Golden Zero16- Thank you for reviewing! Yes, these two men need to catch a break! But it's still a very long road ahead of them yet...

Chapter 14

Day 1 of the Great Tree Moon, Imperial Year 1181

"Ignatz Victor. Leicester Alliance. One bow, one sword, and two knives," Hubert coolly dictated as an imperial soldier transcribed.

There was a clatter as these inventoried weapons were dumped into a pile.

"Marianne von Edmund. Leicester Alliance. No weapons."

Nothing was dropped, but a young woman quietly passed by the row of imperial soldiers.

"Lorenz Hellman Gloucester. Leicester Alliance. One lance. One short spear. One Hero's Relic- Thyrsus. Per the terms of surrender, the parolee is permitted to retain the relic as family inheritance."

"The following prisoners hail from the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus…" Hubert noted as there was shuffling of parchment.

Seteth had ordered a white flag raised above Garreg Mach Monastery not long after dawn. There was no other option. Both Archbishop Rhea and her appointed successor, Professor Byleth, had vanished from the battlefield. At the same time, additional waves of Adrestian troops that the defenders had no hope to stop stormed up towards the monastery. While the Knights of Seiros awaited representatives from the Empire, several key church officials including Seteth and his sister Flayn were snuck out of the monastery via a small, secret pass that was known only to a few. There was not enough time to spirit away very many people, and since Edelgard had only officially declared war on the Central Church so far, they were deemed as being at the highest risk of being imprisoned or executed. Edelgard was rather displeased about their escape, but she continued negotiations with the remaining defenders rather than act out of spite.

Despite the battle ending early that day, it took several hours of dialogue to finalize the peace settlement. Hammering out the logistics of handling hundreds of prisoners also took substantial effort. It was already sunset by the time the prisoners were being escorted off of the monastery grounds. All were greatly astonished and relieved to hear they would be paroled on the sole conditions that they surrender their weapons and return home, but it remained an embarrassing the Blue Lions moved to the front of the line, Hubert began, "Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd. Holy Kingdom of Faerghus. One lance, one sword, one jav-."

Dimitri threw down his weapons, excluding a dagger he planned on sneaking out, but growled with a single word, "Edelgard."

The new Adrestian emperor stood not far behind Hubert. She was in colloquy with Count Bergliez, but her eyes turned at Dimitri's appeal.

Hubert bristled. "You have no right to address Her Majesty when-."

To everyone's surprise, Edelgard held up a hand. "Please, Hubert. Let him speak." She moved closer and asked with exhaustion, "What is it, Dimitri? Please make it quick. And before you ask again… no, I have no answers to give you about Duscur."

Dimitri shook his head. "I only have one question. What you've done… is it the path you wish to cut?"

Edelgard twitched at the question, as if something about the phrasing unnerved her. "Is it… what?"

"Is this the path you wish to cut? Do you take satisfaction in what you've done?"

"Those are two questions, Dimitri. I will answer the first." Edelgard remained unsteady for only a moment longer before her face set into a focused grimace. "Yes, this path is the one I've chosen. It is the only path, and nothing you say will sway me against it."

"Thank you. Your answer removes any doubt." Dimitri's expression hardened, just like that of his stepsister. "Prepare yourself, Flame Emperor. Search for any contrition buried within your heart and repent to the goddess. For when we next meet, you will watch in horror as your lifeblood drains out on the head of my lance."

Hubert stood to either move Edelgard to safety or subdue Dimitri, but he calmed when Dedue and Sylvain preemptively restrained Dimitri from doing anything brash. It would have been a good time for Edelgard to leave, but she instead asked, "And will the sight of my blood truly satisfy you? Would you lead your people to their deaths for no greater reason than that?"

"I would gladly be the first in line to die if it meant justice for your crimes."

"I see," Edelgard responded with obvious disappointment. "Now please proceed, Prince Dimitri, or you will be considered in violation of the settlement."

Dedue and Sylvain pushed Dimitri forward towards the Golden Deer. He was quickly gathered by Raphael and Claude, who were thoughtful enough to look out for their classmate's wellbeing. They led Dimitri away while he kept his gaze transfixed on Edelgard until she slipped out of view.

Distorted Memories - Day 30 of the Verdant Rain Moon, 1186 (Fódlan Calendar)

That was the last time Dimitri ever spoke with his sister. At least, that was what he thought.

His surroundings were hazy, but Dimitri seemed to be standing in his impression of what Enbarr's throne room might look like. He kicked aside several dead bodies until he stood above where Adrestia's emperor was slumped on the floor. Edelgard grabbed Areadbhar's shaft and begged Dimitri to stay his weapon- to have mercy, to have forgiveness. She promised that if he went through with the execution, he would immediately regret it.

Dimitri ignored her pleas and drove Areadbhar through her chest. As Edelgard's body struck the floor, however, the form was no longer that of the Flame Emperor. It was the child Dimitri once played with in Fhirdiad. As he watched a pool of blood begin to expand around the young girl, Dimitri staggered backwards in horror, seemingly tumbling off a step behind him.

Rather than impact the throne room's carpet, however, Dimitri grunted as he landed on the floor beneath his divan in the Mirza's Citadel. His body continued to shake, and he suffered from a cold sweat. Rather than distract his roommates, Dimitri snuck out into the hypostyle and slumped against one of the columns.

It was not the first dream of its kind. Ever since his discussion with Khalid in the Channel of Blood about Edelgard's past, Dimitri had been increasingly beleaguered by nightmares featuring his stepsister in a more sympathetic light. The last month had been particularly severe. Being so close to home in the Tabarzin likely further amplified these thoughts.

As Dimitri tried to calm himself, someone put a hand on his shoulder. For a moment, he wondered if it might be Edelgard. Instead, it was only Ariella.

"Are you okay?" she asked him.

"Of course. Nothing to worry about."

"… Nightmares again?"

Dimitri sighed. "… Yes."

He went on to describe the dream after Ariella sat down beside him. He had already explained a few things to her over the previous months as best as he could, including the fact that the war in Fódlan was started by his former classmate, who also happened to be a childhood friend for reasons he couldn't divulge.

"Edelgard has suffered so much, but she has also caused even more misery. It seems my mind is unable to decide between her damnation or salvation," Dimitri concluded.

Ariella closed her eyes while she considered her answer. She finally probed, "I don't know much about your religion, so I can't speak to it. How much has Khalid told you about the Almyran Old Ways?"

"Very little."

"Well, there is no concept of eternal punishment like you speak of. This world is a continuous battleground between good, which follows the natural order, and evil, which is a predisposition towards chaos. We all have the everyday decision to choose one side or the other. That's why meditation is so important- it orientates our conscious to focus above the unbalanced physical world. We will be judged according to our actions after we cross into the next life, but even those who lived in the throes of evil will eventually be redeemed after a certain time."

Ariella smiled when she saw Dimitri's expression. "You're getting bored. The point is, time spent worrying over the fate of someone else's soul is time wasted. They will receive whatever punishment is demanded of them and no more. Our only responsibility is to do what is good."

"It's a nice picture, isn't it?" Khalid said unannounced as he leaned against an adjacent pillar. "A religion that cares more about doing good than it does about doctrine or proselytizing? And emphasizes an eventual and complete victory for everyone instead of fiery punishment? There's no evidence to prove that any of it's true, but it's an idea I could get behind."

Dimitri looked up at him. "I don't know. There are some sins that cannot be pardoned so simply."

"Do you mean Edelgard's?"

The man of Faerghus paused. "… No." He then stood rather than let Khalid or Ariella continue their interrogation. "Please, do not trouble yourselves over me or my nightmares. They mean little to you. You have more important matters at hand, like what happened yesterday."

Khalid sighed as he put a hand to his temple. "That was pretty embarrassing, wasn't it? And something tells me that today is headed in the same direction. I don't really see a winning move here. I guess it would be awkward for Ghalib if everyone sick from the feast, wouldn't it? I'm willing to heave up a couple meals for the cause if you two are."

"Claude…" Dimitri groaned in an accidental regression.

"Hey, I'm only kidding! Probably." Khalid's face fell again. "I couldn't reach the kitchens even if I wanted to. There's no getting around the fact that we're on my uncle's playing field. He's boxed me into a position where any move on my part will paint me badly. All he has to do is impress my father, and so far, our king has been buying the act hook, line, and sinker. I dread what this so-called theatre performance will entail."

"As do I," added an uninvited guest. It was Sardar Soraya, accompanied by her daughter. "I've been spoiled on traveling shows that frequent Astane. This is unlikely to be up to par."

Khalid balked, "Soraya! Uh, how long have you been listening?" He was smart enough to avoid saying anything too controversial in a public space, but he still looked unnerved to be snuck up on. Dimitri was just as surprised. Had Soraya and Lydia mastered the art of gliding over the floor rather than taking audible steps?

"As long as I felt like," Soraya dismissed. "Did you ever hear of the mirza recruiting actors in Elam for this show? I was never told that they were looking for help in Shomal. I certainly hope Ghalib doesn't plan on dragging his own soldiers onto the stage. I don't expect there to be many artists among that group." She then put a finger to her chin. "Then again, Ghalib and Darius certainly know how to put on a performance worthy of a troupe, so maybe I'm underestimating their ilk."

Khalid shook his head. "Why limit himself to Almyra? He had enough time to recruit from overseas if he wanted to. And trust me, he'd pay whatever it takes to make a good impression."

"That's true." Soraya frowned ever so slightly. "All three of you welcome to sit with us tonight, unless you were cherishing the prospect of more time with your brothers."

"Heh! I appreciate the offer, Soraya, but I'll have to decline. Not because I cherish their company, but because I can't miss out on anything being said."

"A predictably reasonable answer. In the meantime, is there any chance that you can look after Lydia? I have meetings planned with a slew of names until then. I am certain Lydia would not mind your company." Lydia vigorously nodded in agreement.

"I don't see why not," Khalid allowed. "Take care, Soraya."

Lydia joined their group but remained quiet until her mother was out of sight. She then spouted, "So, what are we doing today? Practicing archery? That sounds fun! And based on what I saw yesterday, you could use some, Prince Khalid!"

"I think I've had enough archery for one trip, Lydia. I would say this opportunity should be used to make connections with Almyra's other forthcoming leaders, but after yesterday, it's probably best that I just keep my head down."

The three decided to stroll across the bailey while they talked. The field was populated with many other visitors, some of whom were training while others relaxed with games.

"I'm really glad I finally get to meet you, Ariella!" Lydia exclaimed. "Khalid talked about you a lot when I first met him, but he left you at home! What was that about?"

"I can answer that," Khalid quickly interjected before the story could spiral out of hand. "As I already told you at the time, Lydia, the purpose of my stay in Astane was to help prepare for my journey to Fódlan. Not being able to rely upon Ariella was a part of that. It was also a good opportunity to see how Ella would handle life at the Dunya alone."

"Ever so logical, and ever so callous," Lydia exhaled. "At least she now has Dimitri next time you abscond from home. Are the two of you making a good team?"

Ariella answered, "Dimitri has been a great help. He never complains about anything I ask… unlike someone else I know."

Dimitri nodded. "Ariella has been most helpful. She's taught me much about Almyra- especially the cuisine."

"Oh dear," Lydia gasped. "Then you must know the truth. I cannot blame you if you chose to never trust me again."

Dimitri's eyebrows raised. "The truth of what? That you handed me the unhealthiest dishes possible when we first met? Do not worry about it. If doing so brought you joy, that is enough for me."

"Somehow that makes me feel even more guilty," Lydia bemoaned. She then turned to Khalid. "Your retainer looks scary, but he has about the purest soul you'll ever meet. I'm jealous that you discovered him before my mom could."

Dimitri forced a smile. He most certainly did not have a "pure soul", but he was exhausted from being coddled by people trying to lift his spirits every time expressed negative thoughts. The less self-pity he articulated going forward, the better.

"He's certainly one-of-a-kind," Khalid said a bit furtively. "I'm glad he's here."

Their walk was interrupted at that point when someone stepped out in front of them. The familiar woman started at Lydia.

"You're the little princess of Shomal, aren't you?" Nousha asked.

"That's correct! My name is Lydia, by the way," she answered politely.

"I don't suppose your mother is withholding information on my father's whereabouts, is she?"

"I… umm… excuse me?" Lydia sounded more confused than offended.

Khalid slid in between the two. "Give her a break, Nousha! She wouldn't know anything. Take it up with the sardar if you have a problem."

"I would love to, but I've never managed to find a second with her alone. Don't tell me you aren't a little suspicious, too, Khalid. You're smarter than that."

"Suspicious of what?" Dimitri asked her.

Nousha beheld him like he was an imbecile for not following along, but she did explain, "My father was left in charge of the Leicester Alliance when Khalid turned tail. And despite all of the chaos that must be transpiring, we haven't heard a single update on what is happening there. That means someone is blocking information from being dispatched to us. There are only two relays that could be responsible- the Meteoran crew or the sardar."

Ariella posited, "Did you consider that there just might not be a meaningful update?"

"… It's unlikely," Khalid said in begrudging agreeance with Nousha. "Especially after what I heard from Darius."

Khalid retold Darius's report of two sets of mysterious bright lights in the skies over Fódlan. Fire from the heavens… other than the myths behind the formation of Ailell, Dimitri had heard nothing quite like it.

"I don't see how something like that wouldn't even get a mention," Khalid admitted. "But I would be more likely to pin blame on the Meteorans than Soraya. I doubt Helladius or any of the other crew members would have made that decision, so the order probably comes from Justinian or Philemon."

"And why would they do something like that?" Lydia asked, a bit curious now that suspicion had shifted away from her mother.

Khalid theorized, "It's possible they believe my return will precipitate a succession crisis. In such a scenario, it would be to their benefit to sever communication between Elam and its top general if they don't plan to side with us."

"Sever communication? If that's their plan, they would be better off severing his neck," Nousha retorted. "It would only make sense for Soraya to be responsible if he's still alive."

"Assassinating Nader is easier said than done. And besides, if no crisis transpires at home, it's easier for the crew to explain away some lost letters than a bloody dagger."

"Even so, I hope you have a plan to figure out what is happening," Nousha insisted.

"Well, I can make a few questi-."

"A few questions? Really?" Nousha scoffed. "The boy I remember took his fate into his own hands, not meekly react to those around him. Do you really think asking nicely is going to fix anything? Where did all of that initiative go?"

Khalid paled but did not answer. Nousha shook her head and muttered, "This is a waste of time. I don't know why I even bothered."

Nader's daughter left in a storm just as dense as the one she arrived in. Ariella noted afterwards, "For someone who talks about initiative, she does a lot of 'asking nicely' for you to do her job."

"She technically did come here to question Lydia, so I guess that counts as initiative. But I get it. Initiative takes risk." Khalid then uttered offhandedly to no one, "And risk sometimes means collateral damage."

Dimitri looked at Khalid from the corner of his eye. As far back as their hike to Garreg Mach after the Battle at Gronder, Claude had talked about the importance of moving on and persisting the pursuit of one's dream. But the Almyran prince humiliated by Ghalib and Darius was not the same person who ambitiously led his army across the Airmid. It was all talk and no action with him now.

Ariella seemed to recognize a flash of melancholy across Khalid's expression as she bumped his arm gently. "I say we forget about Nousha and find someone not looking to cross-examine us."

"Well put, Ella!" Khalid recovered. "I could use a reprieve before whatever treat my uncle has planned tonight."

The only problem was that list of friendly faces was rather short. The king and queen were occupied, and per the usual, James made himself scarce. Some of the older guests like Senusret and Ridwan could stomach their presence, but of their peers, only the trio from Shomal had much interest in being around them- Khabash, Satiah, and Farjad.

When Khalid's group found their friends, they were lounging in the grass playing a game apparently called nardshir. It involved moving pieces across a board based on the rolls of dice. Dimitri and Ariella were not too familiar with the rules, but Khalid at least knew the basics. Dimitri quickly concluded why the prince never brought the game back to the Dunya- while strategy was involved, it also required a certain degree of luck that was more flagrant than in shatranj. Both games had analogues in Fódlan. Despite how impervious the border supposedly was, some cultural features were clearly leaking across the Throat.

Khalid had introduced Dimitri to shatranj months earlier, but the newest retainer could not provide either the prince or Ariella with a decent challenge. Though it was obviously just a game, Dimitri struggled with the notion of sacrificing pieces. It felt like his hand dripped with blood each time he moved one, and he could visualize a dead friend with each loss. Dimitri did his best to humor his friends and squelch his anxieties, which was slowly working to normalize the game for him. Even so, he could not deny that nardshir looked more appealing in comparison.

Appealing though it was, it did not assure that he was any more successful at this new game. Khalid and Satiah were reasonably effective at nardshir, but Farjad truly dominated the playing field. He did not boast, but a small smile shot across his mouth with each gain. Lydia had a habit of throwing a tantrum whenever the rolls did not go her way, but otherwise the group was able to enjoy this diversion.

After sharing lunch, Khalid declared he could use some walking to help digest his food. Dimitri, Ariella, and Lydia joined him on a short hike in the surrounding forest. Khalid never disclosed his reasoning, but Dimitri could tell his actual objective was to check for any signs of surprises or traps that might greet them when they left the next day. Dimitri silently joined the search as Lydia continued to chatter obliviously. Khalid must have realized Dimitri caught on by the end, as he glanced at his retainer questioningly while they walked back through the gate. Dimitri shook his head to indicate he saw nothing. Ariella was busy keeping Lydia occupied, but she also provided the same answer upon Khalid's urging. When Lydia expressed a desire to retire to her room before the night's activities, Khalid and his retainers did the same.

Dimitri had expected the feast and show to take place at the same arena used the prior day, but they were instead ushered into the main fortress. They passed through a tight, dreary hall until reaching larger chamber. Rather than join Khalid, Dimitri and Ariella were directed to a nearby staircase. They took this to an upper gallery with the other servants, while the main floor was reserved for nobles and wealthy landholders. Ariella muttered something about not wanting Khalid to try his food out on his own, but Dimitri trusted the prince to be careful.

The rest of the fortress did not make a strong impression, but this room at least was prepared for hosting. Dimitri should have expected as much. According to Khalid, the Almyrans would feast after every battle, regardless of victory or defeat. Naturally, if Ghalib's army could do one thing right, it was surely to put on a great meal. The space was not ornate, but it was both immense and comfortable.

Food was already laid out between each seating area, making it difficult to even find a place to rest without stepping on something. Dimitri would taste almost nothing of it, but based on presentation alone, it was the most impressive banquet he had seen since arriving in Almyra. All sorts of drinks were also available, most of which he quickly identified as alcoholic. He had no interest in drinking any of that. He knew the costs of losing control.

Per usual, none of the other servants showed any interest in interacting with Khalid's retainers. Their friends from Shomal qualified for the main floor, so Dimitri and Ariella ate alone until someone walked up behind them towards the end of the meal.

"Based on your appearance and lack of company, I would guess you are the retainer from Fódlan. Am I correct?"

Dimitri looked up to study their guest. He was a tall man with thinning gray hair. His sharp features offset his lack of bulk. Based on what Dimitri knew of him, the man could not be much older than fifty, though he looked at least a few years older than that. Khalid had pointed him out the previous day- his name was Philemon, uncle to King Justinian. He was no longer a formal regent, but he still exercised the most power in Meteora.

"That's right," Dimitri responded.

"I apologize for the rudeness of your Almyran hosts. I imagine you have many fascinating stories you could share with us, if only people had the interest to listen. It is unfortunately the way of the nobility to rebuff anything that might question their authority."

"I do not wish to speak out of line, but it is not just the nobles spurning us," Dimitri observed.

"You are correct, but that is born of the example the nobles set. When they declare Fódlan to be the enemy, how are the people to know any different? It is the responsibility of the strong to serve as a guide. Our lords seem to believe that their subjects are accountable to them, while it is the opposite that is true."

Dimitri smiled ironically. "The nobles of Fódlan are just the same way. Perhaps they have more in common than either side would care to admit."

"You are just as interesting as I had hoped," Philemon laughed as he sat down beside them. "What is your name?"

Philemon pursued many lines of conversation about life in Fódlan. Dimitri answered as best as he could without giving any hints to his true identity. Meteora's former regent relished in each account.

Eventually, Philemon stood to leave. "I should continue on, but if you are ever in Metanoiapolis, please make sure I know. I'll see that you are well accommodated. I wouldn't expect much charity elsewhere."

Rather than proceed back downstairs, Philemon walked further down the gallery to talk to some of the other servants. Some nobles may have been willing to show their face among the servants for a moment or two to feign interest without sullying themselves too much, but this man seemed actively looking to upset his peers on the main floor.

Ariella watched Dimitri as his gaze followed Philemon. "He seems like a likable person, right?" she asked. When Dimitri nodded, she continued, "Looks can be deceiving. Has Khalid really not told you what Philemon did?"

"I… no, I know almost nothing about him."

"Well, Philemon was born as the third child to the sardar of Meteora. He was not expected to have a prominent political future, so he was allowed to marry for love. He chose a woman from an insignificant merchant family in Metanoiapolis as his wife. When his siblings died in the plague, however, he was left as regent to the infant Justinian. A coalition headed by many of Meteora's leading families came to him after this and proposed a plan. Meteora was near bankrupted and in need of powerful allies. Their idea was to accuse Philemon's wife of secretly being a follower of an upstart cult called the Dékhomai, giving grounds for the marriage's annulment. Philemon would then be free for more beneficial nuptials."

"Disgusting," Dimitri muttered.

"Absolutely. Philemon felt the same, so he angrily sent them all away. Just a month later, though, his wife abruptly fell ill and died. Afterwards, he reassembled these same advisors to help him select a new consort. He didn't tell them until they were already choking to death on poison that he actually brought them to exercise justice for the murder of his wife."

Dimitri was aghast. "Was his claim true?"

"Only the gods and the dead know, I suppose. The result is the same either way. Many surviving relatives cowered to Philemon's will, while attainders crushed the families that did not bend. Other than the Vatatzes and the Argyros families, almost all the power in Meteora was consolidated under the regent. Considering they were still recovering from a war, the king declined to intervene. Did these people even deserve to be intervened for?"

Dimitri fell quiet. It would have been easy to accuse Philemon of acting presumptuously, but could Dimitri truthfully say he would have acted differently? Philemon might have been a monster, but he did it out of love. It sounded like he and Philemon shared enough ideals that they could have been friends in a different life. What other monsters were the same? Could Edelgard's descent have been the result of love?

"Are you alright, Dimitri?" Ariella eventually interrupted.

"Oh, my apologies. I was simpl-."

Dimitri was cut off by the blare of blowing horns. It heralded the start of the awaited stage performance. He and Ariella watched as minstrels proceeded up the staircase behind them. They carried all varieties of instruments- horns, drums, and lutes of all shapes and sizes that Dimitri had never seen before. It now became obvious that the servants were forced up onto the upper gallery so their ears would bear the brunt of the music.

Everyone upstairs huddled around the balustrade to see what was occurring below. The center of the room had been cleared for the performance, forcing everyone downstairs to crowd against the walls. Only the rulers of Almyra's five lands were seated comfortably.

A man who would serve as the play's narrator stepped forth from a crowd of performers waiting at the door and moved to the center of the room.

"Greetings! Greetings all! Peace be upon you," he began. "In honor of King Faruq and Prince Khalid, and on behalf of Mirza Ghalib, I welcome you to tonight's performance. The original plans called for this show to retell the achievements of Prince Khalid in Fódlan, but after prodding a bit for details, we unfortunately came to the discovery that there were none!"

This subversive joke was conveyed with a playful smile, but much of the laughter in the audience was tainted with malice. The narrator eventually had to wave down the commotion.

"Fear not, the show is not cancelled! In the place of our intended script, we will instead reenact the events leading up to the prince's birth… of a conflict fought against a cruel system!"

The music began in earnest upon this cue. After a dramatic overture, the performers poured out into the center of the room. Most were dressed as soldiers in all varieties of attire, apparently representing the different lands of Fódlan. Some were more heavily adorned to mark them as main characters.

Dimitri struggled to understand what to call the performance. It was telling the narrative of the war as the actors played out the battles. The swelling music helped set the epic scale. At the same time, though, it was almost like a dance. The action appeared to be choreographed, and the motions were lithe and delicate. Dimitri had never seen anything like it in Fódlan. He probably did not qualify as a subject-matter expert, though.

The room suddenly shook as all drums were struck in unison. One of the prominent characters slowly fell to the ground as another with a mace passed by him. The narrator explained this key moment, "Those who fought for justice face an early defeat when Mirza Qalawun is struck down at the Mouth of the Mikdash. How could such a valiant leader ever be replaced?"

The answer, naturally, was Ghalib. The actor portraying him stepped out into the center of the room looking rather gallant as he bolstered the courage of those around him.

"Hope is not lost, however! While the king and Prince Faruq stay in Elam to maintain order, Prince Ghalib marches with the Meteorans into Saba. Moving from one city to the next, their efforts force Emir Hamza to surrender."

Dimitri rubbed his chin as he watched the depiction of this march. Based on what he had learned from Khalid, Ghalib's campaign in Saba largely involved drawn-out sieges with minimal glorious clashing of blades. However, that did not dissuade the actors from portraying Ghalib as a peerless warrior striking down waves of nameless Sabaean brutes. While Meteoran soldiers were depicted, they received no special attention despite the ascent of a young Meteoran named Aurelian being one of the most famous details of the campaign.

Reluctantly, the narrator turned his focus back to western Almyra after a Sabaean general, perhaps supposed to be young Ridwan, bowed his head and handed the future mirza an ornate shamshir. "As Ghalib continues his march through Saba, Prince Faruq leads the armies of Elam into Shomal in the place of his ailing father. Sardar Meysam makes a foolhardy charge from Astane and is struck down on the battlefield."

The actor for Nader the Undefeated received no more pomp in his victory over the sardar than the nameless soldier who killed the mirza, though they were at least historically accurate by not relegating this honor to Faruq's actor. How considerate.

As the last of the soldiers from Shomal knelt in defeat, four more actors entered the room. One of them was an adolescent who could only just have reached her teenage years. The four clasped their hands together and held their fists up.

"With victory attained, peace was ensured for a generation by the union of former foes- Princess Maysun with the future Emir Dizhwar, and Methodius Argyros with the new Sardar Soraya. At the center of this treaty were Prince Faruq ibn Bardiya Al Hafeez and his new wife, Tiana. Faruq would soon be known as king, but more importantly, he will forever be known as the man who liberated Almyra from a clouded past."

The show was undeniably an incredible spectacle, but there were darker implications behind the successful execution. Despite covering a conflict fought against a system that affected women, the narrator had somehow managed to avoid referencing the harems or their occupants outright. There were some female soldiers among the actors, but only the men were given any attention. Even the mention of the queen seemed like a reluctant concession. It didn't help that Soraya's betrothal to a former enemy at such a tender age was being portrayed in such a positive light. As Soraya had once said back in Astane, Faruq's reforms were far from complete.

Looking beyond these details, the mirza's objective was abundantly clear. While the conventional narrative of the war prioritized the victories of Faruq's army, Ghalib set himself as an equal or superior. Rather than the younger prince boringly slogging through the desert under Aurelian's shadow, he oversaw a lengthy, brutal campaign while the future king was offered a free victory due to enemy's stupidity. Ghalib' record probably did deserve reevaluation, but the mirza was not looking to improve his standings in the histories. He wanted to remind the king of his service in younger, more thrilling days.

His plan was obviously working despite the biased narrative. As the room applauded the show, Faruq was among the most enthusiastic. The mirza stepped out into the center of the room and waved the king to join him.

"I hope you enjoyed the performance, brother," Ghalib began. "I made sure the actor most talented with a sword played your part, though I hope you can forgive me for reserving the most handsome for myself."

Many among the crowd laughed on cue. Dimitri couldn't decide if they were being paid or if they were drunk enough to find anything funny. He leaned towards the latter. The crowd was smaller than that in the outdoor arena, so there would have been fewer of his own people around to bribe. And going by his behavior, the king himself was inebriated. Khalid had told stories of the king's large personality from his childhood, but the Faruq that Dimitri knew always seemed much more subdued. Not so on that night.

Faruq slapped his brother on the shoulder good-naturedly. "I am unsure if that's accurate on either account, but the tradeoff is acceptable. How could I complain after such a performance?" He then spun around to the crowd with arms raised. "He will tell you how it's all in my honor, but please do not deprive my brother of due respect. These past two days have been excellent, would you not all agree?"

The room once again roared, this time even more emphatically than before. Just as the noise began to settle, a random voice called out, "I can imagine no man more capable to be a successor."

Faruq nodded. "That is true. My brother and I have walked side-by-side for our entire lives. You could search all of Almyra and find no one with equal experience and temperament."

Waves of murmurs immediately weaved the rows of guests. Even though the conversation between the mirza and king continued and final salutations were eventually made, no one else was still listening. Whether out of intoxication or naivety, Faruq did not appear to appreciate what he had just said.

Dimitri scanned the faces below him until he found Khalid. The prince's body sat upright, but he otherwise looked as taut and ghastly as death itself. Khalid had long confided his expectations that conflict would soon break out, but Dimitri found that belief premature at the time. After watching the room celebrate a man who obviously cared for nothing more than his own power, though, Dimitri was forced to admit Khalid was likely correct. If the succession itself did not generate the conflict, it was only a matter of time before Ghalib led them into war in yet another reach for supremacy.

Leaders who would sacrifice the lives of the weak for their own advancement, whether it be for power alone or misguided ideals born from self-righteousness - that was what Dimitri truly stood against. If only he could go back and give Edelgard that answer when he had the chance.

In another life, Dimitri would have been preparing for Dedue's birthday the next day. Instead, Dimitri would spend it helping Khalid with the fallout from the mirza's success. The sheer strangeness of the situation gripped him for a moment, but there was still a duty to fulfill.