A/N: So...this chapter took way longer than I expected to get out for two very good reasons. One, my mental health plummeted. Two, I rewrote 2 scenes in this chapter about ten times each because they were so hard to write. This chapter is very important for the character development of many folks and it is essential that I really pull through with them.
So yes, I think I died many times trying to fix all the conversations in this chapter lol. Next chapter, the plot will start moving along again. This is more like an important interlude before things literally go to hell.
I hope you enjoy this chapter as always! The invite code to our humble fire emblem fanfic discord is here as usual: u89gs745fn
[White Clouds]
Chapter 25: Like a Moth to the Flame
The weather was beautiful, perfect tea-time condition, and Felix exulted in the steady, easy cruise out the reception hall of Garreg Mach. A small crowd had gathered as soon as he entered the garden area, following his father's footsteps.
Having one Fraldarius within the monastery grounds was already nerve-wracking enough. But with the father and son combination both strolling down the pathway, a few heads couldn't help but swivel around. A sneak peek, once or twice. Some from behind the walls. Even through the bushes.
But one quick sweep of cobalt-blue orbs chased the lingering crowd away. The students cleared the gardens, tripping over their own feet as they hastened out of the gates.
That left the two Fraldarius alone and with no warning, Rodrigue slammed his fist into the nearest table, sending the glass pane rattling.
"What is the meaning of this?"
He threw the rustled envelope onto the garden table. Felix lazily glanced down at the crumpled paper. He slowly trailed his gaze upward, taking extra care to pause and admire whatever flowers grew in the bushes behind his father along the way.
Rodrigue's eyes twitched and Felix reveled in the fact he had succeeded in aggravating the older man.
Felix could count on his fingers the number of times he had seen his father livid. The first time was when he accidentally harmed Dimitri with a wooden sword. The second being the dreadful night he confronted his father after Glenn's death.
The third was now in the middle of Garreg Mach's garden.
It wasn't easy to ruffle Rodrigue's feathers. He was an iron-clad man with a strong, sturdy facade made of steely pride and confidence. Even against the most annoying, corrupted noble, Rodrigue carried himself with grace. He was the picture-perfect image of a knight.
But when Felix was involved, things quickly turned sour — especially in the past four years.
Felix plopped himself on the chair, crossing his legs. "It's exactly what it is. A letter from me to you." He shrugged, leaning on his elbow.
Rodrigue dropped into the seat opposite Felix. He interlocked his fingers on top of the table, glaring directly at his son's nonchalant behavior. "I do not want to play these…games with you, Felix. I will ask you again. What is the meaning of this?" He pressed harder, heated gaze soaring to new heights of barely restrained anger.
Felix had a wry smirk hanging on his lips, copper-brown orbs glinting. "Like I said, it's a letter containing my thoughts in it. Surely, you've read the entire thing, haven't you?"
"Indeed, I have. But there is nothing I wish more than to erase my memories of it," Rodrigue exhaled heavily, hiding his lips behind his interlaced hands. He peered at Felix over the edge, scowling in distaste. "Felix, what on earth have you been up to here in the monastery?"
Felix released a short sneer as he threw his hands in the air. "That's what I want to ask you, father. What the hell have you been up to behind our backs? Have you gone mad?" He laughed harshly. "I knew you were obsessed with the King's death, but to go this far? You're insane."
"I don't see what is so wrong about my actions," Rodrigue retorted, cobalt-blue darkening. "None of this should concern you. It is my responsibility to bear—"
"Ah, yes, because you owe the King oh-so-heavenly much," Felix mocked, spitting out the scathing words through gritted teeth.
He felt his blood run cold before a deep rage replaced it.
Because of fucking course, his father would always shut down all his opinions without even batting an eyelid. His words never reached his father. Not then, not now, and to his disdain, not ever.
"Father, for once in your life, look me straight in the eye." The words came out more bitter than he would've liked them, but it was too late to take things back. Felix allowed his anger to direct him — take it to wherever the hell it wanted to go to. "I could care less what your plans are. But you need to break the truth to the boar prince."
"Silence, Felix. I will not allow you to speak of me or his Highness in that manner," Rodrigue snapped. "This matter does not concern you, and that is final. I don't know who or what you've heard things from, but we must keep everything under wraps until the time is right—"
"And when exactly will the time ever be right?"
Rodrigue froze. "Pardon?"
"I'm asking you, father." Felix went rigid, eyes whirling with complicated emotions as he addressed the bane of his existence in front of him. "It's been four years. Four goddamn years and you still say it's not the right time?!"
He slammed his fist onto the table, shooting up from his seat. He glared down at his father from the bridge of his nose, sneering.
"And from what I've heard, you've been spending all the resources at your disposal to search for the enemies." A sharp burst of air escaped from his lips as he barked in laughter. "You even manipulated a thirteen-year-old child to do the dirty deeds for you. How gallant of you."
"Felix…" Rodrigue was shaking now, veins jutting out of his forehead.
"Don't you dare tell me otherwise." Felix didn't care anymore whether his father was going to pop a blood vessel or not. Civility be damned. "You knew exactly what you were doing the day you met that girl four years ago. She was a rogue, a child who didn't know better, and you directed her anger towards the bastards who killed our king and forced her to shed more blood for your cause."
If Rodrigue was already stunned at his son's outburst, he tried his best not to show it. But this time, his facade slipped. His jaws dropped, mouth sputtering open. "Did Miss Satiana tell you that? That I forced her to work for me?" He shook his head. "Felix, it was consensual. She was willing to work for the Kingdom because our goals aligned and—"
"You are telling me," Felix began, voice cracking at every edge, "that you genuinely believe that idiot walked down the path of revenge out of her own will," he remembered Sylvain and Lysithea embracing the sobbing girl in their arms, "and that you did not goad her into doing so by basically threatening to throw her into jail if she refused?"
Rodrigue stared at Felix.
And he stared.
He stared some more — expressionless, except for his eyes that were definitely searching for something within the raging maelstrom.
Felix's chest was heaving as he stood there, glaring belligerently down at his father, vision seeing red.
"I see you have no rebuttals. Did I stun you into silence? Did I prick your conscience?"
Did I finally get through to you for once? Felix thought, but he refused to plead with someone who wasn't worth his time and attention.
He would not beg for his father's understanding. Not when he didn't even know if the said man deserved it. And Felix was not one to hand his glass heart to anyone.
Especially not to someone who couldn't see that he had grown afraid to admit that he loved and cared — that he was only at ease when he was angry because anger was safe.
At least with anger, he didn't need to feel bad when others threw his goodwill back at him.
Felix knew he deserved to be rebuked for speaking so callously to others. But he needed it. The verbal abuse. The harsh words. It protected him from the well of deep sorrow within him when someone he loved failed to understand him when he was at his weakest.
Has it already been four years since we argued over my brother's broken armor?
"Felix," he felt his father's eyes on him but he just clenched the edge of the table, panting as he tried not to scream, "I read your letter. Each and every word of it."
Rodrigue slowly stood up from his seat. Felix's shoulder twitched at the rattling noise, but he made no show of another outburst. Rodrigue calmly swerved around the table until he was standing by Felix's side.
His son was quaking, lost in the rage blinding his vision from the flash of deep hurt across Rodrigue's expression.
"I…thought you were angry at me for trying to find the cause of King Lambert's death. That you could not understand my obsession with the tragedy." Rodrigue took a sharp intake of breath. "That you somehow thought my effort in exposing Lambert — my dear friend's murderer was misguided and a waste of time."
Felix froze. He tilted his head up. "What?"
He finally turned to look at his father and was visibly taken aback at the exhaustion that he saw lacing his father's features. His sunken cheeks, somewhat messy strands of hair, the heavy bags underneath his eyelids.
His father never looked him straight in the eye, but when did Felix ever pause to look at his father, either?
Felix felt the rage within him abate. The heat was still there, burning in his chest, but at least he wasn't choking on it. Was my father always this…old?
"And I loathed you for it," Rodrigue winced as he forced out the confession. "The thought that you, the son who I raised to be His Highness's best friend, his most loyal shield and right-hand man, could not comprehend the reasoning behind my actions."
Felix chewed over his lips.
His father had called him Dimitri's best friend and right-hand man, but all Felix heard clearly was the word 'shield.'
Yes, an inanimate object that has bound his family and its ancestors to the duty of what Felix liked to call a meat-shield until this very day.
"But it appears I was mistaken," Rodrigue continued, eyes softening. "You understood why I had to do what I did. But you could not accept the methods I chose. The extent to which I went to protect King Lambert's legacy."
Yes, to the point where you turned away from me, your last remaining actual son. Felix thought bitterly, but he kept his mouth glued shut.
"...Forgive me, Felix."
Felix's eyes widened.
"I…did not understand you correctly. No, let me rephrase that." Rodrigue sighed, swiping a hand over his face. "I could not accept your opinion, even though I understand where you come from. Because no matter what you tell me, I am certain I would still choose to walk down the same path."
Felix's heart sank. But pain was just pain. He had long grown numb to emotions akin to disappointment. He had no expectations of his father.
Rodrigue appeared to be stumbling over his thoughts, turning the words around in his head, looking for the best way to communicate his feelings. Felix knew that scrunched up look on his father's face because he too was someone who shared the same stubborn blood.
Fraldarius men were good at many things, but never at communication.
"Look at the present state of things."
Rodrigue jolted out of his daze. It was Felix's turn to stare at his father, searching.
"You failed to protect the King, allowed Duscur to take the blame for it, manipulated a guilty girl to do your dirty work for you, and you tell me it is only right to keep everything under the table because it isn't the right time."
Rodrigue glanced away from his son's burning gaze. "...I accept all those allegations."
"You said you had no other choice," Felix said. "But you did. You always did. You just didn't take it."
"And what choice would that be?"
Rodrigue already knew what his son would say. He had read the letter countless times before he showed up at the monastery's doorstep, after all.
"You could have told Dimitri about what you were doing. Allowed that stupid boar to partake in the search for his father's killer while you were there to rein him in. Not just send him off to some random rebellion alone and allow him to slaughter all those men with a smile on his face because it was his only way of feeling gratification — that he was doing something for his dead family's sake."
Rodrigue breathed. "Dimitri was far too young when he lost his father. I did not wish for him to…enter the world of politics so early on."
"But he will have to do so regardless. Because he's our—" Felix coughed, clearing his throat, "the next king of Faerghus. You can't stop him from seeking the truth behind his father's death."
"Which I now belatedly realize," Rodrigue replied.
"Instead of using Duscur as a scapegoat, you should've exposed the dark mages right then and there. So what if they go into hiding? At least our country wouldn't be so divided. Now everyone's fighting each other over every scrap of land. And of all places, their anger is misguided at the wrong group of people."
"Informing the public about the dark mages would've caused pandemonium among the citizens of not only the Kingdom but our neighbors as well."
"You were only prolonging the inevitable."
The more he spoke, the more Felix felt that bud of anger surging again, but he forced it down by biting his tongue. For once, his father was actively listening to him. He couldn't allow his frustrations to rear its ugly head right now.
Felix forced himself to breathe steadily, uncurling his clenched fists. "If you had launched an official investigation into the Empire's affairs early on, things would've been different. We wouldn't have to be sitting here like ducks, waiting for them to attack first. We could've made the enemies anxious that we know about them. They will be more careful next time before they strike." He glanced down at the ground. "And maybe it would've saved Lysithea from falling prey to their experiments."
"Which would only make it harder for us to detect their existence," Rodrigue retorted, but even he knew he was sounding less and less convinced with his own logic. "I decided in agreement with Sir Jeralt and Miss Satiana. It was a decision made with the people's best interest in mind. Faerghus was in no shape for war with its neighbors, especially with the loss of our King. The enemies knew that, which was why they were so bold with their attempt at assassinating our head."
Felix's gaze flickered up at his father again, and this time, they both steeled themselves for the inevitable words.
The same words Felix ended his letter to Rodrigue with — the same words that got Rodrigue flying into a rage, storming over to Garreg Mach on the nearest mount, all alone with no other soldiers to protect him.
"You use public disorder as an excuse, but really, you were just afraid of failing your promise to the late King: to keep Faerghus safe and continue on to a peaceful era. Because to you, honoring your promise to the dead is more important than the living victims."
Rodrigue's posture slackened for a split second, small cracks appearing in his defense.
"King Lambert was famous for his radical way of thinking and that included peace talks with not only Duscur, but our neighbors as well. But where did that lead him? He perished because of those same bastards he wanted to make peace with."
Rodrigue felt the ground crumble from beneath his feet and he stumbled. He placed a hand on the table beside him for support.
"Instead of using Duscur as a scapegoat and pretending you know nothing about the dark mages, you could use the entirety of Faerghus's authority to investigate our neighbors. True, we do not have diplomatic rights to delve into other nations' affairs, but with our King slain, do you truly believe you couldn't come up with a better way to investigate than using a god-forsaken child?"
Rodrigue pinched the tip of his forehead, massaging his temples with his thumb. "Felix, politics is much more complicated than you think it is—"
"I know that, old man. Even so, you could've done something different. There were so many options available for you. You're the Duke of Faerghus. Who's to say those other nobles in the Empire or Alliance would refuse you if you asked to investigate some of their nobles kindly under the pretense of searching for the culprit of King Lambert's death?"
"That…" Rodrigue breathed softly.
Felix took a deep breath before he spoke again. And this time, his voice sounded so tired and broken that Rodrigue was stunned into silence.
"And after hearing all this, you will still tell me you made the only decision you could've. And you will continue to keep everything a secret from the boar and everyone else."
Felix's head drooped, casting a shadow over his face.
"Because it's never the right time. Not with you."
The acidic emotions inside Rodrigue from before slowly dissipated, soon replaced by an eerie sensation akin to emptiness.
He wasn't sure what to make of Felix's tantrum today. His son, indeed, routinely bickered with him, but it was never to this extent. Although they had obvious differences in opinion, especially regarding chivalry, they left enough room for each other to breathe, choosing to ignore one another instead.
Today, Felix was ready to face him. But unfortunately, in comparison, Rodrigue was ill-prepared.
Rodrigue realized his son was not only arguing about their political differences. The argument was steering onto more personal grounds, the deep ravine that long separated them since four years ago — or perhaps even longer.
Rodrigue didn't know how to act properly against the raging storm called Felix Hugo Fraldarius. He never did, since when Felix was still a young child who cried often in his arms over the silliest of things. He was far too emotional for Rodrigue's liking and, being the embodiment of knighthood, Rodrigue never knew how to face his youngest son.
"I…do not know what you are trying to imply, Felix," Rodrigue chewed over his words, eyes drooping. "I admit, I may not have...acknowledged your thoughts often. But Felix, I tried my best. I thought it over with sir Jeralt and received Satiana's permission to act accordingly."
He knew he was doing exactly what Felix was scolding him for — making excuses to hide his own pathetic weakness.
That he was so powerless, he had to rely on the words of a dead king and the blinded trust of a girl who barely made it out alive from hell, only for him to thrust her into another one.
Felix barked out loud, the sound harsh and dry, but also filled with an inexplicable well of sorrow and hurt. "You could've at least tried to prove me wrong." There was resignation in his voice and Rodrigue felt a sudden sense of loss deep inside him.
As if this was an important breaking point in his relationship with his last remaining son.
"Felix, I—" Rodrigue breathed out in a shaky voice, but Felix was no longer willing to listen.
"Forget it, old man. I was an idiot to rely on you for anything," Felix snapped before he spun on his heels, stomping out of the gates between the courtyard and the entrance hall.
Rodrigue reached his arm out in a hurry, sweat glistening on his creased forehead, but froze stiff when he realized he had no words of comfort for his son. He was simply incapable of sympathizing with Felix because, in the end, they never saw eye to eye with each other. Perhaps it was best to keep their distance from each other.
Yes, the same status quo Felix just spent almost an hour complaining about.
Rodrigue groaned, knees buckling as he toppled down onto the chair Felix had previously sat on. He dug his head into his palms, burying his face in the dark. He sank into himself, whispering softly under his breath.
"Just where did things go so wrong…?"
Unbeknownst to him, Felix was still leaning on the bushes outside the gate, peering over the edges. He burned his father's weak and huddled state into his mind, eyes gleaming with an unrecognizable light. He bit his lips, eyes shut tight, looking away from it all.
Because no matter how much he wanted his father to understand his sentiments, he could not bear to see the father he had always secretly looked up to so…fragile.
He didn't want to view his father as a lonely, broken man because, if so, what would that make him? The temperamental, useless son who could not earn his father's love because he was too busy brooding on his own insecurities, just like all the others he criticized.
It was laughable, really. Both of the remaining Fraldarius men were giant hypocrites who knew nothing about each other's hearts.
And until much later, in the middle of a bloody battlefield where heavy sacrifices would be made, things would not change between the two of them.
"Ashe, would you like to spar with me?"
"Hm? Oh, Ingrid! I would love to."
Ashe was training with the bow, striking targets down from a distance while Ingrid had been practicing her lance attacks in the corner against a dummy. It wasn't often the two sparred with each other; they were adept at different weapons and working towards different classes.
However, they made a habit of sharing tips and tricks with each other. After all, to be a proper knight, one should know how to wield more than one type of weapon — or so one of their favorite books mentioned.
Ingrid handed him a wooden lance. "Thank you for agreeing, Ashe. I really need to let off some steam."
Ashe blinked, frowning. "Steam? Is something bothering you?"
A too-quick smile before Ingrid turned away from him. "It's nothing. I just haven't been training properly lately. I feel like my skills have gone somewhat rusty." She rolled her shoulders, stretching her tensed muscles.
There was a hard edge to her voice Ashe could not truly understand, but he decided against pointing it out. He followed her to the center of the training grounds, placing himself into a proper stance. He tilted the sharp edge towards her, smiling brightly as usual. "Alright, whenever you're ready Ingrid—woah!"
Ingrid didn't even bother to signal the start of the battle. She rushed in with a wide sweeping strike and Ashe backpedaled with a yelp, barely blocking the attack with a half-assed blow of his own.
Ashe felt the muscles in his arm spasming, his senses alerting him to raise his lance in defense again. Blocking as quickly as he could, Ashe held his ground against Ingrid's follow-up. This seemed to displease Ingrid greatly as she growled, gritting her teeth. Ashe jerked his head back, eyes bulging wide, a concoction of both surprise and confusion.
For some unknown reason, Ingrid was seeking blood. It was simply a mock battle, but Ashe did not treat it as such — or more like he was being forced to treat it differently because Ingrid was a ferocious beast with her thrusts today. With a quick flick of her wrists, Ingrid forced both of their weapons into the air, preparing to strike again.
Ashe tried to pull his lance down, only to take a sudden boot to the stomach that knocked him flat onto his back.
He stared up at the clouds, head whirling, mouth gaping wide. Ingrid peered down at him from above, panting harshly, eyes still narrowed with a flash of anger.
Ashe swallowed, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. "I-Ingrid, did you just—"
"I'm sorry, Ashe." She suddenly bent down, at a ninety-degree angle, with her eyes shut tight, brows knitted.
Ashe rolled himself up into a sitting position, dumbfounded. Her blonde hair bobbed in the wind, the tensed air between them picking up against the cold gales. He tilted his head to the side, lips pursing. "Ingrid, is something the matter? You're acting differently today."
Ingrid straightened her back, glancing off to the side in a show of guilt. She rubbed her arm unconsciously, lips wobbling. "I-I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."
"N-No! I'm fine, Ingrid. You don't have to worry about it. Anything goes in a real battle," Ashe fumbled with his words, sweating furiously now underneath her drooping form. "Really! You did great, Ingrid!"
But Ingrid did not brighten up at the compliment. Instead, her expression darkened even further. "So, you think I did better than usual?"
Ashe paused. He lowered his gaze, humming in thought as he rubbed his chin. "Hm, it's true that you were much more confident with your strikes today. You had a plan in mind — a vision. You exposed my midriff with your actions and landed a fatal blow. In terms of strategy, I cannot fault you at all. It was a splendid move. However…" he trailed off, lips dripping. "It was very much unlike you."
"How so?" Ingrid spared him a quick, jumpy glance before staring off into the distance again.
"Well, first, you never resort to underhanded tricks. Second, although your swings are much more confident and brutal than before, I think we can also see it as being reckless. Your usual calm and analytical style are nowhere to be seen," Ashe ended with a frown. "Are you sure you're feeling alright, Ingrid? I detected quite a bit of, well, animosity. Did I offend you somehow?"
Ingrid blanched. "What?! No, no, no! Ashe, I'm not mad at you. To be honest, I'm mad at myself." She rubbed the back of her head sheepishly, cheeks gaining a rosy tint. "I've been thinking about a lot of things lately and just recently realized I've been going about everything the wrong way."
Ashe stood up onto his feet, brushing the dirt off his rear end along the way. He faced Ingrid, smiling softly. "If you wish to talk to someone about it, I'm here for you."
Ingrid blinked, and before she knew it, she was smiling as well. "I know, Ashe. You are always so sweet to everyone. I'm sorry I wasn't there to support you when you were at your worst."
Ashe chuckled, shaking his head. "No, please, do not beat yourself over that. Everyone has been very accommodating towards me after Lord Lonato's incident. I can tell that everyone has been avoiding the topic, giving me room to breathe and collect my thoughts. I appreciate it. Really, I do. Thanks to that, I can finally move on."
Silence. A blast of icy wind. Ingrid fiddled with the wooden stick in her hands. She bit her lips once, chewing over twice before she finally retrieved her voice. "Ashe, why did you not join Lord Lonato's cause?"
Ashe drew a blank at her sudden question. It came out of the blue. He did not know what sort of thoughts propelled her to ask him such a daring question, but he couldn't refuse to answer under her steely gaze, burning at the edges.
"Uh, well," he started on a shaky note, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. "I don't know."
Ingrid narrowed her eyes. "You don't know?"
Ashe flinched, sweating furiously. "Uh, no! I mean, I do know…I think."
Ingrid raised an eyebrow, urging him to continue with her gaze.
Ashe cleared his throat once, collecting his thoughts. "First, when I heard from Satiana that Lord Lonato caused a rebellion, my mind went blank. The Lord Lonato that I knew would place none of his people in harm's way. It was simply…an impossible thought." He fidgeted with his thumbs, staring down at his hands. "All I knew was that I had to ask him. Hear from his own mouth about his reasons."
"After hearing his reasons, did you not stop to think he was perhaps justified?" Ingrid asked, eyes boring at his shivering form.
"Of course, I did. After knowing what Lady Rhea and the church did to him, I couldn't forgive them for hurting Lord Lonato…and my brother." He clenched his fists, gritting his teeth. "I wanted to help him. I really did. I tried my best to talk him out of it, but Lord Lonato had already decided. He was…unstoppable."
Ingrid's expression hardened. "If so, then why did you end up trying to kill him in the end?"
At this question, Ashe froze. He lifted his head, beautiful olive green orbs gaining an edge.
"Because it was my way of respecting him. I refuse to let him die as a traitor to Faerghus. As a knight, I have a duty to stop him from hurting his people…and also himself. That is what Lord Lonato taught me. He taught me to stay true to my beliefs — to always look forward and live a righteous life." He placed his hand on his chest, clutching the front of his shirt as he smiled proudly. "That is why I had to do it. Stop him from straying off the right path. I failed in the end, but I no longer have any regrets."
"...I see." Ingrid closed her eyes, sighing softly. She reached her hand up to grab her head, carding her fingers lightly through the soft blonde locks. "I don't think I can understand you, after all."
Ashe's smile faltered, shoulders drooping. "O-Oh. I'm sorry, perhaps my explanation was lacking—"
Ingrid stopped him with a raise of her hand. She shook her head, lips thinning. "No, it's not your explanation. I think it's just…my obstinacy."
Ashe blinked, tilting his head to the side. "Your obstinacy? I'm not sure I understand what you're trying to tell me, Ingrid."
"If I was in your position, I would probably choose to join Lord Lonato's cause in the end," Ingrid confessed as she gripped the lance in her hand tightly. "Of course, he went about his grief in the wrong way, involving plenty of civilians in his reckless scheme. However, there were many knights and soldiers within their ranks who genuinely believed they were fighting for their lord's honor. Even the villagers were praising Lord Lonato's beliefs, choosing to die honorably for him."
Ingrid raised her voice suddenly, minty-green orbs quaking under the surge of emotion within her.
"Who's to say they were wrong in defending their lord? In fact, I think regardless of my personal feelings about his actions, I would have to prioritize his pride above anything else. Even if it means making the church my enemy, as his knight, my duty is always to my lord. Their reason is the only reason I should worry about."
Ashe stared at her with a frown.
"I have always lived my life aiming to be a proper knight. I live to uphold my ideals of justice, which is my lord's view of righteousness. Of course, it doesn't mean I don't have my own qualms following unreasonable orders, but even then, I think I would always prioritize what my lord orders me to do."
Her eyes flashed with a glimpse of darkness, lips suddenly tilting downward. "I…I thought that was what I had to do to become a knight. But after watching you and hearing the professor's lectures, I'm not so sure anymore."
"Ingrid…" Ashe felt himself speaking softly as he took a step forward. He gently patted her on the shoulder, shooting a sympathetic look her way.
Ingrid's lips trembled as she met Ashe's kind and warm stare. She choked up, coughing on thin air.
"I-I don't know what to believe is right anymore, Ashe. If I didn't know about Lord Lonato's motives, I would've killed him without a second thought because he was definitely in the wrong with his actions. But after knowing what compelled him to take action, I wanted to fight for his cause because the church's actions were simply unforgivable, tarnishing a valiant knight's honor like that. In the end, what was the right action to take? Is it not a knight's job to uphold justice? But what if justice is…a double-edged sword?"
She stared down at her hands, laughing hoarsely.
"I speak of becoming a knight, but here I am, wavering over the tiniest of things. I'm starting to believe my ideals were all wrong."
"Ingrid, I don't know if what I say will help you or not, but please, listen to me."
Ashe grabbed her hand, holding the lance, covering it with his warmth. "I've learned something precious from this incident. It's exactly what the professor told us before. Reality isn't like those stories we love to read. Morality is much more gray than we believe it is. Perhaps the perfect knight we came to respect doesn't even exist."
He caressed her hand gently, beaming. "But I've stopped thinking about such things."
Ingrid blinked once, then twice. She gaped. "W-What?"
"What I mean is, you'll only tire yourself by overthinking things. Ingrid, there is no set sort of rules to become a knight. You decide what kind of knight you want to be. If you wish to follow your lord's beliefs, that is fine. There is nothing wrong with doing so."
Ingrid's eyes widened.
"If you wish to think for yourself and act according to your own beliefs, that is also valid. This incident has taught me there are always two sides to everything. No one is right, and it's impossible to take a side without feeling guilty. That's why all we can do is follow our hearts."
Ingrid didn't know how to respond to Ashe's heartfelt declaration. All she knew was that his hand was warm, his gaze even more so and that his sincerity deeply resounded with her. She broke into a genuine smile, more carefree than usual.
"You really are a force to be reckoned with, Ashe," she giggled, the corner of her eyes crinkling. "Your positive attitude is very addictive."
Ashe's face went red as a tomato. He quickly jumped away from her, releasing his grip on her hands. "O-Oh! Well, uh, t-thank you, I guess?" He sheepishly rubbed his head, cheeks still burning underneath the scorching sun.
Ingrid only laughed harder at his response. "No, really, thank you for listening to me ramble. I've been very concerned lately and talking to you has certainly cleared my thoughts. I've been thinking lately that I'm the odd one out within our group for being so uptight and inflexible with my thinking."
Ashe sputtered, shaking his head abruptly. "That isn't true! At least I admire how determined and focused you are. To be honest, I thought nothing would faze you at all. But now I see that even you, the stoic knight, have wavering beliefs in her ideals."
Ingrid sighed. "Did I break the illusion you had of me?"
Ashe waved his hand back and forth. "Of course not! Now, I can only respect you more. Nobody forced you to reflect on your ideals, but here you are, brooding over it on your own. I really think your attitude is admirable."
Ingrid's ears flared slightly red as she scratched her cheeks with her index finger. "Now you're just flattering me."
Ashe snickered under his breath, beaming. "I'm not, Ingrid. I'm only speaking the truth."
Ingrid rolled her eyes, though there was no denying the upward curl of her lips. "And here I was worried over clashing ideals with Felix and his Highness, but you blew away my worries with nothing but sheer optimism."
"With Felix and His Highness?" Ashe blinked.
Ingrid nodded. "Yes, we don't really see eye to eye about many things, including our beliefs regarding chivalry. Actually, because I often try to push my ideals onto others, I get into fights with them a lot. Felix doesn't even hang out with me anymore. He's already latched onto Satiana and Sylvain instead. His Highness also spends time with Dedue and the professor. I feel somewhat left out of the group lately."
Ashe frowned. "Well, that isn't good. If you try to talk honestly with them about your feelings, I'm sure you'll make up soon enough. After all, you're childhood friends, right?"
Ingrid smiled softly, a wave of nostalgia blending in with the light breeze surrounding them. "Indeed, we are. I guess I should try to soften up more. Be more flexible with my thinking."
Ashe nodded fervently, eyes sparkling. "Please, keep your chin up. As long as we continue to try our best, I'm sure we will eventually become the sort of knight we yearn to be."
Ingrid found her worries disappearing as the afternoon wind picked up around her. She closed her eyes as she rubbed the lance in her hands carefully. Taking a deep breath, she took a few steps back, placing herself into a stance immediately.
Her eyes snapped open and gone were the dark shadows previously lurking inside; the irises gleamed beautifully underneath the blazing rays, an emerald-like shine to them.
"Shall we continue with our spar, Ashe?"
Ashe jerked his head back in surprise at her sudden change in demeanor. But it didn't take long for him to sigh as he slid his feet back, propping the lance up. A wry smile on his face, eyes shining with endearment, he beckoned her with a wave of his lance.
"Of course, Ingrid. This time, I shall make the first strike!"
The sound of wood cracking against each other echoed through the monastery until the sky became painted with black and silver sheens, the stars blinking brightly, guiding the two knights as they soared to greater heights.
Lysithea dug the sharp tip of her pen against a fresh sheet of the notebook and sketched dark, angry lines. She drew a circle, scratching incantations along the edges, adding the final hexagonal touches to the diagram.
A light tap on her shoulder and she scowled, swatting the hand away without batting an eye at the intruder.
She continued writing notes down in the page's corner, scribbling extra details down before she could forget them. Her feet tapped impatiently against the library's red carpets, mounting frustration causing her thoughts to blank as another finger scratching the tip of her head sent her reeling backward in annoyance.
She glared up at the upside-down figure, snarling. "Will you stop it with the poking?! I'm trying to concentrate here!"
Linhardt remained unfazed by her outburst, blinking innocently. He lifted a finger towards the notebook on her desk, frowning. "You made a mistake in the formula on the fifth line. The magical energy won't gather towards your target with that incantation."
Lysithea tilted her head slightly, glaring down at the pages.
Vibrant pink irises glanced over the area of interest and indeed, she caught herself making a damning mistake. Her brows twitched, and she grabbed the page, ripping it out of her notebook before scrunching it up into a ball.
She threw it backward, letting the ball of paper bump against Linhardt's nose.
Linhardt sighed, shaking his head in exasperation as the lump of paper bounced off his features. He bent down, picking up the trash and nimbly keeping it inside his pockets. "Lysithea, you shouldn't litter the library."
"I don't care," Lysithea scowled, already focused on a fresh start, correcting her mistakes on a new sheet of paper.
Linhardt stood behind Lysithea, glancing over her shoulder, peacock-green orbs bouncing between her and the pages. He tapped his fist against his lips, hiding a grimace. "I do not understand why you are acting so hostile towards me. I simply wanted to ask how you are feeling lately."
An animalistic growl escaped her throat, and she whipped her head towards him, pointing the sharp end of her pen right at the middle of his face. "Get away from me. I have nothing I wish to speak to you. Out. Now."
Linhardt took a step backward, holding his hand out innocently in front of him in resignation. "Alright, if you sincerely do not wish to converse with me, I will take my leave. I hope you are feeling alright then, Lysithea. Try not to stay up so late. It isn't good for your health."
Lysithea snorted, rolling her eyes. "I don't want to hear that from a night-owl like you, of all people. Also, stop it with the…worrying," she grimaced. "I'm not a child that needs to be taken care of. I can deal with my problems myself. Thank you very much."
"Certainly, if it's you, I'm sure you can solve most problems on your own. However, Lysithea, I wish you wouldn't turn away the hands of those who are genuinely trying to help you," Linhardt spoke softly with a permanent frown. "I will say this again. I do not wish to harm you, Lysithea. In fact, I promised Satiana to save you. I never go back on my words."
This time, Lysithea threw her notebook at him.
Linhardt flinched, blocking the attack with his arms as he covered his face. After the innocent object landed on the ground below him, he lowered his arms, opening his mouth to respond to her act of apprehension.
Lysithea stood in front of him, body collapsing in on itself with a bowed head. Her hands were balled tightly into fists, trembling by her side. Her lips wobbled as she squirmed in place, breath hitching. He couldn't see clearly underneath the dim candlelights, but it was more than enough for him to spot the watery pink glow behind her bangs.
He clamped his mouth shut, feeling a pain in the back of his throat.
"S-Shut up…" Lysithea muttered, voice shaking. She sniffed loudly once before she jerked her head up, flashing a teary glare at him. "I don't want to hear it. You…you researchers are all the same. You think my condition is some miracle and treat it as such. But it isn't for me. Why can't you just leave me alone?!"
Linhardt's gaze flickered to the side, eyes cast downward.
Lysithea didn't like his silent response. She barked out a mocking laugh, chest heaving from an emotional whirlwind. "So you can't even answer me?"
"I understand your apprehension towards me," Lindhardt spoke through gritted teeth. "But I assure you, I do not view you as some guinea pig. I just want to help you—"
"Well, I don't need your damn help!" Lysithea screamed, tears now flowing freely down her paling cheeks. "I can deal with all this on my own. I've always done so. I don't need some help from the likes of you! You scholars disgust me. For the sake of research, you're willing to do anything! I-I despise you!" She ran out of insults, but there was no stopping the acidic emotions from rising within her.
Lysithea sobbed, breaking off into a sprint as she crashed into Linhardt's shoulder, knocking him unceremoniously to the ground. She pushed through the library doors, rearing down the corner, leaving only a trail of glistening tears behind.
Linhardt sat awkwardly on the carpet. He stared out the open door, chest tightening. He tilted his head down, staring blankly at his hands. Taking a deep breath, he released a hefty sigh, rustling the strands of his hair in frustration.
"If she won't listen, then all I can do is take more desperate measures…"
It was almost midnight by the time Byleth made it to the second floor of Garreg Mach. She didn't expect anyone to still be awake, much less working through the night. It was a pleasant surprise to see the light peeking out underneath Seteth's office because he was exactly the person she wanted to see most.
She knocked lightly on the door twice.
"Who is it?" Seteth's authoritative voice was muffled through the door, but she heard him nevertheless.
"It's me, Byleth," she answered flatly.
"Professor?" A hint of surprise tinged his stoic tone before the door clicked open, allowing Byleth access into the room.
She strode confidently into his space, glancing around the room. The pile of books and papers previously strewn about had increased tremendously in volume. Most likely, he was still suffering through the after-effects of dealing with the Western Church. Not to mention the dark bags underneath his eyes.
She frowned slightly at his lethargic movements, watching him close the door while stumbling on his own feet. "Sorry to barge in so late in the evening. I had pressing matters I wanted to discuss with you."
"No need to apologize, professor. I'm used to unsavory invitations at the deadly hour by now," Seteth sighed, pinching his forehead, eyes squinting shut. "Please, take a seat wherever you like."
Byleth walked over to the nearest chair, grabbing the pile of documents on it and placing them neatly into a pile next to her feet. She sat down comfortably, folding her hands neatly in her lap.
"To what do I owe this visit tonight?" Seteth plopped himself down onto his chair behind the desk, reclining into the seat, eyes drowsy.
"How much do you know about my father's relationship with Lady Rhea?" Byleth went straight to the point, staring directly into his gawking face.
"P-Pardon me?" Seteth blinked rapidly, mind reeling over at her choice of question. "Why is that of prime concern to you?"
"My father has been very…secretive about his relationship with Lady Rhea. As you know, I had no involvement with the Church of Seiros while growing up. I didn't even know my father used to be a part of the Knights of Seiros until recently," Byleth continued, clasping her hands tightly in her lap. "Even if I ask him, he won't tell me anything. That's why I can only ask you."
Seteth frowned, eying her with confusion. "I'm not sure why you decided to ask me instead of Lady Rhea herself. Surely, she would not hesitate to answer your questions."
"I disagree." Byleth shook her head. "I think there is something the both of them are hiding from me."
Seteth's expression hardened. He leaned forward, gripping his hand together as he narrowed his eyes at her. "Do you mean to tell me you are…suspicious of Lady Rhea?"
Byleth glanced away to the side. "Seteth, I am not insinuating anything of that sort. I simply wish to know more about myself in the process of discovering my father's close ties with the Church of Seiros."
Seteth placed his hand back onto the table, frowning. He lightly tapped his fingers against the wood, pausing to analyze the woman in front of him.
Byleth sat quietly underneath his dissecting vision, staring blankly out the window behind him. She wasn't acting hostile at all. In fact, she seemed very…desperate. At the very least, she seemed genuinely troubled by the thoughts that plagued her mind, and it wasn't often the lone wolf professor sought advice from others.
And of all people, she chose him, the person who treated her as a dangerous outsider from day one until just recently. He didn't know if this was some ploy to make him lower his guard around her, but even if it was, he had no choice but to answer her.
Seteth never saw the Ashen Demon so visibly distraught before — her gaze more wandering than usual, the small bags under her eyes, and all sorts of nervous ticks he never noticed before out on full display. Like how she cracked her knuckles under the desk, shaking her leg imperceptibly against the rhythm of her shallow breathing.
"It appears you really are at a dead end," Seteth pointed out.
Byleth responded with a slight twitch of her mouth, the barest of breath escaping from her lips. "It's not a pleasant feeling."
Seteth hummed, leaning back against his chair. "Unfortunately, I cannot give you all the answers you need. Lady Rhea has never mentioned sir Jeralt's existence to me. Not even once. That is until you two showed up in the monastery."
He watched calmly as Byleth deflated slightly, shoulders drooping as the corner of her eyes crinkled. "I see," she spoke softly, disheartened.
"However, there is something I found out later after looking at the personnel records," Seteth started, catching Byleth's attention immediately as she whipped her head up to meet his steady gaze. "Are you aware that there was a giant fire at the monastery 21 years ago?"
Byleth shook her head.
"It was a very mysterious case. No one knows how the fire started, but sir Jeralt's life was forfeited in that incident…at least according to our records," Seteth answered, eyes boring right into Byleth's widening cerulean orbs.
"I'm not sure if this is part of the answer you are searching for. Nevertheless, that is all I know about sir Jeralt. I thought him to have disappeared, yet came back with a daughter who appears to be in her early twenties." Seteth narrowed his eyes. "Do you understand what I am implying, professor?"
Byleth nodded stiffly. "I'm afraid I do. If I am indeed my father's child, then I was born here in the monastery. If not, shortly after he left. But that does not explain why he deserted Garreg Mach after my birth."
"There were many confusing areas of interest regarding the incident. Considering sir Jeralt's supposed death and disappearance, I can only believe the fire was a planned coincidence," Seteth deduced.
"I see. Thank you for enlightening me with your knowledge, Seteth." Byleth dipped her head slightly. "One last question before I make my leave. Is it possible for a person to have no heartbeat and yet remain very much alive?"
Seteth did a double-take at her question. He stared blankly at her, mouth gaping wide. "E-Excuse me, professor?"
"I mean it, Seteth. Is it possible in your opinion?" Byleth flatly pressed onwards.
Seteth coughed awkwardly into his hand. "I do not believe I understand the nature of your question. But if you are asking me if it is possible to…not have a heartbeat, I will have to say no."
"That's what I thought," Byleth chuckled lightly under her breath. "Sometimes, I wonder if I'm just a living phantom. I hear a girl's voice in my head, possess a long-lost crest, and have no heartbeat. Really, what am I?"
Seteth didn't know how to respond to her musings because it sounded incredulous in his ears. He stared at her with a comical expression, like she sprouted two heads. "You've lost me, professor. Is this another poor attempt at joking?"
Byleth raised a hand in front of him, shaking her head. "Pardon me. I was simply daydreaming a little. Forget I said anything. Anyway, thank you for providing me with your assistance. I will leave you to your work now. Please, don't stay up too late."
"O-Of course, professor. It is nothing," Seteth replied awkwardly.
Byleth spun around towards the door, placing her hand on the knob when the door suddenly slid open. She took a step back, startled at the appearance of Linhardt, who was panting slightly with sweat glistening on his forehead. "Linhardt? What are you doing here at this time of the day?"
Linhardt straightened his posture, coughing once for air as he wiped the sweat off with the sleeves of his uniform. "Pardon me for interrupting, professor. I had something I wished to discuss with you and Seteth."
Seteth stood up from his seat, peering over Byleth's shoulder. "With me as well?"
"Yes. It isn't very urgent, but I want to get it done as soon as possible," Linhardt spoke cryptically as he calmed himself down, taking deep breaths before exhaling softly.
He stared directly into Byleth's confused gaze, determined.
"Are there any transfer forms still available?"
Felix rushed in with a wide sweeping strike, aiming at her abdomen. Satiana leaped back, dodging the attack by a hair's length. She wasted no time in going back in, thrusting forwards immediately.
Felix gritted his teeth, growling as he barged right into her attack, whacking her sword haphazardly to the side with overwhelming strength. Satiana winced slightly, feeling her wrist ache under the pressure as she stumbled backward, raising her right arm to block the next attack aimed predictably at her head.
Felix scowled, the sound of their weapons scraping against each other echoing through the silent night. He clicked his tongue once before he flicked his sword up, intent on slamming the blade down on his opponent.
Satiana took a quick step to the side and Felix's attack landed on the ground next to her, smashing a hole in the tiles. Rounding behind him, Satiana placed her sword at the edge of his neck, panting for air with her brows scrunched up.
"Felix, you're being very reckless today," Satiana commented as she placed the sword down on his shoulder, frowning. "Your attacks are too straightforward. It's good to aim at your opponent's vitals, but if they know where you're aiming for, it will render your attacks useless. In fact, it'll only make it easier for your opponent to counter you."
"Shut up," Felix spat, nudging her sword out of his face. He straightened his posture, eyes closed as he wiped the sweat off his forehead with the hems of his shirt. "I don't want to hear that from you. Look at yourself. Have you noticed you dodged more than necessary today? If you were being serious, you would've won ages ago."
Her brows twitched imperceptibly at his words. She smiled wryly, scratching her cheek. "You're not wrong. I am sort of…distracted today. Sorry about that."
Felix grunted in response. He yanked his shirt back down, exhaling quietly under his breath. Steely eyes snapped in her direction. "Again," he muttered, already placing himself into a stance.
Satiana frowned. "It's already past midnight, you know? Besides, you and I both know we're in no shape to be sparring today. I'm distracted and you're just releasing your pent-up frustrations on me."
"What frustrations?" Felix flatly replied, feigning ignorance.
Satiana sighed loudly, closing her eyes. "Felix, you're no different from a goddamn boar right now."
It was the wrong choice of words because the next thing she knew, the sharp end of his blade landed square on her face and her neck jerked backward on nothing but pure instinct.
Even if they were using wooden swords, it didn't mean they were immune to injuries. A small streak of red appeared on her forehead, where the wood brushed harshly against her skin.
She stared dumbfounded at the sky, the silver light blinking rapidly as if mocking her. Glancing down at the raging pair of copper-brown eyes, her expression hardened. "What, did I strike a nerve?"
"I'm not in a good mood today. Do not test my patience," Felix snarled, baring his fangs at her.
Satiana remained unfazed, tilting her head to the side as she nudged his blade away from her face with her index finger. "I know. It shows in your sloppy attacks today."
Felix didn't respond to this remark because he himself knew she was right on the mark. The scowl remained etched on his face, though he forced himself to lower the sword back by his side.
"Why are you always so mad about everything?" Satiana rolled her eyes.
She turned her back towards him, walking to the training rack. The sound of clothing shifting filled the air, and she knew he moved to protest, but she silenced him with a quick wave of her hand.
No matter how stubborn he was, even Felix had to realize this sparring session wouldn't benefit either of them. They were both too preoccupied with other thoughts to focus on the battle. She slid her swords back into place along the wall, flipping the latch, holding them tightly into place.
She shot a tired glance over her shoulder. "So, are you going to speak or should we just stand here forever in impasse?"
"I said nothing is wrong with me. If you don't want to spar, just say so. I'll continue practicing alone." Felix turned his back to her, ignoring her presence as he swung absentmindedly against the air, practicing his downward strokes.
Satiana observed his form. The tensed shoulders, the nervous twitch in his arm, the loosened grip on his sword. Everything about it was amateurish, and Satiana couldn't help but groan in annoyance. "You are such a stubborn fool, you know that?"
"So are you."
"What did I do now to piss you off?" Satiana frowned, crossing her arms. "Was it because I bugged you about that business with Sylvain's brother? By the way, I checked up on him and he's not doing too well."
"Figures," Felix scoffed, swinging his sword harder. "Leave it to the blubbering fool to dwell in the past. He's too soft-hearted to fight back against his brother, even after everything the bastard has done to him. I'll never be able to understand how that idiot thinks."
"He just wants a family, Felix," Satiana responded softly. "One that actually loves him for who he is."
Felix barked out a cynical laugh. He tilted his head slightly in her direction, copper-brown eyes gleaming dangerously under the moonlight, specks of dark anger scattered within them.
"And you think Miklan can give that to him? You must also be out of your mind."
"From what I heard about him, probably not. But despite everything, they share the same blood. He can't help but yearn for his brother's love," Satiana exhaled softly, shaking her head.
"So what if they're family?" Felix raised his voice, spitting out the word in disgust. He stabbed the end of his sword into the ground, crushing the tile with sheer strength.
"Just because you're family doesn't mean you can understand each other or…care about each other properly. What's the point of seeking for some stupid admiration from someone who'll never look your way? It's pointless. A tremendous waste of time and effort. Only fools would fail to recognize that fact."
Satiana winced, eyes widening at the amount of venom in his tone. "What in the heavens is wrong with you, Felix?"
It was a stupid question, statement, whatever, and Satiana knew there was nothing Felix hated more than being forced to talk about his feelings, but there was a rage bubbling in her veins for the turmoil Felix was experiencing.
His words hit close to home, way too much for her liking because Satiana herself was not that different from Sylvain in this aspect. She too was always seeking validation from others, for others to tell her it was okay to keep on struggling — that she deserved whatever chance the Goddess gave her to repent for her sins.
And it was none other than Felix who pulled her out of that sinking hole of self-loathing, only for him to plunge her back into the abyss again with a simple swing of his emotions.
She was grateful to him. Many times, in fact. But she secretly hated how much his words impacted her mental well-being.
She didn't want to tell him how much his words genuinely affected her. That it did funny things to her emotions, that he made her feel more than anger and annoyance. Hell, she cried because of his scathing words before.
"Fuck, you are so difficult to care for, you know that?" Satiana found her voice trembling slightly as she responded to his outburst.
A quick memory of his afternoon argument with his father flashed through his mind. Then, he remembered the way the young girl in front of him had broken down in despair inside his friend's bedroom.
"I could say the same to you." Felix glared back at her, temper flaring again.
"Hah! So you're saying in that roundabout way of yours you do care," Satiana snorted, but there was a hint of bitterness in her tone. "You know, I've only befriended you for less than five moons, and I'm already sick and tired of your goddamn mood swings. How did Sylvain, Ingrid, and Dimitri even bother to stay by your side all these years?"
"Hey."
He stormed towards her, flinging his sword to the side, the dam barging open for the both of them. There was no more room for reconciliation now. They had both taken a step too far across the scorching line between them.
He halted right in front of her, towering over her with his height and furious glare. "I advise you to keep your mouth shut if you don't know what you're talking about. I told you. You're distracting me. Leave the training grounds if you have nothing better to do."
"Why am I distracting you, Felix? Because you know I'm speaking the truth, isn't it?"
Satiana stood on her toes, jerking her head up at a harsh angle to meet his fiery gaze with a stormy glare of her own.
"You told me yourself. This is who you are. A bastard who always riles others up with his words and that you never plan on changing your ways. Sorry, but I'm not as kind as Sylvain and your other childhood friends. It's about time someone made you realize the damning effect you have on others."
A sudden whirl of black from beside her face and Satiana raised her elbow to block the left hook heading her way. His punch landed on her elbow and she laughed in response, the sound mocking.
"So, you resort to violence now? Who was it that used to sneer at me for acting like an uncontrollable beast?"
This time, his boot flew up as he spun around, aiming a roundhouse kick right at her neck. Satiana leaned back, avoiding the blow. Then she grabbed him by the ankle and twisted hard. Felix hopped awkwardly on one foot, scowling at her as she threw his leg back, ducking in for a low blow.
Her fist landed right on his chest, sending him flat onto the ground, a swirl of dust floating in the air between them.
She took a step forward and stomped him right in the middle of his abdomen. Felix choked on thin air, body jerking upward, eyes seething to the brim.
Satiana peered down at him. "I'm sure you get yourself into a lot of arguments, even with your so-called childhood friends. But let me ask you something, Felix. Have you ever considered how your words hurt others?"
Felix paused in his struggling, body going limp. "What?" he responded in disbelief at the question.
"Look, I get it. You just hate being honest with yourself. For whatever reason, I don't know. I know nothing of your past. You also have a lot of confidence and pride in your beliefs. You try your best to stay true to your ideals. And I…deeply respect that," Satiana began slowly, staring right into his widening orbs.
"I admit it. Your words have saved me quite a few times now. You saw through my weakness and tried in your own goddamn twisted way to make me feel better about myself. I understand what you're trying to do and I appreciate it, Felix," she found her voice breaking at the end when she spoke his name and she cursed underneath her breath.
She paused, glancing off to the side. "But it doesn't change the fact that your words hurt sometimes. It fucking hurts, Felix."
She felt his body stiffening underneath her foot and released the pressure slightly.
"I know your verbal abuse is what you use to hide your own insecurities. You try your hardest to convince others to see things your way, but really, you want to convince yourself the most because no one ever listens to you. Not with the way you are. And to protect yourself, you can only pretend everyone's a fool for not understanding your perspective," Satiana continued, voice growing more breathy after every syllable. "I'm telling you I understand you."
"No, you don't." Felix finally spoke in rebuttal, but the hard edge of his voice had already grown weak. "Don't pretend like you know me."
"Then tell me in your own words so I can understand you better. You can't get mad at others for ignoring you when you never try to explain anything to other people without getting all defensive," Satiana raised her voice, clenching her fists. "If only you spoke honestly, I wouldn't have to spend my entire time playing translator with you."
"You didn't have to," Felix retorted, chewing over his words, doing all he could to turn his face to the side, avoiding her gaze at all costs. He shut his eyes tightly, forehead creasing. "Just leave me alone."
"Really? I'm giving you an opportunity to come clean with your worries, and that's what you give me in return?" Satiana shook her head in disbelief, a cynical burst of laughter escaping from her quaking lips. "I never wanted to resort to this, you know? I know you don't like being forced to talk about your true feelings. But I've had enough of your insensitive remarks."
"I told you before. Did you forget? If you want to befriend me, then you can only accept the person I am. I will never change." Felix buried his head into the crook of his neck, staring at the concrete tiles next to his face, the freezing wisps of air seeping into his body. "Because this is who I am, Felix Hugo Fraldarius, and no one else."
He whispered the last part under his breath, but with her sharp ears, she caught his words nonetheless.
"Are you that afraid of change?" Satiana lifted her foot off his stomach. "How unlike you."
Felix scowled, lifting himself up on his elbows. "Shut it. I've had enough for today. If you won't leave, then I will." He gathered himself up on his feet, brushing the dirt off his pants with a quick wave of his hands.
Satiana stood quietly, staring down at the floor, hands still balled up in fists as Felix brushed her aside, forcibly pushing against her shoulder as he clicked his tongue in annoyance. She wobbled slightly before regaining her stance.
He stormed all the way to the gates, pushing the metal door ajar with his hands.
"...I'm sorry."
Felix froze.
"I went too far. I didn't mean to corner you like that. I'll…give you some space. Deal with my grievances regarding you by myself. I have no right to force you to change to fit my ideals."
Felix groaned softly under his breath, a numbing pain rising his forehead.
"Again, I'm sorry—"
*Crash*
He slammed his fist right into the gates, sending a loud resounding thud echoing down the empty hall. Satiana flinched, head jerking up in horror. Her eyes landed on his trembling fist, a bloodied dent emerging from behind his bleeding knuckles.
Her mind went pure white. "I…what the fuck?!"
She scrambled over towards him, yanking his arm back in a hurry. She grabbed his hand, twisting it in all directions as she inspected the damage, face growing ashen with every fresh injury or blotch of red she found. Her fingers lightly brushed against his bleeding joints and she immediately cast a quick heal, their hands growing palpably white.
"What the hell are you doing? If you want to release your anger, at least aim your fist at me like you did earlier! Why would you do something so stupid?!" Satiana yelled in his ears.
Felix didn't respond. He allowed her to hold his hand, head hanging low.
She sighed in exasperation, watching as his wounds slowly disappeared underneath the wave of warmth her hand emitted. "I know I pissed you off with how I spoke earlier, but don't go hurting yourself on my watch."
"Stop it."
Satiana's gaze flickered. "What did you say?"
Felix whipped his head up. "I said stop it with the apologies. Why are you always apologizing?!"
Satiana blinked. "Huh?"
He groaned again, this time swiping his entire face over with his other free hand. He hid behind his hand, but there was no denying the low drip of his grimace. "Just…I don't get it. Why do you have to bother me so much?" An emotion akin to hurt flashed in her blue orbs, and Felix backtracked again. "No, what I mean is…"
He paused mid-sentence, feeling a sudden wave of shame overtaking his nerves. He flinched, feeling the warm, fuzzy aura of her magic vibrating against the cold air around him.
"What you mean…?" she goaded him softly, swerving her neck in different angles to catch a glimpse of his facial expression behind his shaking hand.
Felix took a sharp intake of breath, flinching as soon as her worried gaze met his own conflicted ones. He lowered his hand beside him, choosing to confront the whirlwind of emotions surging within him with a frown.
"You're troublesome. If I annoy you so much with my words, then why are you even bothering to spend time with me? If me being who I am makes you angry, then you can just ignore me like I do to you. Like everyone does. So why? Just…why?"
If Felix had to put a name to the heavy, sinking sensation in his stomach, it would be guilt because he genuinely felt apologetic towards the woman in front of him for being the enigma he was. He didn't want to admit it, but he knew exactly what faults and flaws she had a bone to pick with. There was no one who knew him better than himself, after all.
Or maybe there was someone, a certain man a few years older, who shared his face and almost every cell of his body, but he was no longer there to comfort and guide him.
Felix had long shut the doors to his heart, chained the knob time and time again until not even the smallest glimpse of light penetrated through his defenses. As much as he wanted to explain his true feelings to someone, anyone, no words ever escaped out of his strangled throat.
Not even Sylvain, his one and only best friend, got through his thick skin. Felix was simply…broken and traumatized beyond repair.
Because when he was most honest about his feelings, the person who should've loved and respected him, his one and only father, denied his entire existence with one damning sentence. His father never looked at him, cared about him since Glenn's death, and he knew from that moment on his father would never be satisfied with him.
He came to believe no one would be satisfied with him, not when even his last remaining blood connection viewed him as a lost cause. So he shut himself up, hiding his honesty underneath a bundle of sharp and sarcastic layers because he was afraid of being ignored at his weakest.
Felix was never the same after that incident and all his childhood friends had long given up on him as well, choosing to give him space instead, forgiving every hurtful remark under the excuse of being long-time friends, which he was grateful for…
Or at least he thought he was grateful until he met this damn woman who refused to let him retreat inside his safe shell.
She was hellbent on destroying his flimsy facade, slamming through his defenses with her keen vision and sharp words, tugging at his heartstrings because fuck, did she know exactly what she was talking about.
A finger jabbed right into the middle of his chest, and his thoughts stilled.
Satiana let out a long-suffering sigh. "Do you really not know, Felix? My reason is the same as yours. Or, at least, I hope it's the same."
Grudgingly, Felix chanced another look at her face. She looked absolutely crestfallen and the pang of guilt was back. The white aura palpitating against his other hand spiked sporadically, a reflection of her own conflicting emotions.
"You already know I'm an annoying woman. Hell, you've mentioned it straight to my face countless times now. But you still sought me out for a spar. You threatened to invite Byleth instead, but you didn't. Why, Felix?" Satiana breathed.
Felix felt his finger twitch in her grasp and he mentally scolded himself for acting so honestly despite him chewing on the inside of his cheeks to prevent any embarrassing words from slipping hastily out of his lips.
No, they shouldn't be embarrassing, but Felix had gone far too long holding himself back; he couldn't quite manage to move the muscles properly, the honest words failing to curl off his tongue.
"Because even though we have our differences, we're friends, are we not?" Satiana asked in a meek voice, hunching in on herself, eyelashes batting nervously as she peered up at him with caution.
Felix felt his lips thinning, his throat clogging up again. He unraveled his hand from hers, letting it drop to his side, the white aura fizzling mid-air from lack of contact. He hung his head low, closing his eyes, temple creasing.
The silence was his answer.
The hollow emptiness inside returned and her heart ached at the overwhelming sense of loss. "I see. So, I guess it's really impossible?" Satiana found her voice shaking uncontrollably.
Felix opened his mouth suddenly, but no sound escaped. His jaws hung open for a few seconds, before he clamped shut again, mind going blank, words and everything failing him.
Satiana watched him blubber quietly to himself, and her lips quirked. "I guess you're trying. At least that's something."
"No, I—" his voice broke, and he bit his lips close again.
Satiana shook her head, taking a step away from him, folding her hand behind her back. "Forget it. I'm sorry for wasting your time. I'll…take my leave now. You can continue to spar if you wish. I hope you have a pleasant evening, okay?"
She stood still for a split second, rubbing her hands together behind her back in hesitation, before her shoulders went slack in a show of resignation. She brushed past him lightly, hands pushing open the gates.
She slid half her body out the door before she forced her legs to halt with nothing but sheer stubbornness.
"Felix, you know you don't have to suffer alone, right?"
Felix didn't turn around to face her, but the sound of his feet shifting alerted her enough to know he was listening.
"I may have given you an earful about your manner of speech, but regardless, everyone understands what it is you're trying to say. I'm not asking you to open yourself completely to us — to me. I just simply wish to support you, like how you always pretend you don't care, but end up helping me nonetheless. At the least, I intend to fully accept who you are. I'll try to mind your words less, so if you…consider me to be anything close to a friend, can you also try to do better, too?"
Felix wanted nothing more than to spin around and tell her straightforwardly that he was already doing his best, despite how awful he sounded to others. But his legs were locked up tight, his voice box and heart even more.
Satiana didn't wait for his reply, and the door slammed shut with a thud behind him.
Felix stared blankly at his hands, head drooping. He remembered back to his argument with his father, all the times he called Dimitri a boar, screamed at Sylvain for being an insatiable fool, and the many times Ingrid scolded him for his lack of etiquette.
Satiana's last words rang in his ears and in his hands, he felt the broken pieces of his relationships with others slipping through his fingers like sand.
He threw his head back, glancing at the stars above as they winked brightly, mocking his performance.
He let loose a cynical burst of breath, copper brown irises darkening. "She says she'll accept me for who I am, yet has qualms with my manner of speech. What a hypocrite."
He knew it must've been nothing more than an illusion, but for a moment, Felix thought he heard laughter from behind him, accompanied by a warm touch on his head, lightly grazing through his hair, rustling it with affection.
He closed his eyes, feeling the wind whispers around him as he sank deeper into his memories, the simple times where he laughed with his friends, chasing each other through grass and mud, crying honest tears and screaming complaints like an innocent child while burying himself into his brother's embrace.
Who was he even trying to deceive, but himself?
Her words rang true because the jaded and cynical man he believed to be himself was only half the person Felix Hugo Fraldarius truly was.
Felix remembered the length to which he argued with his father about Satiana's situation and sighed heftily. "Then again, I'm another hypocrite as well…brother."