Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own Fire Emblem, Fire Emblem: Three Houses or any of their characters.
A/N: My first finished attempt at fanfiction, however short it ended up being. Made for a friend's birthday, happy birthday Snek!
Hope you all will like it, if you do, or if you have constructive criticism (especially on the form, since this is the first time I actually published something), do leave a review. :)
"Hey, you heard of the devil of the Tailtean Plains?"
A new recruit in the brigands' group had just whispered to the man eating beside him by the fireside, who was visibly a more experienced ruffian.
"Yeah, they say it's a monster forsaken by the Goddess. 'Sposedly hunts travelers and military troops alike. Can't say I feel much sorry for them Adrestians, they probably brought it with em when they came here. Brought nothin' but trouble, these guys."
"I heard it's a giant bear, at least three times the size of a normal one, and that it doesn't eat the bodies, but takes their souls instead…"
"HA! Thassa good one. Sure, bit weird that it ain't ever taken a body or two with it, but pal, ya gotta stop believin' in that sorta crap. And between ya and me, believin' in anything ya ain't seen with yer own two eyes is jus' what led the Kingdom to its fall. Anyways, straighten up, we'll be outta these plains tomorrow."
That second half had been whispered, with a glance to check no one was listening in. Confident as he was in his thought, belief in the Goddess and the Church of Seiros was still widespread in the lands of the former Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. Even rogues and thieves often held on to some sliver of faith. And in a group like this, singling yourself out was a surefire way to get yourself killed for your share of the loot.
The newbie seemed lost in thought for a moment, before replying :
"Yeah, you might be right. The Goddess sure ain't ever helped us get by, much less protected us against these filthy Adrestians. Maybe if she existed, I'd still be an honest farmer with me wife an' kids. Ah, Irma-"
He never finished his sentence. The glimmer of the campfire shone on a silver blade for an instant, before the second brigand found himself staring stupidly at the detached head of his newfound conversation partner. He never had time to think twice about it either, as the blade that pierced him through his back had already retreated and was getting to work on the dozen men remaining. Before long, the camp was quiet, the fire put out, and only a deformed mass of mangled, dead bodies awaited the fortunate scavengers that would partake in them.
Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd barely remembered his own name anymore. Since Edelgard had revealed herself as the Flame Emperor and sewn terror and chaos across Fódlan, he had wandered the lands he had once hoped to call his, exterminating the vermin that sullied the familiar soil. Something was broken inside of him, something he may never recover. He'd stopped caring long ago. The grief, the rage, the absurdity of it all, everything was screaming the same injunction at him : kill.
The rightful heir to the Kingdom's throne would never know why his feet carried him to the ruins of Garreg Mach Monastery on that fateful night. He had never planned to go there. He'd wanted to stay near Fhirdiad, and take on as many imperial platoons as he could, and more even. Yet he'd found himself gradually traveling south, until he was finally at the foot of the hill the monastery had stood on. Deciding that it would at least offer some protection against some of the more dangerous beasts roaming the land, he'd taken shelter. Taken it by force, actually, from an imperial platoon whose only misfortune was to have had the same idea as him. The blond man, if he could still be called one, had finally found a spot in an alcove, and fallen into a tormented slumber.
The spirits of his fallen comrades, of all the people he'd failed to protect, would not let him rest peacefully ever again. Sometimes, it was his parents. Sometimes, it was Glenn. That night, he saw the faces of many Garreg Mach students, slashed, pierced or crushed under the rubble of the monastery's wall, all fallen during that tragic battle five years prior. He had nothing to offer to them. He didn't pity them, as he imagined death would be an ever so sweet respite from his agony. He couldn't apologize to them, he'd long lost the right to. All he could do was avenge them by slaughtering as many imperial troops as he was able to, and, if at all possible, taking down the Empress herself.
It was a surprise, but barely even a shock, to see Byleth appear before him at the break of dawn. He'd heard footsteps on the staircase, and gripped his lance, staying on guard. But the footsteps weren't those of a soldier carefully exploring the ruins, nor of a thief trying to scavenge them. They were those of a simple visitor. He should've known what sort of fool would stroll through the building without fear or caution. She finally arrived at the top of the stairs, and stepped into the light. She hadn't changed. She was exactly the same as she'd been before disappearing at the turning point of the battle. He'd never had much doubt as to what had happened to her, but that single fact confirmed what he already knew.
"I should've known...that one day, you would be haunting me as well."