POV: Hubert
How long does ash cling to hair? Like dirt, it can easily be washed away with water. It should be. And yet…
Think, Hubert. Children who have not yet breached the threshold of adolescence gain white hair through… genetics. But Duke Aegir has not a strand of white on his balding head. His wife… well, Ferdinand did not share much about his mother. I never saw the need to ask him about her.
That leaves stress. But what could a noble brat be stressed about? His servants tested his food, his bodyguards patrolled his estate, and he never had to lay down his life for anyone!
"Do children usually fall out of the sky in Fódlan?"
"Don't be absurd, Shamir! They must've been fled their hometown! To think that there are monsters who disguise themselves as humans, enslaving children like cattle!"
"Do not jump to conclusions, Alois."
"For fuck's sake, those boys have iron collars around their necks!"
He rears up like a bull ready to puncture human lungs. Then he turns to us.
"Listen up, kids! From now on, I, Alois Rengeld, will keep you safe!"
Safe? From what?
"I do not require protection," I say. "What we need are directions to Enbarr."
"Why? The Alliance is the safest place to be right now."
"Lady Edelgard is still in Enbarr!"
"Lady who?"
"Enbarr is in flames," Shamir says with the air of someone greeting the end of humanity with a barrel of bathtub gin. "Fhirdiad is in shambles. Adrestia and Faerghus are grappling with political and civil turmoil."
These developments seep into my brain with the speed of dissolving sewage.
Alois shoots a warning glare. "They're children."
"The Adrestian Emperor was stripped of his power following a coup from his own government," Shamir drones on. "The Faerghus King was slain on foreign soil—"
"That's impossible!" I blurt. "Father will never betray the Imperial family! Us von Vestras are not traitors! If we do stab the Emperor's back, we might as well behead the Goddess in public!"
My cry rings across the clearing. The other adults have suddenly found interest in visually dissecting the anatomy of the overhead clouds. I wipe the spittle off my chin, scrub the itchy hair from my eyeballs, and force a breath into my taut lungs.
The silence deepens. Even the unflappable Shamir breaks her mask to blink.
Alois holds up his hands. When he speaks, his smile is soft. Disarming.
"What's your name, buddy?"
I scowl. Who does he think he is, addressing me like his own children?
"What's your friend's name?" Alois presses.
"HE IS NOT MY FRIEND!"
"Alois," Sharmir says sharply. "Don't push it."
My nerves are so taut that if someone is to so much as blink wrong I will shove my damn arm down their throat and crush their liver.
"Okay, let's start by breaking the ice. It's kind of a slippery subject but I know we can crack it!"
"Alois."
The tension is stretched so tightly that no one dares move a muscle. A civilization frozen in place in the shadow of total war.
Spasms rock my fingers. Shamir reaches for her belt.
Then a sound bubbles from behind me. A rustle of laughter as fragile as eyelashes.
Alois breaks into a grin. "Aha! The first person to ever laugh at my jokes! Speaking of which, Shamir often says that our camp is haunted. I've been here for 5000 years and have not noticed anything unusual!"
Ferdinand giggles into his sleeve. While hoarse and hesitant, his laughter spears through my heart in a way no poison has ever touched. The abrupt yearning to cup that melody into my hands, to cherish it always, is so overwhelming that my knees go weak.
"You're horrible," Shamir says with a skeleton of a smirk.
She does not remove her hand from her dagger.
"So you're Hubert, eh? Hoo's the best? You bet your bet that Hubert's the best, ahaha!"
I roll my eyeballs so hard that a headache springs to my toes.
"What did you say your friend's name was?"
"Ferdinand is not my friend. He is an unruly, unmanageable blur in my fovea."
Alois tips his head back and roars from the bottom of his bowels. It is a warm, genuine laugh.
"Ferdinand! That's a very noble name!"
The following giggle warms my ears like the summer sunlight.
We watch as Alois reels in his line. At the empty hook, he performs a theatrical sigh.
"My skills are off the hook, huh?"
"A shame they aren't on the hook," says Shamir.
"Ah! W-When did you get here?"
"Just now."
"Why do you keep creeping up on me like a g-g-ghost?"
Shamir's eyes crinkle in amusement. To us, she says, "We are low on provisions. Bring back 20 servings of meat."
Alois shoots up. "They're children!"
"If they want to take, they have to provide. We are not a charity."
"But—"
"I'll do it," I say.
Shamir is not incorrect. Those who suckle on the teats of others observe the ire of society. That was one of Father's core principles.
"Hubert, you're in no shape to—"
"I'll go with him," says Shamir.
Oh? Well, at least I have Ferdinand as a distraction.
"Ferdinand stays with Alois."
And she drags me off before I can protest. Ferdinand runs after me like a child chasing his mother after a nasty divorce. Then his legs give out. Fortunately, Alois catches him before he eats dirt.
A few trees into the forest, Shamir releases her grip on me.
"Your collar," she says.
My my, so brutally quick to the point. Is that why she separated us? To interrogate me without outside influences.
"Very perceptive," I hum.
She sniffs. "You're a smart kid. You're bright enough to understand that Alois thinks with his emotions."
Translation: Alois trusts you, but I don't.
"What will I gain from poisoning him?" I say innocently.
Her lips twitch. She plants our knuckles against her hips, a sniper-like gaze honed to a major artery in my neck.
"I'm from Dagda," she says.
Ah. She wishes to play this game.
"I am from Adrestia," I say with a bow.
"I am a mercenary."
"I am—" was? "—the right hand of the ninth child of Emperor Ionius IX."
"I left my country to make money."
"I left to find my master, Lady Edelgard."
She cuts the charade. "Why are you two in Alliance territory? How did you get here?"
I toss my hands up in frustration. "How should I know? We were running. When I opened my eyes, we were in the woods and Ferdinand had white hair!"
A change overcomes Shamir's hardened mask. "So it wasn't always... I knew something was off the moment I saw you two."
I… I've said too much, have I? Oh, Hubert. Oh no.
"Bad Hubert. Naughty little servant."
The stench of old piss and musty bricks tap my heart before scurrying away, snickering.
"Hubert."
I glance up so fast that my neck cracks. "Yes?"
"I asked you a question."
"Ah. My apologies. Please repeat your inquiry."
Shamir is no longer frowning. Rather, she seems… troubled.
"Hubert. Over here."
Eight bodies bob up to the surface of a nearby pond. Their eyes and mouths are ajar, as though they had caught glimpse of the Goddess feasting on human flesh.
No, not the Goddess. They are looking up at Lady Edelgard, who floats in the air like a suspended doll. A long, elastic needle rolls down her throat, creating ripples in her intestinal tract. Then she convulses, but since her throat is closed with the needle, all that spills out are strangled, frothing grunts.
"Hubert!"
They carved out sixth brother's liver while he was still alive. They plugged their bizarre syringes into third sister's skull while she twitched like a dying fish. They dipped their serrated scalpels into Lady Edelgard's thigh while soiled herself out of terror.
Once the darkness lifts, I find myself in a vicegrip.
"Got you!" Shamir hisses.
Why are there leaves in my hair? We were standing beneath that tree, not by this mushroom patch.
"Go back to camp," she mumbles. "I'll take care of the hunting."
Watercolor infuses the skies with hues of violet, orange, and gold. With nightfall looming in the horizon, the traveling posse prepares for the day's end.
"Welcome back!" Alois booms. "Lil' Ferdie here was a big help around camp. When he heard you two coming, he dropped everything and raced out!"
Ferdinand greets me with an embrace. Every fibre of my existence yearns to shove him into the mud. Yet I do not, for some absurd reason that my mind refuses to reveal to me.
Hmph. You're like a puppy, Ferdinand. A puppy thrice-abandoned.
"How was our little Hubie?" Alois coos.
"Hubert," I growl.
Must this insufferable man grease himself with affection? If he teams up with Ferdinand, the stars will eat themselves clean just to avoid that disaster of a duo.
"It was fine," Shamir says with a nudge of her head.
"Great! What's for dinner?"
"Rabbit." An impatient jut of the chin.
"What?! But they're so cute! Their little tails are like cottonballs!"
Her unspoken actions sail past his thick skull. Shamir gives up and beckons us to the dining tent. I sit with Ferdinand, of course. And of course he sits next to Alois, though not out of choice.
The adults tear into the food with the vigor of a stomach that had forgotten how to eat. I glance down at my plate. A slab of diced rabbit mercilessly skewered and clumsily seasoned.
"Who gave you permission to eat, Hubert?"
It smells like offal. Like bowels abruptly emptied out of fear—
A steady hand befalls my quavering knee, stilling it. It is then I realize that I have one asscheek hanging off the chair. As though poised to flee at the slightest notice.
Eyes crinkling, Ferdinand picks up a square of rabbit and holds it to my lips.
Oh? The noble Ferdinand von Aegir forgoing his silver spoon to eat with his hands instead? The insufferable spoiled brat does not mind grease on his fingertips? Goddess, behold! The high and might Prime Minister's legitimate son is in fact a barnyard commoner!
I pound my fists on the table. Goddess, can you hear my bones rattling too? Of course you do. You hear and see everything yet you do not lift a nose hair to help!
"Are you acting out again, Hubert?"
At once, I bite down on my tongue. Liquidized rust pools on my palate.
"I'm sorry," I whisper.
No reply. Father must be satisfied with that answer. For now.
The pressure on my knee increases, startling me back to this untouched plate of rabbit. It is cold. Beyond the food is the undivided attention of all the adults.
Why are they staring at me?
"This isn't a circus," Shamir snaps.
That, and everyone resume eating.
After tossing and turning for long enough, I abandon any pretense of sleep. I sit up, only to meet that faraway gaze. Ferdinand has not slept a wink either. In the darkness scantily broken by the moon, he can very well pass as a ghost—
No. Ferdinand is alive. He is right here. My touch does not go through him.
"We need to go back to Enbarr," I say.
He nods.
After ensuring that the vicinity is clear, we slink out of the tent. Hand-in-hand (for lost-and-found purposes), we weave soundlessly through the fallen spears, the snoring horses, the passed-out guard—
"—started screaming then ran off. Like he saw a ghost."
"Must've been a hallucination. He was muttering to himself during dinnertime too."
"Do you recall how they were holding hands when we first saw them?"
"How can I forget? They looked at us like they knew we were going to hurt them. Children shouldn't be like that, Shamir."
"Did you find anything from Ferdinand?"
"I couldn't get him to speak. I don't think he can right now."
A lull in the conversation. A click of the tongue.
"How much do you know about the Empire's noble houses?"
"As much as I do about childbirth. But the Captain's always telling me to watch my back if I ever visit the Empire. Apparently weird things happen in the shadows."
"Weird enough to put iron collars on children and turn their hair completely white."
The silence that follows is deep enough to accommodate a coffin. I look away from the colony of gooseflesh on my arm to meet a pair of wide, dark eyes.
"You—" Shamir begins.
And her face melts off. Her choker. Her faded cloak. The white ribbons decorating her waist. Everything that makes Shamir Shamir washes away in a colorless slop to reveal a familiar, sneering face.
"You rats are supposed to be dead!" Kronya shrieks.
I grab Ferdinand and run.
And run.
And run until my lungs burn and my legs weep and the collar chafes my neck, cutting off breath. I trip and fall headlong down a hill.
Branches and brambles snap under my weight. I only stop once I crash into a fallen tree husk. The resulting pain makes the world go white for a tad too long.
"Buh! Buh!"
Ferdinand's bloodied forehead frizzles into clarity.
"Hoo! Buh!"
A grimace. A defiant flare of the nostrils.
"Hubert!"
All remnants of exhaustions leeches from my pores. As though struck by lightning, I have enough energy to sprint around the world four times over while carrying Lady Edelgard and her eight siblings on my back. And Ferdinand, to hell with it all!
Crunch.
A wet, foul breath washes over the dead earth, scattering topsoil and gooseflesh. The crisp forest air turns sour. Like sweat. No, not sweat. The air is crunchy like an old tendon plucked from a long-deceased corpse.
Crunch.
Beside me, Ferdinand is so still that the statues of the four Saints might mistake him for one of their own.
The beast stops. Not a Wolf nor a Hawk nor a twisted amalgamate of the two, but a breed from a different world entirely. This monster rivals the height of the moon. Slicked with black plaque, the gums of its bared fangs pulsate with angry veins.
And an iron collar hangs from its thick neck. The metal glints bright violet, not white, under the moonlight. Not unlike our own.
"Hubert! Ferdinand!"
The monster swivels to Alois. The axe slips from his fingers, cluttering noiselessly upon the leaf-poisoned ground.
"What the fuck is that?" he gasps.
As an answer, the beast lunges. I fling a fireball at its temple. Instead of flinching, it keeps advancing as though my flesh-incinerating attack was a mere itch caused by a mischievous ant.
As Alois fumbles for his weapon, a silver streak plunges into the monster's left eye.
"I told you no to run after them!" Shamir barks, her fingers tickling the bowstrings like piano keys.
"You came after all!" Alois sobs. "You do care! I'm sorry I thought you were—"
"Focus!"
Arrows and axes bounce off the monster's indestructible hide. Physical attacks seem not to faze it at all, even taking into consideration Alois's strength and Shamir's dexterity. The monster dismisses their relentless assault like a dog shaking off water.
Then, with a roar that uproots the flowers from the ground, the monster swipes its giant tail. The sheer impact sends Shamir and Alois flying like rag dolls, their bones crackling like fireworks in a summer night.
Cursing, I let loose a barrage of icicles… which splinter upon the tightly-interwoven scales. Same with a beam of concentrated lightning.
Oh? Why does it smell like burnt pork?
Ah.
No, that's just me. My hands are on fire.
"Hu…bert…" the beast rumbles. "Help… me…"
A scream loaded in my lungs, I unleash all my strength into my magic. That disembodied voices grows agitated, syllables slurring together like thick gruel.
"It hurts it hurts IT HURTS—"
"SHUT UP!" I screech.
Then something breaks inside me. Within the depths of my heart, movement sloshes out. Hot, searing fluid that corrodes all it touches. That rot seeps deep within my veins.
And that corruption infects my blood which fuels my magic which I shoot out of my charred palms. Like orange hair turning white overnight, the bright strips of fire turn charcoal-black. Heartless black flames which latch onto the monster like tumors, slowly eating its flesh from the inside-out.
The scream which rips from its throat brings back the fleeting dream of a Pegasus burning in the sky. They both sound so human. Especially this beast, whose garbled screech bears an uncanny resemblance to the eight sister's voice.
Hm. I do not recall Kronya feasting on her corpse. That was only body unaccounted for.
The monster stands its ground. While rotting skin hangs in tatters from its exposed bones, it charges. Its putrid jaws close over my head…
And Ferdinand pushes me aside. Drawing Alois's fallen axe in a glimmering crescent, he cleaves the monster's jaws off.
Thick black blood spurts out with the intensity of a ruptured artery. A hand pushing his wet hair out of his eyes, Ferdinand pushes his weight into one foot and swings the Silver Axe.
CRACK!
Time slows down. A strangled gasp rises from the monster's bleeding gums. All goes quiet when head slides off the neck and into the bed of spider lilies, where it appears to sink into the earth.
"Thank you… El's…friends…"
Ash rises from the monster's husk, twirling to the heavens like charred flower petals. They glow under the radiance of the Minor Crest of Cichol.
Ferdinand rushes to where Alois. The man is still, his neck bent sharply to the right. Ferdinand raises his hands, dousing the wounds in a bright, milky bath.
"Ow…" Alois mumbles.
Next is Shamir whose left leg had been torn off in the toss. One brilliant glow later, and the legs are whole. She sits up with the grace of someone in the throes of a hangover.
Finally, Ferdinand kneels beside me. His usually dull eyes are aglow in liquidized sunlight, too intense to look at.
"Hubert." He rasps my name with all its meanings and implications.
Taking my trembling hands into his own, he clasps them ever so tenderly against his bosom. As gentle as a dove's wing brushing a baby's cheek. Warmth lathers my charred skin. Unconditional, irrevocable kindness giving its strength to repair my rotted fingers.
I find myself unable to match his gaze lest I suffocate on shame. I could not stop the Agarthans from destroying his innocence. His doughy, arrogant innocence. I failed to save the first person who brought heaven to hell just to call me his friend.
I failed to save you, Ferdinand. Why are you so insistent on saving me, time and time again?
The Minor Crest of Cichol flashes dimly above us. Yet… it looks wrong somehow.
Damned tears. They distort everything. The last thing I want is to remember his stupid Crest incorrectly. That's the only thing that stayed the same, after all, when our world crumbled from beneath our feet.
Two big arms snatch us into a sloppy embrace. Hot tears and snot stream down our heads.
"You're alive!" Alois bawls.
"You're embarrassing yourself," Shamir says softly.
I bury my face into Alois's breast so no one will ever have to see the cracks on my carefully crafted mask.