cw: graphic violence and themes of death
Byleth opened the doors to the throne room as the left wall blasted off the castle.
An inhuman cry—rage incarnate—came from Lysithea as she held out her hands. A supernova exploded against the throne room's wall—or more specifically at Myson—and sent stone crumbling. The lower structural integrity of where there had been windows did not serve the wall well, tearing it down.
But it wasn't just fire; ice crystallized amidst flames, the two opposites coexisting under the goal of destroying Myson. Flaming spikes of cold shot at Myson, who had encased himself in a dome of wind and ice.
Lysithea's arm drooped, Thyrsus lowering. No longer held together by sheer force of will, flame melted the ice and the wall crumbled ever further, exposing the afternoon sun in the sky. She fell to her knees, looking down at a body. Byleth's stomach turned. Edelgard.
The spell around Myson faded, the man out of breath. Shock was a rare expression for his face. Though he was unharmed, he was not unshaken.
"Incredible," Myson said, voice carrying across the din of falling stone.
Lysithea, between breaths, said, "I might not have a second Crest any longer, but you forget; I worked harder than everyone else." Her head turned to see Byleth standing in the door. Eyes wide, Lysithea couldn't look away.
She is on your side do not waste time with her KILL HIM KILL HIM—
For once, Seiros spoke sense. Byleth spun the Sword of the Creator in her hand, slowly walking between Lysithea and Myson.
"Before I kill you," Byleth called out, "I have two questions." Seiros railed against the hesitance, but Byleth held her back. Bernadetta was crumpled in a heap on the ground, still breathing. Yuri had crawled to the grand stairs to the throne, injured. They made eye contact with Byleth, and nodded.
"And maybe I'll answer them," Myson breathed, standing up.
"My father. Was it on your orders Monica killed him?" Byleth asked.
"You mean Kronya?" Myson asked. He shook his head. "Matters not, I suppose. Yes, I gave the order."
Byleth nodded solemnly. Holding the sword aloft, she said, "Then this will be your judgement."
"Yours, or the one within you?" Myson called. Byleth froze. "I know those eyes that stare at me. That expression is not yours. Do you honestly hate me, or do I have Seiros to thank for that?"
"Shut up," Byleth said, though the words did not feel her own.
Myson barked a laugh. "You've seen what I can do, dear Byleth! Deadlords, and end to death! Your father, he need not be gone. I can return him to you."
"As if I'd trust you," Byleth spat.
"And you trust the woman giving you orders?" Myson shook his head. "I know this magic. She has attached herself as a parasite to you. Whatever her intentions are or were, that is reality. I offer not manipulation of your body or person, but a return of the father you lost."
"Jormungandr," Byleth said. Myson flinched. "I had another question. My mother, was it you who poisoned her?"
Sighing, Myson shook his head. "Damn, you're seeing her memories too? Too far gone to do anything about it, then. Then yes, the curtain rises." He bowed like a showman. "Thales was always too cautious. I preferred to act. Yes, I killed her as well."
The Sword of the Creator glowed an angry red. "Then this will be justice for their deaths."
Footsteps. She glanced at Lysithea, who stepped next to her. "For El," Lysithea muttered. "This monster has continued too long."
"I agree," Yuri said, hobbling over. They were weak, but an empty vulnerary slipped from their hand. The wounds were scabbing over as he spoke. "Fódlan will be better without him."
"A spent mage, a wounded rogue, and an unqualified professor," Myson chuckled. "I'm not sure why you bother."
"Tough talk from the guy who's lived too long!"
Byleth grinned, turning her head to see Claude walk through the throne room's door. "Took you long enough," she called.
"I brought the cavalry," he shouted back, stepping aside. In his shadow, Felix emerged, giving her a nod. Byleth blinked with surprise, but it was not the time nor place to ask.
Myson watched them as the five grouped together in the center of the room. "More fuel for the fire, then."
Deer. Lion. Wolf. Eagle. Knight. Byleth shook her head. "You stand alone, Myson."
The long, hooked blade spun in his hand, the shortsword mirroring it. "I fail to see your point."
"He can cast magic through the blades," Yuri muttered to the assembled group. "If you see lightning, disengage. He's fast, and will punish you if you let him get too close."
Byleth nodded. "I'll keep him occupied. Claude, pin him down. Yuri, don't push it, but just like Merceus, sneak up on him. Lysithea, can you cordon him off? Do something to limit where he can move?"
"My pleasure," she said.
"And me?" Felix asked, eyebrow raised.
"Good to see you too," Byleth said. Her grin grew feral, more of Seiros slipping in. "Think you're fast enough to keep up with me?"
Felix's smirk was understanding, a man about to see the thrill of the fight. "I've always wanted to see you work up close." His silver sword shook in anticipation.
Byleth turned back to Myson, who only watched them with interest. "Stick to the plan. You see an opportunity, take it. If you need to back down, I'll cover you. Let me be your shield."
You want him dead? You help me, Seiros.
The dragon stirred, growling. Byleth took the sword in one hand, flexing the claws of the other. Instead of fighting her, Seiros relinquished control to her. Strength surged through her.
Myson cocked his head, seeing more than the rest. "You believe that will work?"
"Allow me to demonstrate," Byleth spat, swinging the Sword of the Creator. The blade turned to whip in air, flying at Myson.
He knocked it aside with the shortsword as she closed the distance. It returned to its sword form and met Myson's hooked mage killer. Along his side, Felix ran up and swung. The shortsword locked with his, turning it into a two-front contest of strength.
The air around them began to chill, Lysithea holding Thyrsus aloft. Ice began to form in a circle around them, distant at the moment, but slowly growing. Felix broke his stalemate and rolled to the side, positioning himself at Myson's back. Byleth followed suit, swinging anew at Myson from his front.
He ducked out of the way of her strike, flinging his hand in Felix's direction. A gust of wind, weak, tripped Felix. Though agile enough to overcome it, he lost the blinding speed behind his attack, leading to his strike being batted away with ease.
The ice began to grow spikes, encroaching inwards. Risky, but an opportunity. Byleth swung her blade onto her shoulder and lashed out with the force of the Immaculate One. Claw tore through fabric, just missing Myson's flesh as he stepped backward.
One of the ice spikes shattered, struck by an arrow from Failnaught. Tiny particulates of ice flew into Myson, scratching his cheek. Not enough to hurt, but to distract. He stumbled.
And Felix was there. He took Byleth's place in front, their pushing and pulling a dance each knew as well as they breathed. His silver blade was blocked by the hooked sword, but his second strike was too fast and hard for Myson to keep up with. The blade sliced off Myson's blackened hand at the elbow.
He shrieked, more in rage than pain, swinging his hooked blade out in a wide slash, forcing Felix to pull back. Wind glowed along the glyphs, a small microburst exploding in front of them. As they were pressed back, Myson's hand fell to the ground. He reached down and touched the stump of his arm to it, and skin reknit it back to him.
"He's getting tired," Felix murmured. "We need to bleed him."
Byleth nodded as the wind disappeared, pressing her advantage as soon as she was in the clear. The spikes were drawing closer, giving them not but a small radial distance to work with. Just enough to keep Myson pinned.
With his arm reattached, Myson sagged with exhaustion. Briefly. As he saw Byleth again, he smothered it and locked blades. Flame creeped up the blade, threatening to singe her skin. Byleth leaned into the strike, flame no longer harming her. There was nothing to fear of it.
Realizing his mistake, Myson's sword turned to ice, but it was too late. The Sword of the Creator broke into a whip and the lack of resistance had Myson fall forward into Felix. The Lion slashed three times across Myson's chest, aiming for the bloodiest parts of the human body.
Two healed over, but the last remained.
"Got you," snarled Felix, making for his fourth strike.
In a second, all the ice spikes shattered, save one. Both Myson and Felix snapped their heads to look at them in confusion. On the remaining one, Yuri ran along it. Reaching the end, they jumped, swinging Begalta.
Felix noticed and fell back, letting Yuri take point. Myson acted on instinct and followed Felix, but not quick enough to avoid the long cut Begalta left on his back. Yuri landed on the ground awkwardly, their wound visibly paining them.
Myson hooked his blade onto Yuri's shoulder and flung them through the air. A saving gust of wind from Lysithea slowed the fall, but Yuri didn't get back up, clutching their arm in pain as Begalta slid away from them.
Down to four, but Byleth didn't waste time. They were gaining ground. Without the ice to lock Myson in, she lashed with the whip. With each attack, she took a step forward. Myson spun and began to deflect them, Byleth slowly gaining ground.
As one of her whip strikes drew close to him, an arrow sprouted from Myson's shoulder and he lost his defense. The whip serrated his chest, and she collapsed it back into sword-form, running forward.
Felix got there first, flipping his sword in his hand. He went low, trying to jam to blade upwards and into the Agarthan's stomach. And it would have worked, had another arrow not struck Myson in the back. Failnaught's shot knocked him off kilter, causing Felix to miss.
Not letting the opportunity slip away, Myson's sword went alight and he drove it into Felix, the hook ripping through organs as he pulled it; the fire cauterized the wound instantly. It would be what saved his life, sentencing him to clutching his stomach in pain instead of death.
Byleth arrived at him, swinging out equal parts with sword and claw. Both Myson's blades were put to work as he tried to deflect both. The floor beneath them turned icy, their footing going unstable. Byleth began to slip.
No no NO NO YOU FOOL—
Byleth leapt into the air as scaley, leathery wings shot from her back in a shower of blood. She floated in midair like a devil, looking down at Myson.
The mage had seen much in his time under the sun, but this was new to him. He hesitated, shocked, at it cost him.
Byleth—Seiros—shot downwards at him like a falcon. The Sword of the Creator, her mother's bones, stabbed into Myson's flesh as he tried to duck out of the way. Seiros missed the heart, but got the lung. Sliding along the ice, she lashed out with her claws and sunk them into Myson's neck. She pulled her arm back, jabbing them down into his face. Myson's skull crumbled beneath her strength. Again, she drove them down.
Down.
Down.
Again.
Again.
Red, she only saw red.
Seiros, stop!
She didn't. Humans needed to pay. They would all pay.
(...)
"Byleth!" Claude yelled, dropping Failnaught and running to her as she beat Myson's corpse into a bloody pulp. The ice receded, Lysithea dropping the spell.
Byleth whirled on him, teeth looking more like fangs, as she stared at him. Her outfit was in shambles, scales covering her body. The Sword of the Creator shook in her hand as she stared at Claude, as if he were prey.
He jumped out of the way as Byleth—Rhea—attacked him. He avoided the strike, landing inelegantly by Yuri. Without much choice, he grabbed Begalta. The blade flared with light as it came in contact with the Crest of Riegan, and he stood on the defensive.
The Sword of the Creator bashed against Begalta, not even the strength the blade afforded him allowing him to resist buckling under a dragon's prowess. Rhea stared at him through his beloved's eyes, not seeing clearly.
"Byleth!" Claude called out, holding his blade as best he could. "Remember who you are! You are ours!"
"Die," Rhea spat, her voice warbling between the Archbishop's and Byleth's, like wavelengths.
"The one who believed in my dream. Our dream! The one who taught us to open our hearts to one another! That is you, not this!" he tried again to no avail. His strength was failing, never having been much of a melee fighter.
The air grew cold, ice forming behind Rhea as her body became encased in a frozen prison, arms and legs restrained in crystal cold. Lysithea slowly approached, holding her hand out as Rhea struggled against the bonds.
Dropping the blade, Claude grabbed Byleth's face between his hands, the only part of her that was outside the ice. "Byleth, come back to me. To us."
(...)
"Oh dear, are you really going to let such an impassioned plea go unheard?"
Byleth blinked, looking upon a throne. But it was not of Adrestia. No, this throne held a little girl, looking at her.
"You've gotten up to much in your time here," Sothis said, shaking her head. "Whatever am I to do with you?"
"Sothis?" Byleth whispered, shocked. "But you were gone…"
"Hmm, not gone, just one with you. And my daughter seems to have messed you up something fierce and allowed me to break through again. Odd, but I shan't complain." Sothis leaned forward on her throne, giving her a sour look. "And how could you allow this to happen, my foolish companion of all these years?"
Byleth tried to find words, but couldn't.
To her surprise, Sothis just laughed and dropped the faux-anger. "I tease for old time's sake. You've done very well, Byleth. I'm so very proud."
"Can you tell me what is happening?" Byleth asked. "I don't understand."
"I believe my daughter has finally lost herself to grief and hate," Sothis said, anguished. "I cannot say I blame her. She has had to bear much, and lost more. She'll rage and kill until she burns Fódlan to the ground." She huffed. "My misguided daughter. Alas, such is the duty of the mother to reign in her children."
"You'll stop her?" Byleth asked.
Sothis stood, and grew. No longer was she a child, but the form of a Goddess. Older, wiser, far more intimidating. But despite that, she smiled at Byleth, appearing at her side. Stroking her cheek, she said, "Of course. You are all my children, and I will not let you suffer when the sins are my fault. I can hold her back. Do what you must."
"What can I do? She's insurmountable," Byleth asked, terrified. "I can't even feel myself when she's in control. It's suffocating. I can't do it."
Bending over, Sothis kissed Byleth's forehead. "You know who can help you. All you must do is say the right words."
As the lips left her forehead, all went black.
(...)
Lysithea watched Byleth struggle against her bindings before going still. She blinked, and when her eyes opened, she saw the woman instead of the dragon.
"Byleth!" Claude shouted in glee. "Are you okay?"
"We're holding her back," Byleth said, smiling at Claude despite obvious duress. "But there's something to do first." She turned to Lysithea, who froze.
Memories of the last times they'd seen each other. Lysithea shivered under the gaze.
"Lysithea—" Byleth began.
"I regret it," Lysithea interrupted, the words spilling out. She couldn't stem them, for they'd been waiting to be said for a long time. "For being so cruel to you. I regret all of it."
Byleth smiled softly at her. "I didn't listen back then. I wasn't patient, I wasn't understanding. I wasn't the teacher you needed. But more importantly, I wasn't the friend you needed."
Tears formed in Lysithea's eyes. "I was horrible to you."
"And I forgive you for it." Byleth bowed her head as much as the ice allowed her. "Lysithea, you're the only one who can save me. Only magic will save me from Seiros."
Lysithea reached out with magic to Byleth's body. She felt a Crest, unnatural, within her. A familiar, sickening feeling encompassed her. "You're like me." How I used to be.
"More or less," Byleth said, flinching. "She's fighting me. Lys, I need your help."
"I—I can't fix this," Lysithea said, stumbling over words.
Claude's hand rested on her shoulder. "If By believes in you, then I do too. Lysithea, you were always the strongest of us." He paused, then said, "You'll always have a home in the Deer."
Memories of gold. Memories of a herd, one she so desperately longed for these past years. Of kinship that she'd never gotten, but looked onto jealously at the monastery, never to speak the words into being in fear of what they would say about her choices.
"I…I know I don't deserve it, but I need you to trust me," Lysithea said, looking at Byleth.
"I do," she said, nodding. "Do what you must."
People called her prodigy. Genius. Talented. Intellect worthy of the Goddess herself.
Lysithea raised her hand, remembering the way Hanneman had helped her. Like breaking something in a bottle, he'd said. She'd felt the magic on her own person. She could do this. Yes, she could.
But those people were wrong. It was no luck, no circumstance of birth that gave her this ability. No one else was responsible for her ability. It was her, she did this.
She worked for this. Lysithea never backed down, and now it would pay off.
A Crest Stone, in Byleth's chest. A different problem than hers, but similar. She pressed a hand into the ice, the area around her palm melting as fire allowed her to press through. Lysithea's hand pressed against Byleth's chest.
"This will hurt," she warned.
Byleth said nothing and only nodded to her, smiling calmly.
Lysithea shattered the Crest. It wasn't much, just a singular crack down the middle. But it caused the orb to lose its power. It was volatile now. Malleable. It'd kill Byleth if it remained within her.
Now came the part that hurt. With her other hand, holding Thyrsus, she prepared a healing spell. Her other hand, full of wind, sliced open Byleth's chest and removed the two pieces in tandem. Wind sliced the bindings to her heart, hearing a steady beat for the first time in Byleth's entire life. Lysithea ripped the stone out, Thyrsus healing the wound immediately after.
The Crest Stone flew through the air as Lysithea turned to it, aiming a bolt of lightning at it as it began to degrade into an unstable explosion. Thyrsus shattered the Crest Stone, and there was a sound like a scream.
And then, nothing.
Lysithea turned to an unconscious Byleth, hair returned to the color it was at the monastery. For a moment, she feared the worst. The ice crumbled, and Lysithea caught her with Claude's help.
She opened her eyes, blearily, and smiled. Byleth took Claude and Lysithea into her arms for a hug.
Her House of the Golden Deer.
Author Notes: And bookended. I'd like to thank caffeine for making this possible. That was 17.5k in nine days.
Byleth and Lysithea's moment there has been planned since about chapter 2 or 3. I always wanted to get here and resolve the past they had in part one.
I really hope you enjoyed these four chapters.
Editing Notes:
4/19/2022: Minor grammatical adjustments. Changed one of Byleth's dialogue lines.
