Professor Eisner,

This is a reminder that you are expected to attend a faculty meeting on Thursday, the fifteenth of Harpstring Moon, in order to plan for your House's booth for the academy's St. Macuil's Day Festival. We will begin the meeting at 2pm sharp, following the day's combat art seminar.

Understand that your absence will forfeit the Black Eagles' ability to provide input into their activity.

Dutifully,

Seteth


Professor~

I do hope you'll be able to attend my combat art seminar today on healing magic. The presence of your handsome mug would certainly attract a few curious bodies – not least my own.

Yours,

Manuela


Today, I learned what a crisis actor is.

When I arrived at the training grounds this morning, I noticed that roughly two dozen Knights and clergymen were strewn across the atrium, blood staining their uniforms and collecting in pools on the ground. Thinking that some sort of attack on the monastery was in progress, I quickly checked my six-o-clock position to confirm that there weren't hostile threats emerging from the only access point to the area, and then began to cast a healing incantation.

The first person in range was a monk with shoulder-length, brown hair who was sporting a large blood stain on his upper-right chest. While running towards him, I noticed that he seemed quite aware of my sudden arrival to his side – which was strange, given aortic injuries like his usually resulted in general disorientation prior to shock and exansigunation. Realizing that he was cognizant, I opted to try to calm him before tearing at his robes in an attempt to patch the wound. Time would be of the essence, and I needed his cooperation.

"Leave it to me." I say surely – although I'm totally unsure that I'll be able to rescue a fellow that's lost as much blood as he has.

Looking at me very alertly, he whispers:

"...Might you be the son of Jeralt and…?"

Realizing with solemnity that this man's question might be the final one he had the chance to ask, I reply:

"I am."

He closes his eyes when he hears this reply, and his lip trembles.

"I thought so, that hair of yours, it's… My name is Aelfric."

Again with the hair. Should I ask Edelgard for help with shopping sometime? She seems to take care of her hair. I've never shopped for that stuff before, really.

Anyway… After rending his garments, I suddenly realize that his chest isn't wounded at all – was he already healed and just resting from the blood loss?

"...Are you harmed elsewhere?" I inquire.

He smirks bitterly at this question.

"Yes, Byleth… but I don't think you'll be able to repair it… that is my burden, alone."

How exactly does this random person know my name? Staring at him blankly, I suddenly hear clapping from some distance away.

"...This is turning out like my favorite Boys' Love novel! The dashing young mercenary and the wizened, sage cleric! Oh, the passion…!"

Craning my neck, I see the person who that voice belongs to – Manuela. Standing beside her are Dorothea, Lindhardt, Mercedes and Marianne. My colleague is stroking her face with her riding crop, and is using her free arm to push up her ample bosom. I wonder why? Isn't she too old for that sort of thing…?

After realizing that I'm the object of their attention, I stare at them, stunned.

The first two to immediately razz me are my own students.

"Professor – if you could continue to channel the lust of Professor Manuela, I'll use this as an opportunity to take a nap." Lindhardt quips.

Dorothea has been laughing at the top of her lungs through Lindhardt's request, and finally manages through a cacophony of choking and cackling:

"Professor, if Edie sees this… she'll never forgive you… But I will!"

Why is Dorothea even here, anyway? Doesn't she prefer elemental magic? I then recall that she is probably on good terms with Manuela, them both being songstresses and whatnot. It also strikes me that due to her absence on the camping trip, I've failed to really grow closer to my eldest Eaglette. I should correct that, as the day in which her life will be squarely in my hands inches ever closer.

Our momentary chats in passing haven't been enough, I think. Partially this is because Edelgard always seems to be hovering nearby whenever I try to talk with her.

And since Edelgard probably won't be returning until late, now might be as good a time as ever.

Before I can really consider this more, however – the rest of the students start to pipe in.

The Elder Lioness is the next to rake me over the coals.

"Oh my…!"

This situation even provokes a reply from Marianne, who has flashed so red around the cheeks it even manages to cover the dark circlets under her eyes.

"Ah… Um…Professor…?"

This is becoming too much for me to process without getting any sort of explanation, so I'm spurred to speak up by sheer confusion:

"...What's going on here?"

"Professor…! How cavalier of you to ask that when I sent you such a beautiful letter this morning! Isn't my calligraphy just wonderful…?"

I stare at Manuela blankly.

"We're simulating a mass casualty event, Professor. There are certain spells that allow you to perform rapid first aid on many targets at once. I was about to teach the students the incantations before you arrived and stole their attention… and dare I say mine~"

From beside me, I notice the monk named Aelfric rise to his feet and brush himself off.

"Apologies, Ms. Casagranda – I doubt I'll be very much use to your lesson in this state."

"Oh, it isn't your fault Brother Aelfric! Shame on Professor Eisner for ruining my handiwork! You should bill him for the cost of your robes."

"There's no need. This one is quite old, in fact… I haven't worn it in at least two decades."

"Even so, Aelfric – don't the monks here take a vow of poverty? Professor makes upwards of twenty-five thousand a month! …More than I do! I say wring him dry."

Aelfric – thankfully – shakes his head.

"I have no way to know of such things. It is impossible to understand the wage gap when you take no wage."

I'm not sure if that logic makes much sense, but I also take a wage. It'd be hard for me to accuse anyone otherwise given my lack of objectivity in this matter. Perhaps I should just accept Manuela's view on things. She's been here longer than I have, at least.

That said, how long has Aelfric been here? Twenty years at least, right?

Manuela puts her hands on hips, with her riding crop occupying a rather phallic position at her waistline.

"Oh – I'm sure you tell that to all the women here!" she yells, clearly agitated by this.

The monk's placid expression grows perturbed at this accusation.

"There was only one I've ever loved. And money didn't matter much to her at all. If it did, I would've tossed off this frock and robbed every merchant house in Fodlan for her hand, but alas…"

Manuela seems like an eager audience for these types of stories.

"...How romantic!"

I turn back to the students. Lindhardt, to his credit – has seized the moment by retreating to a shaded corner of the atrium in order to take a nap on a stool. Marianne and Mercedes both seem involved in idle chatter – a surprise to see, given how reticent Marianne is in talking to me. Mercedes is quite easy to converse with, though – I can understand why she would put the Deer at ease, as she does the same with me.

Meanwhile, Dorothea has strolled up to me.

"Professor, you look so lost in thought…"

She's as sharp as Caspar is on the battlefield when it comes to reading the room.

"...How are things, Dorothea?"

She sways her hips slightly.

"Oh, you know… just had to deal with nature as it comes."

My thoughts return to the sudden rainstorm last week that brought Edelgard and Lysithea to my tent. If Dorothea wasn't transferred – I imagine it would've been her in the bedroll that night with Edelgard. That's dealing with nature as it comes, right?

What would've happened then, with Dorothea? There's no way to answer that, of course. I doubt Sothis could bring me far enough back to decline Manuela's transfer request.

"…Of course not!" She informs me.

"That's what I just said." I reply.

"Phooey! Then why contemplate such a thing?!"

It seems that I contemplate a lot of strange things – generally speaking. One that strikes me rather suddenly must also be rather strange: I find myself wondering whether or not Dorothea snores as loud as Lysithea does – if at all. Would Edelgard have been by my side that night without those circumstances?

Nature – as it comes – was my ally that night, I think.

"I can understand that." I say to my Eaglette after a long pause, bringing a hand to my chin in consideration.

This blindsides Dorothea, because her green eyes dart around a bit, and her expression morphs from one patronization to… excitement? It's hard to say. I wonder if she isn't also wearing her own sort of mask, just like Edelgard does at times.

"Can you, Professor…? Maybe you're not quite the little cherub Professor Manuela said you were, then!"

My colleague must have exceptionally illustrative techniques of character description. I've been called a demon for most of my adult life. This would almost certainly be the first time I can recall being likened to a cherub.

"...She said that?"

Dorothea swings her neck around to look at her erstwhile mentor, and then looks back to me with those desirous emerald eyes of hers. There's something in those eyes of hers that is empty – I mean this not to belittle her, but to state how impressed I am. Because the woman who stands before me seems to exude confidence, control, and savviness. What else could someone like her possibly want from life?

If I had an iota of her charisma, I could imagine myself leading an army rather than a class of spoiled nobility here at humble Garegg Mach. Yet, she seems unsatisfied with her gifts.

"Oh, never mind her. Anyway… we haven't had much of a chance to chat, have we?"

I shake my head, and in reply – my conversation partner nods hers sympathetically.

"Everything must seem like a blur since you've gotten here, hasn't it? That's how I felt when I first arrived…"

"It has."

"I thought so! You should take a gal out for a drink and relax, maybe."

Dorothea's suggestion prompts me to realize that I've never had the chance to take Edelgard out for drinks alone – perhaps that is why we've had comparatively little chance to talk with one another without a peanut gallery present. The picnic we shared before the mock battle feels like ages ago. I can scarcely remember recording it in this diary, in fact.

The songstress waves her hand in front of my face in order to return my attention to her.

"...I'm the gal you should be taking out for a drink and relaxing with, by the way."

But, since my student isn't due to return until tonight, it couldn't be all that bad hanging out with Dorothea, right? This is the chance I'll have to pick her brain and see what she thinks about her presence here at the Officer's Academy. Her goals and hopes. And those are all essential things for me to understand as her Professor, aren't they?

"That doesn't sound so bad." I grant.

Dorothea beams at this and leans in.

"I know, right? So… what about this afternoon? Maybe after the seminar…?"

The only bar I know of tends not to be open in the early afternoon, but I might as well confirm what she's talking about.

"Celica's?"

At this she puts on a pouty face, similar to Edelgard's. But I find myself liking Edelgard's so much more. Is that a fair thing to do, I wonder? Compare the relative beauty of women? Dorothea is obviously much more well-endowed in those things that most men indicate their desire for – any competition with Edelgard in those categories is a clear win for the songstress.

But there is something that just causes all of those charms to wash over me as if they were insignificant and uninteresting. My only curiosity at the moment is to understand who Dorothea is under that flawless skin of hers. Is that a kind of madness, I wonder? Few people want to look past that here. But I need to, because she is my responsibility and I don't wish her to die over some critical oversight I make in understanding her insufficiently.

Those are the stakes of the game that we're playing.

I then realize that Dorothea is making a move of her own.

Brushing her shoulder against mine, she brings her lips towards my ear. She says to me in a tone just above a whisper:

"Well, I was actually thinking we could steal off to Enbarr like two runaways and have the grandest adventure of our lives in a bedroom of the Hotel de Nuvelle…"

I tilt my head sideways at this remark, only belatedly realizing that I've brushed my hair against her ear. Turning my neck to meet her face, I realize that my lips rest just above the tip of her nose. As I stare at her, I realize that this sudden closeness has flushed her cheeks in the process.

A cheeky reply starts to take shape in my mind:

"OK." I say, looking dead into her eyes with the blankest stare I can muster, delivered in a tone that mimics hers.

She recoils at this almost as soon as the one-word reply leaves my lips. Frankly, I wasn't expecting such a dramatic reaction.

But, I am dealing with a dramatist – so should I really be?

"D-did you mean that…? Or are you just trying to make a girl like me feel special…?"

I'm literally just offering a deadpan reply, but informing her of this would probably be quite troublesome now.

Maybe this is what Edelgard meant by her accusations about my deadpan remarks not being funny. Manuela preempts any follow-up by whacking her riding crop against the atrium wall and beginning her seminar.


As we walk across the viaduct after the conclusion of Manuela's morning seminar, Dorothea seems chipper. Her green eyes dance at every reply I make to her questions regarding the camping trip. I find them rather strange questions, honestly – because they were all ones that she asked Edelgard on the ninth, when we last made our way over this bridge in order to procure a birthday present for Annette. They're variations on:

So… I heard there was a big fight with the Eagles and Prince Dimitri…!

And,

Claude said he wanted to show off how close he was with Hilda that day, do you feel jealous at all? You're like, good friends with her brother too, right?

Along with:

So… you think Edie's into guys who self-harm, is that right? Maybe I am, too…

They're all very inane questions, at least to me. Particularly the second of those three, given how Holst never really included me in any of his social activities. There's a difference between comradeship and friendship, I think. Holst had me as a comrade. I recall a friend of his who came to fight for a time, a giant grappler from the wild desert. His name escapes me, but I get the impression that he and Holst were much more friends than comrades.

That fellow disappeared after only a raid or two, though. I wonder what became of him?

Maybe he just died like that Dagdan girl, well beyond my capacity to care.

As that thought crosses my mind, I notice a horse drawn carriage nearing us, painted bright red and bearing the same double-headed Eagle on Hubert's parchment seal. It must be Edelgard's.

Before I can make note of this, however – Dorothea calls my attention elsewhere with a pointed index finger.

"Oh… Professor – look over the viaduct there!"

My eyes follow her sudden quip, and notice two bald eagles fighting by the cliff face. Could it be a territorial scrap? A sudden feeling of nausea begins to take over me as I see one of the eagles tear its talons into the other's head. The struck Eagle goes stiff, and then goes limp – its outstretched wings gliding its drooping body towards the canyon floor.

Dorothea seems to have missed the strike as we pass by a low-set torch lamp and her view is obstructed. And… At that moment, I think that fate was intervening for her benefit.

I've always found metaphor a distasteful way to describe situations – but I can't help but feel that if I don't become a better teacher – that some fate like that could await my own flock. As I grimace at the idea, Dorothea's green eyes seem to take this to mean something else.

"Oh… we missed Edie's carriage! I wonder if she waved…?"

My stomach hurts, as if that knife aimed at my chest whenever I talk to Edelgard has decided to pick on another organ of mine for a change.

This provokes my Eagle to start fussing over me:

"Professor, are you eating enough? I feel like you've gotten thinner since we first met…"

My eyes find the front door of Celica's, just over the viaduct. We're nearly there, but it's still closed.

"We should kill time." I suggest – desperate to fight these thoughts attempting to overpower my mind at the moment.

Dorothea takes her cue and straightens out what's clearly now her thinking cap.

"Do you like reading, Professor?"

That's a river I've never really needed to ford before. One reads to learn, right? I don't find learning distasteful at all – it's quite useful. And I like learning about certain people – my Eagles, particularly Edelgard. I also think that Mauricius was an interesting fellow, although I suspect I've already read too much about him.

But there are probably so many books that I have no idea about. Would I like those too?

"I just started rather recently." I say.

This prompts a belly laugh from the songstress.

"That's… such an endearing thing to say when you're supposed to be some kind of stuffy academic!"

At this, all I can do is shrug. She's got the upper hand on me here.

"Well… let's see if we can find you a book to read. Something fun, maybe!"


Dorothea and I spent about an hour pouring over the shelves of the bookstore in close proximity. The scent of her perfume, which I take note of for the first time, smells of apple blossoms. It's a welcome relief from the musty smell of the shop, which I still haven't grown used to.

The book that she recommends to me is a popular folk epic, widely read by the literate middle class of Enbarr, but generally untouched by the nobility. Expressing amusement at the idea of Garegg Mach stocking it in their monastery bookstore, the songstress chuckles. I raise an eyebrow at her – to which she shushes me as if I had been the one laughing.

At times, I find the logic of women totally foreign.

Called Ishtar, it is only attributed to a woman named Countess Bias, which Dorothea speculates to be a pen-name for an Enbarr courtesan. She informs me that many had successful writing careers, chronicling the wicked men of their eras. Would I be considered one of those wicked men, too?

Flipping through the book, I see that a single character, named Ishtar– dominates most of the scenes.

"Is Ishtar the heroine?" I ask.

"Well, some would say that, Professor. Others would say that she's the villain, though. I kind of like books like that, what about you?"

Bringing a hand to my chin, I realize that I've never been asked a question like that before. In fact, the only books I can recall reading recently are the two regarding Mauricius – his tacticon and that nameless biography from the Church library.

"I'm still new to this whole reading for pleasure thing." Is the best I can offer her.

Dorothea waves her index finger in front of my nose.

"Expand your horizons, Professor! You're supposed to be our intellectual guide, aren't you? If you like it, maybe we can write each other poetry or fun things like that!"

If the Officers' Academy was trying to hire a poet, they found the least qualified person on the continent, I suspect. Petra would probably write better material than I, and it's not even her native tongue.

Still, there's no point in arguing with Dorothea on this. She seems excited.

"Maybe."

"Oh~ I… wasn't expecting you to agree so quickly to that… you shouldn't flirt so easily, a gal like me might get the wrong idea, you know… or the right one!"

I stare at her blankly.

"I'm not going to get lost in your eyes that easily anymore, Professor." she informs me.

"Celica's?" I ask at last.


I had a miserable time at the bar with Dorothea. I suppose that's a callous thing to say – but at first, it was more of an interrogation than anything. Ordering two cosmopolitans at the bar, she placed one on our table in front of me, demanded I try a sip, and immediately set about grilling me as soon as I swallowed the first gulp of the cocktail.

Trying my best not to patronize her – I gave her as much of my life story as I knew without delving too deeply into detail. And to her credit, she seemed to actually listen and take stock of my words. But I don't like going on like that, and will make no effort to recreate the dialogue here. Initially an attempt was made, but I tore that page out – the first time I've needed to do so since I've started keeping this diary. Every word on the page felt fake and imagined, as if my memory had somehow flagged when so much of this diary of mine has pieced itself together in perfect form up until this moment.

Was it Dorothea herself who provoked it?

At first, I thought the mundanity of it all had done so – but then I realized what a gross disservice I was doing to the Songstress. On the contrary – she was engaged, curious, compassionate, and asked her questions with unexpected sincerity and interest.

I was the issue, in effect.

Because throughout that "conversation" between her and I, a daydream carried me back to the image of those two birds in combat.

Terrible thoughts then took root into my mind - fantasies - but terrible ones all the same:

I saw Caspar driving a gauntlet into Lindhardt's chest on the walls of a fortress, with a face that struck me as conflicted.

I saw Dorothea casting a meteor spell at the head of Ferdinand from the rafters of a bridge, unhorsing him from his mount.

I saw Petra bringing a halberd down on Hubert in the alleyways of a great city, lopping off his right arm, and covering herself in his blood.

I saw Bernadetta aflame on top of a fortress of smoldering corpses, staring up into the sky with a red line trailing from her lip.

And worst of all, I saw myself beheading Edelgard with a glowing, monstrous, weapon that coiled itself into some kind of whip around her neck.

I lost myself in those visions for a long time – and they only took leave of me when Dorothea finally had the good sense to suggest that the two of us walk back to campus.


We walked all the way back to the promenade in a sickening silence, one that was undoubtedly my fault. At that moment, the realization of what a mess my asinine angst had made came fully to bear. This trip to Celica's was meant to be an upbeat affair. I wanted to better know Dorothea, not lose myself in some strange imagery which had seeped into my overactive imagination.

Desperately, I felt as if I needed to make things whole again with my drinking partner.

Clearing my throat, I tease out the words while showing off our haul from the bookshop:

"...Dorothea, thank you for recommending this to me."

She looks back at me with those green eyes of hers tinged with guilt.

"Professor… if I touched a nerve at the bar, I–"

Shaking my head, I say:

"You didn't."

We both continue on, isolated our own worlds for a time, with the only sounds being the clanging of dishes from the nearby dining hall, and our own footsteps.

"...That Dagdan girl you mentioned, was she–"

Did I even tell her about that? I can scarcely remember as I write these words. I must have, of course – for her to reference it.

"She was nothing to me, Dorothea. That's the worst part, I think."

Her eyes fall away from me and towards the stones before our feet.

"...I had a feeling you were a heartbreaker, you know…"

My eyes do not follow hers – instead, they're affixed on Edelgard, who is waiting outside Dorothea's door, scrutinizing the two of us as we walk alone along the promenade.

The quietude that strikes all three of us when we take stock of each other's presence is interminable. Although it may have only lasted a minute, it felt like it went on for hours, days, even years. In spite of my reactive demeanor, I was the first one of the three to manage to cut through the pallid air between our trio. It felt as if my fight or flight or syndrome was in full force, and it was telling me that I'd best pursue the latter of those two options.

During my extrication attempt, I said comparatively little, though – merely Edelgard's name first, and then Dorothea's. And then I turned and made back for my own dormitory, my chest stabbing in pain and my mind drifting back to those murderous images that preoccupied me back at Celica's.

In desperation, I took to diving headfirst into the pages of Ishtar as soon as I locked the dormitory door behind me.