Byleth's senses returned in a blurred haze. It felt as though her body heat had fallen to her feet and dissipated into the cold stone, a strong sense of foreboding muffling her thoughts. The weight of what she had just experienced failed to settle, she tried to regain focus over the details as a clammy sweat trickled down her forehead.

"Lady Vestra?" a voice inquired.

She took a stifled breath, knowing where she was the moment it hit her lungs. She jolted her hand away from the throne, turning her head towards Samael.

He raised his eyebrows upon meeting her expression, "Are you alright?"

She did not respond, her gaze switching to all dark corners across the breadth of the crypt, desperately searching for something unseen.

Then she saw it; a muted flash of warp magic, a presence that lurked darker than the shadows.

The unmistakable glint of an arrowhead poised for release.

"Sam, get back!" She shouted, shoving the boy out of the way just as the whistle of an arrow screamed over the dull silence.

She felt the shock before the pain. With a cracking thud, the vibration of the impact danced across her chest as the projectile came to halt upon the bone of her upper arm. She cried out in agony and staggered down onto one knee. She heard the shouts of Flayn and Seteth behind the ringing of her ears, as well as the pressure of hands helping her up.

"Get behind the throne," Samael said with urgency, helping her to her feet.

There was little time to comprehend before her back was against the cold stone. She looked to the boy with wet eyes as he whipped out his blade, staying fiercely close to her side. Samael looked to be scanning the area with calm and calculating eyes, unflinching at the cries and sounds of steel on steel.

"Agarthans," he stated plainly.

"Flayn! Get behind me!" Seteth shouted over the chaos.

"I refuse! I will fight beside you!"

"You need to help Seteth and Flayn!" Byleth hissed. She couldn't lose either of them now.

"I will not leave your side." There was another flash of magic and the sound of weapons clashing.

"That's an order, Sam!"

He frowned. "Very well. Stay here, My Lady," Samael warned through a steeled expression, leaving to join the fray.

Be careful.

She yelped as she yanked out the arrow, her breaths heaving through a new wave of sickness. She held a shuddering hand to the wound, tendrils of healing magic flowing from her blood-wet fingers, struggling desperately to soothe the wracking pain.

It wasn't enough. She could do nought but meekly aid herself and beg for release. It was then that a new type of ache bloomed: frustration, disappointment… helplessness. She leant the back of her head against the throne, teeth clenching as she fruitlessly searched her spirit for a hidden well of magic. Her eyes were fixed to the wall ahead of her, watching it light up with fire magic and dancing shadows as the battle behind her raged.

Useless.

Hiding whilst her allies fought in her stead. Downed by a simple arrow. Is this what her pride had wrought? She unsheathed the dagger from her side, clutching it in her good hand. She would be a hindrance if she joined them, but she wouldn't be going down without a fight if it came to it.

But to her surprise, she was met with silence. Magic was dense in the quiet air like humidity after a storm.

Footsteps clicked upon the steps and she was met with a friendly voice.

"Professor?!" Flayn said.

Byleth let out a breath of relief, pulling herself up to her feet. "I'm alright!"

"Thank the goddess!" She replied as she hurried to her side. Flayn immediately noticed the arrow wound, concerned fingertips searching for the entry point.

After the wound was closed, they made their way down the steps. She was a little shaky from the shock and blood loss, but otherwise without pain.

They approached the bodies of the Agarthans, three of them, unmoving upon the floor of the tomb, lifeless eyes concealed behind their hallmark masks.

"This was a warning," Samael said, kicking the leg of one of the dead. "If they intended to kill us, they would have sent many more."

"For what reason?" Seteth said behind a bloodied scowl.

"Likely so we'd send word back to Enbarr," he replied.

"That makes sense," Byleth said, "they may want to call attention away from the mission in Hrym. Think about it for a moment. If Hubert got wind of this, he would delay the mission and come to our aid."

"This must mean we have a traitor in our midst," Flayn said, concern clear on her face.

"They could be anyone, like with Tomas and Monica. We are well aware that there are Agarthan agents in our ranks, which is why they have always been a step ahead," Byleth replied.

"I suppose there is a certain light to this," Seteth said, "They are feeling pressure in regard to Hrym."

"Then we will not report this back. Not whilst the mission is underway. Understood?" Byleth said firmly. "That means you especially, Sam."

"By your order," he assured, bowing in response.

After composing themselves they collected the remaining crest stones before sealing the door shut with a ward. No one would know what happened, for a time at least.


Byleth had managed to slip away from the others whilst they were carefully arranging the ceremony, a task in mind that she desired to do alone. The unkempt grass tickled at her knees as she crouched down.

It's been a long time, hasn't it?

She brushed her hand over the headstone, the moss and dirt that clung to the surface crumbling at her touch. She felt the ridges of their engraved names beneath her fingertips as she wiped away the grime.

Sitri Eisner

Jeralt Eisner

She exhaled a heavy breath and began to pull at the weeds, each one removed easing her sense of guilt somewhat. It hurt to find their resting place had suffered such neglect. Once she had cleared a large enough patch she placed down a bunch of flowers. Most of them wild, picked from the overgrown greenhouse. All the rarer blooms had died along with many others.

"I hope you are both happy. I'm sorry it took me so long to visit," she whispered, holding her hands together in prayer. "I often wonder if you truly did come to me that day when I came close to death. I'd like to think so…" She felt a smile return to her face. "And so far, I have managed not to get stabbed… That is if arrows don't count."

A flash of warp magic broke her train of thought, her hand falling to her dagger before she knew who it was.

"Sam," she said bluntly. She was certain he did not see her leave. "How did you find me?"

He was silent for a moment, contemplating her question with dreary eyes that refused to break her gaze.

"I am surprised Lord Vestra did not tell you," he said, turning his attention to the band upon her finger. "Your wedding ring. It is infused with tracking magic."

She felt her stomach turn, a visible wince on her face. "Are you serious?"

"I do not joke."

"I see," she looked at the trinket with dull interest. A symbol of Hubert's devotion indeed. Something she would never take off. He was as clever as he was infuriating. It seemed she was beginning to understand just how far her dear husband would go – noticing the fine weaves of silk that formed his little web of falsehoods.

"Please," he said, catching her attention. "I ask that you keep me by your side, especially after what happened at the Holy Tomb."

She nodded, perhaps she had put him in a precarious position by sneaking off.

"Very well. I'll keep you close."

"May I ask what it is you're doing here?" Samael asked in innocent intrigue, eyes wandering over the memorial.

Byleth felt a sad smile pull at her lips. "I came to pay my respects to my parents."

Samael nodded, pulling down his ashen hood before keeling by her side. He assisted her in clearing the debris from the headstone for a short time. When the epitaph finally became legible, he stopped.

"Jeralt Eisner. So, this is where the Blade Breaker rests."

"You know of him?"

"Yes," he replied, and to Byleth's surprise, he continued. "I have spent a large part of my life listening from the shadows, you are both quite well known among the people. However fanciful those stories are I cannot say. I have the impression that he was quite the feared mercenary."

"He was a good man," she replied firmly.

"Of that, I have no doubt."

"What of your parents?" She asked, interested to know more. He was quite the enigma and found herself curious to his past.

"I do not recall ever having them."

"Ah," she looked away with a grimace. "I'm… sorry to hear that."

"No need, My Lady. Perhaps it is a good thing. It is hard to miss something I never had."

She found it difficult to tell what was going through his head, but she found a certain humility in his words that set her more at ease.

"There is something I wished to do before meeting back with the others. Care to join me?" She asked.

He nodded and stood up, awaiting her lead.

Byleth got to her feet, dusting off the soil from her hands, "Alright, let's go. It's a certain room in the Cathedral I want to check out."

"I… can warp us there if you want."

"What happened to your concern over my waistline?"

He gave a wry smile, "Then we should not make a habit of it."


Samael winced internally. The headache that continually plagued him was ramping up, the pain had been so bad he hadn't eaten in two days. It buzzed and drummed against his skull more fervently than usual. The silence was preferable when the discomfort was this bad.

Lady Vestra seemed to understand his desire for quiet though... mostly. She was curious, but not over-prying – less inclined to filling the balm of silence with meaningless chatter. A contrast to his associates who would badger on and on until he had to leave them to their spewing drivel. But, strangely, he wanted to speak with her. She had an aura about her that drew him in kicking and screaming and he knew not how to deal with it.

She seemed to be lost in thought as they walked down the stone corridors. He did not enquire as to the reason behind this little venture, but he was curious nonetheless. She was quite an interesting person, the stories she had shared on their journey to the monastery said as much. He fidgeted, picking the dirt from under his fingernails. Surroundings like this required little concentration on his part, no nooks for anyone untoward to hide – just forwards, and behind.

He was quite surprised when he broke the comfortable silence of his own accord.

"You are a good person," he admitted. He meant well, but even so; the tone of his voice betrayed him. Lord Vestra had warned him not to squander his voice when it came to speaking with her. In truth, Sam was not supposed to be sharing any idle chatter whatsoever. But he found it difficult to treat her with the same stone-walled manner that he did with the others.

"I… thank you." Her response seemed genuine enough, if not a touch astonished.

He felt the need to elaborate. "You took an arrow meant for me, and I thank you. However, I must beg of you, do not do such a thing ever again. I am in your service, My Lady. It is not the other way around."

Her actions had rattled him somewhat, never had someone done such a thing on his behalf. He cared not to think of the punishment his lord would serve him once he found out about that mishap.

"Think nothing of it, and we will keep it between us, I promise you."

"I still do not understand why. I am a servant, and I've been rather discourteous."

"I don't see you as discourteous… perhaps a little misunderstood. It's clear that you mean well," she replied with that knowing smile.

He felt his chest tighten, not quite knowing how to express himself properly. "I have come to appreciate your company."

"You're rather cute."

"Perhaps I spoke too soon."

Her sly giggle at his response almost brought a grin to his face.

"It's right in here," she said, pushing open the large wooden door.

He looked to the dusty brass placard that read in bold letters: Prof. Hanneman. It was a name he had not heard before.

"What is it you're looking for?" He asked, eyes scanning the dishevelled room. Papers and books covered almost every surface.

Dark. Cold. Sharp. He felt another thud of pain wrack his mind; he hid the wince. He joined her as she approached the pedestal in the centre of the room, pushing away the parchment and scrolls upon its surface.

"This," she said as she fed magic into it, presumably to give it power. "It is a device used to detect crests."

"I see." He was under the impression that she had lost her crest, from what he had overheard from Lord Vestra. Then why was she here? He cared not to overthink it, instead deciding to watch her closely.

Shards of purple light glimmered when Lady Vestra placed her wrist over the pedestal. They flittered and fizzled as if trying to take form before failing. It was an intriguing device, similar to the one that – no, he did not wish to think upon it.

"Perhaps it is broken…" She sighed; her disappointment palpable. "I've done everything Hanneman instructed me to by the letter."

"Allow me to try," He replied. "I have a crest, so it should determine if the machine works." His Lord would likely hold disdain for his actions, but he suggested it purely out of his desire to assist her.

He saw her visibly wince when the crest took form.

"The crest of flames," she whispered. He watched as she hovered her fingers over the flickering symbol. He could not place her reaction, falling somewhere between horror and fascination.

"Indeed, though it is only a minor crest," he replied, pulling his hand back, allowing the apparition to fade.

"How… how is that possible?" Those eyes, stern and blue, watching him intently. She took a step closer and he stood his ground. This was the reaction he was used to, being an item of interest – of discontent. Being what he was, perhaps that was all he was worth… To think he let himself give in to the fleeting kindness she offered.

"I - I do not know," he replied firmly, defences back up.

He jumped a little as she clutched either side of his arms. "Who are you?"

The question made him pause for breath. He broke eye contact. "I do not know."

"What do you mean by that?"

He pulled free of her grip with a quick twist, taking a solid step back. "I will show you." He flipped his cloak to the side, pulling up the fabric of his sleeve. He did not look at his arm, only her reaction. He knew how it looked, scarred with wounds too perfect to be from battle. Surgical and precise. "I was an experiment. At least, that's what they called me before I was given a name."

She went to touch his arm, but he jolted. "The Agarthans? Did they do this to you?" she said with a frown, anger and distaste nipping at her words.

The bile rose in his throat at the mention of them. It seemed she was privy to their horrendous and inhumane practices.

"You are quite astute, My Lady. Yes."

Her eyes widened and her anger faded, her words came gentle and subdued. "By the goddess. The suffering you must have endured…"

He weakened at that sentiment, words failing him. Compassion was not something personally known, nor had he ever expected it.

He froze when her arms surrounded him.

For a moment he felt like a caged animal, every nerve in his body screaming to be free. But it passed as quickly as it had started. His fight diminished and he weakly hugged her in return.

"I'm alright, Lady Vestra," he said into her cloak as she held him close. He could not put the feeling into a coherent thought, he had not experienced it before. It was warm and soothing, something he had never realised he yearned for. It felt like shelter. Perhaps giving into such kindness was worth it, even if such a thing as delicate and fleeting. And for a brief moment, he felt no pain.

"We should leave," she said, breaking away. "Let's get something to eat and meet up with the others."