"I heard you speaking to Aubin. I agree with him, you know."

Edelgard held the hand that brushed against her cheek, closing her eyes. "I don't want to speak of it. I came to see how you were faring, sister."

For an imperial princess, Lorelei looked awful. But all things considered, she was alive, and she counted that important. Her short hair had grown out with time, tied back with a strip of cloth. A gust of wind could have knocked her over, as thin and weak as she'd grown.

But it did not dull her smile when speaking to her sister. "So intent on avoiding praise where it's due. Stubborn to a fault, Edie."

Edelgard laughed, still holding her sister's hand. It was so cold, so shaky, so in desperate need of care. "Perhaps."

Lorelei began to prod her with the questions she always had. Are you well? What news for the war? Are you eating enough? And so on, and so on.

Edelgard dutifully answered them, as she always did. There was a twinge of sadness to them all, knowing that these bars of steel separated them, that Lorelei was still unable to be a part of her life properly. Myson bringing Lorelei here was no kindness to her—nay, it was a torture. It was as if Myson held her out and said, "Come, reconnect with your sibling. Give me that much more leverage against you should I take her away."

It was a cruel kindness, but those were the most potent. Edelgard would never have been able to stop herself from seeing her.

"You told the old man," Aubin's cell was just down the block, "that you're giving up." Lorelei's question wasn't one, but a silent prod at her sister to say whatever she could.

"Not giving up," Edelgard reasoned. "Adapting. Changing tactics."

Lorelei nodded. "You mean to kill him?"

Edelgard did not answer. Instead, she said, "Would you stop me if you could?"

"No," Lorelei said. "I don't care anything for this world. I only care about my sister. If killing Myson is important to you, then I will support it."

"You'd have me run away?" Edelgard asked, reading between the lines.

Her lips grew thin, irked that she was so easily found out. "Yes," Lorelei admitted. "I want my darling sister to run and run and run, far, far away. This world has hurt you so much, I cannot understand why you haven't turned your back on it."

"Because there are others who still fight for a better world," Edelgard murmured. "Because I can't abandon my ideals."

Lorelei reached her other hand out, cupping Edelgard's face with both hands. "Even now? Even as you face defeat?"

"It's like Aubin said," Edelgard whispered. "I need to stick to my beliefs. If I gave up when it looked grim, they'd not mean anything."

Lorelei looked at her for a long time before smiling. "Oh, Edie, you've grown into such a strong woman. Would that I had half your strength."

"You do," Edelgard argued.

"I don't," Lorelei laughed. "You're a far better Emperor than I'd have been."

"Then I'll make you proud," Edelgard swore.

"Oh, sister, you already have."

"Mercedes?"

Five years of war made her a light sleeper. Her eyes bolted open at the familiar—if wholly unexpected—voice. She slipped out of her bed, disentangling herself from Dorothea's arms. After making sure she was presentable enough, she opened the flap of her tent.

Byleth stood outside, wide awake, and agitated.

"Byleth?" Mercedes mumbled, sleepily. They hadn't spoken outside of obligation since they'd been reunited. While it was a welcome sight for Byleth to be here, the hour surely wasn't.

"You said in Varley," Byleth croaked, "that if I needed help, I could still come to you." Her voice was hoarse, betraying her fear.

Mercedes blinked several times. "Of course. What ails you?"

Her once-lover looked around wildly. "Not here. Can I come in?"

The healer nodded, beckoning her in. Byleth slipped into the tent, holding her coat around her tightly. Strange.

Inside, Dorothea had awoke. She sat up, half clothed and not realizing it yet, and mumbled, "We have visitors? Is it morning?"

"What's wrong?" Mercedes said, her unease roaring as she looked at Byleth. The woman was never the most confident, but she looked downright terrified.

Byleth looked everywhere but the two of them. "Promise me," she finally said. "Promise me, nothing leaves this tent."

Mercedes nodded, slowly. Dorothea, who had pulled a blanket up to cover herself, followed suit. "Byleth, what's going on?" the songstress asked.

The woman, their former teacher, tensed visibly, before sighing. "Fuck," she whispered, shrugging off her coat.

She was a canvas of brilliant scales, her bare chest covered in silver. Arms once covered were the same, as if chainmail had become her skin. Except these were far from it, too akin to a lizard. A dragon, whose coat of armor extended down her hands to form claws.

"I had been holding it back," Byleth said, looking down at herself. "But…I can't any more. It's not going away this time."

"What…" Mercedes couldn't manage any more than shock.

Byleth looked at her with sad eyes. "In Varley, you said you wanted your best friend back and that you'd help her. I…I need help, Mercie. I don't think I have much time before she kills me."

"Who?" Dorothea asked.

"Rhea," Byleth said, laying all her cards on the table. "I died five years ago. Well and truly. I lied about not knowing what happened. I died, and she brought me back. It only took her life to do so. I thought…I thought that was the end, that maybe I misjudged her. That she was gone."

Her eyes clenched shut as she hissed in anger. "But she wasn't. She's in my head, like Sothis was. Whispering to me as I sleep, and now as I wake. Even now, she's screaming at me. Angry. Furious. I…I can barely think now."

In reflection, Mercedes would wish she had given the poor woman a hug. But her feet were rooted to the ground as she asked, "What does she want?"

"Me. Sothis fused with me to break me out of Zahras. It's what she's always wanted, the return of her Goddess. Her mother. I'm all that's standing between."

"Hold on," Dorothea said, throwing a shirt on and walking over. "Sothis? Inside your head? Like, the Goddess?"

Byleth hacked out a laugh, discordant and helpless. "Right. Never really mentioned that one. No more secrets, I can do that." She looked at Mercedes. "I know I don't deserve it, but can I rely on you? For help from the best healer I know?"

"Yes," Mercedes said without hesitation. "Start at the beginning, please. Tell us everything."

Bernadetta grabbed their hand, squeezing it. "You've been sitting there for a while."

Yuri returned the gesture as their lover sat up and wrapped an arm around him. It was nice, having her at their side. After so long, Yuri hadn't known how much they missed it.

She was shy around most, but never him. "What's wrong?"

"We arrive tomorrow. At Enbarr." Yuri closed their eyes. "And that means facing Myson."

He'd told her, about everything. About how they were a descendant of Aubin, how Aubin had saved Yuri's life some time ago, and Myson's supposed lineage. Yuri had tried their best to keep it under wraps, but she was more insightful than anyone gave her credit for. At least, with him.

"You're worried," she guessed, correctly. "That it will distract you."

"I can't afford to falter," Yuri muttered. "I stand the best chance. I know him best. I have to do it, I have to kill him."

She held him. There wasn't anything she could say to assuage the fears. All Bernadetta could do was be there for them, right next to them.

Yuri wrapped an arm around her. One way or another, the end was coming. All he could do was stand and face it.

For it would be a long way yet before the curtain fell.

"I need everything on this list."

Anna raised an eyebrow as she combed through the piece of parchment. It ranged from the most specific to the most vague, all relating to various potion and alchemical supplies. "I had no idea you dabbled in this sort of thing."

"I don't," Dorothea said, pacing listlessly in her supply tent. There were heavy bags under her eyes, uncovered by a usual façade of cosmetics.

Anna shrugged. "Whatever. I don't have everything on here, you understand?"

"Fine," Dorothea murmured, still not focusing.

"Hey," Anna called out, snapping the woman out of her daze. "What's wrong? You look completely out of sorts. Is everything okay?"

Dorothea opened her mouth to clearly lie, before sighing and changing tracks. "I can't talk about it. Not my story to tell."

Anna frowned. "Alright, but this list…this is some serious medicinal stuff. It's not for healing, it's for…changing. Are you sure…?"

Dorothea looked on the verge of tears. "Please, don't ask. I don't like lying."

"Is it your wife?" Anna said in a hushed voice.

"Betrothed. And no, she's okay. I mean it, Anna, I can't say anything." Dorothea wrapped her arms around herself, tightly. "It's…really not good."

"Can I do anything?" Anna asked. Her motherly instincts wanted to help the young woman with whatever she could. If she'd ever seen Riley like this…

"I…I'll let you know if there is," Dorothea said. "So, um, how's Seteth?"

It was the most heavy-handed change of topic she'd ever head, but Anna didn't say anything. "He's fine, why do you ask?"

"Aren't you two together, or something?" Dorothea asked, waving a hand as it explained away her assumptions.

"No."

"You sleep in his tent, though."

"I'm his bodyguard."

"Like, in his bed?"

"Dorothea."

"Yeah?"

"Stop."

The songstress laughed, shaking her head. "Not my business, sorry. That what he give you those holy weapons for, though?"

The Sword and Shield of Seiros, strapped to her back. She didn't go anywhere without them, lately. Not since Seteth had made a passing remark about how as they drew closer to Enbarr, he feared there might be an attempt on his life.

"I suppose," she said, shrugging.

Dorothea held her hands up in surrender. "I'm prying, I'll stop now, I swear."

Anna chuckled. "It's no trouble. Just…" Complicated, she didn't say.

As if she could tell what word lingered on her tongue, Dorothea nodded in understanding. They passed the rest of the time assembling the items on the list, both dancing around topics in their minds they didn't know how to approach.

"Brutus hated Linhardt," Carver whispered, when they were finally alone.

Leonie had sent him alone, taking Brutus up on an offer for a tour of the city. A tour, granted, was more of a military assessment of the place rather than sightseeing. But it was something Balthus would have little to add.

"Tell me more," Balthus urged, sitting down in his chair.

Carver took the seat opposite him in the abandoned tavern. Communal buildings like this were untouched in the city, people too scared to dwell in such places. Not even the owners showed up to this one, or perhaps they'd long since left the city. A mystery, for sure, but one Balthus would never solve.

"I could be killed for this," Carver muttered, reflexively looking over his shoulder.

Admittedly, that was the other half of Leonie's plan: distracting Brutus. Balthus nodded. "I will not allow that to happen."

For some reason, Carver seemed to believe him. It felt odd to Balthus, to see someone so convinced by him so easily. Perhaps he'd changed.

"It doesn't take much imagination," Carver said, spilling the floodgates. He'd been dwelling on this for some time. "Linhardt is the heir, then Brutus. One is ambitious, the other is inheriting. You see it all the time. Except in this case, Linhardt was…very predisposed to laziness."

"Which drove a wedge between them," Balthus said, staring into this dark mirror.

"Of a sort. Brutus despised that Linhardt didn't seem to care. It's almost funny, in reflection, because Linhardt would have ceded the title to Brutus in a heartbeat had he been aware." Carver sighed. "Lin, you fool. If only you paid attention to people…"

"You knew him well?" Balthus asked.

"We were friends, when I served the family. I'm the lowest of noble born, not even a title. Just the heir to the legacy of a line of knights. My parents served Lord Remus, and it was my lot in life to serve the next Hevring."

Balthus said nothing, preferring to not guide the conversation. Carver needed to say his piece.

"And now he's dead," Carver sighed, reopening an old wound. "Brutus got what he wanted, I guess. Convenient."

"Convenient?"

"Some…like to imply that perhaps Brutus was complicit with the end Linhardt met," Carver murmured.

Balthus' eyes narrowed, the conversation turning from gossip to the kind that would make a man meet his end. "Is it true?"

"I was friends with Lin, not him. Brutus keeps me around because I'm competent, or so I assume." Carver ran his hands through his hair.

"If we take that to be true, it means he's in bed with the Empire," Balthus thought aloud as the gears in his head turned.

Carver gave him a bewildered look. "That makes no sense. The Church was responsible for Lin's death."

And pieces clicked into place as Balthus remembered Lysithea. "Oh, Carver, I think there's a lot to discuss about that."

And Balthus told him the story, of Hubert and a dark library after hours, of how the scion of Hevring met his all-too-early-end.

"Do you think a man can change?"

Ashe gave Felix a strange look. "Pray, tell me what brought this philosophy up."

Felix shrugged. "Just a thought."

He maintained the strange look, but did answer. "I'll confess, I asked that of Lonato after he took me in. I was a thief, if you'll remember. He told me that instead of asking whether a man could change, the question was better phrased as whether he should."

"What does that mean?" Felix grumbled.

Ashe laughed. "It means what it means. I have meaning prescribed to it, but I think you'll need to come up with your own for it."

"And here I was hoping for some solace," Felix said.

"You'll need to find that yourself," Ashe said, not unkindly.

It was good to see him smile, Felix admitted to himself. Five years of the normally sunny boy—man—had nearly caused him to forget the bright star that he was. Odd that they rode to the largest battle of Fódlan's history, and it was here that Ashe smiled.

But there was cause to. Faerghus was in good hands. It was free, and had a future to look forward to. Sylvain and Augustus already were making their plans, and Felix suspected they might return from this venture to a better home.

But first, Hevring.

The hill outside the city was where they waited for Ingrid's return from scouting. Early reports suggested that the Death Knight had left the city, and Hevring was ripe for the taking.

Felix looked to the volunteers. They did not number high, but every single one of them was here because they wanted to be. Battle hardened veterans, promising youths, ones who had desire for ending the war once and for all. Though they did not eclipse five hundred, there was no finer group that Felix could have imagined.

"Someone named Chilon holds the city," Ashe said, passing the time with idle chatter. "They say he's a gifted fighter. Do you still want to test yourself against those stronger than you?"

It was an odd call back to their days at the monastery. Days where Felix sought to become stronger for the aimless goal of pleasing his father.

Rodrigue was gone. And Felix had become stronger in his absence, piling the guilt higher. Rodrigue, Dimitri… Men who, given a different turn of fate, might have blossomed into something else.

But they hadn't. And so was his lot to rid the world of these evils.

But Felix could not deny that the spark within him still existed, the want to prove himself. A thrill, admittedly, at the prospect of fighting someone he hadn't grown up with.

"Yes," he said, holding all the emotion back from the word.

Murphy picked a piece of dirt from her fingernail. "You're taller than I expected."

It was all she'd say to Ferdinand before someone on the ground floor of the building screamed. Cleo flinched and pulled herself out of the hug with Constance before running from the room.

Constance would have followed if Hapi hadn't chosen that moment to double over with pain. She clutched her head, shrieking.

A haunting voice slithered up the stairs of the building. "Oh, Hapi, dearest. I'm afraid you're not as good at hiding from me as you claim."

"Fuck!" Hapi screamed, grabbing her head tighter. Black smoke began leaking out of her skin, as if she were a wraith.

"The hell is going on?" Murphy yelled, voice vanishing amidst a tsunami of yells from the ground floor.

Cleo burst back into the room. "Demonic beasts!" she yelled, hurriedly grabbing her things from the room. "They came from nowhere. We need to go, now."

Not nowhere, Ferdinand realized with dread. They came from the one of them who had the unwilling power to summon them. From Hapi.

Constance said nothing about it, so he did not either. She grabbed Hapi's hand and yelped as whatever it was that emanated from her bit back. Ferdinand ran forward and tried to do the same.

He could not describe what decay felt like, but it was as if every fleck of skin on his hand was melting, like his body no longer had the ability to hold form. His very bones hurt, like they were turning to jelly. Ferdinand pulled his hand back, swearing.

"Oh, Hapi," the voice called again. "They're dying because of you."

"Murphy!" Cleo yelled, throwing a sword to her. The woman caught it, understanding coating her face. Murphy turned and grabbed Ferdinand, dragging him away from his friend.

"Unhand me!" He struggled, but his sister had a better grip on him. Several feet away, Cleo raised a hand.

"We'll meet you at the laboratory!" Cleo said to Murphy. She took a glance at Constance, who was still solely focused on Hapi. "Leave these two to me."

Murphy nodded. "Stay safe, mother."

Cleo's hand moved in a circle, and cast a warping spell on the siblings, hurling them away from their location.

Under the blanket of fire, Petra grabbed Lysithea.

That was as far as her plan went, admittedly. There was one exit from the room, where Hubert and his group stood. Magicians, the lot of them, raised their hands in protection against the flame.

Hubert did no such thing, throwing a bolt of lightning at Hanneman. Their old professor gathered a gust of wind and used it to pick up some metal instrument. It hurled across the air, attracting the electricity off its course.

Above them, the flames spread throughout the room. Like smoke, they occupied the upper third of the room, a tremendous space that no doubt taxed Hanneman.

"Give it up!" Hubert yelled over the conflagration. "You're trapped!"

Hanneman flicked his hand, closing the door shut behind Hubert. Sweat beaded down his face, already pushing his limits.

It was when Petra realized she was short of breath that what Hanneman was doing became clear. He was burning up the air in the room with the fire, trying to send them all to the ground, unconscious or dead.

Except that left Petra and Lysithea victims as well.

"The ballista," Lysithea croaked, still weak. "Get me to it…"

Without question, Petra scooped the woman up and ran to the machine. Hanneman continued to use wind to redirect Hubert's attacks. This was his lab, his domain; where he was dragon and the room lair. In the controlled chaos of the room, he was the only one to know all.

But quality fell to quantity eventually. Hubert's fighters overcame their shock and began to sling their own spells, an ever-increasing number that would eventually bring Hanneman low. One of them dropped to the ground, fainting.

Petra was already dizzy when she got to the ballista, the oxygen disappearing far faster than any of them anticipated. "Whatever you're doing, do it," she said to Lysithea.

Her companion—friend—grabbed the end of the siege weapon and held it steady. It already pointed to wall that bordered the exterior of the building which ran adjacent to a canal. She whispered something, words lost to the noise of spellcasting.

The ballista fired, its magic-laced bolt soaring through the air. Though Hanneman was a scholar first, he made a decent inventor.

The bolt detonated against the wall, just as its prototype had exploded at Myrddin. The force of the blast sundered the wall, sending stone and mortar flying.

Hanneman was down on one knee, losing his grip on the threads of magic. Hubert lowered his hands after the blast and saw the new exit.

Petra took a glance at him, clocking his fury. She smiled viciously, and grabbed Lysithea. Sprinting to the opening, she leapt into the water.

Author Notes: Sorry if these auxiliary plotlines aren't as interesting, in Hevring, Enbarr, and Aegir. I made the mistake of getting the main group where I wanted them a bit too soon, and now have to play a little catch up. Shouldn't be too much longer before I can get back to Claude and the rest, though. I appreciate your patience.

Editing Notes:
2/23/2022: Minor grammatical adjustments. Reduced author notes.