You are her recurring arch-nemesis, and she is, in every sense, your most worthy opponent.

As the wind calms my thoughts,

I held strong on this terrace

I feel at peace,

Carried away by the wind's song

…

You come to feel like you're finding out much more about the Church and its founders than you ever did when you backed it as a faction and ended up as Fodlan's God-Monarch, and the more you know, the more you become aware of the remaining blank spots on your map, grating stains that remain even as the wide unknown dissolves into clarity.

The next crumb of an answer meets you sooner than you expected.

The news were thought to concern Ferdinand alone, but you thank your lucky stars that you were present when the messenger arrived – and maybe Sothis, too, on the off chance that she did have something to do with this as well. Sure, even at the best of times the Aegir heir could be very… eager in what he considers matters of honor, you wouldn't put it past him to try sneaking into enemy fortifications all on his own and you don't need him attempting that right now. But that's not even the main reason why you are glad.

At the time, the two of you were having tea with Lysithea. You figured that she couldn't overwork herself and hang out with you at the same time, if nothing else you might get her to slow down a bit; if you're lucky, she might even talk to you. You only brought Ferdinand cause he knows his tea and owes you a lot of favors, and by the time you got the news, you were beginning to question the efficacy of that; Thus far it had only led to him and Lysithea arguing about whether this outing could be considered a proper tea time if there weren't enough sweets to go around – wartime shortages had made those scarcer than they used to be.

Then, there was a knock of the door. The soldier behind it waves Ferdinand over to exchange a few brief, urgent words in a low voice. You have no need to eavesdrop, though: The young noble can barely contain himself: "You know where my father is?!"

You were not expecting that even when you heard it mentioned that Ludwig von Aegir had escaped his imprisonment – you had not heard from him in a long time, and you didn't rate his chances of escaping imperial lands very highly. One does not simply walk out of a jail under the jurisdiction of the likes of Edelgard and Hubert. Maybe the former Prime Minister was somewhat more formidable than you had thought of him, but probably, the Empire's resources had simply been stretched thin these days, especially after the fiasco at Gronder. So in a very real sense, Duke Aegir might owe his shot at escape to the efforts of the resistance army, including those of his own son.

But though he was Ferdinand's father, you'd heard he was the sort of decadent ruler with a cushy, inherited position from whom you wouldn't expect much competency. Ferdinand wouldn't want to hear it, but you didn't think he needed to, as he was perfectly aware – even when he first heard of his father's capture, he was forced to admit that he had been a greedy man who lost his path. But this was still the man who raised him. Ostensibly they had lived together as father and son before Ferdinand came to the academy; From what he'd told of his childhood, he'd never known any hardship or been left wanting for ponies, expensive clothing or fancy teas. There were plentiful trips to balls, gardens or the opera, and even his more unusual foibles for music and weapons collecting seem to have been indulged. But ever so often you had heard him innocently repeating something that proved rather grating to the common folk at Garreg Mach, or extolling some values that sounded perfectly respectable when taken at face value – clearly, he actually believed in them, but at the same time he'd be phrasing them in such a way that they might easily be mistaken for subtle dog whistles for something more sinister.

All in all you often got the impression that Ferdinand's father must have tried to bring him up with a competitive elbow mentality, which, despite his best efforts, had ultimately bounced off of the young man's heart of gold.

Still, he was already seventeen when you first met him and he is twenty-four now.

If he had been completely ignorant, that would have required a very deliberate ignorance that ran rather counter to his earnest manner – but conversely, wanting and making an effort to know doesn't render one immune to the common human bias of wanting to think well of one's associates and regarding the world through the perspective of one's own circumstances, and besides, he's an optimist: He doesn't strike you as the sort to conjure up a silver lining from whole cloth but even the scraps of one would have been a harsh temptation.

Still, this is mostly a background thought at this moment, a necessary observation. To dwell on it would have been to turn the situation upside down: Flawed as he may have been, the Duke was not ostensibly the villain here - a victim of the Emperor's radical policies, a betrayal inflicted on her own classmate, an easy, handy symbol of her callous disregard; After the demoralizing confusion of Gronder Field, your allies could probably use some clear cut reminder of what they were fighting for, and what better rallying cry could there be than to remedy an injustice done to one of their friends?

You felt then that it was your role to reassure him, to provide the strong, unshakable leadership that other others looked to you for: "It's alright, Ferdinand. We'll depart within the day."

…

Claude allows it and of course, comes with you, but he acts more reserved around it than Dimitri would have been, more calculating than Seteth.

Instead, you spy the same ambiguity that you were used to seeing with regards to Rhea: "I suppose he might have intel, if we find him – then again, he's been locked in his mansion for the past five years so whatever he can tell us would be several years out of date – still, he was arguably the most powerful man in the Empire until Edelgard's takeover, so he would definitely know some valuable things, and it would be a PR-victory as well..."

You can see his eyes drifting to that right upper corner that they usually occupy while he's doing some rapid-fire thinking.

"What speaks against it?"

"Well, mostly our limited resources, but, if we don't do anything to quench the chaos, many innocents might be hurt in the revolt…"

You feel a thin smile tugging at the corners of your mouth – his heart is in the right place.

...

You shouldn't have promised anything.

Which, to be fair, you didn't, but - you know how they trust you, how they follow you – You can no longer claim to be surprised.

You can tell how much Lysithea has grown in your absence by how she somehow has the tact to soften the blow – her more abrasive younger self might not have.

Though a younger, more oblivious Ferdinand might not have noticed, and been more easily comforted – as it stands, he was forced to return without that which he was looking for, and left with no answers for any of his all-new questions.

It's not at all like him to keep to himself, so, you grow worried.

Fortunately, he does not run off when he hears your steps behind him in the monastery gardens.

You suppose that he must see you as a source of comfort.

"It's okay to be upset. He was still your father. He still raised you."

"If only it was that simple!" He tried his hardest to master himself as soon as he became conscious of his outburst. "Yes, I am upset about his death. I know ought to have the self-awareness to recognize that. But how can I mourn, knowing what I know now? About the forced labor? The extractive taxes? This callous treatment of the populace as disposable goods?"

"Lysithea said-"

"I know what Lysithea said. I appreciate her… delicacy, but, even if my father was not the mastermind, his sins are not washed away just because someone else was even worse. Was the only reason that he didn't tyrannize the people in our own territory that way because it would reflect poorly on his reputation?!"

That was an answer you could not give him, but, if you're being objective, you would have to admit that your guess would lean towards 'yes'.

I just wish I could hear what he had to say about it. I wonder when exactly he was meaning to tell me about Hrym – I'd like to hope that he still had enough shame that he didn't want for his son to know about his deeds, but, I can't help but fear that he simply thought me too naive to understand his twisted rationale…"

Ah. Poor Ferdinand.

It's not like you don't understand what it's like to be disappointed by someone you felt close to… Though in this situation, your dusty, unmoving heart thinks of Rhea more than it thinks of Edelgard- but you still can't exactly explain, so this is all you can say:

"It speaks for you that you think so – there are very many people in this world who are willing to overlook the wrongdoing of their associates. But you now, you're still allowed to be sad."

"No, I'm not! I might be if I was just anyone, but I'm supposed to be a leader – I'm supposed to take responsibility. Professor, I- I believe in the institution of the nobility. I still think that, once you consider both the good and the bad, our traditions are still a net positive.

But when you look at cases like that, at such blatant abuses of power… - I – I'm…" he built himself up to a moment of sharp realization, after which the rest of the sentence just flowed out like water following the pull of gravity. "I'm starting to understand how so many people could support Edelgard's position is all…"

There was still a tinge of disbelief to his words, as though he couldn't quite believe that he was actually saying it, and yet, had no doubt in his conclusions:

"What does that mean, professor?"

"It means that even people who disagree with us might have sound reasons for what they do. Even when looking at the same pattern of facts, it is possible to draw different conclusions from it – or just different strategies as to how you get there."

…

Over the following days, you notice various...opinions emerging around the camp.

Shamir has a strict policy of keeping all things concerning her work strictly professional so long as she is paid, so, she didn't say anything during the actual mission, but later, while the two of you were each sipping on a beer in the dining hall after discussing the latest intelligence reports, she let something slip:

"Honestly though, I don't shed a tear for that bastard. From what Hanneman has told me, he's been the real power behind the throne since the insurrection, right? That means that he would've been in charge during the war with Bridgid and Dagda – the war that devastated my home, killed my partner, and cost me everything… if you ask me, Duke Aegir simply got what was coming to him."

She was fairly cold about it, and quite apologetic about that, but could you blame her?

...

You decide to talk to Hanneman. After all, he's originally from the Empire, and has never once passed up a chance to expound upon a subject he is knowledgeable in.

As expected from one who had despaired of and withdrawn from imperial politics, his account his dispassionate and not especially charitable to either side.

"For as long as the empire has existed, there has been a power struggle between the high nobility and the central government controlled by the emperor. The insurrection of the seven was only the latest bout of conflict in this long tug-of-war, and it was in turn preceded by the previous emperor's attempts to consolidate power by restricting the rights of the nobility and the consort kin. As a reaction to that, House Hrym attempted its defection, and both the six great families and Lord Arundel rose up in open rebellion, at last stripping the previous emperor of most of his power… Such power struggles have been the reality of imperial politics ever since Adrestia's very founding,

and if Edelgard believes that she is going to be the one to end it after hundreds and hundreds of years, she is probably going to have a rude awakening…

However, that is my attempt to offer a dispassionate, historical perspective as a scholar. Personally, I am ill at ease with the thought of such an unscrupulous man like Lord Arundel in such a high seat of power. I was greatly shocked, too, to hear that the former Count Vestra would betray his Emperor."

"...Hubert's father?"

The one he had assassinated?

"Yes. He was a friend of mine once, before I renounced my title to dedicate myself to my studies. We had not seen each other in a while when the insurrection took place, but I remember him as a diligent, dedicated, loyal man who sought not his own advantage. I cannot imagine many things that could induce a man like him to participate in an act of treason, especially one so heinous…"

"...heinous? Excuse me, but I had not pictured you as someone who would have strong patriotic feelings about loyalty to the crown."

"The crown? No… I believe I've said too much already. I do not wish to speculate upon matters that I do not know for certain."

…

Linhardt, however, had no such compunctions:

"I guess he must've meant those rumors about the royal children."

The what?

"...children?"

"Oh right, you grew up super sheltered and all that. There's a rumor that the Prime Minister, the Regent and Count Vestra had all the royal children axed when he took power. Except for Edelgard, obviously. I never really knew whether to believe it or not. I'm not even sure my father knew what really happened, though he was one of their co-conspirators, though of course he never said so to their faces, or those of the public. Politics is such a miserable business…"

This is one of those moments where you're almost a bit mad that you've spent most of your life kept away from any major population centers.

"Wait, there were heirs other than Edelgard?!"

"Well, duh! Did you think that neither the Emperor's wife nor any of his other six concubines ever got knocked up?"

Well, you did think that was strange. It would make more sense for her to have siblings.

Except that she'd never told you any of this. Never mind keeping mum about Dimitri – multiple siblings on top of that?! She never told you, whom she'd wanted as a life-long mentor and adviser, whom she supposedly even had feelings for, unless that was a lie too – except it can't have been. You know it wasn't.

Besides, you've lost all right to complain about that after killing her twice.

It never happened now, but, you still remember, so, it still counted.

"Why have I never heard of that?"

"Well, it's not really the sort of thing that is talked about much, what with the rumors and all that. It's like the Adrestian Empire's worst kept dirty little secret. I bet they're thinking that if they never talk about it, there would come a day when younger generations won't even know to ask any questions."

Right, the rumors.

"The 'heinous deed' that Hanneman was talking about…"

"Yep. I mean, it is just a rumor, a rather gruesome one at that."

He made a face. "The official story is that they all simply happened to die of natural causes. After all, the Hresvelgs did have a bit of a recurring bad habit of marrying their cousins a little bit to often, since they supposedly have the Most Holy Blood of the Goddess Herself and all that, and they didn't have too many crest-bearing heirs as of late – After all, Emperor Ionius himself was long sick with the 'family illness' before he finally kicked the bucket. It's kinda like when you're breeding fancy dogs – you get all the cool traits that you want, but you also get in a lot of sick animals – or in this case, ten sickly kids might just be the price you pay for one purebred war machine like Edelgard."

Ten…?!

"Except – the timing is way to convenient. I mean, they all just happened to die right after the Prime Minister seized power, just as Arundel returns to the Empire? All at once? And the only one left just so happens Arundel's own niece, netting him the post as regent?

Yeah… I think by now you get why a lot of people assume that Arundel and the Prime Minister had them all killed. Honestly, when we found out that Edelgard was the flame Emperor, and that she was working with those weird mages, I figured that she must've been in on it. After all, she would've been only ninth in line – I doubt that she'd ever have gotten to rule."

Could that be, is that possible?

Edelgard is very pragmatic, but to assassinate her own siblings? She wouldn't- Except, she did try to kill Dimitri to the last, even throwing that dagger, spitting her last breath upon him.

The problem is rather of a pragmatic nature – wouldn't she be too young? But, if she wasn't the ringleader, but a puppet of her uncle… or rather, of that thing that killed your father….

There's one point that makes you doubt this, though: Edelgard you knew was a leader, not a puppet.

Though your judgment has been mistaken before when it comes to her.

…

Petra is… reserved about the subject. It makes sense that she would be.

She was being far more gracious than anyone this young should ever be asked for.

"I do not… regret my coming to the empire.", she began, in measured, well-chosen words that she was working ever harder to put together in an unfamiliar tongue.

You have long since harbored the suspicion that she must be extraordinarily eloquent in Bridgidese; She speaks very much as a leader even with this impediment.

"It has been... an opportunity, to make new connections for the help of my land of home, and I have many new learnings, in a special part thanks to you. My hosts at house Gerth have given me help and good treatment, and when I had to leave the empire, Claude and his people have been welcoming me with open arms. Besides, I am having great support for his cause – like him, I am not believing in keeping old grudges. Will they bring back even a little part of what has got destroyed? No. So I am wanting to focus on the new opportunities, the present and the future times."

That part, you believed – though you do so exactly because you realize that the rest is… not a mask, not dishonest, but still carefully chosen for diplomacy, put together carefully while her true emotion is restrained beneath, as she build up to a point that you are soon sure to hear:

"However, we cannot be denying that it was the action of the Prime Minister that brought destruction to my land of home. They have took away our pride, our freedom to choose, the heirs of our king, and keep us all in subjugation. What has been lost of our culture, the wisdom held by our elders that they could not pass on under the domination – all that can never go back. Even looking beyond just Bridgid, their actions made the whole area not stable, and their reason was nothing other than greed and the lust for power.

As a classmate, I am having condolences for Ferdinand, but as princess of Bridgid, I can only be condemning the politics of Duke Aegir, and I do condemn them most strongly. If nobles of Adrestia are being such corrupt, then maybe the previous Emperor was right to lessen their power."

…

"Nah, if you ask me, I'm sure it was just a power-grab - He'd be dumb not to try and sell it as a reform. That's as easy as a paintjob."

So speaks a man who is currently promising five different factions everything they want – his backers in Almyra, the Church, Lorenz and the more conservative Alliance lords, the merchants, his fellow students and many of the country's downtrodden people…

If you weren't vouching for him, people would probably assume that he was a machiavellian foreign actor who could be in just about any of their pockets, all because he was hiding his good intentions, convinced that they would have been dismissed as ridiculous, and perhaps rightfully so.

Then again, you think that for once, Claude's cynicism seems to have softened up quite a bit in this particular timeline:

"...then again, there's no way to know for sure what his intentions were. It's not like the old emperor could answer us, even if we went and dug him up from his grave."

He still hasn't lost that occasional morbid streak yet – you're starting to think that's just him. You bet that when he was a little boy, he used to be fascinated by dead animals on the roadside, curious to learn what he could about the workings of nature.

"I'd say that whether it's morbid or not is rather down to your point of view – Yeah, the animal is being eaten, but the mushrooms and worms are also turning it into food for new plants."

"Right. You've mentioned that you tend to look at nature as this bigger whole over in Almyra."

It's all the same to you, really, yet you wonder to which extent the dominant conventional wisdom would have affected you and your ideas, expectations or associations, even as you were raised at the very edges of this society, paying little heed to the names or places or order of events as they failed to evoke enough of a response to solidify into crisp, detailed memories.

"I understand that you here in Fodlan tend to be more squeamish about it – I mean, there's a good intention in there, to wanna treat beings and people with respect even after they've left behind the body that they used to inhabit. But I was still shocked to see just how little you know about the workings of the human body, even in the textbooks in your library!"

"-We don't?"

"You've got a solid grasp on herbology and the like, since you have a lot of leafy plants here that wouldn't grow in Almyra's climate, but almost all the diagrams of the organs are so incorrect, it's almost hilarious… and your surgical tools look like barber's shaving knives. If healing magic wasn't so common and advanced because of the church, the casualties of war would be much, much higher. I mean, all that magic looks really, really impressive from the other side – usually if a soldier is downed in a particular battle, they stay down. It's almost like a miracle-"

You also recall Shamir referring to Fodlan as a 'land of miracles'.

"...but I'm not sure if I would be comfortable with having a single organization controlling almost all the access to healing. When you think about it, Adrestia could afford to break away from the church because they've got many specialized mages, may of which are white mages. But if any other country had tried that, they'd have been left without any healers.

I mean, I'm not saying that we should dig up and desecrate the bodies of random people – in Almyra, they're very proud of their whole 'warrior culture' so they tend to use the bodies of their fallen enemies. Many people there don't realize how gruesome that might seem to a person from Fodlan. But I think if I were to die, I doubt that I'd really care what happens with my body. Either I will be gone and won't feel anything anymore no matter what you do, or my soul or whatever will have gone somewhere else, so I couldn't care less what might happen to my old meat-puppet – if anything, I'd be relieved if it helps feed some animals or fertilize some trees – or if people took it apart to find out how it works… whoha Teach, did you just wince?"

Did you?

It's hardly something you do often, Claude is right to be surprised.

It's not that you're unfamiliar with dead bodies in any way, not in your line of work, and certainly not after living through this war thrice over.

It's rather that you thought for a moment of the misshapen lifeless heap that you must have been at birth, and Rhea cutting into that to break open your tiny ribcage, something that never quite made the transition from dead matter to living, and yet not yet close enough to death for her to meddle with.

You don't have a scar on your chest – you have checked many times.

Then again, there wouldn't be. Rhea is an excellent healer who had brought both Catherine and your father back from the brink of death…

"Almost makes you wonder why she couldn't save you or your mother if her powers are so great." is what Claude cents once he's dredged those thoughts out from your lips – almost for old time's sake he'd been teasing you a little, about how you ought to be more open now that he too had told you all.

But when you tell him roughly what happened, his eyes go wide – his, unflappable and piercing as you have known them.

Is what happened to you really worth making that expression?

You realize only too late that you had revealed something that you shouldn't have heard in this particular timeline – it strikes you only when he asked you when exactly you had found out about that. You say that you heard it from Rhea and Seteth and that it was right before you fell down the ravine, which isn't a lie – he furrows his brow, but he doesn't press further, since what you have revealed is apparently horrible.

"I mean, I don't want to get too down on Rhea just because her and I don't see eye to eye – And I'm not necessarily saying that she's lying, either. If it's really what you describe, then you would've died anyway if she hadn't done anything, and since your mother was able to get married and all, it seems like Rhea more or less let her have a normal life – so it isn't nearly as bad as all that mess with the demonic beasts. No matter how unusual or "forbidden" the method, I doubt that anyone would argue that it would be better for both of you to be dead as long as it was possible for at least one of you to live.

But doesn't it all sound way too… convenient? Like – the opportunity to seize that which she wanted more than anything – to revive not just her mother, but the being that she worships – just happens to appear before her by accident? I know childbirth can be dangerous and difficult, but, the greatest healer in all of Fodlan can't do anything? And, just conveniently, you're both in critical condition, so that the only way to save you was to do exactly what she wanted?

...you must have realized it by now, what she was meaning to do back there in the holy tomb. Why I told you to be careful – I wasn't really sure, all I had was an… inkling or a gut feeling, and I didn't expect you to believe me without proof, but after what you've just told me, it seems to be obvious -

Maybe your mother really did ask Rhea to save the baby if things go pear-shaped, but I'm not sure that making you a vessel for someone else counts as 'saving you'. That would have been killing you, to extinguish whatever feeble chance you would've had to survive.

You got to live only because Rhea's plan didn't work as she wanted. So I don't think she gets any cookies for that, if I'm honest.

Her mother's life isn't more important than yours just because she's the goddess, or because you 'owe it to her' somehow – you're still your own person, with your own right to chose your life and your future. I mean, maybe it's easy for me to say this because my parents are both still alive – I can't say I know what it's like to lose your mother. But I don't see how that makes it right to use an innocent baby… and she did worse than that, really – because we can't be sure if she's lying. Maybe back then, there really wasn't any other hope for you. But when you came to the church with your father, not as a dead baby, but as a living, breathing adult, she still tried to wake the goddess' power within you. To make her take over and erase your whole being… Do you really think it's a coincidence that your father was always so busy while we were at the academy?

The same father who fled away with you when you were a baby? Cause if so, it's certainly a very convenient coincidence for someone who would want to keep you apart.

She basically tried to kill you. If you ask me, you have a better reason to resent Lady Rhea than anyone else – even Edelgard."

This, you realize, is what he really thinks. There's a marked seriousness to his words… almost no trace remaining of his cheerful veneer. This is what he has been slowly, steadily easing you toward until the time is right for you to hear it, just like he waited just for the right moment to make his declaration.

"But she helped me. She saved me. She entrusted the church to me…"

You're not even managing to convince yourself; Your words come more from the accusations that you think you would hear from Seteth, Catherine, Cyril and the others, this whole wide land that worships the ground that Rhea threads on.

If Claude doubled down, it would have been easy to snap back and convince yourself to defend her, but he doesn't. "I mean – I'm not saying that she did it only for that reason. Most people have more than one reason for what they do, so it makes no sense to look for the 'one true reason', really – Usually, they act when they have enough reasons weighing for once option over the other. I'm not saying that she didn't care at all. She might not have fully realized that you and her mother are different."

"It's just that when she told me this- I think she was truly repentant. She had her head bowed, looking to me as if she were hoping for absolution…"

"I'm not saying she wasn't, I mean, you're pretty good at sussing out people's real feelings and troubles. I might disagree with her, but that doesn't mean that I don't have any sympathy for her suffering – If you say she was telling what she sees as the truth, I'd guess that she probably did. I'm just saying that maybe, she might be remembering things how she wants to remember them."

"Thanks for having faith in me." was all you could say.

"What about that other thing, though? What Linhardt said…. Do you think she could've killed her own siblings?"

"Well, I can't be sure, but it wouldn't be unusual. That sort of things happens, when there's so much power up for grabs. You could say it's not rare in noble families…. They were only half-siblings, right? And each batch of them might have mainly lived with their own mother, and the people from her house, who would be vying for power with the families of the other concubines.

When you see it from that perspective, all those other women and their kids would be nothing but rivals for the throne. Adrestia might be unusual by the standards of Fodlan, but out there, there's many countries where the kings take many wives – Almyra is one of them. Over there, the rule is that any of the king's children can succeed him, as long as they can amass enough support. It's supposed to ensure that only the worthiest and the strongest can be king, but in reality, this often leads to infighting and competition – it's not even unusual for one of the princes to try and assassinate their rivals. That sort of setup isn't exactly conducive to brotherly feelings…"

There is not even much of a sense of condemnation to the way he says it – he describes it as if it is simply a natural event, like an unruly storm on the horizon, the sort of thing that just happens, like he almost sympathizes…

Even when it almost definitely happened to him.

You can sort of understand him, though.

It doesn't feel right to get mad on your own behalf – that sort of thing makes you feel far too unguarded, like a querulous child. He didn't find solutions by clinging to his grudges, nor has he survived this long by thinking of himself as a victim. He sticks to what works.

And you think that this is why he is a hero: Because he tries to win people over and educate them, even when it is they who wronged him, even if he shouldn't have to, simply because he wants it.

Maybe this is why he is so free – because he won't let himself be limited by anything, not even past grudges or relationships.

...

"Of course I'd heard of it." Ferdinand admitted that grim expression out of place on his usually radiant face. "Not too long ago, it was getting whispered behind every closed door in Enbarr…"

"And what did you think of it?"

"Obviously I paid no heed to such preposterous rumors!"

But just from the degree of agitation in his voice, you can sense that he no longer wholly believes it.

You see him slumping forward onto his desk a little, propped up by his elbows, tented fingers stuck together, long curls moving as he shifts.

"I knew my father was flawed. I knew he'd lost sight of his path- but that he would stoop to the slaughter of children…!"

He looks to be in anguish – you kind of want to hug him.

"But of course, that's pretty short-sighted thinking. Children were affected by the tyranny in Hrym. Children were hurt during the war with Dagda and Bridgid, though they may not be as famous or well-known as the princesses and princes. There were Petra's circumstances, of course, but there were causalities on both sides. When the Dagdan army made landfall on the port town of Nuvelle, the whole place was razed to the ground. I was acquainted… with the Lord of Nuvelle's children. A boy and a girl. Everyone but the girl was killed, and what became of her, I do not know. Naive as I was, I asked my father if we couldn't find her somehow, or help her, or offer her our aid. He told me that we couldn't, but, looking back, the Nuvelles had sided with the Emperor, so my father had much to gain from refusing any aid…

Every time I think I've finally left behind all the illusions that I had about him, I find that there is something more that I didn't know…

I was going to depose him myself, but I never could measure up to Edelgard."

...

You feel a lot of… interesting things when Claude summons you to discuss the nebulous organization that has been 'slithering' behinds the scenes of the empire.

Like, he actually uses that exact same word, though that was supposed to be a private nickname of Hubert's that you mostly picked up from his letter.

Great minds think alike, perhaps?

It certainly gives you hope that maybe this time you won't have to choose between dealing with them and the total devastation of everything.

Many wonder to see the smaller, less unified, reluctantly granted army of the Alliance actually gaining a foothold on imperial territory.

Well, you are praised for it, and many even chalk it up to the favor of the goddess, but, if you're honest, this isn't even the smallest army that you've ever invaded Adrestia with. And this time you've got Claude – His plans are easily worth another extra army, in much the same way that Edelgard as an individual warrior is worth a hundred men.

But everything takes a drastic turn when your nightly discussion is overheard by Lysithea, who soon confronts you both with a stunning confession.

It must not be easy for her to reveal this – not just because of the horrors of the very acts she endured or the clinging memories that must come with that – You know well that she doesn't like to think of herself as a victim, vulnerable, fussed over, protected… of course not.

You imagine the homestead of the Ordelias, which must be a heartrendingly empty place with only elderly people, all of them grieving, from the lord and the lady to their family and their servants and all their household, every head gray, and not a single child in sight, not a single young person that such a child might have grown into.

If Lysithea had allowed them to go all overprotective on her, if she had waited patiently to grow up at the same pace as everyone else, she would have found her life to be over before she even knew it…

And you've met many people now who have been through horrible fates, but at least, for them, there was always still the chance of a future, an opportunity for good things to follow the bad.

Lysithea might not get that chance, or at least, not for long.

Later you will hear that Hanneman and Linhardt had more or less puzzled it out already and were on their parts working on a solution (an endeavor you have every intention to support) but even then there's no guarantee that it will ever work.

You understand now why she always seemed to tire so easily, especially after your return from the ravine. You see also why she fought like she had nothing to lose on those occasions where you ended up on different sides, why she always pushed herself to mature quickly and excel as much as she could, or why someone as opinionated as her was never to keen on discussing politics with Lorenz – He could be somewhat grating and she could be impatient, sure, but even the world's gentlest lamb would not enjoy hearing all about a future they were never going to be part of.

But the reason she told you in the first place – what made her get past all her reservations and speak of this, at last, airing the truth of it to the light after many, many years, is that she needs you to be conscious of the kind enemy you're facing – why the empire and its nebulous allies need to be stopped.

Claude, of course, makes the connection to the enemies you've all faced five years ago – the ones that kidnapped Flayn – alarm spreads on his face when he realizes that their unholy experiments have been going on for years.

You're not fazed at all of course. None of this is news to you, even the bits that ought to be. You know all about human experimentation. You know the Agarthans have been doing it.

You had every reason to suspect that there are many more cases than you had reason to suspect.

There might be many that you're still not aware of.

Later, once Claude had gone, Lysithea sat you down and confessed to the grimy, gritty details which she dared not to reveal while she was trying to look serious and strong in front of him.

The things she tells to only you – how her family simply responded to a call for aid, how they were ignored by the rest of the Alliance whose disunity plagues your quest to this day, how her parents struggled to govern their territory when everyone in their household was getting on in years, after the brutal suppression from the empire. The dreadful Agarthans, and how they just up and abandoned her once she was no longer deemed worth studying, a useless test subject, spent and used up completely when she was but a little child.

They cut open the length of her belly, like gutting a fish, but since she had been just a toddler at the time, the scars are now rather like a thorny circle all around her navel. They are still sewn shut with threads, for they never properly healed – once in a while, she has to have them changed, which she doesn't elaborate upon, but, you can only assume that it is a painful process.

Even her trademark love of sweets no longer looks so innocent – you recall Hanneman mentioning how people with crests tend to prefer sweet foods. He was surprised when you proved an exception to that. He went on about how sugar is the form of energy that the body can access most quickly, and a body with special powers might well need more energy…

Except that in Lysithea's case, that power is leeching her dry faster than any amount of cake could hope to remedy. You had thought she had simply been born with enviable talent (as you'll find out, Hanneman and Linhardt both thought the same, leading to some major foot-in-mouth-moments), but in truth, she has been subjected to an unnatural, highly unsustainable condition – the very opposite of enviable.

The only saving grace is that she was so young that her memories of the procedure would be dim and limited. The pain she bears is mostly from coping with the aftermath.

People with two crests, it turns out, are not a naturally occurring phenomenon.

Which raises some interesting questions, especially when you consider who else has two crests and white hair… You really should have known. She was way too much like you.

For the split-second that it takes for your intellect to catch up to your feelings, you rage at the possibility that she gave this order, burning up Lysithea, her cousins, and all the servants' children for the key to her inhuman power, to make herself a monster so that she might crush all underfoot.

Then you remember that the seizure of Ordelia territory happened 18 years ago.

Edelgard could not have been calling the shots at six years old any more than she could have murdered King Lambert at 12. The true culprit in both cases is likely the same one – and in fact, you were already told about it.

Lysithea had omitted the part about the human experimentation when she described the situation with Hrym to you and Ferdinand, but the person in charge would have been… nominally, the former Duke Aegir, but functionally, Lord Arundel.

The same one you'd recently begun to suspect of killing all of Edelgard's half-siblings to make her the heir, or rather, to make himself the regent.

The conclusion seems almost inevitable then: What was done to the children of the Ordelia household was a test run, a prototype, mere practice for perfecting the procedure – more or less the same modus operandi that the Agarthans had pursued in the creation of demonic beasts.

She is to Edelgard as your mother and the other eleven failed vessels are to you:

Edelgard's own procedure must have been rather more advanced, more refined, more extensive – If Lysithea was capable of turning herself into a monster, she would have told you by now.

Edelgard, by contrast, shows none of the weakness or fatigue that afflicts Lysithea, possessing instead a great surplus of strength… no wonder then that Thales and Solon referred to her as their greatest creation.

Inevitably you find yourself wondering how much Edelgard knew, but it's a futile question to the point where you wonder why you even bother to be disappointed. At some point it would reflect just as badly on her if she didn't know, since she's supposed to be the person in charge. Why does some part of you keep wanting to defend her?

None of this is new. She's probably sending off prisoners of war to be made into demonic beasts at this very moment.

You wish you could believe the assurances she gave you in Remire, but even if it was Thales/Arundel who spun the original plan, she certainly doesn't seem to have been looking this gift horse in the mouth – it seems that she received all these gifts with open arms, from the murder of her rivals to the throne, to the monsters, to this power bought with the blood of nearly every child in the Ordelia household – You've already seen that she's willing to go under the knife to increase her power. You've seen her do far worse.

Whether she bought her uncle' lies or simply doesn't care what she has to do at all doesn't matter.

"I see now, why you were so anxious about my… transformation," you tell her, on the stairs of the ruined cathedral. "Why it is that you asked me if I had… lost something. Honestly, I'm still not sure. Flayn was delighted, and many of the believers among the student body were excited for a sign from their goddess, but some did say that I'm… different. Like Annette, or Dorothea."

You wonder if you'll have to fight her again. If she will consider the person you once were to be lost forever.

"Honestly, I'm not sure how I would even tell if I was different in some meaningful way. It's not like I can feel both states at once and compare. If there was something I had lost – especially if it was something subtle and imperceptible, I wouldn't notice the difference.

It's not like I'm feeling especially anxious about this, but maybe I should be? Everyone says that I'm 'blessed' or 'chosen my the heavens', and I know that Claude very much wants for all the church people and alliance lords to keep thinking exactly that, so I haven't told this to very many people, but… since you have come clear, I think I should tell you I didn't get my crest naturally, either."

"What? You too-?"

"Not exactly. But it's too suspicious right? Some crest that hasn't been seen in a thousand years, suddenly appearing. It wasn't – you know, the slither people. It was Lady Rhea. Apparently, she did something to me when I was a baby – that's why father ran away with me at the time. I didn't know this myself until recently, but, that's how I got my crest, and other special powers.

Of course, I know that this doesn't compare with your situation at all – I mean, I don't even remember it. I don't have any painful memories about it, or any marks on my body.

What was done to you might send you to an early grave, stealing away your future. What was done to me kept me alive, both as a baby, and when I transformed. If I was a normal human, I never would have survived that fall five months – no, five years ago. I'm probably going to live longer because of this, like Seteth and Flayn. I'm sure many would consider that a blessing, but… they haven't changed one bit, in the whole five years. You and Flayn used to look like you were exactly the same age, and now you're all grown up but she still appears as she did then.

All of you grew, and changed and learned – Claude used to be this little troublemaker, and then I wake up one day and he's turned into this formidable leader. He's got a beard and all.

Meanwhile, Flayn has lived the same five years and accrued the same amount of experience – but she looks the same, she's nowhere near as changed as a person. Now I'm sure if you gave her more years, she would mature too & come to look up as grownup as Seteth or Rhea. It's all perfectly normal and natural, for one of her people. I know they'd welcome me as one of their own, no matter how I came to be, but the thing is... I'm not one of their people. I'm human – at least on my father's side. It's not natural for me.

It feels like things are far away – like they're not even really touching me, passing me by.

When I stand in front of the mirror, it doesn't look like me, and when I touch my face, it doesn't feel real – though that's only compared to what it used to be before.

I don't even know what it's like to experience everything fully like a normal person would – maybe it's not as different as I think.

I'm not in pain as you are, if I'm honest, I don't even worry about it really much?

I didn't even think about it, until Claude showed up and started acting questions. After all, you can't really miss something if you don't really know what it's like.

But the thing is… You all still call me 'professor' like I'm your senior, like I was five years ago, but when you think about it, I'm actually one of the youngest people here, aside from you and Cyril. I'm actually closer to the two of you now – and I feel like this wouldn't have been much different if I'd actually been awake these past five years…"

This is what you say now, but in reality, it's not a hypothetical – you have been awake these past years, just not five consecutive years in the same timeline.

You've lived all this time, you've certainly changed your thinking and opinions in relation to what you've learned, but you can't say that any change would have happened unprompted by itself, like it happens to most people whether they're aware of it or not…

Lysithea had been observing you all this time, taking it in, relating it to previous knowledge.

She's quite deliberate when she speaks at last, once she is definitely done thinking:

"Thank you, professor, for trusting me with this. To be honest, I'm not sure what to think… It's one thing to consider that our enemies would do these kinds of things, but even the church…"

"I didn't mean to badmouth your beliefs-"

"No, it's alright. If that is the truth, I needed to know it, so that I may decide if I still want to call myself a believer."

"Don't be too harsh on the church people, though – I don't think anyone but Rhea truly knew, not even Seteth. You can't exactly compare it to what happened to you-"

"Yes, yes you can!"

Huh?

She's looking at you in that determined, resolute way of hers, as if beyond fed up -

"Do you know just have many people have told me that they'd consider my two crests a blessing?"

"They don't know what you've been through, or what the cost was-"

"Yet even when I tell them, some say they'd take the risk."

"Am I gonna have to scold Linhardt?"

"That's not the point – The point is something was done to both of us without either of our choice. Something we don't want. We were both made to hand over something we didn't want to give up in order to get something we never asked for – and others did this to us for their own selfish purpose, without considering what we want at all. We were used. Victimized. In that respect, we're the same.

So don't act like you ought to be grateful for something you never wanted just because there's others who might think it's worth it.

It's irritating! It's like that time I told Marianne to stop beating up on herself, & then bent over backwards to apologize for apologizing, because 'others have it worse'. It's not a competition!

You're allowed to be mad that others decided your life without your consent!"

Or so Claude keeps telling you. Hearing it from yet another person, you think you may be starting to believe it at last. When you picture Lysithea as a two-year-old, think of someone tying her to an altar and opening up her little body, even your cold, unmoving heart can muster a great deal of rage.

You just can't picture the different life that was taken in your case.

You don't want to picture the misshaped meat that wouldn't live on its own.

You never did know that you were technically a fugitive – your father made sure that you didn't. You didn't feel hounded, or chased, or all that much at all.

Looking back, it's an ocean of mist in which little stood out, and you don't even know is Claude's theory is correct – but even if it isn't, that didn't make it okay for Rhea to try and make you someone else's meat puppet. If she did indeed simply save you, that didn't mean that she could do with you what she wanted 20 years later, like you were something of hers.

If you picture one of your students in your place – maybe Lysithea – then perhaps you could muster some anger on your own behalf after all.

You don't really know. You just know that you're beginning to share Claude's desire for some more answers.

"There's one thing I still need to ask you. About our enemies. All this happened when the Empire took control of your family's territory, right? After the incident with Hrym… I realize that the one in pulling the strings would have been Edelgard's uncle, Volkhard von Arundel, but the one who was officially in charge would have been…"

"-don't tell Ferdinand! At least not right now. He's been through enough already. I'm not exactly the biggest fan of the nobility as an institution, but he's already lost the future he's been preparing for all his life. He's been chased from his homeland, and now his father died. We don't need to drop this on him right away."

This too makes you feel like as if time poured over you like a rock while others sucked up its effects like a sponge – Five years ago, she would have most certainly been more brusque in her attitude and spared little sympathy for someone not strong enough to face the truth.

You suppose that you will wrap it up gently when you go and tell him the truth – some time, presumably, when he's had a chance to grieve.

But when you see Ferdinand's demeanor lightening up again, once he starts acting more like his old energetic self, you can't bring yourself to rob him of this newfound energy with the spilling of the beans.

If the wealth and influence of his house was in part built on such a basis, the people living in the affected territories might well argue that he had the obligation to know. He'd probably tell you that he has to face it, but it would break him all the same. It's not like he has many remaining illusions of his father's goodness for which he needed to be corrected.

Although… with everything you found out earlier, and these added charges, you must soberly conclude that Ludwig von Aegir got what was coming to him, if not through justice, then by cause and effect.

Between the brutal subjugation of both Hrym and Bridgid, and the human experimentation just to top it off, you'd think he would have got more mercy than he deserved if he'd just stayed put in his prison...

You do not yet make the connection that he has been justly punished, mostly because it is is easy to think of a ruthless person getting rid of an enemy who is no longer useful. You didn't have many reasons left to suppose that Edelgard would have minded what he was doing, for had she not allowed her uncle to oppress the peasants even worse? And at that point you still suspected her of having profited from those crimes…

You never voiced that thought, but, by the end of the year, you would find yourself wishing that could apologize for ever thinking that.

…

You thought that if you could find out Lysithea's problem, you'd have some ammunition to argue her into being more careful.

But if you did that, you'd be proving true the very reservations that had kept her from telling you before…

To an extent, you do lighten her workload, try to accommodate her here and there, or remind her to take it easy, calmly and without nagging – You don't want her to burn herself out on something unimportant, for which only pride would keep her from asking for help.

When it comes to the things that are truly important to her, though, you know better than to take the decision out of her hands, because even if she listened, being careful wouldn't even save her.

Her contribution to this war could make a passable legacy, especially if Claude brought his ideas to pass – or at least, she'd have a shot at spending her last years in peace with her parents.

…

The actual conquest of Adrestia doesn't go all too different from the other two times – Even though your strategies, reasons and behind-the-scenes concerns are slightly different, it seems almost eerie how much the events seem to fall into the same places. Unlike last time, you don't have the numbers to take Fort Merceus head-on – you end up doing a sneak attack like the very first time you came here, not because your limited resources force you to, but because Claude prefers it.

It's like you are trapped in a Maelstrom of eternal recurrence, damned to fight and kill each other again and again and again… If you're not careful, you think you might lose track of which world you're in, expecting to fight people that are right here beside you.

You make sure that you can evacuate fast in case the Javelins of light are fired.

You talk it over with Claude – you say you have 'a bad feeling', and though he doesn't seem entirely satisfied with that, his instincts tell him to listen.

You argue that it's only fair, because clearly, he's plotting something that he isn't telling you of, and he doesn't deny it, though he spins the conversation into a joke.

You're relaxed enough about it. Somehow, you don't think that it will make for much of a change.

"Oh come on, teach, it's like you're barely excited to learn what my plan is~"

That gets a giggle out of you, despite yourself.

Maybe that's what he wanted. Maybe he noted the sense of resignation weighing down upon you.

It must have been very, very difficult for him to negotiate for those Almyran reinforcements, to follow a foreign prince to possibly die in the foreign conflict of a foreign land. But he did it, and the result is a great symbolic victory that would bolster his positions on either side of the fence.

You can at least count on him to blow some fresh wind into the staleness of this world… and your world, in particular.

But even as he makes his big speech, he does not reveal himself. You sense that Cyril was rather uncomfortable with being cited as an example…

You suppose that he wants his message to be as universal as possible, not tied to his limited person that could only ever be a fraction of what he might stand for.

His rhetoric, certainly, is excellent. You particularly liked that bit where he appealed to his former classmates by reminding them of their time at the Academy – how they all already had experiences in working and connecting with people from different countries, or even from wholly different cultures from way beyond Fodlan.

So much seems the same, yet even you are hoping… might things actually be different this time?

You think the true test of that will come soon…

...

When the Javelins of Light do fall, Claude concludes confidently right away that it can't have been the empire.

"The world is full of mysteries… I wonder how many of them we can even unravel in our lifetime…"

You consider if even several of yours might not be enough.

…

While most everyone around you is appalled that Edelgard would confine the citizens of Enbarr to the city, Claude, being Claude, is torn between disgust and commending her for her sheer brazenness.

You, being you, are mostly surprised – She didn't do that when you invaded here at the head of the Kingdom Army, or as the vanguard of the holy knights.

You didn't understand why – she couldn't possibly be more desperate now that she was, well… back then. You wonder what you'll find once you proceed inside the palace.

You remember coming here with Dimitri, and you would rather not see that sight again…

You don't find an explanation to this difference at this point; You chalk it up to some randomness of the universe, like Gilbert surviving.

The conclusion will be laughably obvious in hindsight, the cloudy picture suddenly clear once the light and the angle were changed:

The difference between Claude and everyone else is, quite simply, that he wouldn't have gone through the citizens. She would never have taken that risk with the church, nor with Dimitri, who was cutting down people right and left last time she'd seen him at Gronder field.

This time, she would have known for sure that she wasn't actually risking the lives of her subjects.

It was a gamble that certainly could have gone wrong if she had misjudged you, in that sense, it was bold, arrogant even, but it was also, without doubt, successful:

You didn't lay waste to the city as you did alongside Dimitri. Sure, he'd taken good care of the refugees and forbidden any plunder, but those people were still displaced and many buildings of cultural significance were leveled.

Thinking of it, the only reason you did a sneak attack while you were leading the Church's forces is that Ferdinand and the others were reluctant to destroy their hometown, and concerned for their parents.

(You're really not looking forward to fighting Dorothea again…)

…

You were in the process of getting everything ready for your departure. Already, you'd completed the task of pouring over supply lists, maps and battle plans one last time; One thing left to do was to look over the contents of your store-houses to confirm that the inventory lists you had received had not suffered from any gross inaccuracies – Of course you couldn't count or inspect every single barrel, helmet or spear, but you fancied that you might at least take some representative samples.

At least, you were sure to notice the difference between a hundred barrels of potatoes and a thousand – the boring logistics, at least, were different every time, since you'd be working with the infrastructure and capabilities of an entirely different faction with different means, accounting systems and internal organizations.

The Church's resources were pitiful and intransparent, thankfully, Seteth had taken much of it out of your hands back in the day. The Kingdom's supplies were none too plentiful either and their record-keeping antiquated, but at least the one upside to that honor-obsessed culture of theirs was that the reports could largely be trusted… no, that was probably because the forces on your side were very loyal. Between Rodrigue, the Galateas and the Guartiers, no one had any reason to lie to you and each of them would have given you (or rather, Dimitri) the last shirt off of their backs.

The Alliance had the opposite problem: They were a nation of traders and knew very well how to manage their finances, but you were looking to integrate almost a dozen different systems from Lords who begrudged you half their contributions.

At least you could be sure that Judith was wholly on your side.

Idly, you wondered what the Adrestian bookkeeping might be like – you didn't think that it would be too efficient with their level of systemic corruption. You don't envy Hubert… which is a strange thing to think about a man you are meaning to cut down.

You were engaged in such business of bean-counting when Rafael comes into the cellar, presumably to haul in more goods meant for the war effort, or perhaps to start hauling it out to the wagons already – but that as it may, you expect him to leave again right away, though of course after the obligatory gesture of a friendly yet cursory greeting.

Indeed, there's a gruff-yet-warm "Hi, Professor!" and a sound of something heavy thumping to the ground, but you raise your head in wonder when you don't hear the steps moving away, before you realize that he's stopped short of his return trip to regard the back of your head, an area that even an observer as keen as yourself can't perfectly keep track of – for so immersed are you in the sights and the sounds and your plans of the near future that sometimes it eludes you that you are yourself part of this world, right here, right now, in this one timeline, able to be seen by everyone about.

"Say, professor…" he begins, somewhat sheepishly – "Are you still on that 'inventory' thing?"

He is cautious in how he puts that word in his mouth like he's not sure he's using it correctly.

But while he must have seen the back of your head tipping forward as you nod, he still doesn't leave, and instead comes to surprise you with a different kind of insight:

"You know, Professor, I think you've been working too much lately."

Huh?

You turn to peer at him.

"The battle's gonna keep going with or without you, but you're the one doing the most out there! It's real impressive how you can focus on giving the orders and the fighting. I don't think I could do both in the same battle…"

Thus far, it's not too different from what somehow, everyone tends to say about you for one reason or another, though all that you have done is simply exist and try to add what feeble help you can supply to stir the unyielding course of events. But then he adds this: "I see you running all over the place, even after the battle is over. I just don't want you to wear yourself out!"

Well. He is a nice guy and all.

"I'll be OK", you say, without even pausing to consult your inner state, simply because it's the reassuring answer that a leader would do wise to give.

But then he looks at you knowingly, as he might as Lysithea or Ignatz (who, so far as he knows, are about the same age as you, not counting the five years) and shaking his head, he as one speaking from existence:

"Oh yeah? As soon as you say you're fine, that's when it hits you."

Looks like you're not outwitting him on this one – it was you who taught him to pace himself in his overzealous muscle training. If nothing else, he knows a tired person when he sees one, and as far as he's concerned, you're pretty close to all tuckered out.

You didn't think you were so transparent.

It must be really obvious if even Rafael can see it – or no. That's giving him far too little credit. He's a kind, simple guy, he doesn't overcomplicate things, so he looks at you like someone he admires, but you're not anything more complicated than that an ideal or a myth or a chess piece.

If he sees on you what on any other friend would signify tiredness, that's how he's gonna take it.

Maybe you're not floating quite as high above as Dorothea once thought.

Maybe this world is still something you can touch.

"No offense, professor, but don't you think some folks might be taking advantage of you? Claude keeps asking you to do things, but you never say no."

It's not like he hid his intentions, at least, not for long. His goal is noble, and you don't have much of a purpose of your own.

"Like when you gave that speech to the troops – it didn't seem like something you wanted to."

You're surprised he could tell.

"I know you gotta follow orders on the battlefield, but you shouldn't have to do things off the battlefield if you don't wanna."

In a way, it's not too different from what Claude tells you, about not letting himself be pushed around, except of course that your muscled friend here doesn't even have the complicating factor of his own agenda. He's just… concerned for you.

Or that you're not as concerned for your own as your welfare as should be.

But be that as it may, your own welfare isn't the most important thing in the world.

"You've done things you don't want to," you say.

"What do you mean? Like studying? Sure it's not my favorite thing in the world, but that was to keep my little sis fed. I had good reason for it."

He cares a lot. No one could say that he doesn't.

"It's the same for me."

And maybe it is, even if you don't always look it…

"The same, huh? I think I get what you mean."

That means a lot to you.

"You do things you don't wanna do for the sake of everyone else. That's real noble of you, Professor."

You're not sure about that. You're only doing what you can. Then again, looking at him, and his sacrifices, you couldn't say that they're not noble.

"I guess I can't get in your way if you're doing it for the right reason. OK, then. I'm gonna keep trying to do my best, but now I'm gonna do it for you. My little sis is important to me, but you're real important too. I always work hard for the people who matter to me. And having more of them in my life just means I gotta work even harder! What do you think?"

...you certainly appreciate it.

You feel a warmth, and a tension, and an urgent bittersweetness.

Maybe your upper lip quivered just a little bit.

"I think you're important to me too, Raphael."

"Really?! I wasn't expecting you to say that! You're gonna make me blush!"

Humble as ever.

"We gotta keep working hard together then! At least until this war's over." Judging by his renewed enthusiasm, his worries are assuaged for this moment. "I'll work hard to make sure you don't collapse from exhaustion! You've got nothing to worry about, Professor. I've been training nonstop. I got your back, no matter what!"

There's a supportive squeeze to your shoulder.

You thank Rafael for his concern. You think you can feel the gratitude deep in your heart, connected all the way up to the fleeting smile that blossoms on your lips, if only for this moment.

…

Once again, Linhardt is readying himself to invade the city of his birth. He entertains the thought from a distant, dispassionate perspective, and since he never seemed too attached to nations or social concerns at all, you think you might have bought his act, if you had not heard him worrying about his father in another timeline – so now you think he might be distracting himself from the inevitable.

You still know that he always liked it when you listened to him talking.

You do appreciate the irony in hearing that Enbarr once used to be known as the city of Seiros and hearing him wonder about what Seiros herself might have thought about this war. He speaks of her of course as a long-dead historical person who would find these times incomprehensible.

You wonder if Linhard would believe you if you told him that he's spoken to you.

And here's this thing with new ideas: When you hear them at first, people often tend to reject them, especially if they don't excite their sensibilities or threaten established sensibilities. Often a counter-response is provoked, a natural yin to any new yang, and this is not even purely a matter of stubbornness, for it would not do to believe just about anything that somebody comes along and tells you.

But responses of anger fade over time, and one unique advantage of ideas that are valid is that they make sense. They're in accordance with reality, that is, they fit neatly into a picture of known facts, smoothening it out and shaving off uneccesary assumptions with an elegant simplicity that is often pleasing to our minds. Made-up stories and lies are ever divergent – once made up, a mere story can be told any other way. The truth, however, has a tendency to converge on itself.

If it is a real thing, ones idea of it grows firmer and more concrete the more that one learns. New facts connect to each other, and may indeed connect other disparate facts that you already possessed.

Once planted, such an idea tends to percolate, get reconsidered instead of dismissed.

At first you might accept it into your mental framework simply as a map for what someone else thinks, but once entertained, the idea becomes ever more useful to explain the world that surrounds you. It takes root, and your inner idea of the world starts teetering on the edge of a paradigm shift.

You don't have to ask Claude to suspect that, as an outsider for whom the Seiros religion is just one of many sociopolitical entities, he might think that the Empire might well have been justified in kicking the Southern church out and cooling their relations if it really did meddle in politics to the degree that Linhardt describes in the story.

Then again, neither is it implausible that a previous emperor would resent any checks on their absolute power and fabricate a cause to get rid of what could be viewed as much as a political rival as a sacred cultural instance.

But here's the thing: That's enough. It has ceased to be a clear black and white matter where the church is some unambiguous victim. At best, it's two factions battling for power, be it for selfish aims or genuinely believed good intentions...

You see it, and you see it especially because, like both Claude and Linhardt, you weren't raised with the faith as a great archetypical presence rooted in your mind… like Lorenz, for example.

Claude's speech seems to have totally blown his mind.

"I never questioned…" and just from that reluctance in his voice you can tell how much he was caught off his guard.

"I was taught from a young age to believe that the creed of Seiros was just the way of the world.

To question it never even occurred to me.

But Claude and Edelgard are different. They challenge the common wisdom. Even defy it.

It is uncomfortable to discard familiar assumptions. But that is an essential quality of the visionary.

Indeed, true greatness must lie beyond common sense… - Hmm, that's good. I should write that down!"

Here before you is a very different Lorenz than you're used to. It's not the one who fell siding with the empire out of self-interest, but he's just as different from the version of him who more or less saw his traditionalist vision realized and represented in Dimitri's rule.

This one has stumbled upon something that he didn't know he wanted.

For once, he didn't betray Claude – that must mean a lot to him, you think, since his vision is to win over people by convincing and enlightening them. If he can win over someone who sees things so differently, then his plan is feasible.

Still, Lorenz hasn't lost all of his old tactlessness and calculation if he speaks of Edelgard as another 'visionary' like she is somehow your comrade and not your enemy.

Tactless, or cold.

You are going to cut her down.

Though perhaps this is another issue of perspective here; As far as Lorenz is s concerned, both their ideas are equally far-fetched. He could just as easily have been swayed to her side, but right now, he probably thinks that Claude is going to win. Also, to be fair, he obviously loves the alliance.

Leonie is a completely different matter.

There's nothing ambivalent or dispassionate about her:

"Time for revenge. We're finally going to the capital. This will be my chance to avenge Captain Jeralt. Once we smash the Empire, I'm sure his soul will finally be able to rest in peace."

You wonder. You wish you could believe that, or be sure of anything.

You've been through so many upheavals and surprises…

She seems to take your uncertainty the wrong way, however. As always, you somehow seem destined to butt heads:

"It's obvious, isn't it?! Monica killed Captain Jeralt for the Flame Emperor, and the Flame Emperor was Edelgard."

To her credit, she seems to catch herself getting fired up: "I know that the future of all Fódlan rests on this battle. Nothing else is more important.

But for me, this is personal. For Captain Jeralt's sake, I'm going to give it all I've got and more!"

She makes it all sound very simple. You're not sure you can believe in anything so simple anymore.

Perhaps that is because you've killed all your enemies many times now, and not once has it brought back your father.

...

You've definitely seen this play before, and last time around, you didn't like the ending.

Dedue shows up, hellbent on revenge. "Just as hard to understand as his liege", as Claude puts it.

You cut down the Death Knight, but just as he says, his identity has no meaning.

The face beneath the mask is indeed Jeritza's – but that's just answering a question with another question. Who's Jeritza?

Officially, he's an adoptee of Hrym, but with what you know now, that just makes him a figurehead, a way for Arundel and Edelgard to get a loyalist in, possibly.

He's not even 'Mercedes' brother' to any of you. Just one unhinged general, as Claude puts it.

Everything repeats, like the refrain of an odious song.

The only difference, it seems, is the slight variance in the banter between Hubert and Claude, but even that comes to an end: "It's over, lapdog! Your military rule is at its end!"

Scorn him you might, but even brought to his knees he smirks at you in defiance, like he knows something you don't.

"You know once upon a time, I really thought that you might be useful to Her Majesty… but it seems that you are just mindless puppets of the goddess. All of you."

Perhaps future playwrights will commemorate this exchange like this:

"You sycophantic puppet!" - "No, u!"

And maybe you are. But you don't need to listen to this from the likes of him.

You leave him broken in the streets once again.

You once heard this called a moment of no return.

…

You really wish that you could share the feeling of hope and promise of those around you.

It's not like you don't, exactly, but more than that, you struggle to shake off this overwhelming sense that you're just retracing the same old steps, merely playing the role of you, or in any case, one of the many ones you have played, even if if it seems like the least worse so far.

You don't think of identifying that heavy cloak as a kind of feeling until you stand before the palace once again.

Raphael was right, actually.

You're bone-dead tired of this.

You're better at noticing these types of things than you used to be, but sometimes, especially at important times, they still slip past your notice.

Before you know it, you're right back to the part where whichever leader at your side is getting to the end of his speech.

"Is everybody ready?"

Were you ever?

Will you ever be?

Is there any amount of times that you could do this and be fine with it?

The more everything seems the same, the less any of it feels real.

You hear yourself say the worlds long before you could come up with a reason for that; It's rather more like you just let them tumble out. No: You trust Claude to hear them.

"...I don't want to kill Edelgard. Is there no way that we can walk the same path as her?"

For all that Claude is supposedly the crafty one, you feel much less like you're being wrangled than when Seteth once impressed onto you the necessity to collect the emperor's head:

" She's a fellow student to all of us. If there's a path that we can walk together, that would be preferable…"

And you know what? You actually believe him. Claude disagrees with her on the methods, but he looks at her as a rival, a human person – this isn't Dimitri's self-righteous pity that's based on a misunderstanding of some idealized past and some desire to prove some sentimental point; but if Claude does not have Dimitri's high-minded idealism, this also means that he wouldn't give an enemy the chance to plunge a dagger into his flesh; He is not quite so unkillable after all:

"But that all depends on Edelgard. If she won't yield, then that's that. If showing pity would put my allies in danger, I will not hesitate to kill her. I ask that you and everyone here prepare yourselves to do the same."

This, too, you believe.

You've believed this even since you ran into him during your first sojourn to Gronder field, then at the head of Dimitri's army.

You don't doubt that he will shoot first if it becomes necessary. In a way, that's quite admirable. He won't put any children's tales of honor before the real palpable lives of his comrades;

It's a trait that the average man would appreciate in a leader. It's probably the reason why Hilda follows him more fiercely than he even knows though she had declared that she would never bend the knee to either Dimitri or Edelgard.

Ignatz and Rafael, bless their pure little hearts, are very much hoping that Edelard might surrender, but Hilda is not so optimistic, and she's usually got good instincts when it comes to people…

You know that Claude doesn't thirst for Edelgard's blood any more than you do, but you still feel as though the outcome is already decided.

In a way, they are both remarkably consistent people, Claude and Edelgard both. Neither could be justly called a hypocrite. When hard pressed, Claude would always try to weasel his way out into escaping with his life, so he doesn't expect anyone to give theirs for him. He puts his followers under orders to run off if things go sideways and appeals to their self-interest when making deals, which he usually keeps. That's why in every variant of this war so far, the Alliance has seen the least destruction.

Edelgard, by contrast, has spent the lives of many loyal underlings, willingly and passionately as they may have been given. She risked her country in an all-or-nothing gamble for goals much greater than itself.

If she had now fallen to her knees and pled to keep her own measly life – an offer that ordinary soldiers who were not close to powerful figures did not typically get – then thus would all her words have been made false.

On the way to the throne room, you cut your way through Dorothea, just as you cut your way through Hubert earlier – both of them died with their leader's name on their lips because they saw her not as just another monarch using their sacrifice as a tool to maintain power through clever talk and empty promises, but one who practiced what she preached and did not flinch away from putting her own life in that exact same danger, proving through her presence in their very midst that she truly held them to be her equals, and her own neck no more valuable than theirs.

Of course, she wasn't going to surrender.

…

The usual time-tested strategy for taking out an armored warrior that presented a challenge to your physical weapons was to blast them with magic.

But you've got enough experience with fighting Edelgard to the death – and isn't it absurd that you could experience such a thing more than once – to know that she can take a whole lot of magical punishment. Perhaps whatever procedures she underwent to obtain her obscene strength would have built up some degree of immunity to magic, but all that means is that you need a tougher mage, and you have the best one in all of Fodlan right here under your command.

You were apologetic when you brought this up since you knew that the Emperor was once something like Lysithea's former friend, but once she caught your gist, she made it very clear that she was resolved to anything – but Linhardt is another story. You'd forced him to kill his former classmate once when you didn't have any other choice. It took all remaining six of them, as well as yourself, Seteth and Flayn to take her down the first time, fighting tooth and nail, and you're still not sure how you'd pulled through.

Next time, you had Dimitri; This time, you don't, so the same undertaking is going to require a bit more strategy. If not Linhardt, then it must be someone else, at least a second person so there isn't a single obvious target to concentrate from. You go with Flayn – normally, she'd be scarcely less inclined to pacifism but she's gonna make an exception for once who stands against all she has ever learned to view as good, and an organization that she views as synonymous with her family besides.

It never occurred to her to this version of her to try her hand at reason magic, but once you break her into it, she discovers her hidden knack for offensive spells exactly like all the previous version of herself.

You think, if you keep doing this, you might one day lose track of whether you've taught her or not…

You banish that thought. You focus on making sure that this is the last time.

If you have no choice but to kill Edelgard, you certainly don't want to do it ever again…

You thought it might get easier.

It doesn't, not one bit, when your group turns the corner into the throne room.

Apprehension fills you, wary of what you are going to find.

A specter of carapace and moth's wings still haunts the edges of your memory -

but as you march in, there is no cracked skin, no wings, no gaunt appendages – only a woman who has risen from her chair and solemnly awaits her business.

She must have known what it meant when she stopped getting any word back from her messengers and soldiers.

All your body tenses when you see a small form decidedly stumbling out of cover, her long staff conspicuous – you hear Claude's sharp inhale not far beside you. You're rather glad that Seteth is still busy cleaning up some of the soldiers in the back row, or you'd have a second fighter jumping right out of position.

In the lightcone from the throne room's stained-glass window, on that thrice-accursed long patterned carpet, there stands Flayn, incorrigible pacifist.

"Edelgard! Please!" she begs, with the anguished confusion of one who does not comprehend: "Release Rhea... Release Fódlan!"

You're pretty sure that her father would have commanded, not plead.

But you don't think that the Emperor's answer would have differed much. If mere pleas could make her relent, this war would not even have begun.

"If you strike me down, they will return. I cannot permit what you desire. You are a child of the goddess. You must not be allowed power over the people!"

They? Who are they? Who will return?

What sort of power does she think that Flayn of all people would have?

Later it will occur to you that you've just stormed her palace – essentially, come into her house – to come and get her, and in doing so, stopped over the bodies of those who followed her precisely because they wanted an end to a world that was ruled by Rhea by virtue of her blood, and where she would share that power only with her closest associates, and ceded it only to you, since you were in some roundabout way even more closely connected to Sothis than her.

But now, you can only think of fighting. The element of surprise is ruined, so you all come forth from the columns and gateposts that you had squeezed yourselves against.

From where Edelgard stands, is it her who should be pleading with you, holding back her disappointment in you.

When she looks you all over – a vanguard of four – her eyes fill with lament, but it is the cold, hard lament due to things spilled and wasted.

There's a particular clench in the center of her face passes you, but it is faded and brief like she's already used to it.

"Lysithea. You and I are so alike. We could have walked the same path…"

The small mage at once catches on to something that you don't: "We're alike? You don't mean to tell me... It can't be!"

...but all the time for talk is over. Edelgard knows this best of all.

You're not even afforded the luxury of the slightest time to think: "Yet now, we are at a crossroads. There's no turning back. Must we fight each other for the things we believe in?"

"That's exactly what's going to happen. And I will defeat you, Edelgard."

The emperor can only shake her head.

"There comes the vanguard of the goddess –" she concludes, her cutting voice dripping with sardonic bitterness. "I would not be surprised to find the lackeys of the church lacking all self-awareness, but I would have expected a little better from you. I would have thought that the three of you would all have more than enough reason to know better. And yet, it seems that you, too have all become mere lackeys."

"-Hey, rude!"

True to form, Claude doesn't let her get his goat; Even now he keeps the smack talk up, though his fingers are tight on the shaft of his next arrow. "Speak for yourself! Unlike you, we're not the ones doing some dubious faction's bidding!"

Hearing that, Edelgard seems quite close to being moved to cold bitter laughter.

"Is that so? Then why are bolstering the armies of the church? Why do their bidding? Holding up that banner…

Why would you defend them? Your ideals, I understand they're not so far removed from my own…"

She falters, but never, ever wavers. "...but without sufficient knowledge of this land's suffering, I can't entrust Fódlan to you!"

You don't know what she means. Neither of you has the time to process or ponder anything of what she said – but no matter what she meant, you realize at once what this must have sounded like to Claude: Just another way to say 'outsider'.

But of course, he's used to it. He barely let's it scratch him anymore; Some of him goes cold, some portion of his heart that is no longer heard in his casually callous answer: "Perhaps. I daresay it's true that I don't fully understand the history of Fódlan - Still, I've seen many things in my life, and I'm a quick learner."

So that's how they want it, huh? Neither of the rivals will compromise on their vision, even a little.

She doesn't think someone else can do it, huh? She's sure, cocksure enough to bet her goddamn life, and you almost hate her a little for it, though you know better, though you know why, you wish she would – if not let you save her, for that would be to presumptuous, but you'd wish at least that she didn't make you do this – a selfish complaint from the one about to kill her.

To be fair, Claude, too, was quite convinced that he knew everything better.

So it comes down not to a righteous battle, but to a simple power struggle between royals, who, for all their respective visions and idealism, each refuse to yield the reins of control.

But hey, you're not with the one who said one of your comrades had nothing to say just because of her origins. You're not with the one who said she a foreigner can't be ruler even if she agrees with him.

Strictly speaking, that's not exactly what Edelgard said, either, but that's how you justify moving forward.

That's how you bid your arms and legs to keep moving even as the sight before you rends your heart.

Her robe is tattered, her armor dented; Her skin, where it has been exposed, is half covered in magical burns. At least one arrow has certainly struck true between the plates in her shoulder.

Her crown is broken, which is just as well, because she will have neither heirs nor successors.

Once cut free, her bleached-out hair frames her face like a curtain, and she cares not where it get stuck.

She struggles to stand, and yet she hangs onto her weapons, gritting her teeth, and keeps defying her with every moment.

Why, why why?

You think you know, but even the explanation you could gather just won't go into your head.

It doesn't seem to be going into Claude's either.

The protracted, ugly struggle has burned out all his bravado, and between straining breaths, he is ready to conclude this:

"Edelgard, give up! We don't want to kill you!"

He doesn't want this to get any uglier.

His purpose is served, the means to sating his curiosity are assured; Beyond this, he's not really thirsting for anybody's blood.

The problem here is that his opponent is very much serious to the death.

"But... I must kill you." and she must press forth the words, through both pain and hesitation - "If I don't, the righteous world I dream of will never see the light. Come at me with everything you have. For one of us, this is the end!"

She had accepted the consequence long ago.

A consequence that grows more and more inevitable the more of your remaining allies comes pouring into the room.

She fights on long and hard, with all the world against her, and no more allies left to her name.

With everyone against her, she drops down to her knees, and for all that you were convincing yourself of her stubbornness, she knows better than to struggle when she can no longer lift her weapon.

It all looks so familiar that past and present seem to blur together.

You condemned her so quickly last time, you thought you were so righteous, you cursed her lying mouth for somehow making you feel pity.

As if she had the power to do that, and as if the source of your pity lay anywhere but your heart – stiff it is and unmoving, and yet it feels pained.

She's not doing anything. Not to you, or anyone else.

She's just kneeling there, waiting, shouldering the burden of her choices, ready to pay in the consequence of her actions what she might still consider gladly bought.

Barbed sword in hand, you're keeping her waiting, and you know very well for what.

"My teacher... claim your victory - Even now... across this land, people are killing each other. If you do not act now, this conflict... will go on forever."

To the wan and faded extent that it can, her voice shakes and trembles, and it surges when she speaks of the people and the land – once, you might have been inclined to scoff and to ask 'and whose fault is it', but now you understand.

You understand because you've become a politician, and not just a general or a figurehead.

You both know that the transition of power will go much, much smoother if she is dead. There'll be no guidepost for loyalists to rail around, no reason for a futile fight to continue and whatever nitpicks she may have had with Claude's policy proposals, once her own plans were off the table, they became the next best option, and therefore one she would like to see succeed – Her own life had to go from the moment that it had become an obstacle, shaved off with the same logic as those of Dimitri and the many church supporters in her way.

You know that she would have acted just the same if things had gone the other way around – if it were Claude pinned down at her mercy, she would not have suffered him to live so long as this would have meant a threat of further conflict.

This is not personal, strictly business. If you bid for a crown, you win or you die.

She knew that from the start.

She has accepted that.

Your role here is clear – one might even say, your duty – you need only move, keep being in this body, breathing in and breathing out, until the deed is carried out.

It's the lingering tenderness for you in her heart that keeps reminding you to move forward, just as she did – as she would have – after that other version of your father's death.

She looks up straight at your face, and beyond yours to Claude, who seems to find no satisfaction in seeing his rival brought low.

He's still aiming his bow at the pair of you, lest she try something, lest you grow weak – In this, he's wiser than Dimitri; But in his face is speechless tender softness.

Out of the three, he has always been the one who's had the least of an edge.

"Your path lies across my grave. It is time for you to find the courage to walk it."

You think she's speaking to him as much as she's speaking to you, but it is you to whom she is pleading - … asking for the only help you can give, now that she is beyond all other, a help that she still thinks Claude might not have the nerve to provide. – and you accept her wish;

You grant her release in the only way you can. A clean death. You go right for the arteries in the chest, make it quick and painless.

You hear Claude's deep voice sounding darkly behind you:

"Don't worry. I'll finish the job for you."

You hope she'd appreciated that – that she still heard it.

She slumps down before the blood is even done sputtering out like a fountain – she must have felt the stab but you recon that she lost consciousness pretty quick. You moved the blade slightly so as not to form a seal, but you don't pull out its serrated teeth until she's hanging off the sword.

Once you do, she comes to rest on the floor, where the red is quickly spreading past the profile of her face, where that empty, hollowed-out look had become frozen on her features.

She had no more purpose left once she could no longer fight. Everything she once was, everything other than the role of a leader had been cast away, so that the rest might be aimed at just one goal like a single, slender arrow.

Whatever else there might have been, whatever reasons to live past defeat, you know she would insist that it was all long gone, but while that might be true for that girl who was once friends with Dimitri, you're pretty sure that you had known an actual person there, left inside that body – the girl that came to your door to confess her feelings before departing to make what must have been the hardest decision in her life, leaving those tender hopes and dreams behind forever, to trade it all for the path that would lead her here, crumpled at your feet -

An end that was not what she aimed for, but still one that she was very much willing to accept. A calculated risk – a reasonable sacrifice.

If she overthrew the existing order, there was no guarantee that she would come out on top in the power struggle that ensued – she knew what she was getting into, and some victims of the war might still consider this short of just desserts.

You get to set her down on her back this time; You care and don't feel shamed for caring, enough to close her eyes and cover up that ghastly hole in her chest and the worst of her burns with the tatters of her cape. You care nothing about the wet sticky heat that coats your gauntlets and boots and soaks through to your knees.

She's damn near exsanguinated now, anyways, pretty much starting to go cold…

A firm but solid touch on your arm brings you back to reality – "It's over now. We were only able to beat her because of you."

You're not proud of that.

But you're certain that Claude knows this - "This wasn't the conclusion I had hoped for, he confesses, "Even though... I...-" He stops himself – probably, he's inwardly reminding himself to keep that brave face strapped to the front of his skull – for your sake as well. "Never mind. It's over now. The important thing is that we won."

He lets go, and stands up.

The blood is soaking onto the carpet and even spilling on the marble, where the cloth can't hold it all.

But even as it does so, time goes on. The rest of the world is starting to exist again – you begin to become aware of everyone drawing near.

Many approach reluctantly, and some have averted their eyes – Ignatz and Linhard can't really stand to look. Lorenz, you think, is mostly just disgusted with all the mess.

Rafael, Hilda and Flayn look on sadly – Even Ferdinand makes a somber, pensive impression, his usual energy all but evaporated. This is not at all how he has imagined their future to go.

Felix is unreadable; Leonie alone resembles anything close to satisfied, though in a slightly defensive manner, like she's having to justify it to herself.

You're not sure what Lysithea is thinking. Her fists are clenched tight.

But you note, with apprehension, the tall, lumbering form of Dedue in the crowd, brushing past Marianne even as she keeps imploring him to let her take a look at his wounds.

First of all, you should be overjoyed to find him yet living, but between you, somehow, hangs the specter of something he hasn't done yet, something that never happened now.

"Is it done?"

There's half a thought inside your head about what Dimitri would have wanted, but you're thinking of a very different Dimitri there, and you fully realize that you've lost all right to speak of him after leaving that possibility behind, or to claim that you know him in this world where you never did, least of all to the person who stayed by his side here all along.

You can only nod in silence.

You've only just risen to your feet by the time Seteth shows up and starts talking about sweeping the palace grounds for Rhea.

Oh right, Rhea – the whole, entire reason that you ostensibly have for doing all this.

The feelings that remain concealed behind your smooth, mask-like face are very much ambivalent.

You know Nothing, Jon Snow… I mean, Byleth. Byleth knows nothing. But they're just about to find out big time, which is a part I am really looking forward to…

The idea that Almyra has surgical tools etc. comes from how the arabs basically had them too while medieval Europe didn't (with Rhea banning autopsies & all that).
I'd be surprised if there wasn't a mild tech gap. (Conversely, I don't think there is a BIG gap if we assume that the Sothis vs. Agarthan war knocked not just Fodlan but the whole planet back to the dark ages)
One thing that supports this is that in the Ferdinand/Petra support he is also surprised to learn that the Dagdan & Bridgidese tech was much more advanced than he thought, leading him to conclude that Fodlan only won the war due to "the goodwill of the goddess" (Ie, crests and magic. They have superpowered soldiers; Dagda doesn't. See Shamir's "land of miracles" remarks) – which in turn must have convinced everyone in Fodlan that they need crests to keep up with their neighbors.

Also, I'm glad that I came across that bit from heroes where we learn the name of Ferdinand's father before I finished this chapter - I was gonna go with 'Josef'. I appreciate that what they actually went with is also 'southern/ alpine' sounding like 'Ludwig' . It's probably taken from the kings of Bavaria.