of the Grigoi.
"Agreed. However, we need to give this creature a moniker of some form. I refuse to simply call this thing a creature over and over." he said, making Samyaza chuckle for once. "We'll call him Drago for now, until we find something more fitting."
If there was one thing that Hubert, heir to House Vestra did not like, it was change from outside his realm of machination. The introduction of Cetanu into the Monastery threw everything heinously off, and now he had to deal with even more change that he couldn't start nor stop.
He had caught wind from a few of the Adrestian medical staff that Caspar, second son of Count Bergliez, was in talks to head out of the territory of Garreg Mach to aid an enemy commander in a personal endeavor. He wanted more details, and he sought to get them directly from the source.
"You really should explain yourself, Caspar. It's bad enough that you're embarrassing yourself and us by causing such a fuss and losing a fight to the enemy before the Battle." he said, and Caspar frowned, and the black haired retainer waited for Caspar's normal outburst.
What he was not expecting however, was the opposite. The blue haired boy remained silent, simply ignoring him and continuing to walk away. He didn't like that at all, and his own scowl deepened.
Ferdinand's constant questioning of Edelgard was one thing, Bernadetta's fraternizing with the enemy monarch was a whole other, but this was the breaking point. One of the lowest ranking nobles in the whole of Adrestia directly ignoring him? Refusing his demands no matter what they be?
"Stop right there and explain why you're fraternizing with the enemy." he said, and Caspar stopped, his posture changing as he looked upwards before turning to Hubert.
"Leave me alone, Hubert. You lied to me about that fake Crest, and now you want to try and blame that whole thing on me? You're lucky I don't knock you out right here." he said, Hubert taken aback by his calm, simmering rage. Caspar was normally an overactive child, a bumbling barbarian that anyone could deal with given the right amount of patience. This was different.
Caspar turned to leave, and Hubert felt his jaw roll. This wasn't supposed to happen. No one was supposed to disobey him. He was the second in command of the whole Empire. To defy him was to defy Edelgard, and to defy her was to spit on Adrestia. That could not be allowed.
He opened his fingers, preparing to stir up his magick power, only for a gust of wind to throw off his focus. He shifted his gaze to the sky, a common thing he found himself doing since Ashe befriended the 'Barons of the Sky'.
The shorter male of the trio, the six foot five Rathalos Goamagala, landed in the small open area they stood in, northwest of the training grounds. Hubert expected to see the normal oversized wyvern that he rode, but the beast that landed in the Monastery was different.
An angular head rolled on a long neck, azure eyes glistening in the sunlight as they turned to Caspar, the nose of the beast flexing as it got his scent. It shook slightly, flexing it's wings as the light reflected off of it's green scales. Caspar was just as mesmerized by it as Hubert was, and Rathalos could tell.
"You look better. Let's go."
The man was incredibly blunt and to the point, and Caspar shook off his surprise at the green wyvern long enough to nod and approach the man.
Hubert noticed something different about him, something that confused him. His hair was completely red, when it was yellow and orange the last time we met, like his hair was styled after flames. Instead, his head was covered in bright red locks, something that, combined with his aggressive nature and affiliation with odd wyverns, boded ill for Adrestia.
"Caspar, if you don't halt at this moment, you will be branded a traitor to Adrestia." he said, and Caspar closed his eyes, his jaw and fists clenching as Rathalos looked from the boy to his wyvern, who only swung her heavy spiked tail back and forth, a low purring grumble from her throat.
"He asked me to train him. He wants to learn first hand how Faerghus Wyvern Riders fight both on and off their mounts. Surely you can appreciate this endeavor? Especially when House Goamagala are even more unknown competitors from Sreng?" he inquired, and Hubert hesitated, closing his eyes and inhaling.
He was fully aware that whatever the man was saying was a lie, likely every word from his intentions to the location of his House's territory. However, he'd make a fool of himself if he publicly refused a noble the right to train for upcoming battles. He had no choice but to simply bow out and relent, watching the wyvern call out before leaping into the sky with one of his allies on it's back. An ally he questioned more and more every day.
Cetanu's eyes caught Rathalos flying overhead, the distinct silhouette of his mount casting a shadow over the Monastery as it passed. He watched it closely, wondering exactly what was going through the man's head.
He shifted his focus back to the matter at hand however. The lack of Flayn's whereabouts were beginning to agitate him. That rare of a Crest could not be lost to the sands of time. There was no replacing it either, as the closest thing was Lindhardt, who was not the kind of person Cetanu wanted to feed from.
He wasn't as palpable as Ashe, but he still picked up on some of the traits of people he fed from as well. Asmodeus noted it as well, claiming that Cetanu was more flirtatious after from him. Feeding from Lindhardt would harm his productivity, and he couldn't have that.
He had spoken to many people over the days, everyone from the Golden Deer to the staff of the Monastery. There was a few people he hadn't spoken to, but he couldn't be bothered to try and communicate with a few of them.
His absentminded state caused him to lose track of what he was doing, and he ended up walking into someone, a smaller figure that lacked the weight needed to make him stumble. His eyes glanced to the ground, noticing that he had collided with a child, who was knocked to the ground.
It was Cyril, the brown skinned servant who walked in on his fight with Rhea. The boy grit his teeth before looking up and seeing the ebon mercenary. He rose to his feet with clenched fists and narrowed eyes.
"Watch it!" he shouted, and Cetanu simply stared at him. He was certainly not a Fodlan native, as his features, particularly his skin color, were foreign. Was he a slave freed by Rhea? An orphaned child left at the Monastery's steps? He was rather interesting.
"My apologies. Cetanu Eisner, Professor of the Blue Lions." he said, extending his hand to the child respectfully. The boy blinked, taking his hand and shaking it.
His grip was firm, and he had an aura about him that was refined, as if his self confidence was a shield against something. Cetanu could feel his head tilt slightly.
"If you ever wish to learn something about the art of combat, please come see one of us. The Mercenaries of Jeralt would be honored to assist you." he mused, and he heard a dry chuckle that caught his attention.
If there was one thing that Cetanu found ever so fascinating, it was the warriors that surrounded Rhea. Alois, the bumbling buffoon was one thing. Catherine was another, a warrior he met in their fledgling days on a missionary excursion. But this one was… interesting.
She was slightly shorter than Cetanu if you counted the heeled boots that she wore, and her hair was cut short, accenting her facial features rather well. Her uniform, if it even was one, was black and green, a unique pallet of colors around the Monastery. She also had a foreign look to her, but Cetanu could tell that unlike Cyril, she was an actual threat.
"Do you ever go a day without thinking about growing your private militia?" she asked, and Cetanu hummed, Cyril able to tell that he wasn't needed her, shuffling away with Cetanu's gaze on his back.
"The Mercenaries of Jeralt are part of the Knights of Seiros. I am only benefitting Lady Rhea."
"By fighting her?"
Cetanu shrugged his shoulders, enjoying this woman's quick wit.
"Sometimes a woman desires to be treated equally to a man. Equal rights, Equal fights."
The woman rolled her eyes before glaring at Cetanu, something that only made his grin spread wider.
"Where are you from? A couple of students I've spoke to think it's odd that a foreigner like yourself would be so close to Her Grace." he inquired, and the woman frowned. This was different however, a frown at what he said instead of who he was.
"Because I'm from Dagda? Your little schoolkids think that I had something to do with Flayn's disappearance?" she asked, and Cetanu shook his head.
"I have no suspicions. Lady Flayn's captor is likely a man, particularly one with a distinct lack of female influence in his life or female companionship. A woman would not nab Flayn." he said, and the woman blinked.
"And you're sure of this?" she asked, and Cetanu nodded.
He held his hand out to her, a smile on his face. "If I am incorrect, I will show you what made one of my students defect from my class." he said, his eyes glancing to the ground.
His free hand moved, his index finger wagging as he released a singular chuckle. "But if I am correct, I want that servant boy to join my class, and I want you to be his personal tutor." he said, and she looked at him oddly.
She couldn't fathom how the Blue Lions were functioning this year. It was all personal growth and combat growth. They were on a straight line towards improvement, and this ebon garbed weirdo was trying to get people aboard his crazy train.
However, she shook his hand, and he smiled, squeezing her hand slightly and nodding.
"Pleasure doing business with you, Madam."
Hours later, as the sun slowly began to set, the green wyvern landed in Sreng, in the territory of House Goamagala. When Rathalos and Caspar dismounted the beast, he simply stroked it's wing and it took off.
Caspar watched in awe, the odd beast beating it's wings as it disappeared. The huge man looked to Caspar, inhaling.
"Welcome to Goamagala territory. I will explain things to you as we make our way towards the Nest." he said, and Caspar assumed 'The Nest' was a term to describe the House's home base.
The terrain was unlike anything in Adrestia, cold winds whipping about as they walked a grassy plain towards a forest. Monstrous trees higher than any building he'd ever seen stretched all throughout the forest, their colors ranging from greens to reds and browns as if the land was two seasons ahead of Fodlan.
"House Goamagala was founded hundreds of years ago by our Progenitor, Gore Magalah. It is a militant tribe that focuses on a rank based hierarchy, your status being obtained through feats of strength or specialties in profession." he explained, Caspar able to hear creatures scurry about the forest in large numbers, a dull hum of many insects permeating the air.
"Sreng has far more large beasts than Fodlan, which is simply just mutated animals enhanced in size through magick overloads or fragmented Beaststones and Crest Stones or what have you."
The ground shook, Caspar's eyes shooting to his left to see a huge, scaled beast of some form walk by like it didn't realize they were there. He could barely fathom what kind of beast it was, as Fodlan had nothing like this.
"Our ranks and standing are based on these beasts. The wyvern I rode to retrieve you is named Bathory, and she is a common Sreng Wyvern. The species is called 'Rat'ian' in our tongue, hence why young fledgling female warriors are called Raji."
Caspar remained silent, listening closely as they began to draw close to some form of civilization, wooden and stone markers with odd runic lettering about it scattered all about, likely meant to tell natives where they were going.
"Our leader is called the 'Fatalis', and they always bear the surname Magalah in honor of our founder. The current 'Fatalis' is Fatalis Nergiga Magalah. The man is the pinnacle of what we all aspire to be. However, he had one fatal flaw; he had too many children."
Caspar began to see houses built in the sky scraping trees, awed at the environment and it's flora and fauna. Everything seemed like something from a fantasy novel, a book about knights and dragons that Ashe would be reading for fun, or that Lindhardt would tell him about in their free time.
"His six sons are currently the only 'Komodos', a rank meant for newly christened adult males that have proven themselves to the Fatalis. They are distinct in that they are the only rank of males apart from the Fatalis that are able to initiate foreigners to our tribe. These foreign hatchlings are called 'Salamanders', as I said before."
As they began to travel farther, the trees gave way for full buildings built of wood and stone, the area starting to look like a normal town or village. Caspar was impressed with the craftsmanship, almost as impressed as he was with the men who had to chop down and chop up these huge trees.
He also noted his host's hair. The man's locks seemed to change color all the time, being red, red and yellow, and now they were completely blonde. Was the man's hair blessed magickally?
Rathalos stared at the gates to the Nest, inhaling as he pushed them open, the townsfolk all shifting to the large wooden gates and the man that pushed them open.
Caspar was not expecting women to begin rushing their children into houses, the animals around all backing up and seeming defensive at the sheer presence of Rathalos. A group of men began to approach, and the Sreng native only sighed.
"What are you doing here, Vaal Hagaak!?" one of them shouted, and he cast his gaze to the speaker, far larger than the men who approached.
"The Fatalis requested an audience with his former Teosgrah, and this… Fodlan Jarang is my guest." he said, and the men hesitated, glancing between each other.
When Caspar entered the largest building in the 'Nest', he was greeted with a huge man garbed in black clothing, his eyes piercing amber orbs that glared at Rathalos like Hubert on his worst day.
"You requested me, Fatalis?"
The man exhaled, rising from his throne and flexing his fists. It was like he was trying to keep himself calm, and he was struggling. He nodded.
"You are complying with our proposition?" he asked, a voice so baritone that it vibrated Caspar's entire body, a voice so deep he could barely make out what he was saying.
"I would bring in a foreigner to clean up your sons' mess, and then take them with me to train as Grigoi and learn proper etiquette before returning them. In return, I would be granted my status as Teosgrah back, and ownership of my family's graves as well. I am in agreement."
The huge man sat back down, and his eyes turned to Caspar.
"This Ragjas is the one you chose? I can tell that he has been unsuccessful in combat recently. I am aware that your circumstance is unique, but you could have chosen one of more respectable stature." he said.
Caspar grit his teeth and stomped forward. "Come over here and say that to my face!" he shouted, incensed by the jab at his small stature, something the black garbed man noticed. He could see very well despite his age, and he could see the muscle across the boy's body, the way his frilly school uniform tugged at the seams to try and contain his honed physical form.
He understood now why Rathalos introduced this boy as a 'Jarang', a rank held by young, upstart foreigners introduced into the clan. He had no problem getting uppity in a foreign land with a warrior chieftain that was over double to triple his size. However, there was something else about the boy that caught his attention.
"He has the demeanor to succeed, but I wonder if you didn't have another reason for choosing him, Rathalos. I can't help but notice how he reminds me of Magna."
At the mention of that name, Rathalos entire being flared up, his eyes glaring holes into the man as his hair moved about and shifted to a bright crimson color. The veins along his arms also flared up, his agitation very, very clear and apparent.
"Never mention his name."
The man looked at Rathalos, then to Caspar and sighed. "Very well. They shall return by morning. You may use your family's lands to rest and prepare. Do not fail, young one." he said, and Caspar frowned.
"It won't even last ten minutes!" he shouted, confident in his ability.
"Have you seen Manuela, Professor?" Cetanu heard, his eyes shifting to Dorothea as he moved about the Monastery. He tilted his head as he looked to her. The two didn't interact often, Cetanu not a big fan of the way the girl presented herself.
"I have not. Are you searching for her?" he asked, rather curious about what had the aspiring songstress this worried. He could see the furrow in her brow, and feel the heat coming from her, the girl looking uncomfortable in her skin with how worried she was.
"I haven't seen her in a long time, it's odd. She missed class and even our singing lesson." she said, and he hummed, wondering if the woman was just shitfaced and hungover. It was always a possibility with Manuela, but this long of a span seemed incredibly odd.
The duo had walked together for but a moment when they came across Jeralt, Cetanu's father looking to him with a puzzling look at his company. He shot him a glance, the two able to communicate silently with their years and years of time spent together in and out of combat.
"Have you seen Professor Manuela, father? One of her students seems rather worried about how long she'd been missing." he inquired, and his father hummed.
"She seemed a bit out of it. She had some kind of mask in her hands and was scurrying about last I saw her. I assumed it was something about a bad date like usual." he said with a shrug, and Cetanu hummed.
"Dorothea, do me a favor and tell all of my students to seek me out."
The girl looked to him, wondering why he'd use her as a messenger despite her not being his student. He looked from her back to his father. "What direction did she head in?"
The war veteran hummed, sighing and pointing. "She said something about Jeritza. I hope that she didn't… open up shop for that guy. He's one hell of a creep if I've ever seen one." he said, and Cetanu narrowed his eyes.
Manuela rushing around panicked gripping a mask, missing after looking for the oddly detached Combat Professor. Jeritza was a man that Cetanu wouldn't ever see, hardly ever being anywhere but his quarters, which were oddly far away from other staff members. He hummed, different things piecing together.
"Father, help Dorothea assemble my students. Get them all to Jeritza's Quarters. It's time to complete this Moon's mission."