cw: graphic violence and themes of death


"And here I thought we'd arrive in time to help."

"I'm just glad you flew the Faerghan flag, else I'd have tried to sink you."

To think a day would come where he, Felix, would hear Marianne von Edmund say something like that.

He gave her a hug and she yipped in surprise, still the same woman at heart. He smirked. "Well, I might be late to the show, but I brought friends."

"Marianne! Raphael!" shouted Leonie, running to her friends, wrapping them in hugs. Raphael damn near picked her up and spun her around.

Felix turned away, watching his volunteers step off the boat. They'd docked in a graveyard of ships, apparently of Marianne's making. Guess we've all changed, Felix thought to himself. Ashe, Ingrid, and even Balthus, waited for his orders with the rest.

"Marianne," Felix said, turning from his army. "What's the situation here?"

The woman managed to detach herself from Leonie. "Right. We've taken the garrison here, and are making preparations to punch through into the city proper. We were regrouping when we saw your ship."

Felix nodded. "You have us at your disposal. Where would you like us?"

"I—I'm sorry?" she said, confused.

"We're here to fight for the same goal as you are. Since I'm unfamiliar with whatever plan is in action, I'm putting us at your disposal," Felix said, matter-of-fact. "Is that a problem?"

Marianne fumbled with her worlds. "No! Not at all. It is just unexpected of you."

"Of me?" Felix said, tilting his head back with amusement. "Seems just as strange as Marianne leading an army."

It made her smile and she giggled. "Right, then here's what we'll do…"


His ancestor, Claude thought, was too talented for his own good.

The fourth consecutive arrow flew past Tishtar, scratching her scales. Unharmed, but far closer than either were comfortable with. Failnaught was in his hands, but he hardly had a chance to aim. Not even he was good enough to blindly fire accurately while midair. Riegan drew another arrow, firing from his vantage on one of the building's roofs.

Tishtar swooped low, a fifth arrow missing. She roared, sharing his anger at this human who would dare infringe on her majesty. She was a queen of the skies, and this was treason.

"I trust you, girl," Claude yelled, knocking an arrow with Failnaught. "Get me as close as you can!"

Though he doubted she understood the words, she knew the intent. She roared again, giving her wings a mighty flap and sailing back into the sky far above the city. Tishtar would dive at him. Risky.

But of course it was. He'd raised her himself.

An arrow clipped his shoulder, tearing through fabric. Unwounded, but shaken, Claude held onto Tishtar as they went higher, higher.

They turned in the sky, Tishtar folding her wings in to descend. Wind wicked past his cheeks as he drew Failnaught. It glowed red, salivating at the kill.

Riegan calmly watched them approach, drawing his next arrow. Claude's eyes widened as he shifted his aim to her wings. He wouldn't kill them, but gravity would. Claude's heart leapt into his throat as he began to yell warning.

Flame splashed against Riegan's back, doing little more than distract him. The shot went wide into the air.

Tishtar braced herself to land as time slowed for Claude. He pointed Failnaught out and stared Riegan in the eyes. They passed like man and meteor. Claude fired the arrow, and it struck Riegan directly in the forehead. The body fell, dead.

They landed with something between majesty and a crash, but they were alive. Tishtar roared approval through the street.

Claude looked to his savior to see Lysithea slowly lowering her hand. They watched each other for a moment, as if battle didn't rage around them.

"Leonie told me everything," he called out to her. "Go, do what you need to."

She smiled, hesitantly, before turning back towards the castle. Claude returned to the fray, hoping his decision was the right one.


"How the hell do you do this each time?" Hilda groaned in Anna's tent. "Sitting back while everyone does the fighting?"

Seteth offered only an amused smirk. "When you get as old as I am, you begin to relish rest when you have it."

"Bullshit!" Hilda called. "Don't think I didn't see you at Garreg Mach, all fire and brimstone as you faced down Edelgard."

Anna crossed her arms, smirking. "Oh? I don't think I've heard this one."

Her man sheepishly looked away. "It's nothing, just something foolish I did."

"Those are the best stories," Anna prodded.

"Don't worry, I'll tell you," Hilda said. "I was on the walls at the time and saw it. Seteth landed his huge wyvern down and held his spear like a damn column of light and said—"

"Did you hear that?" Seteth interrupted, no longer smiling.

"You can't get out of this," Hilda huffed.

"No, shush. Listen," he bade, standing. Anna concentrated, doing as he said.

Footsteps.

Slowly, she drew the Sword and Shield of Seiros. Seteth gave her a look of fear and she nodded to him. Assassins.

The holy weapons glowed softly as she interposed herself between the other two and the tent's flap. Hilda grabbed Seteth and weakly pulled him back. They'd planned for this, expected it.

But that did not make it welcome. Anna roared and pushed through the entrance, colliding with a body. A man dressed in black stumbled back at the force of the strike.

"Damn, Seteth, you've still got it," Hilda muttered loudly.

"Spend as long as I have fighting, and you don't ever relax," Seteth replied. "Anna, look out!"

She rose the blade in time to deflect another woman's attack. Six figures arrayed themselves around the tent. Bodies lay further into the camp, noncombatants that had gotten in their way.

Anna's eyes flicked to each of the intruders, breathing rapidly. She wasn't a fighter, she was a merchant. Talented, but no savant. Spinning the Sword of Seiros in her hand, she put her weight behind the shield. Six people. One at a time, Anna, just take them one at a time.

The one she'd knocked down stood, immediately swinging his blade at her. The wavy blade blocked it in time, as the woman approached with her sword ready. Anna managed to raise her shield to block it. She lashed out with the sword, clipping the man's arm as he slid away. But no sooner had he retreated than another filled the gap.

She tried to swing at him, but lowered the shield too much. The woman slipped in her guard and scored a strike to her thigh. Anna cried out, stumbling back and giving ground to the other man. Slowly, the other four vultures approached, sensing her weakness.

Arms were around her, strong ones. Not an enemy's: Hilda's. Her fingers slid into Anna's hands and forced the Sword and Shield from her.

The assassins drifted back, letting the situation play out. They were careful, not reckless. It didn't bode well.

"Stay by him," Hilda said, holding both of the weapons.

"Hilda, you're in no shape to fight!" Anna said, trying to grab the sword back. Hilda pushed her away.

"Can't stop fighting, not ever," she said, never looking away from the assassins. "No matter what rises, you fight it. That's what she taught me."

She raised unfamiliar weapons up. Her hands trembled, weaker than ever, and she stood strong.


The beast surged at Constance with a roar as Ferdinand leapt in front of her, swinging Assal like a club, and diverted the strike. Any other spear would have snapped, but Seteth's holy weapon did not crumble.

"Go!" Ferdinand yelled. "Get her, we'll be fine here!"

"Keep my mother safe!" Murphy called out.

Constance nodded, glaring at Cornelia, who now stood. She grinned, waving a hand. "Come, then. Hapi's dying to see you." She vanished into a warp spell, as a door to the right of the throne opened.

"Stay safe," Constance murmured before running to the open door. Cleo followed her.

"This is reckless," Cleo muttered.

"I know," Constance admitted. "We do stupid things for love." She passed through the door into a long hallway, a light at the end. "Cleo, you should wait where it's safe. You can't fight."

"No, but I can heal," Cleo said. "Let me help you fix my mistake."

Sparing her a brief smile, Constance forged on. The sisters ran through the dark hallways, to the room at the end.

Inside, a spacious room. A ballroom, fitted with chandeliers, brilliant stained glass, and the most lavish grand piano Constance had ever seen. Aegir reds of every shade colored the room, as if stained in blood.

In the center of the room, a table where Hapi lay unconscious.

"Just look how peaceful she looks," Cornelia called, sitting at the piano's bench. "And you would ruin that?" Hapi did not look peaceful; her face was contorted in fear.

Constance made a choice she hated. "Cleo, help Hapi. Leave her to me."

Cleo, eyes wide, nodded. As Constance stalked forward, her sister ran to Hapi's side and lifted her before retreating to the side of the ballroom. With a swish of her hand, the table was thrown aside by a gust of wind, leaving nothing between her and Cornelia.

The witch shook her head. "Naughty children. At least you'll give me the pleasure of handling things myself." She stood, several balls of fire floating beside her.

Constance's hair blew in the wind as her own tempest of magic encompassed her. She flung her hands forward, sending the first blast at Cornelia.

The woman waved a hand, deflecting the attack with ease. It hit the stained glass behind her, shattering the beautiful artwork in its entirety. Through the massive empty panes, a sunset watched them, bathing the room in ambers and golds.

Constance grit her teeth, and began her assault.


You are the vessel to my MOTHER—

Byleth fought two battles, one against imperials and one against Rhea. The woman was a swirling reservoir of emotion, driven by grief. After a thousand years without the mother she cared for, Rhea—no, Seiros, had finally cracked. Where Rhea had been a woman set on her goal, Seiros was a force of nature. A warlord bent on conquest, and Byleth was her target.

Fraldarius was on the defensive, each blow from the Sword of the Creator bashing against her shield as Seiros both screamed with joy at triumph over the Elite and roared in fury at Byleth.

In a way, Byleth pitied her. She'd been like that too, trapped in the past. But pity wouldn't stop her from fighting.

Fraldarius tried to sneak an attack between Byleth's strikes, but she shifted the blade's form and punished the Deadlord with a whip across her chest. Dozens of cuts opened up across her chest, consequence of fighting nimbly without enough armor. The woman didn't scream, but she reared back.

Yes yes yes YES YES—

Byleth acted without thinking as her stroke finished. Instead of winding back for another, her free hand shot forward towards the Deadlord. She skewered her through the chest, claws on her hands burying deep into the heart of the woman.

Fraldarius stumbled and fell, dead anew. Byleth's claws had shredded out of the glove she'd hid them in, covered in the black blood of the Deadlord. She stared at it, horrified.

Byleth—

"Byleth!"

She turned numbly to see Flayn rush to her. White magic washed over her, bruises and lacerations receding. As she approached, she stopped, looking at Byleth's hand.

"Byleth?" Flayn asked in a small voice, staring at her hand with uncomfortable familiarity in her eyes. "Are you okay?"

(...)

"Are you okay?"

It was Cichol. Perhaps the image of me kneeling at this monster's corpse wasn't one of confidence. Nemesis' soldiers were faltering, each of his generals slowly being swept up. But I did not look at them. No, I had eyes only for the murderer of my mother.

"I have avenged her," I whispered, staring at the body as if it would disappear were I to not watch it. "I did it, Cichol."

"Seiros," he whispered, kneeling beside me. "This isn't like you—"

"Are you not glad that the Red Canyon has been avenged?" I shrieked at him. He recoiled. "Are you not pleased to know our family's murderers are being put to the sword?"

"At the cost of you?" Cichol snapped, resolve finally waking in him. "At the cost of someone I care about losing herself?"

This time I was the one who recoiled. "Cichol—"

"I lost the same people you did," he growled. Standing, he turned away. "I don't want to lose you too." Cichol walked away, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

(...)

"Lord Jormungandr," I greeted, smiling a fake smile. Though victory had come, Cichol's words weighed heavy on my mind. Still, the burgeoning Adrestian Empire needed addressing.

The man smiled handsomely, bowing. "Congratulations on your victory, Lady Seiros. The stories I'm hearing already tell me of a clash to rival all others in history."

"You flatter me, my lord," I said, shaking my head. Technically, he outranked me.

"Please, call me Myson," he said. "My brother has told me much about you."

"And he, you," I said. "Forgive me for my impudence, but is there something you need? I've just come from the field of battle, and rest is welcome."

Myson shook his head. "Nothing so urgent. I wish to speak of the Chalice you have entrusted my brother. But you herald in victory, and we've all the time in the world. Rest, we may speak later."

He left, and I watched him. He was one to watch out for.

(...)

"I do not trust your brother," I growled.

Aubin nodded. "He is planning something. First his rapid ascension to lordship, now asking after the Chalice? I admit, I am wary."

"Go to Enbarr," I said. "Keep watch of things there, and help out the royal family. If Myson makes a play for power, stop him."

"As you command, my lady. What of the other apostles?" he asked.

"There is much work to do. We've a narrative to rewrite." I sighed and embraced him. "Leave that to me and the rest of us."

"I shall."


There were no guards in the castle. In fact, the entire place seemed deserted. Yuri and Bernadetta stopped sneaking minutes ago, now just strolling the halls.

"This means something, doesn't it?" Bernadetta asked, terror sneaking into her voice.

"It means the Emperor didn't want guards around for some reason," Yuri muttered as they walked the halls. "That something's going on in here. And it aggravates me that I do not know what."

Bernadetta grabbed their hand, giving it a squeeze. "Don't worry, I'm here." Yuri smiled at her, and then turned a corner.

And came face to face with the Emperor of Adrestia.

Yuri's sword was at her neck in a second, Bernadetta narrowly behind with drawing an arrow. Edelgard flinched as steel brushed against her neck.

"Assassins for me?" she guessed. Yuri glanced at her hands. No weapons, but he didn't lower his guard.

"For Myson, but I won't say no to an opportunity walking into my lap," Yuri growled. But the blade didn't cut, not yet.

Edelgard's eyes widened. "Myson's in the throne room."

Yuri blinked and spoke without thinking, "Why?" It made no sense for him to be there.

"Because I told him to be there," Edelgard said, eyes glittering with a plan. It was a look Yuri knew well. "So that I could kill him."

Yuri stilled. "You lie."

"You're the Mockingbird, aren't you?" Edelgard asked. "You know that there's been friction between my allies and I. Bernadetta can back that up."

Bernadetta was shaking, her arrow pointed at Edelgard but altogether useless. Yuri did not falter. "You can't expect me to believe you."

"One way or another, my path ends today," Edelgard said. "Be it by your hand or another matters not. But if you mean to stop me from killing Myson, then we'll have no choice but to fight." Her hands were tensed. Though she was unarmed, Edelgard clearly had a plan.

"Yuri," Bernadetta said. "I believe her."

Yuri didn't move.

Bernadetta continued, "Edelgard was always kind to me. She's telling the truth."

It was Edelgard that responded. "Bernadetta…"

The two women locked eyes. "You've done a lot of wrong," Bernadetta said, finding rare resolve. "But I don't think you'd kill me."

"You're right," Edelgard whispered. She was crying.

"Dammit," Yuri muttered, lowering the sword. "If you make any move against us, I won't hesitate to bury the blade in your back."

"You won't regret this," Edelgard whispered, wiping tears away.

"I better not," Yuri said.


Hapi opened her eyes to cacophony and agony, her gaze landing on Cleo. Her hand was pressed against her forehead, oozing White magic.

"No time for pleasantries," Cleo said, before Hapi could say anything. "I don't know what the woman did to you, but it's well beyond my ability. Waking you up was superficial, I haven't corrected the underlying problem. Can you tell me anything that happened to you, something that might tell me how to fix this?"

"Too fast, Clee," Hapi muttered, reflexively grabbing her head in pain.

That actually broke Cleo out of her concentration. "Is that a nickname? Cleo's already my nickname—" Hapi tuned her out and looked to the center of the room where all the noise came from.

Constance was a rock in a river of fire. She held a hand out, gusts of wind parting the inferno around her that Cornelia hurled her way. With each wave in the sea of flame, Constance flinched harder.

"Coco," Hapi mumbled, sitting up.

"Hey!" Cleo said, trying to press her back down. "You shouldn't move in this state!"

"Good thing I've got good motivation to," Hapi growled, pushing Cleo off. She stood, shakily, eyes still on her beloved.

"Hapi!" Cleo called.

I'm coming, Coco.

Flame covered the entire floor of the ballroom save for where Constance shielded herself. The woman had sunk to her knees, still holding her position.

Cornelia laughed at the reality both knew. Constance was on her last legs.

Deep within Hapi, anger bubbled up. It was raw fury at seeing the woman who had inflicted so much hurt upon her Constance.

It numbed the pain, at first, as Hapi walked into the flame. A cocktail of adrenalin, stupidity, and love made her legs continue to work as she slowly strut across hell towards Constance. Her long hair frizzled at the heat, ends of each strand beginning to burn.

Through her boots, her feet burned. The numbness afforded by her resolve crumbled, and she screamed. It was a howl, more beast than human, as she faltered in the flames. She too, fell to her knees.

White magic brushed against her, Cleo backing her up. Hapi grinned weakly. Burns that singed her healed only to be reburned. Her body was a star, dying and being reborn every instance in a concert of pain and relief.

She walked on, standing up and staggering on. Death would not take her, hell would not stop her. She screamed again at the pain, but did not fall. She pressed on, and on.

Constance shrieked something at her, waving a hand to whisk away some of the flame in front of her. Cornelia's attack nearly broke through the shield of wind, and would have, were her eyes not fixed on Hapi. She was defenseless, free to be killed at a moment's notice.

But Cornelia didn't take the opening, too caught up in not harming her favorite test subject.

Hapi fell into Coco, out of the fire. With her free hand, Constance batted out the flames that remained on what was left of her clothes. Wind suffocated the raging fires with speed, and Cleo's magic did its best to keep up with the injuries.

"You foolish woman," Constance yelled.

Hapi grinned, somehow able to muster humor despite it all. "Your foolish woman. Ready to kill this bitch?"

"I can't break through," Constance said, her hand shaking as it stayed the steady stream of fire, powered by the Chalice.

"Don't need to," Hapi said. She pulled herself up enough to kneel next to Constance. "I can give you ten seconds, maybe. That enough for you?"

The superiority Constance carried herself with was gone, broken by fear as sun cast through the broken window. "I—I can't—"

Hapi kissed her cheek. "Do it for me then. What did they call you in school again? Mistress of Tempests? I never believed it. Prove me wrong."

Hapi reached forward and took the tether of magic from her, adding her own blend of wind and dark to stem the tide. The shield of winds renewed, weak still, but continuing the hold.

Constance stood, looking Cornelia in the eye as the woman watched with interest. There was no fear in her eyes. Just idle curiosity.

Wind, everything she had, brushed against her fingertips. If she failed this, it was all over. They were dead. Cleo would die. Ferdinand and Murphy would die.

That was unacceptable.

Constance began to move her hands in a circle, air beginning to swirl around the room. Cornelia watched, taking her other hand and conjuring a shield of wind herself. But she made a fatal mistake.

She forgot what was behind her.

While air raged in distraction, Constance had a slow tornado building behind Cornelia, directly over where the window had shattered. Slowly, a cyclone of stained glass began to paint a turning rainbow as the sunset looked on.

Cornelia glanced over her should in time to see it, but not to act. She tried to bring her defenses up against it, but Constance was a step ahead. She clenched her fist, and glass shot out in a torrent of wind.

The witch became a pincushion, fragments of stained glass protruding from every inch of her body or all shapes and sizes. The fire abruptly stopped as Cornelia staggered, before falling into a bloody lump on the ground.

Hapi let go of the wind wall and laughed a weak laugh. "Knew you had it in you, Coco. Just needed to motivate you."

Constance hugged her tightly, wary of the remaining burns. Though a sunset bathed her in light, it couldn't blot out the emotion she felt in the moment. They'd won.

And then an idea came to her.

"Hapi, do you trust me?" Constance asked.

Hapi said nothing, only nodding.

Constance stood up and grabbed the Chalice that had fallen from Cornelia's grasp. It was warm to the touch, be it from fire or by nature. She returned to Hapi's side and knelt across from her.

"I failed, all that time ago, to heal you," Constance said. Her fingers passed along the rim of the Chalice. "I won't this time."

Hapi's hand reached out, grabbing her lover's. Her gaze was a silent question. Are you sure?

Constance nodded. Hapi put her trust in her hands.

The door to the ballroom opened, Ferdinand carrying a wounded Murphy. Cleo shouted something, but it went unheard as blinding White magic filled the air. Constance had failed so long ago because she hadn't been strong enough or confident. But in the wake of victory, she knew it was possible. And with the Chalice to draw from…

The magic was suffocating, but neither flinched. Constance went through the familiar spell she'd constructed, letting the magic pierce Hapi's body, and her own.

Two birds with one stone.

As soon as it started, it was over. The Chalice slipped from her hand, nothing but a cup now, it's power finally exhausted. Constance stared into Hapi's eyes as the woman placed a hand over her chest in awe. It'd worked.

Constance glanced at the sunset, rays of light hitting her. She smiled. "It really is gorgeous."

Hapi kissed her.


Lysithea pushed open the grand doors to the throne room. Heavy as they were, stronger was her. She braced herself for seeing her wife.

But she did not. In the seat of power was not Edelgard, but Myson, idly picking dirt from under his nail. He glanced up at her, as surprised as she was.

"My, this is unexpected," he called out. "Lysithea, I expected you to run far away, like how you handle all your problems."

"My days of running are done," Lysithea said, walking towards him. She'd serve his head on a platter before dealing with her wife. It was a welcome distraction, a carrot on a stick of vengeance. To kill Myson would be to end the Agarthan leadership.

She reveled in the thought, bringing her hands up in preparation.

"Of course," Myson said, shaking his head. He stood, walking down the high steps to the throne, his dark cloak trailing the ground. "Well, let's get on with this, then."

All good plans went awry. The doors behind Lysithea opened again. Bernadetta, the Mockingbird, and Edelgard walked through, all of whom wore differing expressions of surprise.

Myson only laughed. "Four dance partners! You spoil me, Emperor. Come! Let's punish your treachery in blood."


Her heart was a conflagration of emotion as her first slice missed. Pride in the face of the source of her struggles. Pride at herself, at her nation, at making it to this moment. Nothing would take it away.

Petra flipped the blade back, sacrificing strength for speed and glanced Hubert's chest. She spun on her heel and brought the blade back, striking harder, deeper.

Hubert, realizing the proximity did him no favors, blasted her back with a gust of wind. She took the full brunt of it, flying through the air. Petra landed gracefully besides Hanneman, who glared at Hubert.

"I'll help," he said, still bound.

"You need not. I will be killing this prey," Petra snarled.

"My student, my responsibility," Hanneman said, his own voice nearing a growl.

"Mine," Petra spat. "He is mine!"

This time she did not charge, but stalked like a hunter. Her back was hunched, muscles braces, sword angled down, all to dodge at a moment's notice.

Orbs of miasma coagulated around Hubert, losing viscosity in favor of weight. He flung one at her. Petra leapt with the agility of a cat, avoiding it. The miasma struck the roof, leaving a small crater of wood and stone.

"Not too late to come back, Shrike," Hubert called. "We did great work together."

She didn't let him goad her. Her emotion was as much a weapon as the one in her hands, one she intended to wield with exacting precision.

Hubert threw another miasma at her. It was no trouble to dodge, but he grinned and threw his hand out. The remaining miasmas hurtled her way, five blasts detonating in front of her. She was too slow.

Petra swore in her native tongue as she was thrown back. Her skin burned, as if acid had been poured on it. She landed by Hanneman.

"You have to get close," he said, not taking his eyes off his student.

"I know," she said.

"Let me help," he said, dropping the shackles to the ground. Both of his thumbs were bent at an unnatural angle. "I'm weak, but the element of surprise is powerful."

Crazy old man, Petra thought fondly. "We will be having only one shot."

"I know," he said, holding his hands behind his back. His unbroken fingers began tracing glyphs in the air behind him.

"Strike when you see an opening. I'll make it work." Petra stood up, taking a low stance again. She raised her blade parallel to her eyes, point towards Hubert as she approached.

"It won't work!" Hubert laughed. "You're better than this, Shrike." He waved a hand, an elongated black spike of darkness forming, sharper and deadlier than she'd ever seen.

Petra said nothing, her slow walk turning into a run. Just one good strike, that's all she needed. Take his attention to give Hanneman his opening.

Hubert swung his hand out, the spike launching forward. Its velocity was fast, too fast for her. It was a blinding arrow, headed straight for her heart.

Petra slid to the left in a gust of wind, no doubt Hanneman's intervention, as she passed out of harm's way. Too focused to change trajectory, she shot forward, taking the opening that she'd been given.

She wasn't the only one. An arrow caught Hubert in the leg, dropping him to his knee. Petra didn't pay it any mind—too focused—only changing how high she held her sword.

Hubert looked away from his mysterious assailant to see Petra's blade in time as it pierced his neck. The silver sword pierced all the way to its hilt, blood soaking the blade. She was inches away from his eyes, watching the light leave them.

"I am Petra," she said, spitting in his face. It was the last thing he would see or feel. Pulling her blade free, she turned to see who her savior was. Ignatz limped towards her, but his face was dark and cloudy as he looked at where she'd come from.

Petra's eyes turned to where Hanneman was and saw the giant spear embedded in his chest, right through his heart.


Author Notes: Was a triple update on your AVR bingo card? You probably guessed that would happen for the grand finale, though.

Shrikes hunt by using their beaks to spear prey through their necks.


Editing Notes:
4/19/2022: Minor grammatical adjustments.