Second part of the double update.

Pretty big spoilers from the game regarding Seteth and Flayn in this chapter. Also some AU elements here.


Chapter 10: Rapid

Rapid: n. a fast-flowing and turbulent part of the course of a river;
adj. happening in a short time or at a great rate.


The library doors burst open. So, Thales had been right after all.

He calmly observed as Byleth – no, the vessel of the Beast – scanned the room, locating Solon just nary a moment later. He saw how his lips snarled in rage, the dagger in his hand moving in flight. Were he unprepared for such a scenario, Solon may have been injured, but this confrontation had been set-up to his advantage. The Death Knight had reported him to be a formidable foe in close quarters, but in the long expanse of the library his spells would find purchase before the Beast's dagger could strike.

"SOLON!" He knew of his name, then. Curious. Solon had abandoned the guise of Tomas, the kind and elderly librarian, revealing his true form that the Beasts had robbed he and his people the freedom of wearing in the surface world eons ago.

Byleth was retrieving a second dagger with one hand, his second hand glowing as he shaped the magics of a spell. Interesting. Solon studied the glyph, identified its function, strength and potential threat, and -

He lazily raised his hand. The first iron dagger impacted harmlessly against it, followed closely by the second dagger. A Meteor manifested in the air, rapidly impacting and blasting against his shield, but still it held. Byleth was a gifted mage in shaping and understanding of magic, of that there was no doubt, but his actual magical prowess could hardly be compared to Solon. He had judged the Meteor of being incapable of shattering his shield.

Really, the Death Knight had difficulty dealing with this?

"So, Thales was right," he casually commented. "The Beast lives."

"Where is she?!" His foe was already in motion, attempting to close the distance between them, deftly avoiding the waves of Miasma that Solon had sent toward him. Impressive, but the Beast would fall all the same. Solon recognised the Sagittae that had been returned toward him, and he temporarily halted his offense to raise his shield once more. The physical manifestation of Black Magic couldn't even so much as crack his shield, merely disturbing the vapours of thick smoke emanating from where the Meteor had struck.

Byleth was still moving toward him. The Sagittae had been but a feint, a means of forcing him on the defensive while Byleth himself advanced. Solon's eyes narrowed, reshaping the spell he had in mind into something else that would force distance between himself and his foe, who even now was darting between tables and kicking off bookshelves as he advanced toward Solon.

"Enough!" Solon shouted. A wave of force emerged outward as he collapsed his spell, blowing Byleth backwards mid-charge. The Beast recovered gracefully, flipping in the air to land on his feet, preparing a second wave of spells even before he landed. He was good, but Solon was better.

He allowed the Fire to strike him, barely causing him any damage with the resilience to magic that he had. He used the chance to unleash his chosen spell, the magical glyph forming in the air rapidly. The world around his foe darkened, space itself warping and bending, drawing the debris created from their fight toward the epicentre of the spell. Solon saw how his opponent's eyes widened, changing the direction of his approach as he tumbled aside.

The cast of Death completed, malevolent energies collapsing inward, ruined tables and chairs being crushed into nothingness. His foe had just narrowly avoided being caught by Solon's spell. He grit his teeth, readying another spell, but another dagger was in flight. He had but an instant to judge the situation, and he made his choice.

The dagger struck him in the arm, and Solon fought against the pain while still he launched Banshee toward his foe. He narrowly dodged the spell, then kicked off from a bookshelf, landing on a table in a crouch. He leapt, his dagger held in a reverse-grip, arm raised high. Solon watched as his arm followed his entire body in its descent, plunging down toward Solon. Hurriedly, he conjured his shield once more, reshaping the motes of Dark Magic that he had been preparing for a second cast of Death.

The Crest of Flames manifested. There was a thundering crack, splinters forming from the metaphysical shield as the structure created from organised motes of magic crumbled and collapsed, but it still wasn't enough. Solon had been able to strengthen his shield where it had been crushed, launching his foe aside as his shield hurriedly reformed. Byleth spun in mid-air, landing on another table, ready to kick off again in a second strike.

His magic was tiring from the effort needed to defend against the power of the Crest of Flames. Perhaps he had miscalculated. This Beast was certainly no simple foe. This enemy wouldn't normally have been a challenge to Solon, but he had the power of the Crest of Flames with him. A retreat was in order.

"Fell Star," Solon snarled. His hands were raised in front of him, the magics of his shield reorganising as he willed the sigils to shift between different spells, altering their form as he carefully studied Byleth's actions. Only a few more spells left, before his spellcasting would be severely limited. He would just need a moment to teleport back to Thales' side. He measured his foe's reactions, finding a spell that would best suit his purposes.

"Where is Flayn?" he spat. How droll. Had the Beast already enforced her corruption over her vessel?

"She will soon be buried with the rest of her kind," he said, distracting his foe while he poured magic into the device crafted from the technology of their people. Just a few moments longer…

The Beast grabbed yet another dagger – just how many did he have?! – dashing toward Solon. No! He needed more time! He tried to step away, looking around for a way out of this. Perhaps some clutter to block his path, or maybe he could bring the ceiling down upon him. He wouldn't allow himself to fall to the Beast. His enemy was mid-way toward him now, a few more moments and he would -

"Huh?" Solon turned at the unexpected sound. He saw a student, a library regular he had seen so often researching Crests in his time of Solon. He had tried so hard to open his eyes to the truth, deliberately leaving Agarthan books describing the True Form of the Beast, but still he had never made the connection.

He would have been a worthwhile addition to their team, had he not been so blinded to the truth. Regardless, he now proved a suitable means for Solon's escape. He temporarily halted the flow of magic to the teleportation device, funnelling it into a glyph of Dark Spikes, forming and completing the spell as quickly as he could toward the student.

He smiled as he saw the grim realisation on Byleth's face. He shifted his magic back toward the device, while his opponent changed the direction of his charge, moving to tackle the student away from his spell. Dark Spikes struck against the bookshelf just behind, ruining ancient tomes that had been part of the library's extensive collection. He watched as his foe attempted to strike once more, dashing toward Solon, but now the device was ready.

"Know despair." He offered some parting words, as the world shifted around him. A burst of light later, and he was once more in Shambhala.

-o-o-o-

He had been so close.

He had Solon dead to rights. He saw how the shield had been failing. One more strike empowered by the Crest of Flames, and he wouldn't have been able to maintain his spellcasting any longer. He had been so close to ripping answers from Solon's flesh, to forcing him to yield all information he had about their plans and of Flayn.

Then Linhardt had unexpectedly appeared from a corner of the library, still yawning and stretching as he strode into the periphery of their fight. He had been forced to make a choice, and now that the battle was over he was wondering whether it was the right one.

He could have let Linhardt die, but he would have known where Flayn was. He could have tortured Solon until he gave up everything he had on the Agarthans. He could have won.

But then Linhardt would have died.

"Byleth?" Linhardt asked uncertainly from his side. "What's going on?"

Flayn. He needed to find Flayn.

'Her blood will run', the mage in Fhirdiad had said. 'She will soon be buried', Solon had claimed.

Will. That implied that she wasn't dead yet. There was still hope.

Seteth came barging into the library, still breathing heavily as he tried to catch up with Byleth from the speed he had been running. "Byleth!" he shouted, losing his characteristic calm. He inhaled deeply a few times, looking wide-eyed at the destruction of the library. "What – these are priceless books – what happened?!"

Damn. There was far too much that he couldn't just explain, not while Flayn's life hung in the balance. "Tomas kidnapped Flayn," he growled, moving to pick up his daggers where they'd been flung. "He's in league with Jeritza."

"What – Tomas?" Seteth sounded disbelieving, still clearly out of sorts, looking between Linhardt and himself. "Are you sure?"

He didn't have time for this. He needed to think, all the while ignoring how his heart ached and burned at the thought of Flayn dying from his actions.

"The man looked a little like Tomas, but his face was disfigured and twisted," Linhardt reported to Seteth, seeing that Byleth wasn't about to respond. "Byleth engaged him in combat."

"Byleth, please!" Seteth impeached. "Communicate with us. What is going on?"

He took a deep breath in, then exhaled. "Flayn's gone. Solon said that she will soon be buried with the rest of her kind."

"No. That can't be…" Seteth staggered, face turning pale. "Are you certain?"

"I heard him say that as well," Linhardt confirmed. "I was taking a nap when I was disturbed by the sound of fighting…"

Byleth tuned out their conversation. He couldn't allow himself to be clouded by rage, guilt or doubt. Flayn was still alive. He needed to think.

In past lives, Flayn had been left alive when she'd been kidnapped. He didn't quite ever figure out just what she was being used for, but given what he knew of Agarthans and of the Children of the Goddess he suspected they were running blood experiments on her. They had to keep her in Jeritza's dungeon, rather than simply teleporting her away. That probably implied that they couldn't, a limitation of the teleportation method that they used.

That was good. It had only been just more than a day since he'd last seen her prior to making his way to Fhirdiad. She couldn't have gone far. She must still be somewhere in the vicinity of the Monastery. What possibilities were there? Magdred, Charon, Airmid, Varley, the Gronder Fields, Bergliez, the Oghma Mountain Range were all certainly within a reasonable distance.

This life, they seemed certain that she would die. But why? How had his interference changed any of that?

They knew of him, and of his Crest. From how Solon spoke, they suspected as though he were Sothis herself, or at the very least communicating with Sothis. He must have forced their hand, making them utilise Flayn in a way they hadn't before. They were certain of her death.

They'd done similar in the past. He had seen the massacre at Zanado many times over prior to his reawakening in Remire Village. They had killed off the Children of the Goddess that had forced them into hiding. They possessed a level of technology unmatched in the millennia since they challenged the Goddess and her people. They had unparalleled knowledge of Crests, the power of blood sacrifices and experiments related to them.

If they were going to kill Flayn, then –

"They're after her Crest," he reasoned out loud, interrupting the furious discussion between the pair. "They want her blood."

"What?" Seteth whirled onto him, an expression of horror on his face. No doubt he was thinking of the brethren that had been slaughtered eons ago, butchered and taken apart to forge Crest Stones and Relics as they were denied even peaceful deaths. He could only imagine how it would feel like for Seteth to have to live through his own daughter going through that.

He wasn't supposed to know just how Crests truly came about, but that scarcely mattered right now. He had a shot of saving Flayn, if he just knew where she was. Byleth thought furiously, looking for any clue that the Agarthans may have unknowingly revealed.

You'll fail, you know. The Beast will join the rest of her kind.

Know despair, Byleth Eisner. Her blood will run along with the rest of her filthy kind.

She will soon be buried with the rest of her kind. Know despair.

They couldn't have teleported her. She couldn't have gone far. They intended to kill her, that she would join the rest of her kind. They would take her heart to form Crest Stones and use her bones to craft Relics. They would use her blood to create Demonic Beasts.

They would repeat what they had done eons ago. The remaining Children would know despair, because they had felt it before, back where rocky canyons ran red with the blood of the fallen, where the crimson had lingered throughout eons in the stones till this day.

There was a kind of macabre poetry in it. The Agarthans would see to the beginning of the end of the Beasts that had destroyed their civilisation where they had almost succeeded the first time, a thousand years ago.

"Zanado," he spoke, a newfound determination in his mind. He fought down the uncertainty he had over whether he made the right deduction. He wouldn't fail his student. "Flayn's in Zanado."

-o-o-o-

Byleth was running quickly toward the Knight's Hall, slowing down just enough for Seteth and Linhardt to keep up with him. He barely offered any words of explanation following his proclamation that Flayn was in Zanado, and Seteth felt as though he had a million questions rushing through his mind.

"Byleth!" Seteth urged as he kept pace with him. "Please, you need to explain yourself!"

Byleth made no move to explain, rummaging through the racks of equipment of the Knight's hall, picking out some weaponry for himself. He carried out a few experimental swings of a silver axe and sword. Seteth did likewise despite not knowing just what going on, grabbing a silver lance that would complement the Blessed Lance he always kept by his side.

"Just trust me," Byleth said, looking around the crates that littered the hall. "Where are the other students?"

"The Deer and the Lions are off on their missions," Seteth replied despite his misgivings. Byleth seemed to be certain that his dear Flayn – his dear Cethleann – was in Zanado, which was more than Seteth had heard over the past hours since she'd gone missing. "Only the Eagles remain in the Monastery."

Byleth turned toward Linhardt. "Where are they?"

He started momentarily. "Petra's out hunting, some have gone into the nearby town, and I'm not certain about the rest. I was invited to join them, of course, but I found the most fascinating book on Crests. Then, I took a short nap and –"

"Not important," Byleth said hurriedly, equipment ready by his side. "It's just you, then."

"Me, Byleth?" Linhardt sounded uncertain. "I'm not sure I –"

"Flayn's going to die if we don't do anything," he snapped. Seteth involuntarily stiffened once more. No. She couldn't be dead. She just couldn't. "We need all the backup we can get."

Linhardt's posture straightened, and he nodded at Byleth. "You can count on me."

"It's just the three of us. We can't afford to waste more time rallying the rest," Byleth decided, checking to make sure Seteth was armed, before they left the Knight's Hall. "We'll go to the aviary and fly over to Zanado."

"I can't fly," Linhardt said slowly.

"We'll ride on one Wyvern. Seteth, you take another." He had no idea that Byleth could fly. Something he had picked up along with those dreams he had been having, perhaps? Regardless, this was hardly the time to question Byleth. He sounded confident, and the situation was far too dire to ask such trivial questions.

"Zanado's less than an hour by flight," Byleth continued speaking as they moved. "We'll be going full speed the entire time. Once we're there, be ready for anything. There's no telling what they have planned for us."

"Please, Byleth, I still do not understand," Seteth pleaded. "How are you so certain she will be there?"

The whirlwind of emotions he'd felt over the past hour had left him disoriented. He had gone from noticing Flayn's disappearance, suspecting a kidnapping, to having a kidnapping confirmed by Byleth, right before he stormed toward the library. When Seteth arrived, the library had been ruined, books destroyed and charred in the aftermath of a battle against Tomas, of all people, who turned out to be allied with those that had stolen the Sword of the Creator. Then he'd been told that his daughter might be dead, butchered in the same way so many of his kind had been, without any explanation as to who these enemies were or why they were targeting Flayn.

Deep down, he had a growing suspicion. Taking Flayn to Zanado was hardly a coincidence. Byleth claimed they wanted her Crest and blood. Had their old enemies returned? Would they be bringing their horrors to Fódlan once more?

And to what end? Revenge against their kind? Subjugation of all of Fódlan? Some other nefarious purpose?

He had survived the massacre, but still he remembered just how his people had been slaughtered to the last by Nemesis and his ilk. He still heard their blood-curdling screams, how they had been denied the mercy of death as their hearts and bones were carved out from still-living bodies. For Flayn to have to go through that…

No. He couldn't let that happen. He would sooner die.

"I'll explain later, but we need to move now!" Byleth sprinted ahead, throwing open the massive doors in front of them.

They were at the aviary now. He quickly mounted his favoured Wyvern, straddling the saddle on his back. Byleth was doing the same, helping Linhardt atop their Wyvern as the younger boy looked uneasily at the massive creature. There was no denying that Byleth had a connection with and knew how to ride the draconic beast, seeing as how he'd effortlessly scaled up the side of the creature's legs onto its back without it snapping its mighty jaws toward him. That kind of experience was something Seteth himself had learned over decades after he'd lost the ability to transform as Rhea and the rest of their kind did.

The two Wyverns uncurled their massive wings. They gave a massive roar, and with heavy wingbeats, they took off into the air, heading toward the Oghma Mountain Range.

"Byleth, please. Can you explain now?" Seteth asked, the wind roaring against his ears.

He looked at the riders on the other Wyvern. Linhardt was grabbing tightly on Byleth's shoulders, clearly unused to flight. The speed and altitude they were going were hardly welcoming to any beginner of the art. Byleth was entirely at ease, steering the Wyvern with one hand, guiding it to follow the drift of the wind as they raced toward the distant mountains.

"Tomas is a mage called Solon," Byleth shouted back. "He and the Death Knight are allies. He recognised me, and attacked the moment that I entered the library."

That didn't add up. Byleth had known that Tomas – Solon – was involved in Flayn's kidnapping before he had even made it to the library.

"You knew that he was involved in Flayn's disappearance," he made his doubts known. "How?"

Byleth didn't reply immediately, moving his mount just slightly off-course to catch the wind. Seteth copied him. "I had suspicions," he spoke, voice barely audible against the rushing wind. "He was always eyeing Flayn, and both he and Jeritza didn't interact with anyone."

That sounded like it could be true, but Seteth still had doubts. There was more that Byleth wasn't revealing. Seteth considered the possibility that this was a trap for him, that Byleth was leading him to join Flayn in death.

Had he not seen how Byleth had reacted when Seteth begged for his assistance, he might have believed that. But Byleth had instead rushed directly toward the library, fought against Tomas, and was almost certain that he uncovered the location that Flayn had been brought to. He had seen how angry Byleth had become. That kind of primal emotion wasn't something that could simply be faked. Byleth was hiding information, but he was on their side. For now, he would let him keep his secrets, until they rescued Flayn.

He refused to entertain the thought that they might be too late. Cethleann had to be alive. He had already lost his wife. It had been just the two of them for centuries. His life would be meaningless without his dearest daughter.

-o-o-o-

Zanado grew in the distance as they approached. Byleth strained his eyes, looking out for any disturbance in the mountain range he had seen so many times before.

He didn't need to look far. The sounds reached him first. They heard monstrous roars echoing throughout the mountain range, and he steered his Wyvern toward their origin.

"By the Goddess…" he heard Seteth whisper when they finally caught sight of the source. There was a monstrous winged White Beast, the sound of its thundering footsteps and deafening roar hardly dampened by distance even up in the air where they were still approaching the group.

He had seen similar creatures before, only this was far larger. In past lives, many a weakened Rhea had lost control of the power that ran in their blood, transforming the Knights she had gifted the power of her blood to into White Beasts that looked so much like Rhea in her form as the Immaculate One, only smaller. This creature was an intermediate of the two, larger than the transformed knights, but still smaller than Rhea's true form.

By the side of the creature was a group of hooded mages standing in a circle. In the very centre lay a downed body, her dark green hair unmistakeable.

Flayn.

"FLAYN!" Seteth yelled, his Wyvern rushing past Byleth's own.

Byleth cursed, urging his mount to move faster, as he watched Seteth deftly commandeer his Wyvern to avoid the fireballs and bursts of lightning originating from the mages. He drew closer, lance held out in front of him, and the mages scattered in panic. He hovered low to the ground, hand outstretched to grab Flayn's body, when suddenly the White Beast burst into flight, its claws slashing at the scales that adorned Seteth's Wyvern.

"Seteth!" Byleth shouted.

"Get Flayn!" he returned, his mount thrashing in the air while he jabbed his own lance toward the White Beast.

Byleth took out his bow, aiming several shots at the mages, careful to avoid accidentally striking at Flayn. Linhardt sent his own spells at fleeing targets, Cutting Gale leaving gashes in the earth and crimson streaks across bodies where it hit into the canyon below. A few of them fell to his arrows, falling silent as they lay unmoving on the rocky canyon. The mages were beginning to disperse now, teleporting in bursts of purple light, leaving Flayn's body where she lay.

He replaced his bow, stretching out his hand as he focused on Flayn's form. He tried to cast a Physic, the glyph forming in the air, as the spell built a connection between himself and her. The glyph glowed a bright white, motes of White Magic travelling toward her.

She didn't even stir. The magic hung lazily around her, unable to exert any effect in closing any wounds she may have.

"Linhardt, watch over her," he commanded.

He waited just long enough for him to quickly undo himself from the saddle, sliding off the side of the Wyvern, and then he took flight once more.

Logically, he knew what the failure of his spell meant, but he refused to accept it.

He turned toward the White Beast, its claws still slashing furiously at Seteth and his mount as they struggled in mid-air. Furious rage burned in Byleth's veins, and he sent his mount charging toward the creature. His Wyvern tackled against the larger beast, freeing Seteth from its grasp as he and his mount flew some distance away, before making a wide turn and approaching the beast once more.

"Byleth!" Seteth shouted, the loudness of his voice increasing in amplitude as he drew closer. "Is Flayn –"

"Focus!" he urged. Byleth didn't want to think about Flayn right now. He didn't want to think about his failure. All that mattered was this beast's death.

It turned its attention toward Byleth and his mount, but now he was ready. They tumbled in mid-air as it swiped at them, then turned once more into a straight climb above the beast. He took aim, his eyes unblinking even as it watered in the rushing wind, tracking its trajectory as it stopped in mid-air to chase its quarry.

Now.

He unleashed an Agnea's Arrow, the magical projectile impacting hard against the Beast at it approached from a direct vertical ascent. Its momentum was halted, and his Wyvern dived down toward it. He carefully released himself from the saddle, one hand holding on his axe while his other held on the Wyvern's reins, timing his next move carefully.

When the two beasts were almost level with each other, he leapt off his mount, axe raised high, shouting a battle cry as he descended on the White Beast. It tried to dodge, but Byleth had timed his attack perfectly.

The axe buried itself deep in the flesh of the creature's forehead, adjacent to the cracked fragment of a Crest Stone that gave it its power. Its jaws snapped at him, but he pivoted on the axe, the only thing keeping him connected to the creature. He flipped over to lie on the back of its head, grabbing under its scales with one hand, all while the creature continued twisting and turning in mid-air in an attempt to throw him off its back.

When at last he was secure, he pulled hard on the axe, slimy ichor dripping off where it had been embedded. The beast gave another ungodly scream, but Byleth didn't let up. He brought his axe down, hard, the Crest of Flames manifesting as it broke its way through scales into its fleshy back with another explosive release of its lifeblood. Then, he raised his axe, and brought it down again.

And again.

And again.

He didn't know how long he hacked at the creature. He didn't even register the fact that it was tumbling from the air, crashing down into the canyon below. He didn't care that it had stopped moving, that the only thing keeping it going was gravity.

It was only when they finally impacted the rocks below that Byleth moved. He was thrown hard off from the beast, tumbling several times as the axe was forced out of his grip, barely finding purchase against the rocks before he would have been sent into a sharp descent off the cliff. He breathed heavily, his hands thick with the creature's blood, as it lay unmoving.

His arms were numb. His legs were shaking. There were abrasions from where he'd scraped across the rocky ground after his landing.

They didn't matter. He looked back where he came from, searching for Seteth and Linhardt.

His heart plummeted.

Seteth was kneeling on the ground, cradling Flayn with his head buried against her form, equally unmoving as the body in his arms. Linhardt was standing respectfully some distance away, the line of his gaze transfixed on the pair. Torpidly, numbly, he made his way over to them.

Flayn couldn't be dead. She couldn't.

"Byleth," Linhardt said quietly as he approached.

"Is she –" his words died in his mouth. Linhardt nodded, his eyes hard.

Seteth still didn't move. Byleth tried casting another Physic, but the results remained unchanging. He cast another one anyway, and then again, until he was completely spent of White Magic.

"No," he breathed. Flayn remained motionless. Her body was practically unmarred, aside from a cut across her palm that stained the ground below a dark red where it lung limply from the side. Her blood still dripped, joining those of her kin from the massacre a millennium ago.

It didn't make sense. She couldn't be dead, and that wasn't just from his adamant refusal to accept the situation. It was but a cut, and he'd seen Flayn take worse injuries many times over before. She couldn't have died from something like this.

"Byleth," Seteth spoke, finally lifting his head from Flayn's body, but with eyes that were still fixed only on his fallen daughter. His voice was hollow, his eyes red, emotions fully on display as he did every time he had seen Flayn die in past lives. Tears flowed freely, dripping onto Flayn's already-damp clothes below. "She's not breathing."

No. Something still wasn't right. He had to think –

"Her heart isn't beating," Seteth continued in the same empty tone. "She's…"

The word hung in the air. It didn't need to be said. Still, Byleth refused to acknowledge the fact. His own heart didn't beat, but that hardly meant –

His heart didn't beat. Flayn's heart isn't beating.

The Agarthans used Flayn for her blood. The cut in her palm was proof of that. The White Beast, so similar to the ones transformed from Knights that bore Rhea's gift, was part of the Agarthans' machinations. It had only been for the barest of instants while he was in the air, but when he brought the silver axe down on its forehead he had caught a glimpse of the Crest Stone shard.

It bore part of the Crest of Cethleann. Flayn's Crest.

Flayn's heart.

Flayn's body was unblemished aside from the cut in her arm. Had they found a way to draw the power within her heart without physically removing it? He knew that their experiments on Lysithea and Edelgard had empowered them with Crests without physically implanting a Crest Stone within them, unlike how Byleth had obtained his own Crest of Flames.

Could it be that they could also remove a Crest?

And could he find a way to reintroduce one?

The shard that was implanted in the White Beast's forehead was cracked and chipped, an incomplete fragment of her Crest. But perhaps –

"Linhardt," he said, his voice sounding strangely hollow even to himself. The air was still, but everything around him sounded so deafening, a mix of hope and despair warring within him. "I need you to heal her."

"Byleth," he spoke slowly, as though to a child. "You've already tried that. I hate to say it, but she's –"

"Just try!" his head snapped toward him, his vision blurry. He had to try, no matter how unlikely success may be. He couldn't give up. Flayn wasn't meant to die like this. No one was meant to die like this.

"Byleth…"

"Please," Byleth almost begged, desperately hoping that it would work. "Please."

Linhardt looked at him doubtfully, but knelt on the other side of Flayn's body. Seteth didn't react as he neared, tears still falling onto her body. He raised his hands in front of him, a familiar glyph taking shape. The sigils arranged themselves into the defined matrix of Heal, there was a flash of white light, and –

The spell didn't collapse, sigils rotating rapidly from the magic that Linhardt was pouring into his spell. Seteth snapped to look at Linhardt hopefully. Please, Byleth begged. Let this work, Sothis.

The glow strengthened, and Linhardt grunted from the effort. The light intensified, and in the middle of the glyph Linhardt's crest manifested.

The Minor Crest of Cethleann.

It was almost blinding now. With a final burst of light, and a heavy gasp from Linhardt, the spell ended with a thundering crash that temporarily left Byleth blinded and deafened.

When at last his vision cleared, he gasped. Linhardt was supporting himself with his hands placed off to his side, staring at Flayn's body. Seteth was doing likewise, his eyes wide, the despair and hope he'd experienced in the last few minutes transformed into awe.

Flayn's body was glowing lightly, and just slightly to the left of the midline of her chest where her heart would be, the symbol that marked the Crest of Cethleann hovered in the air with a bright orange glow. Its brilliance remained for several more moments, and Byleth watched in wonder as it lowered itself into Flayn's body, as though branding itself into her heart.

Her body stirred, and she gasped, eyes opening faintly. Byleth felt a surge of an unfamiliar emotion as he took in the scene.

"Father?" her weak voice cut through the silence, the three spectators to the wondrous scene left speechless.

"I'm here, Flayn," Seteth weeped, cradling her body. "I'm here."

"You're crying…" her voice trailed off. "Silly…"

She didn't speak any further. Her head was nestled against Seteth's chest, her chest rising and falling slowly.

Seteth wept openly. "Thank you," he said to Linhardt, the boy now slumping over on the ground, exhausted in the wake of the miraculous feat he had just performed. "Thank you."

"I'm so tired," Linhardt yawned, staggering over to the side as he sat. "I think… I'll just take a little… nap…"

Byleth made his way closer to the pair, placing Linhardt into a slightly more comfortable position. The boy had a wide smile on his face, the same one he bore every time he made a new revelation in his pursuit of uncovering the mystery of Crests. Like Flayn, his chest rose and fell slowly, and Byleth took several more moments to confirm that he was fast asleep.

He deserved this rest. He had just done the impossible.

Byleth turned to look back at Seteth. He was caressing the back of her head lovingly, her head placed against his shoulder, looking as though he couldn't believe that Flayn was still by his side, alive and well.

He just watched the pair as Seteth continued displaying his affection for his daughter. This was what Byleth fought for all his lives. This is what he would continue fighting for. A chance for everyone to live, that all of his students and friends may have a resolution like this once the war was over. It didn't matter how many more lives it would take to achieve that, so long as each and every one got the happy ending that they so deserved.

It was a long while before Seteth finally spoke. "You know," he said, finally turning away from Flayn. His tears had dried, the despair he had felt had passed, and now he was looking at Byleth with a steely determination.

"About what?" he pretended to ask.

"I believe you know what I am referring to." His attention was now fully focused on Byleth, and Byleth knew he had much to explain about.

Far too many things didn't add up from the time that he began his mad dash toward the library. He considered lying further, but he knew that Seteth could keep a secret. Everything he did was for Flayn. Even if it came down to choosing between his loyalty to Rhea and his love for Flayn, as things had progressed back when he had sided with Edelgard in assaulting Garreg Mach, he had chosen to leave Fódlan and Rhea behind so long as it meant that he would be with Flayn. As long as the information didn't put her at risk, Seteth could probably be trusted.

Everything that happened this life had been his fault. Lonato died right after reconciliation with Ashe because of him. The Death Knight attacked Jeralt and his students in the Mausoleum because he made the choice to become a squire. The Agarthans changed their plans because he had revealed knowledge he shouldn't have and the power of Sothis that he wielded.

It had been his students and friends that righted his mistakes. Ashe had stayed his hand when he had been about to kill Lonato, saving the lives of the commonfolk he had led in his rebellion. Leonie and Alois had been the ones to bring reinforcements that drove the Death Knight away. And now, it was Linhardt's Crest that had turned around what would certainly be the death of one of his beloved students.

Byleth had tried to carry this burden alone, thinking that his students were not ready, but they had been the ones to correct every mistake he made the entire time. He didn't need to wait until the war for them to help. Each of them already possessed strength as they were. He could stand to trust in them.

He would start with Seteth.

"I do," Byleth agreed, meeting his gaze levelly with his own. "Cichol."

His eyes widened, then he snapped to look toward Linhardt. "He's asleep," Byleth assured him. "I checked."

"How?" he whispered.

How indeed? Claude had certainly shared some of his suspicions in one of his first lives, pointing out facts that seemed too far-fetched to be mere coincidences. A sibling pair bearing Major Crests of the Saints? Their birthdays coinciding precisely with the days of Saint Cichol and Saint Cethleann? The hair that so resembled Sothis and Rhea?

They had confirmed the fact for him in a much later life, of course, when he aligned with the Church against Edelgard, and later the Agarthans.

"Your birthdays," he admitted. "Your Crests. Your relationship with the Church. But there's also more."

He steeled himself, then spoke. "The dreams that I've had? I haven't told you and Rhea everything. I will reveal some of it to you, but you need to promise not to tell Rhea about any of it."

Seteth's expression became guarded. "What is it?"

"It won't harm Rhea," he reassured him. "But Rhea… she won't be able to see me objectively if she learns of this. Please, promise me."

Seteth closed his eyes momentarily, a furrow line in his brow. "You saved Flayn," he spoke.

No. I almost killed her.

"I owe you a debt for that. I will consider what you have to say," Seteth said. "But know that if anything threatens Rhea or Flayn, I will have no choice but to inform her of such."

He could accept that. He held Seteth's attention, and so Byleth continued. "The dreams I spoke about? That wasn't all. I also dream of Sothis."

"The Goddess?" he gasped. "You –"

"You mean your mother," Byleth interrupted. Seteth started, looking again toward Linhardt, and then back toward Byleth. "Yes, Seteth. I know about you, Flayn and Rhea. I know about the Four Saints. I know about Zanado, Nemesis, the Ten Elites, and what happened to the Children of the Goddess. I know about Crests. I know about Agartha."

"How?" he breathed.

"Rhea…" Byleth considered his words. "She implanted Sothis' heart in me when I was born."

"What?!" Seteth exclaimed. "Rhea did?"

"She did, and I know I'm not the first. The rest died," he continued, hiding truths among his lies. "I've had dreams since then. I've seen things, Seteth. I see Rhea fighting Nemesis, I see the slaughter at Zanado, and I've seen Sothis."

"You have seen the Goddess?"

"She's disappeared." Things would be so much easier if Sothis were still around. "But I know that a storm is coming, Seteth. The Agarthans plot their revenge, and they won't stop with just the Church. They want all of Fódlan."

Nemesis' army destroying Goneril, Gloucester and Myrddin as they advanced toward Garreg Mach. Arianrhod and Fort Merceus destroyed. Masked mages scavenging bodies amidst the chaos of war, as three armies clashed in the Gronder Fields.

"You are certain?" Seteth's eyes were alert, hanging onto his every word.

"I am," he said, nodding. "Solon and the Death Knight are part of their group. It's why I chose to become Alois' squire. I need to fight against them. Sothis gifted me her power for a reason."

He brought forth the Crest of Flames, emphasising his point. Seteth observed it closely.

"You can manifest it at will?" he asked. "You mentioned that you could not back in the infirmary."

"What do you think Rhea would do if she finds out?" Byleth rubbed his eyes tiredly. Seteth stiffened. "She wants her mother revived. I don't think I can do that. If she learns that I'm just another one of her failures, I think she would rip Sothis' heart out of my chest herself."

She had tried that, of course, back when he thought the purpose of the loop was to topple the Church alongside Edelgard when nothing else had worked. It hadn't stopped Sothis from returning him back to Remire Village immediately after.

"Rhea…" Seteth said softly, thinking hard over his words. "I know she distrusts humans, but to go to such depths…"

"Please, Seteth," Byleth implored.

For several moments, Seteth made no move to reply. He sighed tiredly. "Even though it pains me, I shall agree to keep it a secret from Rhea. You have my word, Byleth."

"Thank you," he said. He meant it. Rhea's involvement in his personal matter would make things far too complicated.

"If what you say is true, and our old enemies will once more be returning," Seteth spoke. "Then we will need to make preparations of our own."

"I've been working on training the students. They will be ready when the time comes."

"I am not just referring to the students," Seteth said. "We can mobilise our knights as well. We must inform the Empire, the Kingdom and the Alliance of it. We can -

"We can't," Byleth corrected. "They have eyes and ears everywhere, Seteth. Even I don't know who and where they are. They infiltrated the Monastery as Tomas and Jeritza. You won't know who you can and cannot trust."

"We will search for Macuil and Indech, then. Surely they would –"

"They have long abandoned their human form. The Wind Caller hates humans with a passion, and he would never cooperate with us. The Immovable may be willing to help, but I don't see a way of him being able to work together with us in his current form."

"You know of them as well?" Seteth shook his head. "What do you propose, then?"

"I need to train the students," he said. He knew just how important they would be during the war. The problem was that he couldn't alert Seteth about it, without revealing Edelgard's duplicity. Even if he did, Hubert, Randolph and the rest of her underlings and allies would carry on her work in her stead.

"Is there nothing else we can do?"

"Be ready for anything," he advised. Too many changes had already occurred in this life. The Agarthans had shown they were more than able to adapt their plans. It had already almost cost Flayn her life. "They will want to attack Garreg Mach. Be prepared for that."

"We will be," Seteth vowed.

Was there more information he should reveal? Not about time-travelling, certainly, never mind a time loop. He couldn't talk about the upcoming war that would embroil Fódlan. What could Seteth help with?

"Who else knows?" Seteth spoke, breaking him out of his contemplation.

"My father knows a little of it. I haven't told him all of what I've revealed to you. I'm considering it, but –"

"You should," Seteth interrupted, looking at him imploringly. Byleth looked at him curiously, and he chuckled.

"Have you not yet realised it, Byleth? Jeralt loves you, in much the same way I do my daughter." He looked fondly at her, still slumbering deeply across his chest. "If you ask something of him, he will do it without question. Of that I have no doubt. Do not make the mistake of carrying your burden alone."

Byleth couldn't quite comprehend that, but then again, he was no father. Perhaps he could tell him about the Agarthans as well. Jeralt might be important in defending the Monastery when the time came, after all. Still, there was so much that he wouldn't reveal to anyone, and not just because they wouldn't believe any of it. No one needed to know about just what he had experienced in the entire time that he'd been in the time loop. This was his burden.

"I will consider it," he said. Seteth studied him for a moment longer, then nodded.

"Byleth," Seteth spoke after a moment of hesitation, breaking him out of his contemplation. "I have not thanked you enough for saving Flayn."

He didn't deserve it, the same way he didn't deserve his student's thanks. Flayn's kidnapping with more dire consequences than there should have been was entirely his fault, beginning all the way back when he made his initial decision to work with Alois.

The chain of events stemming from that single decision had led to things spiralling out of his control, and now Byleth truly had no lead to follow. Cornelia, Solon and Jeritza had disappeared, and Arundel would no doubt soon follow. All he could do was work with the students.

"I must confess that I had thought you to be withholding information from me, but you have spoken candidly with me. I ask that you forgive me," Seteth said honestly. He shouldn't have to ask for it. There was still so much that Byleth hadn't told anyone. "If there is anything I can do that would be of use, please do not hesitate to ask. I owe you a debt I cannot possibly repay."

Byleth shook his head. Seteth just didn't fully understand the circumstances. Byleth should be the one apologising. He didn't even know that his attempt would have succeeded. He didn't even know what would happen in the aftermath of this.

What he knew was that the Agarthans had a way to remove the power of Crests, at least from a Child of the Goddess, without physically removing a heart. He also knew that Linhardt had been able to utilise the power of his own Crest that had been passed down through Cethleann herself in order to restore some of her power. Whether it would now be a Minor Crest like Linhardt's own, or a Major Crest as she used to have, was still unclear.

But there, too, lay opportunity. If their enemy's power was based on technology and stolen Crests and Relics, then Byleth would have to make sure that his side understood what they were up against. He might also have the chance to help one of his dearest friends with the problem that had plagued her for most of her life.

"I have a proposition," he said slowly. Seteth regarded him seriously. "I would like Linhardt and myself to work with you and Flayn, now that he knows some of your secrets. Hanneman too, if you are willing to speak to him about some of your origins."

"You wish to study our Crests?"

"The Agarthans' greatest advantage is knowing how they to make use of Crests, both directly from Crest Stones and indirectly through blood. They created that White Beast from Flayn's blood and the power of her Crest," Byleth reasoned. "I'm going to tell you this in confidence, and I trust that you will not repeat this to anyone. Their blood experiments are responsible for Lysithea's two Crests."

"Impossible," Seteth whispered.

"They are. I believe that Crests are interfering with her magic," he confirmed. "I intend to help her, but I don't know where to start. We've just seen Flayn have her Crest taken from her, and Linhardt restore it. I don't know what will happen to her Crest after this. If we understand how all of this works, we may know how to use the Agarthans' greatest advantage against themselves."

Seteth considered his request carefully. After a long pause, he spoke. "This will not bring Flayn to harm?"

"I would not ask if it did."

"Very well, then." Seteth nodded. "I agree to your request."

"Thank you." He felt a surge of relief course through him. "Really. It means a lot to me."

This was probably more progress in researching the nature of Crests than he, Linhardt and Hanneman had managed in past lives. Most of the time, they worked individually, without direction or purpose, but now they had multiple avenues to follow. They could study Crests from their very source, observe Flayn's Crest for any changes following her miraculous revival, and work with Lysithea and her Crests' interference with her ability to control Black Magic.

"You and Linhardt saved Flayn," Seteth said simply. "I cannot repay you enough for that."

Speaking of Linhardt…

"Linhardt heard Flayn call you 'father', you know."

Seteth sighed. "I will handle it. It is best that he learns a little of the truth, if he will be working with us to study our Crests. You believe he can be trusted?"

Byleth nodded. Linhardt may appear lazy and unmotivated, but Crests were above all his primary interest. He knew how he had kept Lysithea's and Marianne's secrets to himself after uncovering them in past lives. He knew how dependable he could be with lives on the line, having fought to the end at Fort Merceus many times over. "I do."

"Very well," Seteth concluded. He looked at Flayn once more, before slowly standing up, carrying her sleeping form in his hands. "We should return to the Monastery."

Byleth carefully supported Linhardt as he snored, placing him on top of the Wyvern they had ridden. He made sure that he was well secured, lying him across his lap for good measure. He turned to look at Seteth, and saw that he had done similarly with Flayn.

Together, two Wyverns flew back toward the Monastery. Despite all that had happened since his failed assassination of Cornelia, and the repeated setbacks he had faced, he felt the weight over his shoulders lighten just a little. Perhaps Seteth had some wisdom there.

Maybe he could afford to trust a little more in his students, and to entrust a few more secrets to Jeralt. For all he had done in this life, it was always his students that had salvaged the mess he made. All they needed was more training. He had already started with Ashe.


Hoping to go into a new arc soon, for Byleth to have some decompression time, and to focus a little bit more on his relationship with the students to build toward the time-skip. Next few chapters will probably tone down a little, without Byleth messing things up every five paragraphs. Will attempt to build up toward the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, and see just how Byleth's new approach as a neutral party may change things.

That's the plan, at least. I may run out of BS to write about way before then.