A/N: Triggering content present in this chapter. After the childhood segment and into Byleth's first kill, there is descriptive writing of corpses and how she does her kills. Please read at your own risk. You may continue to read starting "Byleth we're done" to the end if you are uneasy with reading descriptive gore.

Tldr summary; Byleth represses her grief, heartache and emotional agony for years. Due to being unable to understand and cope with such emotions, they come out in the worst way. She dissociates during battle and earns her title. Byleth with her blankface + internal emotional turmoil is my biggest guilty thing that I adore.

From the flavors of tea to the scent of flowers, days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months. Seasons change from luscious green to the hues of orange and reds, much like the colors of the sunset, and very much like the reds of the Adrestian Empire. Byleth finds herself engrossed almost beyond salvation, the feeling of companionship was medicine all on its own. She remembers telling her father the stories of what she had done that day-from hearing stories about Edelgard's older siblings, stories about Hubert, stories about her parents such as how they fell in love upon first sight. It was as if the ashen-colored world finally emitted a light of salvation, a light filled with color and tenderness.

She remembers the day where Edelgard had commented that she should get her coat tailored to fit her size-it's a hassle and dangerous for her to be dragging such a heavy coat upon her shoulders when in battle. Any hindrance in battles will cost her life, and such a fact has allowed Byleth to come up with an impulsive decision.

Cutting at the underarms of the sleeves of her coat.

Byleth remembers Edelgard's bafflement and Hubert's judgemental words and gaze. " How dumb", she remembers Hubert muttering under his breath, shaking his head as she places herself within the gray coat, arms slipping through perfectly. "It can't hinder me if my arms are out now," she remembers saying to Hubert in response, clearly exhibiting childish pride in her quick solution.

She remembers the way Edelgard laughs, innocent, feminine and certainly filled with amusement and joy. Despite the way she had felt her cheeks color with the stain of red , she found her laughter all worth the while. Byleth remembers feeling embarrassment for the first time in her life. It was uncomfortable, but that was part of life was it not? To feel every ounce of emotions ranging from anger, joy, sorrow, frustration and even pain, to live was to experience everything that life threw.

Life after all, favored no one. It simply existed just because.

Though life itself never said it was going to be fair. Fairness and justice, all subjective upon the beholder of perceptions. Byleth felt the agony of life's cruelty on the day Edelgard failed to fulfill her words of promise- to meet Byleth on that day to give her something.

Byleth had felt that perhaps Edelgard was busy on that day and did not have the opportunity to tell her otherwise. She never suspects Hubert to leave the imperial princess's side-it was his life's duty after all; protecting Edelgard was his constant mission. She continues to wait, watching the birds soar across the sky, watching the small mammals skitter through the grass at the park that they constantly met at. The flowers maintained their stance despite the change of seasons; such durable things… Byleth ponders to herself.

Edelgard never arrives that day.

Byleth tries again the next day. She waits with the same patience that Edelgard has portrayed for her-she was late a view times due to some duties she had before rushing to meet with the imperial duo. She waits, and waits...and waits. The pain in her unbeating heart continues to ache- it begins to electrify the worry in her mind. Yet, Byleth continues to believe that Edelgard was simply held back due to her duties. Edelgard is a princess after all, she doesn't expect the princess to always have the time for her.

Edelgard never arrives that day.

Again. The next day, Byleth awaits at the park, feeling the wind blow against her body, her hair sways with the direction of the air-as if being dragged away with it. Her hands formed fists, her brows scrunch up. I'm worried. Byleth speaks to herself with her own mind.

Edelgard never arrives that day. Byleth leaves early.

Thunder looms and rain pours. The skies dull with the colors of nightmares, gray, black and utterly devoid of color. Her coat is the only barrier that protects her from the merciless rain, her teal-hued locks of hair drenched and dripping droplets of the chilly rain. She does not wait for long, knowing that she feels tears prick at the corner of her eyes, her body shivers from the temperature drop in her body. She leaves and goes back home, having Jeralt scold her on her reckless behavior. Scolding her that if she were to be sick that it would worry him endlessly and that she would be in bed all day. Byleth doesn't mind the discipline-she deserves it for staying out for too long after all.

Yet, the pain in her heart does not cease.

Edelgard still doesn't arrive.

Maybe she's sick... Byleth would think to herself one night. Or maybe she has some studying to do. Another thought. Maybe she had...to go away somewhere.

All these logical, reasonable, rational thoughts. Yet, somewhere deep down, a sense of betrayal was felt. Byleth lifts her own hand, sky-hued irises stare at the palm, the same palm that held Edelgard's hand that one day when she made her promise. "I made...a promise with you…" she weakly mumbles under her breath, "yet...I knew this day would come. It...doesn't hurt any less."

It hurt. "I couldn't even say goodbye to you, Edelgard."

She tries one last time. Hope. Hope that Edelgard was there to explain why she had been gone for so long. Hope that she could see her again. To hear her laugh, to see her smile. To hold her hand. All these innocent thoughts all compiled into a pile of raw hope. Byleth feels foolish despite knowing that this was inevitable fate and that she should have heeded her father's words more attentively. It would have saved her from the heartache that she is experiencing.

She doesn't see Edelgard nor Hubert within sight. The field of flowers littering the park is all that her eyes can bear witness to. It feels dull without Edelgard and Hubert in her life, but she cannot help but maintain the neutral, blank-faced expression she had always carried. There was no purpose for her to smile, frown or even express emotions when all of the emotions she felt were within her heart in constant turmoil.

Nostalgia forces Byleth to walk into the park, into the field of flowers where she spent many tender moments with the imperial princess. The mercenary remembers the day where she had watched Edelgard make a crown of flowers, placing them onto her head. She remembers her own digits attempting the delicate procedure, only to make a crown that fell apart after a few moments on Edelgard's light brown locks of hair. She remembers the smile, the laughter that she gave towards the finished project. Byleth remembers Edelgard giving her gratitude for the attempt-it validates the thought put into the craft at the very least.

She remembers the other day where they sat under the tree together, sweets in their hands as they shared the delicacies with each other. Describing the savoriness and sweetness of the baked goods. It was sweet on Byleth's tongue-she remembers, but it wasn't as sweet as when Edelgard describes it. It will never be as sweet then the smile and friendship she shared. I miss her. Byleth concludes with her thoughts, walking past the tree that held many of her memories. I miss her… she continues to think bitterly, walking into the flowers where they shared moments making flower crowns.

I miss her-

A sudden weak cry was heard, shaking the teal-haired mercenary out of her bittersweet thoughts. She continues to walk closer to the source of the noise, boots treading carefully into the field of flowers she grew accustomed to. Sky-hued irises peer at the flowers, noticing a weak eagle laying down, crushing some of the red carnations and white lilies. She notices that it was the exact same spot where she had ran into Edelgard the second time, the time where she had told the imperial princess that red carnations were beautiful and that they suited her.

Byleth paints a straight line with her lips, jaw clenched and pupils honed and focused onto the weakened and dying bird. She crouches, keeping her distance, but observes the way the eagle heaves heavily, chest rising and falling, wings tattered and torn. She knows better than to touch a dying animal-it would carry too much of a risk and she knows Jeralt would never let her leave for the longest time if she were to contract some fatal disease from touching animals. The moment the bird perks its head up, and its eyes made contact with hers, Byleth feels a sense of sympathy. Caring for injured and dying animals was not within her specialties. She was far more accustomed in hunting and killing for survival. Tending basic injuries with bandages was another skill she possessed, but it would not be enough to save a dying, sick animal that she found in the wild.

Life is fragile, isn't it?

She continues to watch, and watch, until the eagle's breathing ceases and it remains frozen in time on the field of flowers. A sick knot forms within her stomach, and Byleth forces herself up from her crouching position, feeling the ache burn up from her feet to her thighs. She gives the dead eagle one last glance before she returns back home.

She gives up trying to meet with Edelgard.

Memories continue to burn in her mind as the months turn to years. Her physique grows, her strength improves, her agility swift, her mind sharper than her youth. She drowns her repressed aches and sorrows into the back of her mind as days continue to pass. She remembers when Jeralt had said that it was time to leave the empire. Their next assignment was at the Alliance. Byleth remembers nodding, not saying much after. She avoids answering questions when it regarded Edelgard. She avoids answering questions about her feelings and thoughts about friends. Byleth simply gave vague answers that barely satisfied her father's curiosity.

Byleth simply didn't want to tear open the closed wounds she attempted to sew back in her heart. It hurt too much to even think about Edelgard and how she simply stopped coming one day. She wanted answers, but knew she would never know them and it was best to forget, to focus on her growth as a mercenary. Friendship is temporary; Jeralt would always emphasize this.

The mercenary continued to repress her emotions, the aches and pains she felt on that day. She was an idiot, but it was life after all. To live was to experience everything, even if it hurts, but it didn't mean that she had to like the pain that came from letting herself be vulnerable. She continues to grip the pain in her own two hands, strangling, squeezing the life out of it- a desperate way to end her own pain.

It works, at least for a short amount of time. She doesn't feel much for quite some time.

Blood splatters across the front of her body, the iron drips with the crimson liquid, staining the darkened grass underneath. Byleth stares at the fallen body, her hand shaking, causing the sword along with her grip to tremble. My first kill.

The mercenary is unsure how to feel. Lost? Angry? Sad? She finds herself completely devoid of any feeling. Jeralt's words reverberate in her mind; - Maybe you'll feel guilty, angry...lost even. I want you to know that your first kill will hurt you the most in subtle ways. Each person has their own way of feeling when it comes to their first kill. Know that your way when the time comes is just as significant.

Perhaps it was her way of coping with dealing with murder-

"-...I'm...sorry." Byleth hears the man she had sliced mutter, his voice rasps, "g-guess...I won't be...going...home...sister…"

Her blood freezes upon hearing the final words of a dying person. I...I just killed someone who had...family. Her body trembles again, and a heated sensation bubbles against her chest, her stomach, head buzzing with adrenaline. Jaw clenched, fist gripped onto the hilt of her blade, her knuckles begin to become devoid of color and turn into a pale hue. Anger...I...I'm angry. Byleth can identify the feeling of anger-having to have felt it before in vague matters.

How unfair. She would bitterly contemplate to herself, before hearing another loud set of footsteps and a shrill yell before she twists her body, allowing the iron blade to cut through fabric in skin, spraying blood against her and the ground once again.

Thud.

Another body down for the count. Two kills on her first mission on the battlefield. How unsightly.

Kill them. Your pain is your strength. Your anger is your guidance.

Jaw clenched again, Byleth heaves in a breath, feeling the heated sensation gnaw at her entire body...as if a phantom had possessed her current state of affairs. She ignores the voice in her head (her own voice), and continues to rush at the bandits charging her way, cutting them down one by one.

That's it. More. Kill them all. It's how you will survive in this world.

Shut up. Byleth tells herself, talking back at the inner thought communicating with her. I never wanted to take away someone's family.

Our father taught you the reality of this world. Or have you forgotten because you were abandoned by someone you held dear?

Shut up!

A choked gag is heard, another thud crashes against the ground. Byleth heaves, her eyes pinned on the battlefield-she feels like a predator , hunting all of these bandits that dared trouble the poor town that her group was hired for. The sword in her grasp is knocked out, a fresh wound appears on her forearm. She lets out a small cry of agony, feeling the heat rush and sensation rush to her spine and up into her mind. Pain is your strength. Anger is your guidance. You're overjoyed aren't you? Being able to use your pain as a weapon. To finally release the years of agony you held for years!

Byleth ignores the voice in her head, and clenches her fist to use it as a weapon, punching the bandit in his gut, toppling over him before she uses her free arm to strangle him, the other hand aggressively punching the man in the face. Over, and over, and over again. She knows her expression is neutral, unbearing any savagery of a wild animal. She refuses. The battlefield was not the place to show weakness . Emotions are weaknesses.

Begs from the victim are dull in her eardrums, she hears the crack of bone, and the sound of flesh being pounded by her fist over and over, blood stains her arm, her body, her face, yet she does not care. She hears the bones crack further, finds that once she was finished that his face was caved in, bones piercing at the cornea of the dead man's eyes, his nose crushed and concave from the outward pressure. His face was indistinguishable, and she simply did not care. It was her job as a mercenary to do what she was paid to do. To kill. To hunt those who have wronged others, even though the world was not as black and white.

"Get away from her! She's a demon!" Byleth hears a man scream, running away from her. She picks her fallen sword, chasing after the small group of bandits that were fleeing.

She notes the slower of the men, immediately charging, using all of her strength in her legs to push forward before she leaps, digging her blade into the back of the neck of her victim. The blade slices downwards, opening the back of the victim's back, exposing tendons, his spinal cord and the muscles that oozed out fresh blood onto the ground. She stabs at the back of his neck again, an extra precaution to ensure the man was dead and will not suffer the aftermath of what she did.

"Byleth, we're done."

Jeralt approaches his daughter carefully, noting the body language and current state of her. He places a gentle hand on her shoulder, rubbing it softly to shake her out of the trance he notices she's in. "Hey, how are you holding up?" he inquires, concern drips from the tip of his tongue.

Inhaling the air and smelling the fresh smell of blood causes the heated adrenaline to convert to sickness into her stomach. It wasn't a pleasant smell, but it was reality being on the battlefield. "I'm holding up well. Feel nauseated...but overall, well." she'd reply shortly after, allowing herself to ride out the rest of the sudden new sensations pooling into her body.

She hears Jeralt grunt and hum to himself and she faces her father with her expression neutral, eyes devoid of any emotion. It was rough, he understands that very much. Being on the battlefield for the first time...no doubt he suspects that his only child was going through stress shock. He knows that his daughter seldom emotes and expresses her feelings, but he is aware she expresses it in different ways. Her habits and behavior speak of the world; sometimes words weren't needed-a good father knows how to read his own flesh and blood, even if the child was a bit strange.

"It takes time to adjust," he replies, careful with his words, "the rest of the herd had ran off. Good work today on the battlefield, kid. You deserve to rest for a while...to cope and let the emotions of your first kill ride out."

Byleth doesn't reply, but she looks up into her father's chocolate-hued eyes. "I can tell you're shaken up. Train if you're able to, but don't push it. Take the time you need. You're still young...and I don't want you being reckless out there." she hears Jeralt speak again, and this time she nods, allowing some closure that she had heard his words.

Phantoms of the past begin to haunt her in her rest, the void is filled with the merciless cries of the victims she slayed. "You killed my brother! I won't forgive you!" she'd hear a girl scream at her, and her eyes fixate on the body of the man she murdered, apologizing for being unable to see his beloved sister again.

"You're a demon!" She hears the chorus of voices come at towards her.

For every kill she's done, she could hear the past haunt her, accusing her of crimes just for existing-for doing a job she was paid for. Byleth allows her dreams to haunt her. She's deserved it after all. A mercenary isn't a knight; chivalry doesn't exist in the life of a mercenary. However, the now older mercenary is aware that she certainly believes that life wasn't fair. The innocent are slain, the corrupt get away with everything. She wonders where she's placed in terms of morality, but she doesn't want to think too deeply on it.

A phantom continues to haunt her-to become her shadow. Nothing Byleth did would make this wretched being leave her in peace. This very phantom gave her pain, and she forgets where and why it appeared.

Your name…Byleth hears that inner voice speak again, but she cannot help but to look downwards in her own dream. The Ashen Demon. How suiting for someone not very human.

In a sense, her inner words, her inner phantom was right. She wasn't very human, was she? Not after what she had felt and forgotten. Especially not after what she had done in this present life.