A/N: To be honest, I didn't expect to get some reviews right off the bat. You have no idea how happy it makes me feel. Thank you for taking interest in this humble story of mine. I'm glad that you guys are enjoying Satiana and this story!

[Black Fog]

Chapter 4: What It Means to Survive

"What the hell is going on here?" Jeralt muttered under his breath.

He sidestepped to the left, evading a well-directed fireball. It whizzed past his ear, landing on the wall behind him with a sizzle, painting the stones charcoal-black. Before the attacker could cast another spell, he sprinted forward, slicing the neck of the attacker, spraying blood against his armor as the body fell to the ground. The sound of twigs snapping alerted him, and he swerved around, kicking aside the bandit creeping up behind him, earning a loud groan from the enemy as they crashed into a pile of barrels on the side of the street.

"These aren't normal bandits." Byleth casually stabbed her sword into the head of the floundering thief lying on the barrels, silencing him. She strolled towards Jeralt, flickering the blood of her sword with a clean swipe in the air. "They know how to use magic."

"No, there are some normal thieves as well," Jeralt scowled. He peered over his shoulder, shooting a glare towards the thief who was sneaking over behind Byleth. The thief squeaked, spinning around on his heels, scrambling away as fast as his legs could carry him. "The ones wearing black cloaks are different. You can take mercy on the petty ones but kill the cloaked ones. I have a bad feeling about them," he ordered Byleth, who nodded in response.

Multiple pairs of boots thudded closer from the alleyway, heightening Jeralt and Byleth's sense of danger. They took off, running in the opposite direction as a group of cloaked mages crowded out of the alley. "Kill them all!" One of the mages yelled, pointing an arm towards their direction.

The other mages lined up, holding their palms in front of them. Power built up in their hands, sending sparks flying across the pavement. Jeralt and Byleth dodged swiftly, leaping out of the thoron's path. The thunderbolt blasted onto the ground where they previously stood, creating a large crater.

Jeralt shot a quick look in Byleth's direction. She met his gaze and nodded curtly in understanding. Byleth gripped her sword tightly, shifting her weight onto the soles of her feet. She darted forward, straight into the herd of mages. The mages gaped in surprise, not expecting in a million years that someone would be reckless enough to run directly into their waiting arms. They prepared another spell, gathering the light in their palms—

A quick sliver of light passed through their line of sight, and their leader's head soared through the sky, spraying blood over their cloaked forms. The thoron in the leader's hand misfired, sending the group of mages scattering across the ground as they ducked in surprise.

Another blur of light and their vision dyed red, the blade too fast for them to see with their eyes. Screams of terror blended into the night as the enemies were slain one by one with no mercy.

Three mages backed towards the alley in a hurry. "D-Demon!" One of the mages screamed as the end of Jeralt's spear pierced through his beating heart, skewing through the two comrades behind him in one hefty blow. They collapsed to the ground into a bloody mess before they could even comprehend the pincer attack.

"Good job catching their attention," Jeralt complimented.

Byleth didn't answer. This was routine for them, after all.

The last remaining mage tried to sneak up behind them. Byleth and Jeralt turned to glare murderously at him. The mage flinched, backing away from them. Like a predator hunting its prey, Byleth shifted the edge of her sword up, pointing it at the mage. The mage shrieked and spun around on his heels, running off into the distance.

An arrow zipped through the air, landing on the mage's head, busting his skull open.

Jeralt spun his head towards the direction the arrow came flying from. His eyes widened in recognition as a young girl, and her companion came sprinting towards him.

"Hey, Jeralt!" Renard yelled, catching Jeralt's attention. "We've got bad news."

They came to a halt in front of him. Satiana had her hands on her knees as she bent down, panting for air. The iron bow Byleth bought for her was attached to her back. Both of the swords in her hands were stained with blood.

"You guys fought through a group of them too?" Jeralt asked.

Satiana raised her head up and nodded. "Yes, but that's not what's important." She paused, taking a moment to straighten her back. "Jeralt, I think they're here for me."

"What?!" Jeralt yelled in bewilderment. "Why?"

"They want to make sure there are no survivors," Satiana quickly explained. "We children are the only ones who know that someone was controlling the assassination plot behind the shadows. The Duscur folks were incited to work for them, so they'll stay loyal to their leader's cause. But we're different. We're tools meant to be discarded. That means we hold no loyalty towards them."

Jeralt cursed under his breath. "So they want to wipe out the village closest to the battlefield to prevent any leakage, huh?"

Satiana frowned, her gaze lowering to the ground below her. She clenched her fists, biting her lips so tightly a trail of blood trickled down from her chapped lips. "This is all my fault. Because I came here, all the townsfolk are being killed," her voice trembled.

The guilt-ridden girl was back, and Jeralt immediately grabbed her shoulders tightly, forcing her to look at him.

"No, you're wrong," Jeralt tried to appease her self-hatred. "Even if you didn't come here, I'm sure they would still target this village. If my guess is correct, they'll target every village close to the warzone."

Satiana nodded stiffly. Although he made logical sense, it wasn't easy for her to shed away her fears. For once, she had people she didn't want to lose. The thought of them being in danger because of her made Satiana feel sick to her stomach.

Renard grimaced at Jeralt's words. "They're being overly cautious. Wiping out all the nearby villages just because they want to ensure all survivors are silenced? Geez, talk about overkill." He shook his head in exasperation.

"That just means they're that powerful," Jeralt snarled, his grip on Satiana's shoulders tightening. "I don't know which fucking group incited regicide, but if they're capturing young children from Caldea to use as fighting tools, they've got to have high-ranked nobles backing them up."

"Forget the politics," Byleth suddenly interjected. Her calm voice was a godsend in the middle of the chaos, catching their attention immediately. "For now, we kill all the enemies. Then, we move out as soon as possible," she sternly commanded.

"Right," Jeralt mumbled, letting go of Satiana's shoulder; the trembling in them had stopped. He took a quick glance over her bandaged form and frowned. "You think you can still fight?"

"Definitely," she replied immediately, eyes blazing with determination. "Even if my legs and arms are shattered, I can fight till the very end."

Because that was all she knew how to do.

Jeralt nodded stiffly, taking her words at face value. He turned around to face Byleth and Renard, who were already holding their weapons up into the air, waiting for his command. He took a deep breath of air before he barked out. "We're separating out into four different directions. Byleth, you take the east. Renard, head south and evacuate any of the remaining survivors. I'll chase after the remaining enemies in the forest." Then, he turned towards Satiana. "You head west and get rid of the stragglers. Help clear a path down south to where Renard is."

As soon as he finished speaking, the four darted off in different directions without a moment of hesitation.

Luckily for Satiana, the sky was pitch-black today, with no stars to be seen. That meant she could fully utilize the shadows to her advantage. She crept against the walls, leaning against them as she headed west. The flames still roared throughout the village, but most of the residents had either evacuated or lost their lives in the process.

There was an eerie silence in the village; only the sound of fire crackling could be heard.

On pure instinct, Satiana sailed backward, leaping away in time as the wall next to her exploded, shooting debris and dust all over her surroundings. Narrowing her eyes, Satiana squinted through the flying dust, locking eyes with her target. Powerful legs propelled her forward over the rocks and boulder. The mage was caught off-guard, not expecting her to survive the point-blank attack. She raised her blades high up into the air, letting gravity take hold as her sword plunged into flesh.

The mage let loose a blood-curling scream as he stumbled back. Satiana growled, shooting her hand forward to grab the mage's neck. She squeezed tightly, earning a choke from bloodstained lips.

"Who ordered you to come here?" she growled impatiently into his ears.

"Y-You," the mage stammered. "A c-child…!" His hands clawed at her, begging her to loosen her grip on his neck.

"Answer me!" She rumbled darkly, pointing her blade at his tear-stained face.

"I… don't know…" the mage wheezed for air as he spoke.

"Don't lie to me!" She found herself screeching, the uncontrollable rage inside of her threatening to break free. "If you want to live, tell me now."

The mage suddenly coughed out blood, his face turning a gruel shade of purple and red. He foamed at the mouth, and Satiana let go of the mage immediately. She wiped the froth off her hands, scowling in displeasure.

"Bastard chose suicide. They gave them poison, huh?" She growled to herself.

Footsteps thundered towards her direction, alerting Satiana to a new group of pursuers. She backtracked through the open wall, hiding behind it, holding in her breath. Then, peering behind the edge of the wall, she spotted a group of enemies crowding over the mage's dead body. One of them knelt down, sliding their fingers against the bubbles foaming on their comrade's mouth.

The thief clicked their tongue once in annoyance. "It's poison. That means the idiot got interrogated." They turned back to their followers. "The target is near here! Kill them no matter what it takes!"

The group dispersed into several different directions, two heading her way. Satiana felt her muscles stiffen as she knelt down, hiding behind a large piece of debris.

Don't fail me yet, legs…!

The moment the thieves showed themselves past the pile of debris, Satiana darted forward, stabbing one of the thieves swiftly, right in the heart. The other thief turned around, stunned in shock.

"You—"

Satiana slammed her knees into the corpse plunged in her sword, hurling it towards the thief. The body crashed into the thief, knocking the air out of him. Immediately, Satiana leaped towards him, blades up in the air as she prepared to stab them both.

Her sword was parried by the thief, who quickly pushed the corpse out of the way. He snarled, pushing back against her blades. Satiana's arms ached as she suddenly flinched in pain. The thief narrowed his eyes, noticing how she winced. He leaped back, earning a brief moment to adjust his stance as Satiana charged. The thief mustered up his last remaining strength and roared, raising his arms above his head as he prepared to slice down.

But Satiana was well-prepared. She knew he noticed her wounds and that he was trying to end the battle by overwhelming her with sheer strength.

Use your speed to overpower them. Hit them fast before they realize what's going on.

Renard's instructions echoed in her head, and Satiana smirked. As the blade came crashing down, she ducked and slammed her blade into the thief's calves. The thief hollered out in pain, losing his balance. The thief's sword landed a mere inch away from her face. She twisted her grip, launching the sword deeper into the thief's legs.

"Y-You brat!" The thief wobbled, raising his arm again to slice her.

But Satiana was a duel wielder. Using her free arm, she parried the blow, sending the thief's sword flying across the air.

The match was over, and his face paled in horror. "S-Spare me, please—"

*Squelch*

His head slowly slid off his shoulder, landing onto the ground with a wet thud. Satiana stared down at the headless corpse with dull eyes.

"Sorry, but I have no mercy for people like you…" she coldly turned away from the man.

Three of them were heading west. I should follow their trail and kill them off before they manage to tell the higher-ups a survivor made it here.

Her murderous intent flared, reaching new heights. She quietly strode across the alley, hiding away from the moonlight, leaving trails of blood and corpses behind in her wake.

Clearing out bandits was routine enough for Jeralt at this point in his life. He skillfully weaved his way between the horde of thieves and mages in front of him, cutting them all down without a hint of emotion on his face. He made quick work of them, circling behind a few to cut off their escape routes.

He stood in the middle of the forest clearing, a pile of bloodied corpses scattered around him. He sighed loudly in exhaustion, flickering the blood off his spear with a quick snap of his wrists.

The forest suddenly rustled, and Jeralt immediately barrel-rolled out of the open clearing, sliding behind the trunk of a tree. He held his breath, hiding his presence, internally scowling.

Can't even take a break, huh?

Silvery rays flooded through the open canopies, shedding light onto the cloaked figures herding through the open field. The one in front was an exceptionally tall figure with a large build. The moonlight shifted onto his features, casting shadows on his expression, sharpening the edge in his glimmering dark orbs. The pale white skin sparkled in the light, catching Jeralt's undivided attention.

Such pale white skin. Is he even human?

Another rustle accompanied by a dark figure slithering across the plains made Jeralt hunch his back closer to the tree on reflex. He crouched down lower, avoiding the moonlight.

"Sir, we have a problem," the cloaked newcomer spoke.

The man who appeared to be the leader crossed his arms against his chest. "What happened?" His low baritone voice rumbled in the darkness.

"More than half of our forces have been depleted. There's a group of mercenaries here," the subordinate explained breathlessly.

"Which group?"

"It's Jeralt Eisner's group."

The leader guffawed, a reaction contrary to their damning situation. "The Blade Breaker, huh? They're one lucky bunch, those villagers." He lightly clapped his hands dramatically.

"What should we do, sir? Erase them all?"

The leader went silent for a brief moment. "No," his stern voice commanded. "Retreat. We can't afford to be caught this soon in the grand scheme of things."

"B-But what about the rest of our comrades, sir?"

The leader turned around, heading back into the shadows without sparing a glance in the village's direction. "Leave them to their deaths," his cruel and heartless words sent hushed whispers down his line of subordinates, but he silenced them with a quick snap of his fingers. "Didn't you hear me? We retreat."

The group of cloaked men disappeared deeper into the woods, heading away from the clearing. When the coast was clear, Jeralt stood up, brushing the dirt off his knees with a light pat. He straightened his back, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

That authoritative manner of speech…just who are they?

*Awoooo*

A wolf's howl echoed through the forest, making Jeralt curse out loud.

"Fuck, we don't need more animals to deal with…"

He headed back down the path leading towards the village, choosing not to pursue the group of men. Hopefully, Byleth and the others had already finished taking care of the village. Every cell inside of his body was screaming 'danger,' and the anxiety intensified the longer he spent in the evil-ridden forest.

We need to leave as soon as possible. I have a bad feeling about this place…

The rising sun cast a rosy hue across the morning sky. The first rays of sunshine lit up the village, chasing away the shadows that loomed over it, but it failed to wash away the lingering scent of death and corruption.

Satiana sat on the edge of the streets, staring at the wreckage. What remained of the peaceful village was just a pile of burnt wood, broken rocks, and blackened ash. Not a single house remained intact; they were either destroyed by the magic spells or half-charred by the flames. Corpses were littered across the streets, permeating the air with the smell of rotting flesh and blood.

There was no doubt that the battle was gruesome. It would probably leave long-lasting scars on all the survivors — perhaps an endless night of fighting against invisible hands, large and inescapable, that clawed and dragged everyone down into the cloying dread and wailing darkness people called nightmares.

But Satiana knew best the battle or trauma itself wasn't the worst of it all. The reality that everyone had to face was the biggest evil of them all. The aftermath was always so much more dreadful than the battle itself, waking up to face the countless bodies that lay behind your back.

The kind of suffocating pain that all survivors dealt with till they took their last breath.

"Hey, kid."

Renard appeared from behind her, soot covering most of his handsome features. "You alright?" He asked, though a part of him probably knew the answer already.

Satiana gave him a half-battered smile. "I'm alive if that's what you're asking."

Dead inside, though.

Renard understood the sentiments and chuckled dryly. "That's all that matters, my friend." He paused, taking in a deep breath of air. His face scrunched up into a grimace. "This place smells terrible. Why are you sitting here?"

Satiana shrugged, absentmindedly tugging at the strands of her hair. "Didn't know where else I was supposed to go."

Renard frowned at her answer. He glanced around her surroundings, noticing the particularly gruesome state some of the corpses were in. Most of the bodies were either headless or limbless. Some were sawed entirely in half. Renard made a face at the scene.

"Shit. You went hard," he stated matter-of-factly.

Satiana went quiet. Like a child who knew they did something wrong, she lowered her head guiltily and started drawing circles on the ground with her index finger. "I sort of lost it," she confessed.

"I can guess," Renard replied in a calm voice.

"My mind went blank."

"Mhm."

She hugged her knees, closing in on herself. "I'm a monster, Renard," she whispered softly.

"If you're a monster, then so is the rest of the world," he exhaled heavily. Renard sat down next to her, scooting closer towards her shivering form. He patted her head gently. "Don't overthink it. You did what you had to."

One thing Satiana slowly came to learn about Renard was that he was a complete softie inside. He was a bit cold-blooded at times — especially with the death glares and murderous threats. But deep inside, he was a kind-hearted man. Perhaps not as honest or righteous as Jeralt, but he wasn't a bad person. Dishonest, yes, but certainly not evil. He was just someone who had grown accustomed to the dark side of Fodlan; it turned him into a pessimistic man.

Satiana suddenly found herself chuckling. "I can't believe I'm being consoled by someone who threatened to kill me just yesterday."

Renard grunted. "Oh, shut up. I wasn't going to kill you for real. That was just an empty threat."

She rolled her eyes, nudging Renard in the ribs with her elbow. "You and I both know there was nothing empty about it, Renard."

"Okay, maybe I sort of meant it, but you've proven yourself worthy of my trust," Renard said as he swatted her arm away.

They were back to their usual antics, passing banters at each other. Although they were seated in the middle of the bloody aftermath, the black fog of anxiety began to ease as Satiana relaxed into the conversation.

"Hey, Renard?" She poked him in the shoulder.

"Hm?" He turned his head in her direction.

"I want you to teach me how to rein in the beast inside of me."

Renard stared at her, seeing the resolution flaring in her deep, blue orbs. He smiled and patted her once more on the head. "It takes practice, my friend. And a hell lot of patience and self-control."

"I don't care how long it takes. Just help me," Satiana ordered.

Renard's lips contorted into a lopsided grin. "Three months, that's what I said. And I still mean it."

By the time Jeralt made it back to town, the sun was already high above the sky. He weaved his way through the debris, searching for Byleth and the rest of his crew. Heading east, he spotted Byleth standing in the middle of the road. She was fiddling with the sword in her hand, wiping the blood off with a handkerchief she kept in her pockets. He walked up to her and gently patted her on the shoulder.

"Hey, Byleth. What's the situation?" He asked.

She stared at him with dull, blank eyes as usual. "We killed all the assailants. Renard led the villagers down South to a different town near here. Satiana's probably resting somewhere," she summarized, voice calm and still, utterly unperturbed by the horrifying scene in front of her.

Jeralt nodded curtly, appreciating her level-headedness. Although sometimes he wished his daughter would show more of her human side, it did make his job easier if she was always so confident and fluid during missions. "Good. Gather everyone up in the town square or whatever is left of it. We're heading off as soon as possible."

At this command, Byleth arched her brows. "Why the hurry?"

"You want to sleep here in the middle of this…" Jeralt pointed his finger behind her. "Massacre?"

"That's not what I meant." Byleth shook her head, staring at her father with a knowing look in her eyes. "What's wrong?"

"I don't have a good feeling about this place," Jeralt frowned. "I chased after the enemies and spotted their leader. They might come back to search for survivors again."

Byleth hummed in thought. "If that's true, then we should get out of here before the authorities show up."

"You think they'll come here to this run-down village?" Jeralt questioned.

She shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't know, but their king was just slain two days ago. I wouldn't put it past them to send a few knights here to gather intel."

Jeralt exhaled loudly, a migraine creeping up his skull as he pinched his forehead in deep thought. "Right, I wouldn't be surprised if they suddenly showed up now—"

The sound of horses galloping in the distance echoed through the empty village. Byleth's eyes widened imperceptibly as Jeralt paled. Their gaze met each other's, and Jeralt swore out loud, facepalming. "I shouldn't have jinxed it…!"

The wind picked up, sending whirls of sand and dirt into the air. There was a cloud of dust in the near distance as a stampede of horses galloped towards them. Jeralt glanced back towards the bloody mess in front of him. Then, he spun around to face Byleth with a grimace plastered on his face.

"How the hell are we supposed to explain all of this to them?!" He groaned, rubbing his face into his hands.

Byleth stared at him, her cerulean orbs twinkling in amusement. "I'll leave the rest to you, father," she said with a hint of a smile on her face before she backed away, sneaking behind the pile of debris towards the center of the town.

"Hey, wait here, you brat—"

Jeralt never got the chance to chase after his child. The horde of knights dressed all prim and proper in their well-polished armor halted a few meters behind him. A dark blue flag with the emblem of a lion printed on it fluttered in the wind. He resigned himself to the interrogation, slowly turning around to face them. He raised both of his arms up in the air in a show of innocence.

"Put your weapons down! Name yourself!" One of the knights demanded.

Jeralt dropped his dagger and spear onto the ground, holding his chest up high as he directly stared into the knight's eyes with confidence. The knight visibly flinched, backing away slightly.

"Who are you? Name yourself!" The knight repeated.

"The name's Jeralt Eisner. I lead a mercenary group," Jeralt calmly explained, staring unflinchingly at the poor knight.

That sent a wave of hushed murmurs through the crowd. His name was fairly well-known throughout Fodlan, after all. It was no surprise that the Kingdom knights recognized his name.

"Did you say that you were sir Jeralt Eisner?"

The knight paved the way for a man clad in a dark blue cape. He had shoulder-length deep, blue hair. His eyes were sharp and predatory-like as he slowly galloped to the front of the line. There was a harsh and rough quality to his voice, setting Jeralt on edge. He sat high on his horse, proudly making his way towards Jeralt. The fluid way in which he conducted himself with grace alerted Jeralt to the fact that he was facing their commander — most likely a high-ranking noble.

Jeralt inwardly cursed, his thoughts immediately flickering towards Satiana, who was still resting somewhere in the village.

This isn't good…

"The one and only," Jeralt feigned invulnerability under his scrutinizing gaze. "Before you ask, we didn't cause this. Last night, a group of bandits attacked the village. We just finished dealing with the mess."

The man in front of him turned his steely eyes towards the carnage behind Jeralt. He glared at him, the piercing clarity in his eyes rendering Jeralt breathless. "You're telling me a bunch of lowly bandits caused this?" He raised his voice over the brooding silence.

"It wasn't just bandits," Jeralt explained. There was no point in lying to the knights of Faerghus. It would only get him in more trouble later. "There were mages mixed in with the thieves as well."

The man gripped the reins of his horse tightly. "Mages?" He spat out. "From where?"

Jeralt shook his head. "Sadly, we don't know where their allegiance lies. They were completely cloaked from head to toe. If you want, you can check some of their corpses. Be my guest," he jerked his head towards the pile of corpses on the ground.

The knights stood knee-deep in silence. The sound of the wind blowing around their tensed profiles was just the calm before the storm. No one dared to make any movements, not even the slightest shift, as they all drowned in the tension and hostility permeating around the two commanders. The stand-off between the two was downright terrifying.

They waited impatiently for someone to break the suffocating silence.

Jeralt's jaw clenched before he huffed a shaky sigh. He recognized the distraught look in their commander's eyes. It was a messy concoction — one filled with unrestrained fury but also hurt and loss. The man had already reached his limits, both physically and mentally, but he continued to raise his head high into the air because the rest of Faerghus needed him.

"Look. There are a few villagers that still need our help. We can talk later after we move out of here. I won't run away. Alright?" Jeralt started.

The man continued to glare at him.

"I know this concerns the whole of Faerghus, so as a mercenary who swore to protect the lives of the people in Fodlan, I promise you. I will deliver you all the facts that I know of," Jeralt placed a hand on his chest, eyes softening as he spoke calmly.

The commander stared at him, his eyes wavering. It seemed like they had reached an impasse when the commander gracefully slid off his horse. He sauntered over towards Jeralt, lowering his head slightly.

"Things have been quite hectic lately in the capital," the commander spoke. "I'm afraid I lost my judgment for a moment there. I sincerely apologize." He bowed deeply in front of Jeralt.

He was not antagonistic like before. Though he was far from cordial, he was, at the least, patient, which Jeralt was grateful for. Jeralt nodded in understanding. "You have nothing to apologize for. I'm aware Faerghus is in a chaotic state right now."

A flicker of sorrow passed through the man's blue orbs. His face contorted into a pained, strained smile. "Yes, it pains me to admit so." Then, he straightened his posture, clearing his throat loudly. "Once again, I apologize for my actions. Let me officially introduce myself, sir Jeralt."

The man bowed again, greeting Jeralt with a small smile on his face. "My name is Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Oh, hey! Byleth, over here!" Renard shouted, waving his arms in the air as he caught a glimpse of Byleth down the open street.

She strolled through the littered path, sidestepping the piles of corpses obstructing her way. "We have a problem," she stated as she came to a halt in front of the two.

Renard immediately groaned out loud. "Again? When do we ever get a break around here?!" He protested, flailing his limbs in the air in exasperation.

Byleth scoffed. "Only the dead get eternal rest." She ignored Renard's burning glare and stared pointedly at Satiana. Satiana met her gaze, noticing the uneasiness coiling in her exhausted and sullen, blue orbs.

"The authorities are here," she bluntly remarked.

Satiana felt her blood run cold. Her mouth went dry, her strength leaving her. The day had just begun, and yet she was thrust into another nerve-wracking moment of her life. She let loose a defeated sigh, rubbing her face into her palms.

These past few days had been torturous; hell was an understatement for everything she had gone through. Ever since the war began, she didn't have a single moment of rest. Now that the battle against her pursuers had ended, Satiana found herself hoping this would be the last battle in a long while.

But once again, Satiana was forced to realize there was no god up there listening to her pleas.

She was all alone in this world, and the only person who could save her was herself.

"Shit," Renard cursed. "What do we do?" His eyes flickered purposefully towards Satiana, genuine worry dancing in his drooping eyes. "I want to say we should fight and make a run for it, but to be honest, I'm about to faint any second now," he confessed as he wiped the sweat off his forehead with the sleeves of his shirt.

Byleth glanced down at Satiana, who was fidgeting; she was biting her thumb as she continuously tapped her foot against the ground. Byleth read the reluctance, the unresolved conflict storming inside of her. She carefully leaned down, reaching eye-level with Satiana.

"What do you want to do?"

Satiana jerked her head up to meet Byleth's knowing gaze. She gulped loudly, feeling sweat pouring down her face. "What should I do?" She whispered in a hushed voice, eyes pleading for Byleth to guide her on the right path.

Byleth's eyes were blank as usual, but there was a luring gleam to them. They stared deep into the soul, singling out minuscule details no one but the beholder should've realized. "Whatever you think is the right thing to do, Satiana," she quietly replied with an encouraging nod.

Satiana clutched her head tightly, mustering up her courage. "But I don't want to cause any trouble for Jeralt." It was a pathetic excuse — the last resort of a cornered prey. She and Byleth knew well enough that if Satiana truly wished for it, Jeralt would never refuse her. He'd support her because that was just the kind of man Jeralt Eisner was; his kindness was a bottomless well of warmth.

Byleth patted her gently on the head once before she stood up, sensing that the deliberation was over. Renard was whipping his head between the two of them like a deer in the middle of a busy crossroad, confusion whirling in those mossy, green orbs.

"Hold on. You're not actually suggesting…" he trailed off, pointing an accusing finger at Byleth. His voice quivered, eyes widening as he gawked at the damning implications behind Byleth's words.

Byleth didn't reply, but her eyes were twinkling in amusement.

Renard dramatically turned his head towards Satiana, who was now staring at him with determination burning in her eyes. A dry laugh escaped from his wobbling lips as he backed away from them, shaking his head in disbelief.

"You're crazy. This is nothing short of suicide."

"I know that," Satiana retorted.

"No, you don't!" Renard snapped back at her, uncharacteristically raising his voice. "Don't you understand? Those guys are searching for the people who killed their king!"

"I understand. "

"You're walking yourself to the guillotine. They'll just execute you, Satiana!"

Renard gripped her shoulders tightly, bringing his forehead near hers as he pleaded with his eyes for her to change her mind. "You don't have to do this, Satiana. We can run away, and I'll teach you more neat tricks I've got under my sleeve—"

"I have to do this, Renard. They'll catch me eventually," Satiana confidently spoke. "I might as well get this over with."

Renard knew there was no stopping her. The kid could be downright stubborn when she wanted to be. Renard felt his heart sink as he gritted his teeth in anger.

"Fine. You're an idiot, you know that?" Renard chewed through his words, showing off his annoyance towards her decision.

But Satiana smiled at him, her eyes softening. "I'll be okay. Thank you for worrying about me, Renard."

Renard pouted and faced away from Satiana with his arms crossed over his chest in defiance. "Stupid kid caught the Jeralt Eisner moral disease…" he muttered under his breath, causing Byleth to stifle a snort.

Seriously, he can't even be honest for once.

Satiana rolled her eyes at him, but inside, she was beaming in happiness. She never knew how nice and fuzzy it felt to have someone worried about her well-being. It was a new and foreign feeling; she liked how it made her feel.

These past few days had been nothing but hell to her, but it was in the moments she spent with Jeralt and his company that she truly felt alive.

And she would do anything to protect them as repayment for their never-ending kindness towards her.

Satiana whipped her head towards Byleth and nodded, eyes sharpened. "Lead the way, Byleth. Take me to the authorities," she commanded.