Hands brushed against her shoulders and she melted into the embrace without wanting to.

"I was worried," breathed Edelgard. "You didn't come with to the Tomb."

"I wouldn't leave you," Lysithea said quietly so that the words wouldn't escape their tent.

Edelgard pulled back, then pulled her in for a kiss. It was gentle, caring. Somewhere in Lysithea's confused heart, there was a flutter. Was that love? Lust? Her inexperienced showed but she hid it.

"How did you escape?" she asked.

Lysithea bit her lip. She did not like to dwell on those people. "Myson helped me. I let him in like you asked, there were no complications. But he…" She shivered. His eyes, those familiar eyes. She'd seen them before. And if there had been warmth in them at one point, they'd long frozen over.

"And?" Edelgard asked, pulling Lysithea to her bed to sit.

"He had me tamper with some of the locks in the cathedral while he saw to other matters. He said that he would assassinate the Archbishop during the battle." Lysithea wrapped her arms around her chest. Not over the Archbishop, no, she'd shed no tears for that woman. War just left a bad taste in her mouth.

Edelgard pulled her in closer, stroking her hair. "They're not who I want to work with," she whispered, brushing a hand through her own white hair. "Would that I could, I'd kill every last one of them. And I will. But I made a deal with a devil to dismantle the Church."

"I understand," Lysithea said.

Edelgard shook her head. "Lys, I will deal with them after. The Fódlan of the future has no room for them. Even if I had never met you, I'd scatter their bones from Sreng to Brigid. And now that I have you in my life, I will not tolerate them a second after this war ends."

"I trust you," she breathed, leaning into the embrace even if the pale mages Edelgard had sold her soul to lurked in her thoughts.

"I know, and I am grateful for it," the Emperor returned. "For what they did to you, to me, I have no right to ask or expect your help, yet you give it to me anyway." She brushed lips against the top of her head. "Lysithea, I love you far more than you'll ever know. And it's with that in mind that I will punish them for what they did to us."

Lysithea tilted her head up to meet her apparent lover's eyes. She'd had doubts about a relationship between them before, but reasons for hesitation were starting to disappear. Against all logic, she felt her heart race at the vow. Lysithea prayed she wasn't just taking advantage of the situation.

"I know," and she moved in for a deep kiss, pushing Edelgard onto her back across the bed.

"Good, you're here," Seteth said with barely a glance.

Byleth and Claude separated as they walked into the room, each taking a different side of the table. The Cardinals' room had been rearranged into a war room. Tables were smashed together to accommodate the maps laid across.

Nearly all the Deer were in attendance, as were the Lions. Along with the few authorities present in the Knights of Seiros, they were it for the defense. Knights who spent more time teaching and children.

No, Byleth chided herself. That wasn't fair, not to anyone. They were the best they had. Students trained by some of the best military minds in Fódlan. Knights who had survived into elder years, lived long enough to accumulate a wealth of experience. It was Edelgard's fortune or intel that had her attacking when so many of the Knights of Seiros' best were on missions.

And at their head, Seteth, the Archbishop's right hand. She'd had her doubts when he took up command as defacto general. But he'd shattered them, managing the oncoming battle preparation far better than any she'd seen. It was second nature. Gone was the demure attendant to Rhea, full of concern only for the Church and Flayn. Instead a soldier stood at the head of the table, calm features making way for a sharp disposition, a focus that Byleth had only seen in Jeralt's eyes.

It was not Seteth's first war, of that she was certain.

"Did we receive a report from the outskirts?" he asked, head turned to Claude.

Claude cleared his throat. "The Astral Knights have wiped out another of our scouting parties. Of the six we sent, only two remain and they've yet to rendezvous." He pointed to the map. "Judging from where I found their corpses, we can estimate they're position to be here. The Astral Knights are likely the van, judging from what Ferdinand's intel told us."

"Were you able to see their location from wyvern-back?" Seteth looked back to the map, stroking his beard.

"Of the main army? Yeah, they're trailing behind the vanguard. We'll get hit by them first to soften us up, then the rest will pour in. I estimate that at the rate they're pushing, they'll arrive by dusk tomorrow."

Seteth swore under his breath. "Sooner than we expected. Shamir, any updates from our spies?"

She nodded. "I have good news and bad."

"Give me the good."

"The Minister of War, while orchestrating the plan, is not marching with them. His brother, Randolph, has taken his place, along with Caspar. This is of course concern for what Victor von Bergliez is doing if not here, but I believe it's our good fortune that a tactical mind such as his is at least not present."

Seteth's mouth softened into something akin to relief. "That is indeed good news. Perhaps we're not in such dire straits. And the bad?"

"Edelgard leads the army herself," Shamir said. "She has won remarkable favor from her people in a short time, and I imagine they'll fight just as hard with her there."

"Damn," Seteth muttered.

Byleth leaned forward. "Seteth, this is perfect."

He looked to her and nodded for her to continue.

She addressed the two dozen people who surrounded the table. "She's the mastermind behind this, isn't she?" A few heads nodded. Claude smirked across from her, following her logic in the eerie way they schemed alike. "We kill her, they'll fall apart. Respect she might command, but she can't do that from the grave. She's the linchpin in all of this."

"Oh, it'll be my pleasure," Catherine snarled before anyone else. "Seteth, let me take her. I'll make her regret declaring war on Rhea."

Shamir shifted uncomfortably and Seteth slowly nodded. "True," he said, "you're likely one of our better chances at beating her. Speak with Hanneman after this meeting, see what he can tell you about her technique. I'll find some other knights who would stand a chance." Seteth turned back to Byleth. "Strong analysis, your father would be proud."

Dedue, who had stood stalwart next to a silent Dimitri, cleared his throat. "Forgive me, but does this not hinge upon her actually entering the monastery?"

"If she doesn't," Claude said, the look in his eyes when he was thinking through a plan off the cuff, "I could drop Catherine off by Edelgard's position on wyvern."

Ashe, of all people, shook his head. "It won't work, you'd be torn to pieces by their artillery. Their archers aren't anything special, but if you get close, you'll get shot."

"Just drop me by her," Dimitri growled, speaking for the first time in hours. "Arrows, sword, imperials be damned. I will go with Catherine and kill Edelgard."

Seteth frowned at the king-to-be. "I will not allow that. Confident in your abilities you might be, Catherine is one of the most experienced fighters here and in possession of a Relic. She is our best bet."

Catherine preened at the praise while Dimitri clenched his fist. He said nothing more on the subject, his anger in his eyes saying plenty.

The commander sighed. "Ashe is right, it would be too risky. Though the idea does have merit. We could have you drop the team away from Edelgard and have them make their way to her position. Under cover of nightfall, that should help with stealth."

"How confident can we be that they'll attack at night?" Lorenz asked while studying a map.

It was Ferdinand who answered. "The sun will be in our eyes as it sets, forcing us into a disadvantageous position. As well, we need light to defend the walls so we can see what we're doing. We're going to be bright targets for their archers, particularly on the walls. Once they break through it'll be even ground, but darkness will help them get there."

Seteth sighed. "It won't be an easy battle."

"Do you think we can win?"

All heads turned towards who had just walked into the room. Aelfric, back from performing the Archbishop's duties in her absence. His brow was knitted with worry, but he looked far from afraid.

Seteth stared at the table for a long moment. Then, "If we don't give up, use this last time we have adequately, and pray for the Goddess' aid…then yes."

Byleth did not know if the rest of the room saw through it, but she did. It was a lie a commander said when things were hopeless, a lie to get the people through the night.

Byleth looked to Claude and he gave her a small nod. Their only hope laid in reinforcements, it was the only possible way they could turn a victory. They'd called on the Alliance for aid, and Sylvain had told them he'd done the same for the Kingdom in Dimitri's stead while his anger rendered him incapable. But those were long journeys to make on short notice.

Mercedes gripped her hand next to her and she squeezed it back. Byleth leaned forward and a feral grin. "Then we make them bleed, we've Sothis' divine protection on our side."

There were sounds of affirmation around the table. Seteth looked to her and nodded, respect in his eyes.

"Now," he said. "With Aelfric here, let's discuss the evacuation of the civilians."

Dusk was two hours away.

Their assessment had been correct about the Empire army waiting for the cover of darkness. They were halted at the base of the hill the monastery was built upon, no doubt preparing.

The Church did the same, the call to arms had been sent out. Everyone was expected to take their post.

Byleth looked to the people arrayed in front of her in front of the cathedral. Their final strategy meeting had just concluded and she'd held her students back before letting them go where they needed.

She swallowed. Each of them were looking at her, different expressions plastered on their faces. Mercedes, worry. Ignatz, fear. Dorothea, faux confidence. Claude, apprehension.

All of them, little more than children, were about to fight a war.

"My fawns," she said with a light smile. "My students…"

That earned a smile from them, even from their newest addition in Ferdinand.

A few of the other students, ones she hadn't taught, lingered to say their own last words. Annette, Sylvain, even Felix. She couldn't keep them waiting.

"I'm so proud of you all," Byleth said, little more than a whisper with held back tears. "Thank you all for being the best students I could ask for."

"Don't talk like we aren't coming back, Teach," Claude said through a grin that fooled even her into thinking it genuine. "We made a promise. Five years from now, we're meeting up here no matter what. Can't very well do that without a monastery."

She laugh. Goddess, did she laugh. And she smiled a full, real, beautiful smile. "I'll hold you to that," she said. "All of you."

Ferdinand scratched his head. "I don't suppose it'd be too presumptuous for me to come as well?"

Lorenz grabbed his shoulder like a brother might, pulling him in closer. "You're a Deer now, Ferdinand. Your wings might be clipped, but we only care about antlers here."

Hilda giggled. "Oh, are we going to get him a crown of antlers or something now?"

"Ig and I can hunt it!" Raphael exclaimed. "A victory deer, a feast!"

"Raph!" Ignatz said with a bit of fake horror. "We can't eat our mascot."

Dorothea bent down to Marianne, pretending to whisper, "Don't tell him what was in our dinner then."

"Dorothea!" gasped Marianne, trying to look aghast but having trouble keeping a smile down.

Leonie had no such trouble. "Better yet, let's make some for all of us!"

Mercedes laughed as Marianna gasped again. She stepped closer to Byleth and grabbed both of her hands. "We wouldn't be here without you, Byleth. We're the ones who owe you thanks."

Lorenz cleared his throat. "If I may be so blunt, I did not expect much from you at first, professor. But now, as we stand here, I can think of no one else I'd rather call a friend."

"Friend," the other Deer echoed in near unison.

Byleth blinked, shocked. "Is that really what you think?"

Claude laughed. "Teach, you're daft if you think you aren't the favorite professor here. Anyways, we need to get to our posts. Everyone," he looked at them all, growing a shade closer to serious, "I expect you to survive, if only we can convince Byleth that she taught us well."

Their individual responses mixed together and the group broke apart, some on their way to the walls, others speaking to the Lions who had lingered.

Mercedes, though, held back. She squeezed Byleth's hands again, leaning forward and pressing a chaste kiss on her lips. Annette gasped behind them and Sylvain whistled.

"For luck," she breathed, smile radiant.

"For luck," Byleth echoed back with a smile just as bright.

"It's time," Ashe breathed, next to her. He stood up, stretching.

Hilda nodded, groaning as she stood. In the distance, horns blew. Signals, signals to begin the imperial assault. Church wyvern scouts were pulling back as Empire reds took the sky, racing to ferry any last minute information to their superiors.

Holst had once told her, "More of a battle is decided before than during. I don't win because I'm strong, I win because I plan. Remember that, little sister."

She hadn't forgotten, but she had the humility to admit that she wasn't her brother. She was no strategist. But she was strong and that was worth a damn.

So she stood on the walls, where the ballistae were mounted. They stood high, high above the ground but with wyvern riders being fielded, there was just as much danger as the ground. If it came to it, she and her battalion would defend the armaments.

"Load bolts!" called Ashe. Hilda couldn't help but notice how much older he looked. His hair had grown in the past year as he'd stopped cutting it. Where he usually just brushed it back, now he had it pulled into a small ponytail. That, mixed with the armor he wore, made her wonder where the Ashe of yesterday had gone, the one who had come to the academy to be a knight.

But this was not the time for that.

"We should say something to them. The soldiers," he said, looking to her and keeping his voice low.

Hilda nodded.

A beat of silence passed.

Oh, he'd meant her.

"Alright, everyone!" she shouted. "Let's kill these fuckers. For the Goddess!"

The roar she received was not what she expected as the soldiers cheered, yelling variations of what she'd said.

Ashe nodded with a bit of approval. "That works, I suppose."

She huffed. "Oh, hush, this is my moment."

That drew a laugh. "If that keeps you alive, then we won't complain. Looks like the wyverns are approaching."

"Get going," she said, mirth leaving her voice.

He nodded. Ashe raised a hand and for a flicker of a second, she saw that same child who'd entered the academy. The child who stood on the ramparts of the monastery, ready to order the deaths of scores of soldiers. A child who commanded part of an army and stared down death with wings.

That was all they were, right? Children playing adults. Frauds in positions only because the real knights were elsewhere.

"Loose!" yelled Ashe, dropping his hand.

Rhythmic thwunks followed as the ballistae discharged, two dozen bolts sailing through the air. Hilda gave up trying to watch them, instead focusing on their targets.

The sun was setting, but the light made her squint. All she could see were shadows slowly growing bigger. Then, shrill squawks as bolt met wyvern.

It made her uncomfortable to hear the beasts dying, but it was the most efficient way to kill fliers. Drop the mount, let the rider die from the fall. That was just common sense.

"Reload!" Ashe yelled. "Support archers, knock arrows!"

The remaining archers on the wall drew arrows to their bows, waiting for the command to fire to cover the ballistae.

"Draw!" he yelled.

Hilda blinked, hand tightening on her axe. There was a bigger shadow on the horizon, bigger than the wyverns. Something so large she could hear its wings flapping from where she stood.

"Dragon!" screamed a soldier in fear.

"Steady!" Ashe shouted, voice quaking with just as much fear as the fellow soldier, but holding firm. "Aim!" He raised a hand.

"Defenders, get ready," Hilda called out, hefting her axe to her shoulder.

"Loose!"

The volley of arrows were shooting stars, twinkling on the sun's last light. More wyverns dropped from the sky, but the bigger one drew closer.

She blinked a few times and finally connected the dots.

"Oh shit, demonic beast," she whispered. "Ashe!"

He'd made the connection too. "Ballistae, target the demonic beast! Fire when ready!" In a lower voice, he growled, "Since when can they fly?"

Not even two bolts had flown before the demonic beast roared, opening its mouth where a giant orb of fire began to form.

Hilda opened her mouth to shout an order and stopped, hesitating. She watched in frozen fear as the fire shot towards the wall. It connected, exploding with a concussive blast and shattering several ballistae. The wave knocked most off their feet.

"Fire at will!" Ashe shouted, but she wasn't sure how many heard him.

The demonic beast closed the distance, landing on the wall. It perched like a predator, letting loose a baleful screech. On both sides of it Church soldiers scrambled away, on the verge of panic.

Hilda grabbed her axe, but was no better. She scooted away from the creature, not even getting up.

"Going to the officer's academy, huh?" Holst had said to her almost exactly a year ago. "You're gonna learn a lot there."

"Ugh," she'd groaned. "Why can't I just stay here?"

He'd found that funny. "Because you're a noble, little sister. Nobles lead people. And first rule of leading, don't ask anyone to do something you aren't willing to do. The least you can do is go to school."

She blinked, back in the present as the demonic beast swung a wing, bashing another ballistae to bits.

"Oh shit oh shit oh shit," she muttered as she stood up, quivering.

Glancing behind her at soldiers twice her age scared out of their minds, she raised an axe. "Attack!" she screamed ineloquently.

And she charged forward. "For the Goddess!" someone shouted behind her.

The demonic beast turned its head down towards her. It took a step towards her, the entire wall shaking.

One of its talons swung down and she leapt forward, dodging it nearly too late. Hilda rolled forward without poise and swung her axe with as much force as she could muster into the beast's leg.

It connected, drawing a growl from the monster. For a terrible moment, its attention was solely focused on her.

Then her battalion intercepted. Axes struck leathery flesh and screams anew erupted from the demonic beast.

It couldn't have even taken a minute. The creature swung a wing, knocking a dozen soldiers off the wall, which opened it up to attack. A ballista bolt struck it in the chest, fired close enough with to have the momentum to hurl the monster from the wall.

Ashe stepped away from the ballista, panting. "Hilda, you alright?"

"I'm okay!" she shouted, standing up. "Thanks!"

He started to respond but cut off as he looked towards the setting sun.

One. Three. Six. More.

That demonic beast wasn't the only one.

Ashe laughed, of all things, though it was hysterical. Whatever calm confidence he'd masqueraded with, it was gone.

Hilda stood up and looked around her. Victory simmered in the air with the kill, but the reality of the situation was cold.

"We killed a dragon," she said, not even realizing she spoke aloud. "Let's do it again."

Grim murmurs of assent followed.

The next ones approached lower, harder to hit for their ballistae. But that didn't stop the remaining from firing.

One bolt caught a demonic beast's wing, catching it at just the angle to tear the wing in half. It shrieked and fell to the ground, alive, but far too wounded to fly.

As the rest approached, Hilda focused on one flying lower than the rest. Atop it rode a person. It was the only one with a rider and they held their hand aloft, as if giving directions. On their wrist, a glimmering piece of jewelry.

The person was commanding the demonic beasts.

She pointed her axe at the one and shouted, "Focus fire on the mounted one!"

In the chaos, only one archer heard her, firing her ballista and missing. The rest were too preoccupied with the demonic beasts that began to mount the wall.

The rider stopped theirs, staying low while the rest attacked. Hilda blinked, a thought forming amidst the battle around her.

Whatever magic it was, it had range. The rider would stay down there, taking advantage of the safety.

A pit grew in her stomach. The mounted beast stayed low, hovering right below the wall as both monster and wyvern attacked.

She ducked out of the way of a haphazard javelin and gritted her teeth. If Holst knew what she were about to do, he'd kill her. Marianne would never let her leave her sight again.

Hilda leapt off the wall, the cries of surprised comrades quickly growing distant behind her. Only the rush of air brushed her airs, deafening her to all else.

It wasn't a deadly drop, but it was enough to pick up frightening speed. Which made it all the easier to crumple the top of the man's skull as he looked up at her in abject horror. The look was gone in a spurt of blood.

"If you're ever falling from somewhere high," Byleth said, drawing on the blackboard, "you want to hit as much as you can on the way down to slow your fall. Falling through a tree might kill you, but the branches might slow your fall enough to not hit the ground as hard. But if you hit the flat ground without interference, you're dead."

This was, as Hilda realized after killing the man, an astronomically stupid idea.

She hit the monster's wing, not because it was in the way, but because its wings shook in a spasm and collided with her, inadvertently saving her life.

But Goddess, did it hurt.

She gasped for air, the wind knocked out of her as she hit, feeling several ribs break. Hilda began to slide down the wing, towards the ground.

Her axe, somehow she'd managed to hold onto it. She swung it in an arc over her head, screaming in pain from the broken ribs. But it dug into the side of the creature deep enough to hold her.

The demonic beast began to ascend, drawn by the screams and battle above. Everything had faded from her head, all thoughts and worries. All she focused on was holding onto the handle of the axe.

Wind buffeted her and her hand began to slip, slicked with sweat and what Hilda assumed was the man's blood.

There was a torrential scream from the creature that carried her, sending vibrations through the axe and to her hand.

She let go.

And collided with the wall, where she'd started.

Vision almost black, she blinked slowly as the screams around her grew louder. Hardly capable of speech, she groaned. All for nothing. Holst would kill her twice.

But they weren't screams. No, they were words.

"Hilda!"

She blinked, her vision clearing enough to see a massive corpse of a demonic beast near her, another falling from the sky riddled with arrows.

"Hilda!"

Who was calling her name? It sounded like so many voices at once, like a dozen people screaming for her attention.

"Hilda! Hilda! Hilda!"

It wasn't to get her attention, she realized.

It was a chant.

"Hil-da! Hil-da! Hil-da!" Each syllable pronounced clearly, a rallying cry.

She blinked furiously and saw her soldiers winning. The wyvern riders were scattering to regroup as the last demonic beast was brought low by arrows.

"Hilda!" Ashe shouted, blurry, but entering her vision.

"Ashe?" she groaned, unable to muster anything more.

"Healer!" he screamed, then looked back to her. "That was the stupidest thing I've ever seen, but whatever you did saved us." He was grinning, something she hadn't seen him do since the beginning of the year.

She wanted to laugh, but figured it would hurt far, far too much. So instead, she smiled like a maniac, equally crazed, as the healer arrived and began to knit her flesh back together.

It took longer for the walls to be given up than Lorenz expected. He cast a wary look to where he knew Hilda was stationed.

Seteth had told them there'd be demonic beasts. But flying weaponized monsters? That they hadn't foretold.

With a prayer to the Goddess on his lips, he felt calmer as he turned his mind from Hilda and his other comrades.

The gate ahead pulsed with another bang, the battering ram growing closer to bringing it low.

Lorenz took a deep breath and gripped his lance.

"Your orders, sir?" a man twice his age asked.

Odd, how once he'd not have batted an eye to someone that age addressing him so. Frankly, he would have expected it. Now, it felt discomforting, undeserving.

He swallowed his feelings. "Stand firm, soldier." His own voice reminded him of his father. And surprisingly it did not waver.

Louder, he said, "We don't give them an inch! We lose this area, they have a direct path to the monastery itself." He hoped he'd have enough people to hold the gate.

Boom. The gate pulsed with another crash, splinters visible from where Lorenz stood.

"I don't know what's going to come through that door," he continued.

Boom.

"But I know they want to destroy our Goddess."

Boom.

"I do not intend to let them kill me for what I believe."

Boom! A hole broke in the door, though the integrity held. Through the hole, Lorenz could see a demonic beast, its head modified into a battering ram.

"Soldiers of Sothis!" he yelled in what he hoped was a commanding voice. "We end this war here!"

The gate gave, crashing down in cacophony. The demonic beast roared as it stood in the doorway, craning its neck back. Around its legs, imperial red bled past the wall.

"Forward!" Lorenz yelled, and charged.

White met red in sparks under the cry of the demonic beast lumbering forward.

A sword caught Lorenz' cheek as he buried his lance into an imperial's breastplate, the blowing killing the man but shattering the weapon.

He was Lorenz Hellman Gloucester. He would not lose.

Fire glowed on his hands a second later, cinders flying.

"Mage!"

Their warning ended prematurely as the Empire soldier lit alight. He screamed, burning to death, a beacon of light as night set in. It scared the other red clad soldiers.

And drew focus onto the mage.

Knights who had fought more battles than he pushed him back, providing their armored bodies to shield him. Lorenz resisted before understanding.

Byleth circled the middle of a formation. "You want to stack your mages here. That way they're protected. Put them in the front, they get cut up. In back, that's asking for an ambush. They can do incredible damage, but only if protected."

Lorenz waved a hand and stopped worrying about defending himself, trusting those around him to shield him. Fire gleefully leapt from his hands, hungry for the kill.

He could feel the power of his Crest coursing through him like he never had before. It was primal, angry, vengeful, determined. Magic bent to his will like it never had before.

The demonic beast tore through the people who protected him. The swing of its claw barely missed him, forcing him to stumble back and lose grip on the spell in his fingertips.

"Hold," a gruff voice called. The beast slowed like a dog. "Leave the mage for me."

The beast's attacks picked up again, shredding through Lorenz' battalion. He raised his hands, fire burning again in preparation.

The man who spoke stepped forward nodded to him. "Gloucester, I've been instructed to take you alive on the Emperor's orders."

Why? "And who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?" he asked, not dropping his hands or the spell.

"I am Randolph von Bergliez," he said. Lorenz wouldn't have guessed it, the man hardly looked like Caspar. "Drop the magic, Lorenz. I won't kill you, but I have been given the go-ahead to bruise you up if necessary."

"My father?" he guessed. "Am I a bargaining chip?"

Randolph's eyes narrowed and he knew he was on the right track at least. "Last chance to come peacefully, Gloucester."

Lorenz snorted in a manner quite ignoble. "As if your country knows anything of peace." And the spout of flame flung from his fingers.

Ignatz pushed his glasses up his nose as the gate rumbled again. His fingers tapped against the longbow in his hands.

He was a part of Shamir's unit, something he was immensely grateful for. Could he lead soldiers? Yes, he thought with confidence that surprised himself. But that didn't mean it wasn't a weight off his shoulders that he was working under his teacher.

"As soon as they break through, fire." Shamir's voice was just as it always was. Cool, calm, composed. It was soothing, just like training.

Lorenz' battalion was in front of them, the rocks that would break the enemy tide. But aside from there, cover was scant and Ignatz couldn't help but worry what would happen if things went wrong.

A hand touched his shoulder. Shamir didn't smile at him, but she nodded. "It's going to be fine. I'll keep an eye on you."

"Perhaps I'll be keeping an eye on you?" he chuckled nervously.

That drew an almost-smile from her. Turning her head, she called out, "Knock and aim."

Byleth looked him right in the eyes and pointed at a target, a straw man. "You see that? You know how fucking terrifying it is to watch a man die from an arrow when you can't see the archer? A well placed arrow can break a charge."

Shamir's archer drew arrows and took aim, arching their bows up to take advantage of gravity to bring their arrows down harder. Ignatz needed no such help. Using his shoulder in what had become all too familiar a motion, he drew the bow back.

The gate smashed open while Shamir yelled, "Loose!"

Ignatz' arrow tore through the air, meeting the enemy before the rest. One poor, unfortunate soul was snuffed as his head was nearly torn off from the force. Then the hail hit, impaling those who had paused in shock at their companion's death.

"Fire at will."

At Shamir's command, they did just that, none flinching at the demonic beast. None except Ignatz, whose next arrow broke upon meeting the beast's mask.

How were there demonic beasts among the Empire's army? He grit his teeth and feathered another soldier, wooden shaft sprouting from his leg and taking him out of the fight. There was a possibility in his mind, but before he could pursue it his attention turned elsewhere.

The fire Lorenz had begun to wield fizzled out and Ignatz squinted to see a man approaching his friend.

Shamir's archers were focused on the slowly arriving wyvern knights, trying to pick them off as they approached over the wall.

Ignatz drew his bow back, string rubbing his skin raw through the leather he wore. His vision wasn't good enough though, at the distance Lorenz blended with the other man as they spoke.

Reality slowed as fire ignited from Lorenz' hands again and the Adrestian's axe swung at Ignatz' brother-in-all-but-blood. The arrow loosed from his bow before he knew he'd let go.

Lorenz recoiled and dread pooled in his stomach.

The imperial stumbled back too, axe lowering. Lorenz stood upright and brought a hand up to his ear in obvious pain.

Like mirror images, both sides swarmed their commanders, protecting them. Ignatz broke formation, ignoring Shamir barking his name.

"Lorenz!" he shouted.

Of all things, Lorenz grinned. He lowered his hand, showing a torn-in-half ear, but still attached. "Was that your shot?"

Ignatz rushed to his side, pulling Lorenz' arm over his shoulder to support him. "Sorry, Lorenz."

"You hit Randolph right in the stomach. It was a good shot—" he grunted in pain and looked at his blood covered hand.

"Ignatz!" Shamir shouted. "Get him to the healers, then report back."

"Yes, ma'am!"

He began to walk with Lorenz to where the medics were set up. Only after leaving Lorenz would he realize he'd made the entire walk without using his cane or bow to support himself.

Claude had to admit he didn't like their chances.

Certainly not with this wyvern he rode. He was used to fine Almyran steeds, allowed to roam freely and cared for by experts. This poor creature was not nearly so well fed in the Church's care. Claude didn't trust it to be agile enough for what he needed.

"I might have to drop you a bit," he called back to his passenger.

"I can take it!" Catherine shouted back over the roar of the wind.

They'd circled around the monastery to avoid sight. It had worked, but Claude could see the clump of trees Seteth had picked out. They were closer to the army than he'd expected.

He raised a hand and made a motion to descend. The five other riders behind him followed his lead as he began to approach the ground. Each carried a Knight of Seiros, handpicked by Seteth and Alois. They'd kill Edelgard with Catherine.

"I'm going to hover in place for exactly a second," he shouted back to her as the group of trees grew ever closer. They could be spotted at any moment. "When I say jump, go. Or else I might mess you up as I make tracks."

"I've handled much worse," Catherine said with a laugh.

Insane woman, he thought. But that was probably just what they needed.

A horn blew.

What followed wasn't a barrage of arrows like he expected, but rather a crash of lightning blasting one of their wyverns out of the sky.

"Fuck!" Catherine yelled, deafened by the sound.

"Now!" Claude yelled, far earlier than he would have liked. But Catherine, for all her talk, really was prepared. The word was barely out of his mouth before she was leaping, catching herself on a branch to do something to slow her fall.

He didn't even look back at the remaining riders. "Fall back!" he shouted, pulling on the reins as hard as he could. His mount, damn him for not even knowing its name, turned quickly enough for him to see another strike of bolting knock another out of the air.

"Hyah!" Having shed the extra weight that had been his passenger, his wyvern flapped its wings furiously and accelerated. Claude didn't even know if the rest followed, but looking back would be death.

After a tense minute filled with distant cracks of thunder, he sighed and looked back, the army distant behind him. Not even Lamine herself could have hit him at this range.

But despair dogged him as he saw none of the soldier's he'd flown in with had made it out. Growling, he tugged the reins again, directing his mount towards Garreg Mach again. It growled at him, obviously not content with him as a rider.

Sun and stars, he'd kill to have Tishtar with him. Riding her in the air was an extension of himself. His father had told him that when wyvern and her rider were in absolute harmony, it was as if they could read each other's thoughts.

Riding this Church wyvern, Claude knew what he had been talking about.

Descending into the courtyard where the medics were set up, he leapt off his wyvern. The battle was in full swing and none paid him any mind as the healers' constant chanting cured all but death.

One person did, clearly seeking him out.

"Sir!" the person cried, breathless. He was about Claude's age, lavender hair with a feminine face. Claude might have mistook him for a woman at distance. "I need your mount."

"Woah," Claude said, "what's going on?"

He took a breath, regaining some composure. "Claude, right? The Archbishop is danger, I need your mount to reach her."

"How do I know—"

"Dammit, there's no time!" they shouted desperately. "I'm one of her spies, satisfied? Imperials are sneaking in to kill her. I have to go now."

Making a judgement call, Claude pulled himself back onto the wyvern. "I can fly better than anyone in Fódlan. You wouldn't make it in time." And he took off, leaving the young person and whatever they shouted behind.

Leonie knew she was in trouble when the wyvern rider leapt off their mount.

The defense at the main gate was in shambles. Lorenz had tried to hold the line, but he'd been beaten back, himself retreating. She hoped Ignatz got him to safety.

Which left her to take his place.

It wasn't as if she doubted herself, far from it. Leonie knew she could lead, just like Captain Jeralt had.

There were just so many imperials.

For every one she killed, three more were there. And that was just on the center flank, she'd no idea how the left and right were handling. Her own soldiers were faltering far too much for her to pay attention elsewhere.

The wyvern rider had figured out she was the commander, she assumed. Leonie didn't have any archers left to pick the wyvern off, so she'd improvised.

In a one in a million shot, she'd thrown her lance. It wasn't meant for throwing, the weight wasn't properly distributed to efficiently sail through the air. But it struck home, slicing through the wing of the beast.

But instead of deterring the rider, they'd jumped off, landing on the ground in a roll. Leonie drew her sword as the rider brandished her axe.

"Oh, shit," Leonie muttered. She fit Ferdinand's description.

The woman that could only be Ladislava swung her axe and decapitated one of the Church's soldiers. Space parted around her, others too frightened to engage.

Leonie stepped up and held her sword close to her chest, heart sinking. She couldn't win, not without a lance.

"Surrender, you'll be spared," Ladislava called to her, speaking loud enough that others nearby would hear. A few furtive glances passed Leonie's way from her own soldiers.

"There's a time to surrender," Byleth had said, "and a time to fight. A commander should be ready to decide that at a moment's notice."

What would the Captain have done?

"Someone has to fight you," Leonie spat. Goddess, was that blood? Was she hurt? Adrenalin didn't even let her feel. "Someone's gotta show the world we won't bow to you."

Ladislava looked almost impressed. "If your life means that little to you, then I won't let taking it weigh on my conscience." And she surged forward.

Leonie blocked the first strike, but it sent her reeling. The second came like lightning, Leonie's sword narrowly pushing it out of the way.

The third, like thunder. And it was the last strike needed.

The blade cut into Leonie's torso, so much force that it flung her back and off her feet.

He'd known he'd have to fight people he knew.

Raphael just didn't know that meant Caspar.

He slid back, gauntlets taking the brunt of the blow from Caspar's war hammer. It was a weighty weapon, slow, but its blows packed a punch.

Raphael's eyes narrowed as he prepared for the next attack. Caspar was strong, but he hadn't been strong enough to swing a weapon that quickly a month ago.

And why was his hair white?

Caspar motioned with his hand and his soldiers started advancing up the left flank. Seteth had told him to hold this position no matter what, and that was exactly what he planned to do.

Raphael leapt at the nearest soldier, taking the claws on the end of his gauntlet and smashing them through the man's helmet. His compatriots backed off, apprehensive to approach the Alliance giant.

"Leave him to me," Caspar said, sounding far more exhausted than he looked. No, exhausted wasn't right. Raphael couldn't place the tone. Was it sorrow?

"Sir!" called the soldiers, skirting around Raphael.

He grunted, hoping his soldiers behind him would be able to hold. He'd cut a path forward to break the enemy advance. If his battalion held, he could maybe turn things around.

"You're a spearhead, Raph," Byleth explained, circling the vanguard on the chalkboard. "You're best suited for punching a hole in the enemy lines. Then your soldiers flood in like water and mop up the ones you left behind. If you can divide an enemy in half, you'll stand a good chance at winning."

Caspar lifted his hammer onto his shoulder. "Just like our spars, yeah, Raph?"

Raphael said nothing. He didn't ask why Caspar was on the other side. He didn't ask why he'd turned coat. He didn't ask why.

"If you fight me, you'll lose," Raphael just said.

"Maybe." Caspar shrugged and ran a hand through sweat soaked white hair. It gave him a haunted look, almost like a ghost.

Raphael moved.

With far more agility than one would expect from his size, he closed the distance and threw a punch. Caspar stepped back and shifted his hammer to both hands, swinging it overhead at Raphael.

He pulled the punch, stepping back and letting Caspar's strike follow through. The hammer broke through stone as it collided with the ground. Raphael leapt forward with a kick and knocked Caspar back.

"Give up, Cas," Raphael sighed. "Surrender, I won't hurt you."

Caspar said nothing, only dropping into a hand to hand combat stance.

"Dammit," he cursed.

Raphael tossed his gauntlets aside and brought his bare fists up. "I won't kill you, Cas."

"Then you'll lose," Caspar replied. He moved in and swept a leg out. It connected, but as Caspar tried to knock Raphael off his feet, the far heavier man shifted his weight. The leg sweep did nothing and Raphael's fist connected with Caspar's face.

The smaller man fell to the ground and Raphael let him get back up, keeping his distance.

"You're better, Raph," Caspar muttered. His eyes were different now, glowing a faint blue.

Like Lorenz' did when he used his Crest.

Raphael felt his veins flood with ice as Caspar approached him with his fists raised.

Catherine skid across the ground and hacked up a clump of blood and spittle. She shoved Thunderbrand into the dirt and leaned against it.

Edelgard approached slowly. The armor of the Flame Emperor was nicked and marred all over, scratches Catherine's fellow knights had paid their lives to inflict.

The arrow in her thigh hurt with every step, but she had to keep it in there or bleed to death. Not that the countless other cuts and wounds wouldn't kill her.

"I…have to…" she gasped, too far gone in bloodlust to think the word, "…Rhea…"

"Give up," Edelgard called, stopping. Her axe was slick with Catherine's blood. Had she really lost that much?

Catherine's vision pulsed black for a moment and she stumbled. But resolution won out, and she gripped the pommel of Thunderbrand to hold herself up.

"Can't…" she muttered between breaths. "Rhea…needs me."

Edelgard scoffed, but crouched into a defensive stance. Even with Catherine nearly down for the count, she didn't let her guard down. Catherine could admire that.

She thought about Rhea, her lady. Her smile, her praise.

Catherine slowly stood up, pulling Thunderbrand out from the ground.

"Lady Edelgard," rasped Hubert, not far behind her. He'd come to her aid after Catherine and her company had killed the entire battalion of elite guards around her. Some twenty something soldiers, dead to three. It was something to be proud of. "Lady Edelgard, let me finish her."

"No," Edelgard commanded. "A gust of wind could knock her down. I will handle this."

Hubert bowed stiffly, backing away. He notable didn't move more than a few feet.

"For Lady…Rhea," Catherine growled, trying to stand up straight before lancing pain pierced her leg. That damn arrow. It had gone deeper than she thought.

She screamed, whether in pain or fury was unclear, and charged Edelgard, Thunderbrand aloft. The blade's red lightning sparked and she began to move faster. Thunderstrike Cassandra had gotten her name for striking quick and leaving behind a thunder of screams. For her, it was impossible to move slowly. Even as severely hurt as she was, Catherine was light on her feet. She glided across the ground, across the blood, across the soldiers she'd butchered in the name of the Church.

Edelgard was quicker.

The axe buried itself into her stomach. With the speed she'd been moving, she didn't get knocked backward. Instead, she just crumpled to the ground.

Breath escaped her lungs as she lay there, agony across her body. Thunderbrand had left her grasp, she didn't know where it was, just that it should be in her hand.

"You fought well enough." Edelgard stood over her, lifting her axe.

"Emperor!"

She stopped and looked over her shoulder.

"Lord Randolph has fallen!" the messenger yelled. "The zealots are gaining ground!"

Growling, Edelgard turned on a dime and marched away, Hubert her shadow. No words for Catherine, not even a last taunt.

"Lady…Rhea…" Catherine murmured. "So…rry."

Minutes ticked by as she watched the sky, vision so black that the wyverns fighting pegasi above were nigh invisible. Each second her eyes closed a bit more, surrendering to the darkness.

"Just…wanted…smile," she mumbled.

Something burning touched her skin where Edelgard had hit her.

Catherine gasped, flailing her arms uselessly in pain.

"Idiot!" snapped the voice. "You fucking idiot!"

The same burning sensation hit her skin. Her vision returned somewhat, if only out of shock. A vulnerary was being poured right onto her skin and her flesh was knitting itself back together.

"Rhea?" she murmured, looking up.

Rhea knelt next to her in the darkness, a scowl twisted on her beautiful features. "You're reckless," she snarled. "Why didn't you retreat?" She popped the top off another vulnerary.

"…for you," Catherine mumbled, trying to raise a hand to Rhea's cheek, to check if she were dreaming.

Rhea hissed, though gently brought Catherine's head up to drink the next vulnerary. "If I wanted you to die for me, I wouldn't deserve to be with you."

The liquid scalded her throat, but the burn was fleeting. Catherine could feel breath returning to her lungs.

"Hey! You there!" shouted a gruff voice further away.

Rhea grabbed a bow from the ground—Rhea didn't use a bow—and had an arrow in the man who'd shouted. There was a cry of shock, then another arrow, and a warbled cry.

"Wait…?" Catherine murmured.

"You think it's okay to do this?" screamed Rhea. "To go throw your life away? Wake up, Catherine, there are people who need you. I need you. If you died, I…" She swallowed. "I love you, you insufferable woman. I'm not letting you leave this world, not yet."

"…R…Rhea?" Catherine mumbled confused, though smiling haphazardly at the praise, words at one point she'd desired above all else. "I...love..."

The woman who she thought was Rhea went stock still. She breathed, turning as icy as a blizzard.

"Never mind," the woman said. She said nothing else as she continued to treat Catherine's wounds.

Without conversation, Catherine's body succumbed to the darkness.

Claude landed his wyvern outside the main hall and ran for the stairs. If the Archbishop was in danger, landing on her floor would alert whatever assassins had gathered. If he weren't an archer, perhaps he could have adapted to that.

He got to the faculty floor and found it deserted. Slowing to a walk, he knocked an arrow on his bow. Creeping up the stairs, he did his best to not make a sound.

As he crested the top, he heard someone chanting under their breath.

It was quiet, but there. A caster, he thought.

"You kill a mage before they finish talking," Byleth said as she sharpened her knife. "All powerful magic needs an incantation."

Claude peeked around the corner of the stairs, keeping himself as obscured as possible.

A man dressed in black, skin pale as white clouds, held a hand against the door as it flared with magic.

Those weren't Empire robes. Confusion racked him for the briefest of moments before he remembered. The people with Solon had worn garb like that. The people who destroyed Remire wore those vestments.

This man wasn't an assassin. He was a monster.

Claude pulled a second arrow out of his quiver, holding it in the draw hand. He took a quick breath, then dove out of cover, firing the first arrow.

The man stumbled back, the arrow having clipped his leg. He turned to Claude, raising his hands to cast as Claude pointed the second arrow at him, ready to fire.

"On your knees," he shouted. "Away from the door."

His enemy's face grew sour for a moment, before calming over. In a familiar smooth voice, he said, "Oh, Claude, I certainly wasn't expecting you. Yuri, perhaps, but not you."

"Quiet," barked Claude. "I said on your knees or I shoot." He took a cautious step forward.

"Are you sure you should?" The man's lips curled. "Would you really shoot this face?"

Like Monica and Tomas, the man's face changed. Gone was the pale skin, his black hair turning brown. A soft smile graced the face that had looked wicked seconds before. A face Claude had seen many times before, a man he'd spoken with at length.

"Surely you wouldn't shoot me." An innocent smile graced Aelfric's face.

Claude hesitated.

Dark flame leapt from Aelfric's hand.

Author Notes: Chapter ended up being far longer than anticipated. Second half will be uploaded tomorrow.

Editing Notes:
5/8/2021: Minor grammatical adjustments.
10/27/2021: Minor stylistic changes.