A/N: Good day, everyone. Buckle up for some action, y'all. This chapter is going to be pretty wild and no, the next one won't be any less of a roller coaster lol. Welcome to the new favorites and follows! Glad to have you here :) As always, leave a review if you have burning thoughts! I really appreciate it. Next update should come in about 2 weeks or earlier.

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[White Clouds]

Chapter 17: Mutiny in the Mist

The core members of the Blue Lions sat in their seats in the classroom. It was already nighttime; most of the students already headed back to their quarters, leaving the hallways and corridors empty. The monastery was silent except for the sound of crickets chirping and the wind whispers that blew throughout the courtyard.

It was the night before their mission to Gaspard. To the Blue Lion's surprise, Byleth called for an emergency meeting disguised as a late-night seminar session. For some unknown reason, Byleth treated this meeting like a secret heist, even lying to Seteth about her plans for the day to avoid his watchful, hawk-like eyes.

Whatever this impromptu meeting was, their professor was up to no good.

"Hey Ingrid," Sylvain whispered from the seat behind her. "What do you think is the purpose of this meeting?

Ingrid turned her head around to face Sylvain. "I don't know, Sylvain. Perhaps the professor wanted to give us additional information about our positions in the army tomorrow."

"Hm, knowing her personality, I doubt the professor would forget to tell us something so important," Mercedes pondered, tilting her head to the side. "Maybe something unexpected came up?"

Even Dedue was anxious, his stone-face more stiff than usual. "It is unlike the professor to resort to meetings past curfew. She usually teaches in an organized and timely manner. Something must have happened that requires our immediate attention."

Dimitri nodded in agreement. "Yes, knowing our professor, she wouldn't gather us together unless it was of utmost importance. This all sounds very…foreboding." He rubbed his chin in thought, eyes narrowing.

Felix rolled his eyes in response. "Hmph. Whatever it is, I hope she'll wrap it up soon. I need to go back to training."

Sylvain blanched at Felix's remark, sputtering in disbelief. "Wha— are you insane? It's already about to be past midnight! Who the hell would train now?!"

Felix grunted, leaning his back against the chair. "I do."

Sylvain groaned, slumping forward onto the table. "You're insatiable, you know that? Why am I even friends with you? You could use that time to, I don't know, pick up some girls downtown."

Felix shot him a nasty look. "I could say the same to you, fool."

"Aw, those two are fighting again," Annette pouted.

Mercedes chuckled, a cheery smile on her face. "Just leave those two alone, Annie. It's the usual for them."

The giant doors behind them creaked open, and all heads spun to the newcomer. Byleth strolled through the doors, holding a stack of papers in hand. Her heels clicked against the floor as she walked down the aisle with grace and confidence, as usual.

Dimitri stood up from his seat. "Professor, good evening. We are all present, waiting for your instruction."

Byleth nodded in response. "Thank you for agreeing to meet this late in the night. I must apologize. I didn't think there was any need to hold a special lecture past curfew. But a few weeks ago, I received information that could affect our performance tomorrow." She glanced down the row of tables, meeting her students' curious gazes. "I spent the entire month devising a plan of action for us tomorrow. However, the final decision lies with you."

Dimitri blinked. The rest of the students shared confused gazes, cocking their heads to the side. As the representative of the class, it fell on Dimitri to voice out their sentiments. "Um, professor? What do you mean by that?"

She threw the stack of papers down with a soft thud on the podium. Then she leaned over the table, staring at them. "I'm sure all of you have questions regarding tomorrow's excursion. The church refused to inform me of Lord Lonato's reason for causing this rebellion. However, I have done some…searching on my own. Of course, without the church knowing. Let's just say I have a capable ally who specializes in intelligence gathering."

Felix and Sylvain shared a knowing look. Byleth said nothing, but they had an inkling it had to do with Satiana's mission in the Empire.

"I have discovered something of huge relevance to this case," Byleth continued. "Lord Lonato had a son convicted for high treason against the King of Faerghus."

The mood dampened inside the classroom. The students froze stiff at Byleth's declaration. Dimitri, in particular, had a look of pure horror on his paling face. Even Dedue wasn't left unaffected by the sudden confession, his eyes widening imperceptibly, lips tightening.

"P-Professor, is that true?" Dimitri found his voice quivering. He swallowed, then opened his mouth to try again. "I mean, his son was involved in that…that tragedy?"

Byleth met his wavering gaze with a steady stare. "No."

Dimitri paused, blinking in confusion. "But you just said that—"

"I said that they implicated him in the incident. However, I never said if it was true or not."

Realization dawned, and Dimitri shot up in his seat, hands balled up into fists. "You're not saying that it was a false conviction, are you?" He raised his voice, jaws clenching.

Byleth crushed whatever bud of hope inside him with a damning nod. "The church executed Lord Lonato's son, Christophe Gaspard, for a crime he did not commit. It was officially announced that he took part in the Tragedy of Duscur, aiming to kill the King of Faerghus. However, this is actually not true." Byleth paused in her speech, choosing to walk to the front of the podium instead. "Christophe was taking part in a plot to assassinate Lady Rhea."

A wave of chaotic whispers flew over the Blue Lions.

"I-I can't believe it! A plot to assassinate Lady Rhea? How atrocious!" Mercedes gasped, clasping a hand over her mouth in horror and disbelief.

"Wait, so he didn't take part in the Tragedy of Duscur. But he tried to kill Lady Rhea?" Sylvain's eyes widened. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"But what reason would anyone have to assassinate Lady Rhea?" Annette clutched her head in sheer panic. "This makes little sense!"

"Why would Lord Lonato's son do something of that sort?" Ingrid muttered to herself, brows dragging down in deep thought.

"H-Hold on, professor." Dimitri raised his hand in the air, catching Byleth's attention. "So Christophe Lonato committed a crime, but against the wrong target. It still doesn't change the fact that he took part in a plot to assassinate someone. He cannot be forgiven for such a senseless act."

Byleth stared blankly at Dimitri. "You're right. I do not think the church's decision was unreasonable. He tried to commit murder against one of the highest authorities in Fodlan, after all." She then narrowed her eyes. "But the church covered up the truth behind this incident, implicating him in the worst tragedy ever. I think this gives more than enough reason for Lord Lonato to harbor some lingering resentment towards the church."

Felix snorted from the back. "Hah! I see. So the Church of Seiros dishonored his son's life by implicating him in an abhorrent tragedy to keep the peace in Fodlan. Leave it to him to cling over such useless ideals."

"Felix!" Ingrid snapped, slamming her palms onto the table as she stood up from her seat. "You shouldn't disregard Lord Lonato's feelings like that! He had a valid reason for causing this rebellion. The church lied to him, trampled over Christophe's reputation, and tarnished his life."

Felix sneered at Ingrid. "Regardless of how the church reacted, it doesn't change the fact that his son committed a crime, which he properly paid with his life. The old man's resentments are unfounded. Lord Lonato took up his blade in the name of revenge for someone who's long dead, causing havoc in his territory and involving innocent civilians in his crimes. The only thing he's doing is piling up more corpses in his son's name."

"You might be right, Felix," Dimitri muttered, clenching his fists. "But Lord Lonato didn't take up arms out of lust for power. He believed his cause to be just. Who's to say it wasn't?"

Felix scoffed, rolling his eyes in disappointment. "I don't care whether his reasons are just. The moment he involved civilians in his schemes, he already crossed the point of no return. If he wanted revenge, he shouldn't have dragged others into the mud with him."

"...I guess you're right," Dimitri quietly conceded, but the grip he maintained on his fists conveyed otherwise. Something in Lord Lonato's actions resonated deep inside of him, but he was too afraid to let it loose. At least not in front of everyone.

"Actually, I don't understand why the Church kept it a secret from us," Mercedes spoke with a frown. "Of course, publicizing the truth about the assassination attempt on Lady Rhea would cause political turmoil, but…" she trailed off, thoughts in disarray.

"It can't be helped, Mercie," Annette replied, consoling Mercedes by rubbing circles on her back. The church did what they had to. If people knew about the threat to Lady Rhea's life, their faith in the church would plummet and mass panic would ensue."

Sylvain always remained quiet during serious discussions. It was in his frivolous nature to do so — brushing off his duties as the heir with a wink and a smile. He'd usually plop his head down on the table, bury his head into his arms, and doze off into a sweet dream about picking up girls downtown. But for once, he felt obligated to speak up because he too, had a bone to pick with the church. More specifically, the propaganda they spread about the importance of crests and their self-indulgent actions.

"If you ask me, it's more like the church was unwilling to face the possibility that there are those who have genuine grievances with them. Rather than confronting those potential issues and looking inwards, they just brushed it all under the rug and pretended it didn't exist," Sylvain commented, eyes blank and devoid of emotion.

Ingrid whipped her head around, jaws dropping in shock. Even Felix's eyes widened, staring at his friend with genuine surprise.

Sylvain remained nonchalant under their scrutinizing gazes. He shrugged, a half-smirk plastered on his handsome features. "Hm? Did I say something wrong? Why are you looking at me like that, my dear friends?" He laughed dryly, the light of his smile not reaching his eyes. "It's true though. The church turned a blind eye to their faults and used the Tragedy of Duscur as a scapegoat, just to suit their political needs. If Lord Lonato can't be forgiven for his crimes, then what about the church for lying to the public and disgracing the dead?"

"Well, that's…" Mercedes's hands trembled as Sylvain's perspective sank in. "The church must've had their reasons. I'm sure they thought it through."

Felix snorted. "Yes, and now that decision drove a man insane. Really, these idiots are all the same." He threw his hands into the air in exasperation.

Ingrid glared daggers at Felix. "Then maybe you should make the right decision for them. Though I don't know if someone like you who ran away from all his duties and responsibilities as an heir would be capable of doing so."

Felix's eyes flashed. He leaned forward, snarling with disgust at Ingrid. "You may be right, but at least I know better than to support blind obedience to these political institutions who wield their weapons under a deluded banner of justice in the name of peace and righteousness."

"Guys, calm down!" Annette's eyes bounced around the room in a flurry. "This isn't the time to be arguing! We need to decide what we're going to do tomorrow."

As if on cue, Byleth clapped her hands loudly, catching everyone's attention. She cleared her throat, tapping her boots against the floor with her arms folded. "Annette is right. I didn't call you guys here to debate over whose sense of justice is right or wrong," she started sternly as her eyes trailed down the row of students, noting their expressions. "There is no correct answer. Everyone fights for what they believe in and it would be foolish to convince your opponents otherwise when they feel as strongly about their beliefs as you do."

The class went silent, pondering over Byleth's wise words.

"Justice is a weapon. It can cause harm, but it can never protect or save others. Regardless, someone must take action to stop this senseless slaughter. And that is why I have gathered you here today — to discuss our plan of action."

Dimitri's forehead creased in confusion. "What do you mean by that, professor? Are you suggesting that we act independently from the Knights of Seiros?"

Byleth nodded. "As Lady Rhea ordered, we are supposed to be stationed with the rear guards, helping with the aftermath of the rebellion. However, as your professor, my duty and responsibility to you comes before my promise to the church."

Dimitri's eyes widened, his heart swelling with newfound admiration and respect for his professor. "You…you're giving us a chance to decide for ourselves what our next course of action should be?"

Byleth's lips curled up into a smooth smile. "If you ask me, I would cut Lord Lonato down if he tried to fight against me. But I'm not fighting for the Church's sake. I'm fighting to protect the innocent civilians who got caught up in this political mess."

Felix snorted. "Spoken like a true knight…"

The Blue Lions were stunned to silence at Byleth's declaration. Although they were arguing for the past ten minutes, they shared a harmonious look of understanding and agreement. Regardless of what they believed in, there was no valid justification for Lord Lonato's actions. In the end, he committed a crime. And just like his son, he must pay for his mistakes.

But the professor was giving them an opportunity to deliver their brand of justice on the man.

It was at this moment that the Blue Lions finally accepted their mysterious teacher as the leader of their house. Although she always carried herself so nonchalantly to everything around her, she had a keen eye and a strong sense of responsibility. She may be a blank-faced demon, strong enough to slaughter an entire army by herself. But unlike her outer demeanor, she possessed a kind heart.

Perhaps their teacher cared about them more than they thought.

Byleth's eyes had a silvery gleam to them under the moonlight shining through the windows. They twinkled brilliantly in the darkness with such piercing clarity it drowned out the anxiety permeating through the room.

The Blue Lions had decided.

Byleth's lip twitched upwards, a ghost of a smile on her face again. "I see from your faces that you have made your final decisions."

The Blue Lions didn't reply, only staring unflinchingly into their professor's knowing gaze.

Byleth swerved around the podium, grabbing the pile of papers on the table. Then, she passed them out to the students. She swatted the paper in her hand lightly. "This is a map of Magdred and the forest we will march through tomorrow. According to weather predictions and my ally's research, I've circled the blind spots in our formation for tomorrow."

Dimitri arched an eyebrow, realization dawning. "So what you're saying is…"

Byleth tilted her head innocently, though her eyes glinted mischievously. "The fog's thick. We can blame our failure to comply with orders on…well…unforeseen circumstances."

"So, you're telling me you sneaked into the high bishop's room?"

"That and also their basement."

"And you actually managed to leave without getting caught?"

"Hey, what can I say? I'm an awesome assassin."

"More like a thief in disguise!"

Ashe sat in the corner of their camp, eyes darting in a frenzy between Satiana and Renard, who were chatting through the night. After meeting up with Renard, the trio set up their camps near the castle. At Satiana's suggestion, they walked back through the forest, arriving at a wide glade where the trees fell away, revealing the bespectacled sky.

The campfire warmed the wintry air; the temperature plummeted after the sun disappeared over the horizon, the cold remnants of moisture prickling their skin. Ashe huddled close to the flames, feeling the radiating heat, holding his hands over it and watched them glow palpably golden.

"More importantly, don't we have better things to discuss? Like what we should do tomorrow," Renard brought up, stretching his legs out in front of him as he leaned against the bark of a tree. He crossed his legs together and placed his hands behind his head comfortably, white wisps of smoke fluttering from his lips as he exhaled lightly. "I didn't think Jeralt would send you, of all people, here."

Satiana snorted, switching to a cross-legged position on the grass. "Let's just say I have personal stakes in tomorrow's battle as well." She glanced briefly in Ashe's direction. "If possible, I'd like to end the rebellion peacefully. Perhaps lead him into surrendering."

"I doubt that's possible," Renard shot her down with a frown. "From what I've heard, the Western Church has been feeding him a bunch of lies, using his sorrow against him and forcing him to direct his anger towards the Central Church." Renard yawned, mouth gaping wide. He rubbed his drooping eyelids in a hurry. "Gosh, why is it so cold when it's not even winter?" He shuddered, unkempt hair rustling in the icy breeze.

"Faerghus has always been a cold place." She wiggled her toes, keeping them from freezing under the weather. "By the way, what lies have they been feeding him?" She traced a small firefly with her eyes, humming to keep herself awake.

Renard pulled a frustrated face. "Oh, a bunch of nasty things. Like how the Central Church is the one who caused the Tragedy. Or how they preyed on the follower's faith, earning mass amounts of financial support that they then used to strengthen their authority."

Satiana made a noncommittal grunt-like noise, head bobbing up and down from fatigue. "Huh. And he actually believed them?" her voice had a rough and hoarse quality to them, a side effect from breathing in the misty air. She coughed loudly, clearing her throat.

Ashe handed her a mug of warm water to which she accepted with a small whisper of 'thanks.' She swallowed, feeling her belly swell with warmth and she sighed contently, back hunching deeper into herself as she hugged her knees close to her chest.

Renard shrugged, his languid gaze traversing the night sky above. "When you're in despair, your thoughts can easily fall prey to manipulation. I doubt Lord Lonato even cares anymore who caused what. He just wants revenge against the church who killed his son."

The conversation stalled, the sound of wood crackling and sizzling flame reverberating through their ranks. A solitary crow's grating caws created a haunting melody, adding to the brewing storm of anxiety among the two younger members of the team.

Ashe was the first to break the bone-chilling silence. "So, what are we going to do?" His soft voice was a huge contrast to the heavy atmosphere permeating the three of them.

Renard jerked his head up, Ashe's voice catching him off-guard. "Sorry, I dozed off for a moment there," he sheepishly apologized. "That's a brilliant question. We still need to plan for tomorrow." He snapped his fingers consecutively, noticing how Satiana was rolling back and forth in her balled-up form. "Wake up, Satiana. Now's not the time to sleep."

Satiana stirred, blinking blearily as she lifted her head to meet his warning glare. She sniffed, rubbing the tip of her reddened nose. "I know, I know. Just needed a brief break." She stifled a yawn behind her palms. "Okay, so, tomorrow. Should we just barge through the front? Ashe is with us. If we tell him we're Ashe's friends, maybe he'll let us in."

Renard gave her a pointed look. "What is this, a sleepover? As if they'll let us in that easily. In case you've forgotten, we're trying to stop a rebellion here."

"I know, but he's still Ashe's father," Satiana shrugged, "if we tell him Ashe wants to talk with him, he might oblige."

"I…want to talk to Lord Lonato." Ashe fidgeted in his seat, the flames flickering to life in his mossy green irises. "Even if he might not wish to see me, I need to talk to him."

"Then that settles it," Renard smirked. "Guess we'll have to use good old brute force." He punched his fists together, grin pure shark, teeth glistening in the moonlight.

Satiana could hear the laughter in Renard's voice, and she eyed him suspiciously from the side. "What are you cooking up in that brain of yours?" She froze, a nasty thought creeping up from the back of her mind. "Don't tell me," her voice lowered a notch in disbelief. "You're not thinking of using plan blast-open-the-goddamn-wall again, are you?"

Ashe's brows slowly arched up. He turned his blank gaze towards Satiana. The pure incredulity of the name made him stare comically at Satiana as if she had sprouted a second head.

Renard snorted. "Of course not! After that failure, I'm never using bolganone again. I was thinking more of a sneak-into-the-mansion-like-a-first-class-thief kind of thing."

Ashe's expression faltered even more.

Satiana gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. "Oh god, so you really turned to thievery to survive. You've fallen to a new low, teach."

"Then what do you suggest we do? Surely, not blow-up-half-the-castle-with-magic?"

"I don't know. To be honest, I was thinking of using plan distract-with-your-life-on-the-line again."

"I'm not being the decoy again, Satiana. I almost lost my head the last time we did this."

"I mean, that is the name of the game. You know, put your life on the line to distract the enemies."

"Then why don't we try Jeralt's plan? I think it was something like pretend-to-be-a-merchant-and-fuck-them-from-the-inside."

"Oh please, that's too much effort. We don't even have goods to sell."

Ashe facepalmed in disbelief, shaking his head in exasperation. "Am I the only one who's sane around here?" he yelled out loud, sending a flock of crows rustling through the trees. "This isn't a joke, you know? Lord Lonato's future is on the line! Please be more serious about this!" He was standing on his feet now, glaring daggers at the sheepish looks on Renard and Satiana's face.

"Woah, calm down, buddy! Our naming sense may suck, but we're actually serious about this," Renard laughed, waving Ashe off with a hand. "We just wanted you to feel better. You know, make you smile again."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ashe pouted, turning his head towards Satiana.

Satiana's lips twitched as they curled up into a lop-sided grin. "Think of it as a small payback for earlier."

Ashe groaned, slumping to the ground in a huddled ball. "I swear I'm the only one about to lose my mind here," he whined, pouting as he slammed his head repeatedly onto his knees.

Satiana shifted over towards him, crawling on her knees across the grass before she patted him on the shoulder. He lifted his head up, eyes brimming with tears as he sniffed. Satiana smiled warmly at him, gaze softened. "Hey, it'll be alright. You want to talk to Lord Lonato before the rebellion and I'm here to make that happen, okay? I promise you that."

"B-But how are we going to get inside the castle?" Ashe whimpered, sniffing again. He coughed, choking on his tears.

"It's easy," Renard interjected with a grin. "Just stroll up to the front gate, inform the guards you're Lord Lonato's son and that you brought reinforcements with you to help him in his cause."

"Will that actually work?" Ashe blinked, wiping his tears away with his fingers. "What if Lord Lonato refuses to see me?"

"Then we switch to Plan B and sneak you in there ourselves," Satiana replied. "We may look like a couple of fools, but Renard and I are used to trespassing on our missions. If you give us a detailed explanation of the castle's interior, we'll dress up as soldiers and enter from the back-gate. Hell, if you want us to, we can even try traversing up the castle walls."

Ashe went bug-eyed in disbelief. "Really? Climb the walls? Are you insane?"

Renard let loose a bark of laughter. "Hey kid. Don't underestimate us. We're professional assas—" He winced, noticing the nasty glare Satiana shot his way. His mouth clamped shut, and he cleared his throat, trying again. "I mean, mercenaries. We've done this before, don't worry. Besides, that's just a back-up plan. I highly doubt your adoptive father will dismiss you."

"...If you say so," Ashe mumbled, head drooping back down again.

"I'm telling you, Ashe." Satiana patted him again on the back. "You just focus on preparing a speech to convince Lord Lonato to stop this rebellion. That's your one and only job. It's something only you can do, alright?"

Ashe tilted his head up, eyes flaring to life under the moonlight. "I know, Satiana. I'm the only one who might talk him out of this senseless slaughter."

"I'll take over the night watch for now." Renard got up on his feet and stretched his arms above his head, bending his hips to the side. "You two go get some sleep. I'll wake you up when it's dawn."

"You sure you'll be okay? Aren't you tired as well?" Satiana frowned.

Renard laughed, brushing her off with a chuckle. "Leave it to the adults for once, alright? Besides, you two are the main characters for tomorrow. I'm just a sideshow." He shrugged, mossy-green eyes gleaming mysteriously underneath the silvery rays. "I have my role to play, so just focus on smoothing out your issues, okay?"

Ashe's brows drew together in confusion, but he nodded reluctantly in response.

Satiana, on the other hand, stared directly at Renard's retreating form with a sullen frown plastered on her face. Her eyes darkened with concern, a small wave of anxiety rushing through her.

Renard, what the hell are you planning behind our backs?

One hour before the fateful moment. A mass of white. Or was it yellow? Lonato was pretty sure it was white, even under all the sunlight. He considered it a sign from the Goddess, a blessing from Saint Seiros herself. The fog would aid him well, hiding him from his enemies, allowing him to catch them off-guard with his spear of justice.

The winds were blowing in his favor. Today was the day he would bring divine punishment on the infidel who deceived the people and desecrated the goddess. He had been waiting for this moment. The hatred, fury, betrayal, and bitterness had far exceeded its capacity — he was a ticking time bomb, waiting to explode.

And he'd do anything to make this last blow count, even if it cost him his life in return.

He stared out the window from the highest vantage point of the castle; the tower keep. His residential room was on the highest floor. Compared to his mansion, it was decorated with only the bare minimum: a large king-sized bed, a few tables and chairs, acting as a makeshift study room. The walls were stone-gray with a few banners of the symbol of House Gaspard hanging along the edges.

It was a dull and barren place — a befitting place for a man who failed his son to breathe his last breath in.

He peered down at the line of soldiers and civilians below him, marching out through the open gates. He imagined an arctic tempest, the fires of hell not far below. Lonato smiled, if it could be called that. It promised only judgment and death.

There was no turning back from this point onward. He had gone too far off the rails. A madman. A rabid dog. A cursed beast who was clinging to the lingering ghost, the disapproving look of his beloved son, the haunting screech of pain the moment Christophe's head tilted off diagonally down his bleeding neck, the sea of black crowding in front of the empty coffin, rainstorm or was it tears, the invisible arm embracing him, sticky and inescapable, clawing and dragging him down to the cloying dread and wailing darkness—

A flash of light in the darkness. A bright, pure, gentle smile. The beautiful shade of lime-green. The sound of laughter like bell chimes in the wind. The small, tiny hands he dragged out of the darkness into the light, only to leave them stranded behind.

Lonato shook his head. He chuckled wryly to himself.

It was only an illusion. The shadow had long robbed the light from his eyes; it followed him with unrivaled persistence, seized every opportunity to creep under his skin, pierced his inner soul, destroyed his entire being, drowning it in nothing but despair.

He was beyond repair. His eyes could no longer see the light — only imagine it.

*Knock Knock*

"Who is it?" Lonato barked.

"Sir, your son is here to see you."

He stilled. For a moment, the soldier's words drew a blank. He must've misheard something. It couldn't be.

"Say that again?" This time, his voice cracked at the end, the broken pitch revealing the truth hidden inside his clouded heart.

No. Not now. Not him.

He didn't know whether the boy standing outside those doors would be his savior or the death reaper, coming to steal his soul away. Of all times, it just had to be now, before the moment of doom. After he had spent years resolving himself to destroy the church, he couldn't allow some measly kid to convince him otherwise.

He clenched his fists, biting his lips till the corners bled.

Why, Ashe? Why now?!

"I said your son is here to see you, sir. Should I…?" The soldier trailed off, uncertain.

Lonato buried his head in his hands. He exhaled, feeling the air rush out of his lungs. An unimaginable weight crushed his heart — a concoction of guilt, sorrow, and anger. But now, for a split second, his guilt overpowered all the other emotions battling for control inside of him.

He breathed a laugh, shifting his weight as something cynical tried to burst forth, but he drowned it out with the sound of his own beating pulse. His lips curled into a half-grin instead. Lonato glanced at the lance lying on his table. He grabbed it, tilting the sharp edge up high, letting the silver edge glow under the small ray of sunlight that escaped through the thickening fog outside.

Is this also a sign from the Goddess? Or perhaps…

He closed his eyes. He clearly felt it. A light push. A pair of warm hands covering his freezing, gloved one on the lance. He felt his grip loosening on the weapon. Lonato slowly opened his eyes.

Of course, there was nothing but empty space in front of him. Yet somehow, he could see it clearly with those blinded eyes of his. The halo-white strands of unkempt hair, the striking green orbs, the look of sheer sorrow and pity.

"...Let him in," Lonato spoke with finality, dark blue orbs thinning.

So, even now, you choose to watch over my every move, huh, Christophe?

"With this fog, it's impossible to tell where the enemy might be or how many of them there are," Catherine muttered.

She stood in the center of the formation, surveying her surroundings with a torch in hand. The rest of the Knights of Seiros traveled in small groups of five, acting like a defensive wall barricading her from the enemies. The Blue Lions dragged their feet along behind the troop, lingering near the back.

"Catherine, perhaps we should send a recon group deeper into the woods," Byleth spoke up from behind. "At this rate, the enemies can easily surround us."

"No, they shouldn't have enough soldiers to form a tight circle," Catherine refuted. "Take down anyone who breaks through the fog and push through."

Although Catherine commanded the troops with confidence, they were at a terrain disadvantage. Their enemies were more accustomed to the forests than they were. Not to mention, the mysterious fog was adept at creating illusions, invoking paranoia; in the dense shadows, it was easy to mistake the thick grooves for silent sentries, waiting to ambush them. The century-old trees with sprawling limbs only heightened the soldier's awareness of traps. Combined with the low visibility, prolonging the battle took a toll on the troop's mentality.

Catherine scowled. They needed to end this battle quickly. She spun around and beckoned with her hands. "Any soldier who can see me, pick up your pace and march forward!"

A series of 'yes ma'am' echoed down the line as the knights picked up their pace, jogging through the fog.

Byleth glanced behind her shoulder briefly, making eye contact with Dimitri, who nodded sternly in response.

Soon enough, the sound of knights and villagers alike shouting pierced through the fog. Catherine darted to the front of the formation, raising her Thunderbrand up high as she leapt up into the sky. The blade crashed down with enough force to split the terrain, causing a few villagers to stumble over their feet. With finesse, she rounded them up with one wide slash; the sword glowing ominously red in the dark.

Their heads fell to the ground with a solid thud. One enemy archer collapsed to the ground, whimpering as he tried to back away. Catherine stormed her way towards him, eyes glinting dangerously. She lifted the sword.

"No, wait! P-Please, I surrender—"

*Squelch*

His shriek for mercy died off with one swift flick of her wrists. She scoffed, rolling her eyes in annoyance as she lifted the blade up to her shoulder, glaring at the rest of the enemies standing stiff behind the fallen corpses of their comrades.

"Y-You devil! Monster! Heretic—"

Catherine paid them no heed, sprinting through their ranks with lightning speed, piercing them in the stomach, torso, shoulder, throat, wherever her sword desired. Occasionally, the militia would strike her back with their axes or lances. But such flimsy objects stood no chance against a well-crafted hero's relic. She left a trail of broken wood and metal behind her wake.

By the time she finished most of them off, she was drenched head to toe in blood. The sound of battle continued to echo hauntingly through the forest as she dived deeper into their ranks. She recognized a few of the knights in their ranks — she remembered meeting a few of them at the Lonato mansion before when she was younger.

"You betrayer! How could you do this to Lord Lonato and Lord Christophe?!"

She pinned all of them to the ground with brute force, slicing their limbs with her sword. They thrashed on the bloodied dirt, sobbing and wailing in pain, choking on their own tears and blood. She silenced them with a brutal swing of her legs, armored boots cracking their skulls open.

Hoisting her sword over her shoulder, she narrowed her eyes, squinting through the fog. Judging by the movements of the shadows, there were still a hefty amount of enemies left hiding in the fog, waiting to ambush them.

"This will never end," she snarled in distaste.

She didn't know how long the battle took. Catherine laid waste on the entire right flank of the enemy, hacking through bones and flesh with the fervor of a mad beast, thirsting for blood. Eventually, the sound of screaming and howling dulled. The fog flickered to life with red sparks of flames as the Knights of Seiros held their torches up high in the air, signaling their positions to their allies.

Catherine quickly counted the number of flaming torches in the air, checking for casualties within their ranks. To her relief, their siege was successful. Not a single knight under her command had lost their life. It was to be expected, of course, considering their opponents. Nevertheless, she felt wholeheartedly relieved. She stepped over a corpse, snapping the neck of the body in half as she returned to the center of their formation.

"All clear?" She barked out.

"Yes, I believe most of the enemies have been subdued—" the knight standing beside her was cut off when the surrounding air suddenly sizzled.

A soft hiss-like sound reverberated down their ranks, and Catherine spun her head around frantically to detect the source of the sound. The wind picked up, sending twirls of mist into the air as the poltergeist-white fog dissipated. Their warped sense of direction returned, the sunlight a sharp blade in the sky, causing them to squint, blocking the sudden attack of blinding light with their arms.

"What just happened…?" Catherine mumbled in a daze. "How did the fog just disappear?!"

Their white surroundings had drifted away, revealing the true atrocity of their actions. A pile of corpses lay scattered throughout the muddy grounds, drowning in giant pools of blood. Severed limbs darted across the sullied land, the wind launching them into a rattling fit as if they were haunted by the ghosts of their owners. The entire wasteland glowed grotesquely red, a deep and jarring contrast to the green nature around them.

And there she stood in the center of the massacre, swinging the blood off her sword. "I don't know what happened, but our work here is done. Let's head deeper into the woods and round up the rest of the sinners all the way to Gaspard!"

"C-Catherine!" a squire squeaked from behind her.

She spun her head around and glared at him. "What's wrong? We're in a hurry here, so make it quick."

"Y-Yes, ma'am." The squire bowed deeply, knees trembling as his face paled bluish green with nausea. He gagged, launching himself into a coughing fit. "E-Excuse me, Catherine. But we're missing a few of our soldiers!"

"Who?" Catherine asked with disinterest. It was normal to have a few casualties in battle. She was numb to the experience of loss by now.

"W-Well, about that…" the squire trailed off, eyes darting away from Catherine's scorching glare. "It seems like we lost the professor and her students in the fog!"

Catherine froze. She spun her head around in a frenzy, gasping in horror as realization dawned. It was just like the squire said. The professor had somehow disappeared in the middle of the conflict, taking her students with her. Catherine scowled, gritting her teeth in annoyance.

She remembered how she told Byleth about Lord Lonato's motivations behind the rebellion. The professor had a blank expression on her face the entire time Catherine chatted with her. It was hard to read her thoughts, just like when she battled against Catherine.

Catherine figured the professor was simply curious about Fodlan's political affairs. Mercenaries of her sort never involved themselves with such matters, so perhaps the thought of engaging with rebellion intrigued her. Catherine never thought that the professor was somehow emotionally swayed by Lord Lonato's story. It simply couldn't be. The Ashen Demon, moved by a sob story?

Catherine's war-trained instincts flared. Byleth was up to something. No doubt about it. The professor was not only skilled with the sword, but also a crafty woman.

"Find them now," Catherine commanded in a loud voice, eyes twitching violently. "Don't let them impede our purge!"

For a castle in noble territory, the security was lax. It was laughable, really. Commoners playing dress-up in armor, fumbling over their swords. Villagers plowing seeds in the castle grounds. Then there were the more buff and beefy fighters with larger frames, nothing more than a couple of thugs, eyes sparkling with astonishment at the metal gauntlets on their wrists.

This wasn't an honorable fleet of knights. It was a haggard group of ragtags and beleaguered volunteers who had no choice but to follow the pleas of their revenge-driven lord.

Disgusting.

Renard shifted the helmet on his head lower, hiding his eyes away from sight as he plodded down the stairs of the round tower. Through the small arrow slits in the stone walls, he could see a line of militia marching out into the distance. Compared to the Knights of Seiros, they were nothing but a circus troupe, eager to try out new tricks they've learned on the battlefield.

But this was war, not a game. If Ashe and Satiana failed the peace talks, the Goddess's land would be soiled with the blood of innocents today.

Then again, since when did he care about such trivialities? He didn't want to admit it, but after Satiana joined their crew of mercenaries, he had changed. Or really, he was forced to change. To think the assassin who murdered his entire family in cold blood would one day be worried about a bunch of strangers dying in battle. It was laughable, indeed.

But if a young child was fighting with her life on the line for what was right, what else could he do but join her cause? His life had become much more eventful ever since she joined. Satiana was indeed a magnet for trouble, but it also brought such color and flair to his dull and purposeless life.

Yes, he'd never had this much fun ever since his beloved wife passed away.

Renard never told Satiana his story. Hell, he didn't even tell Jeralt. And yet the two idiots accepted him, like the naïve, kind-hearted fools they were.

Renard chuckled dryly to himself as he crossed over the battlements, the wind gently blowing around his profile as if consoling him.

Aside from the fog, it really is a beautiful day. Perhaps…even a good day to die.

His story was run-of-the-mill. Renard Von Dietrich was from a collapsing noble house in the Empire. As a household that desperately needed the fame and prestige that came with a crest, they forced him to marry some woman from the Essar family. It was in this cruel twist of fate that he fell in love with his partner, Helena Von Essar. Unfortunately, the two had no children who bore crests and in the end, he lost his beloved to a heart disease…

Or so they said in the papers. He knew it was no heart disease that stole the life of his beloved. It was none other than the filthy aristocratic society and church that placed crests onto a pedestal, destroying the lives of many innocents.

The systematic society and their families abused her for giving birth to crest-less children. Helena chose death, taking her beloved children with her in despair. In a storm of madness and sorrow, by the time Renard woke up from his enraged trance, he had already slain his entire family. Of course, his next target was the entire Essar household. He eliminated them all in a blind rage before he escaped to the Abyss, resolving to live the rest of his life in solitude until Helena came to retrieve him.

But she never did.

He picked up the sword, tried to end his own misery countless times, but never once succeeded. And that was why Satiana's existence destroyed his entire being — flipped his universe upside down.

He knew from the first moment he spotted Satiana, sitting blankly in bed after Jeralt saved her. This girl would be his impending doom. She was his mirror — a perfect carbon copy of him. A living dead. A child who was as lost as he was in this maze they called life. She was dangerous, not because she was involved in regicide. Renard may have acted like she would've been a threat to Jeralt, but that wasn't the whole truth.

He didn't want Satiana aboard because she was dangerous to him.

And dangerous, she was. She was like an addictive drug. Even that blank-faced demon of a child named Byleth started showing lively expressions after spending time with her. He didn't want to admit it, but she breathed life into them all.

She did what he could never do. He fell to despair and never made it out alive. But she did. Somehow, in that uncanny way of hers, she always bounced back on her feet. No matter what nightmares haunted her, trying to shatter her beliefs, she would always claw her way forward like a persistent bug.

He had already failed his family. Helena, his children, and himself. He had lost everything dear to him and succumbed to the wallowing despair. But he wouldn't do it again this time. Not when his savior was still fighting.

Really, what have you done to me, Satiana?

Renard hid something important from the rest of the crew. In his time searching the Western Church, he had discovered a trail that led to the basement of Gaspard Castle. According to testimony from a random priest he interrogated, the Western Church hid a couple of crest stones in the inner bailey of the castle.

Renard had a sinking feeling the cloaked mages would wait for him underneath the inner bailey. Why wouldn't they be? They were the true masterminds behind his incident, manipulating both Lord Lonato and the Western Church to complete their own nasty plots.

He kept this from Satiana. She had more important things to focus on. He didn't want her to waver between saving the life of Lord Lonato and fulfilling her duty to Rodrigue.

Renard never wanted to see Satiana wallowing in despair ever again. He owed her that much.

He soon reached the basement of the inner bailey. Only one metal door blocked his way. Renard narrowed his eyes, gathering flames in his glowing hand. He cast a fireball spell, blasting through the door, melting the hinges off with one clean blow. The door fell to the ground with a resounding thud.

A man dressed in black armor turned to him, his face covered in a skeleton-like mask.

"Who are you?" The sinister, dark figure rumbled.

Renard smirked at him, casually strolling into the room. "Your worst nightmare," he taunted.

The masked man faced his way, the open slits in his eyes flaring red. "Heh. A simpleton. I am the Death Knight."

Renard arched an eyebrow. "Really? That's what you call yourself? Even I can come up with a better name for myself." His eyes sparkled with amusement, though the grip he maintained on the sword in his hand spoke otherwise. He took a brief glance around the room, littered with crates and cobwebs. Mossy green eyes landed on a chest hidden in the rightmost corner of the room. "I see the goods are still here. Guess I wasn't too late."

The Death Knight summoned his sickle out of thin air, enveloping the basement in a thin veil of purple-colored mist. The scythe boasted a length far beyond those of a normal lance, the sharp end protruding out into the air, curling in on itself. Unlike most weapons Renard had seen, the scythe was made of agarthium, a rare metal the average blacksmith could never get their hands on.

Renard reached behind his back, pulling out another blade from inside his cloak. He gripped two swords in both hands, eying the enemy cautiously. "So, you use a scythe?"

"Sariel's scythe." The Death Knight made a giant swing diagonally in the air, sending a wave of shadowy mist soaring towards Renard.

The gust of wind was easily dodged by Renard, who sidestepped to the right. He turned his head around, watching as the ominous fog dissipated, leaving a giant crater in the wall.

Renard made a small noise of surprise. "What the hell was that?"

"You dare stand in my way?" The Death Knight bellowed, a thundering voice reverberating inside the room. "If you do not prove yourself worthy of my blade," he paused, lifting his scythe into the air. "Then death is all that remains…!"

Renard's head snapped to the exit, and he threw himself towards it, barrel-rolling on the ground. He felt a searing hot pain in his cheeks and winced. Black flames roared around him, the miasma spell creating a scorching fog of poison. There was movement from the front and he leaped to the right, crash-landing against the wall beside him. The Death Knight blocked the entrance, forcing Renard into a corner with only the spiraling staircase behind him.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance.

It's way too cramped down here. I'll be mince meat if I take even one blow of that stupid fog attack of his.

If Renard had to choose between retreating up to the grounds above or fighting this monstrous entity in an underground basement, he'd always choose the former. If he could cause a commotion upstairs, he'd be able to draw the attention of the other soldiers strewn about the courtyard. He could easily make his escape that way.

But he really didn't have a choice. He needed to secure those crest stones inside the basement. And if he escaped to safer grounds, the Death Knight would never pursue him. They both had the same target in mind, and Renard quickly realized that this battle would soon escalate into a dirty mud fight.

Fuck it. Fight till the death it is.

His hand sizzled, glowing ominously red as he cast a bolganone underneath the Death Knight's feet. The ground erupted open, sending a tornado of fire swirling around the Death Knight. The world went red; the flames devouring everything in sight. Inside the cramped basement, clouds of black fumes billowed into the air, remnants of the burning crates obscuring both of their vision with smoke.

Renard prepared to dive into the fire when a blast of flame flew in his direction. He yelped in surprise and dropped to his knees, crouching low as the fireball crashed into the stairs behind him.

What the fuck?! How did my attack get reflected at me?

"Leave." The Death Knight rumbled darkly as he emerged from the scorching flames. As if they obeyed his command, the flickering fire parted ways for him. He stormed down the short hallway, halting in front of Renard's crouched form in front of the staircase. He lifted the scythe up high into the air, the blade glinting red from the sweltering heat permeating the air. "If you refuse, this will be the place of your death. I have no time to indulge in my pleasures today."

Unexpectedly, Renard cackled hysterically, eyes flashing with bloodlust. "Hah! What a monster!" He doubled over, clutching his stomach in a show of unrestrained amusement.

The Death Knight peered down at him, red eyes flashing with recognition. "You…you smell of death and blood."

Renard paused, lifting his head up to meet the curious gaze of his foe. His lips curled up into a wolfish grin. "Well, what can I say? It's been a while since I've faced such a destructive opponent like you."

He gathered himself back up on his feet, pressing closer to the Death Knight. They stood silently amongst the roaring flames, chest to chest. Molten green eyes, like a beast, swept over the Death Knight's frame in blatant appraisal with sweeping arrogance. He licked his lips lightly, feeling the heat tickling the tip of his tongue. "I knew it. Today really is a great day to die in," Renard spoke ominously before he thrust his arm forward.

The Death Knight loosened his grip on the scythe, sliding the hilt down to parry the blow. "I see." Renard could imagine the way the Death Knight's eyes narrowed in interest. "So you are also craving blood."

Red eyes clashed with green, and Renard laughed. "The world is a shitty place, after all. What's left to entertain a dead man other than a few blood bouts?" Renard leaped back to the stairs, gathering his weight to the soles of his feet before he charged forward.

His blade crashed against agarthium, sending another burst of flames into the air as the Death Knight reflected his attack back at him. But this time, Renard was prepared. He stabbed the sword in his left hand into the wall beside him, plunging it deep into the stone before powerful legs propelled him up into the air. Using the sword as a foothold, he leaped onto the wall, then spun around behind the Death Knight, aiming his right blade at the neck.

The Death Knight ducked, only to have Renard knee him in the back. A low growl escaped from the Death Knight's muffled lips as he swerved around mid-air, slashing the scythe diagonally upwards. Renard faced the poisonous slice from the front, holding his sword horizontally. The violent gust sent him sailing through the air, his back eventually colliding with a half-burnt shelf near the right corner of the basement.

"You're a mad beast." The Death Knight's low baritone chuckle echoed hauntingly down the empty cellar. "To think you'd dive straight into the fog of death." His boots snapped a broken crate in half, sending splinters jetting into the air. He shifted his stance, holding his scythe horizontally as he darted forward.

Renard coughed up blood, wiping the corners of his lips with his sleeves as he raised his leg up, slamming his heels into the hilt of the scythe, forcing it to a halt with sheer strength. The Death Knight pushed harder, sending Renard's leg curving up, knee trembling near his chest. The added pressure launched Renard into another coughing fit, his left hand twitching leftwards, glowing palpably white.

"If you fled, I would not have chased you. But it seems you wish to die." The Death Knight swerved his blade forward, letting gravity take hold as he pushed Renard's feet out of the way, plunging the scythe into Renard's shoulder.

Renard gasped in pain, clutching his left shoulder with tears pricking his eyes. The pain threatened to steal his consciousness away as the corners of his vision slowly stained black. He mustered up the last bit of his strength and chuckled, eyes twitching. "Hah…it's true that I yearn for death. That still has not changed." Green eyes flashed unpredictably. "But before I do, I have a promise to keep." He threw an awkward wink in the Death Knight's direction.

The Death Knight froze. He tightened his grip on the scythe, stabbing it further into the wounds as Renard hissed. The Death Knight glanced around the room, watching as the flames died out from the wind blowing through the arrow slits up in the turret.

Most of the room was charred black. The remains of burnt wood fluttered through the acrid air. His eyes eventually landed on the empty corner next to Renard's limp body. There was nothing in the now empty spot. Only remnants of white sparkles and bluish light remained.

The chest of crest stones was nowhere to be found.

The Death Knight scowled in distaste. "You…you tricked me."

Renard smirked. "Hey, perhaps you should've, I don't know, paid more attention to your actual target?"

He yelped as the scythe was violently yanked out of his shoulder. The scorching heat sizzled against his open wound and he almost bit his tongue from the surging pain. But he forced himself to breathe, gasping for air. He launched himself into another coughing fit, this time mixed with the sound of soft laughter.

"So, what are you going to do now?" Renard mocked, spitting blood out of his mouth. "For your information, I'm not really a skilled mage, so I don't even know where I warped that box of crest stones."

Just kidding. Of course, I'm not that dumb. By now, that box is safely in Fraldarius territory.

The Death Knight held the scythe to Renard's neck, his grip shuddering. "And here I thought you were the same type of person as me. Searching for a battlefield. It seems I was mistaken."

Renard snorted. "Don't get me wrong. I wouldn't mind dying by your hands in a proper battle. That's what I yearn for. But there's one big difference between us." His mossy green eyes gained a golden gleam, fiery and bright. "I'm not an aimless wandering beast. Not anymore. I got myself involved with a very annoying group of busybodies who just love getting themselves into trouble of this sort. Seriously, you should meet them—"

The scythe plunged into his rib cage and he screamed, toppling down to the floor on his side.

"Perhaps bathing in your blood will satiate me," the Death Knight snarled. "I will never forget this humiliation."

Renard's eyes stung and the lump in his throat was an oversized brick, painfully digging in at every point of contact. He wheezed for air, breath slowing at a rapid pace as blood pooled out of his open wounds. His vision blurred, the darkness creeping underneath his drooping eyelids, the pain too hard to bear.

From the corner of his fading vision, he saw the Death Knight raise the scythe up high, the sharp blade pointing directly towards Renard's head.

His lips contorted into a pained, strained smile.

At least I got my hands on the damning evidence from them. I hope this pays my debt to you, Satiana…

The scythe moved downward.