snowing ( be honest)
Snowing, keep going; be honest and smile as we're approaching, evoking, the clock to keep repeating over.
Byleth breathes in blood and smoke.
Around him, the fires flashing in the streets of the imperial capital are licking the black sky with their imposing flames, leaving trails of ash behind at their passage.
Piles of dead bodies ornate the ground, the blood of the fallen seeping through the now wet and slimy stones where the corpses of his former students lay, a horrible mixture of flesh and debris.
In it, Ashe; body cold and limp, pierced by an arrow in his heart. The pale white of bone is poking out of his shredded trousers, where an axe had hit true on his thigh-
-And Ingrid, still hot but unmoving, crushed under the full weight of her pegasus. If he closes his eyes, Byleth can still see the terrifying burst of Thoron that struck them while mid-air, halting their graceful dance amidst the dusky clouds.
He has used many Pulses already. He wishes this could be the last one he has to for the day.
(He knows it won't be)
It's time to go back, Sothis.
The sound of shattering glass fills his ears as the goddess responds to his silent plea.
This time, he is able to reach the doors of the Imperial Palace without any casualties.
When he opens them, a stream of soldiers rushes out, impaling Sylvain on a spear right before his eyes.
Sothis.
"You have five left, Byleth."
I know.
(He didn't. He's grateful for the reminder)
"You're welcome, idiot. You're terrible at lying, don't forget I can read your mind."
In truth, Byleth had stopped counting when Hubert first launched those Dark Spikes against Dimitri at the city gates, blood-coated thorns emerging from his King's mutilated body while a dying scream twisted his face like a grotesque statue of some martyr.
His third Divine Pulse for the day had been used there, and then many others, but not before Byleth had rushed to the Empress' personal vassal at an inhuman speed and flailed the dark mage with the Sword of the Creator until the only sounds he could hear were the wet ones of his intestines being r-
"And quit with these dark thoughts! Focus, Byleth, focus!"
I'm sorry, Sothis.
Glass shatters once again, and a Bolganone so hot and bright it resembles a falling star gets unleashed onto the heavy metal entrance from his hands, before any of his students can rush and try to force their way in.
When the air is boiling on his skin and all that remains of the Empire's last bastion is a molten mess of iron and gold, he enters the halls of the palace, a few steps ahead of everyone else.
On the way to the throne room, Felix loses an arm.
It's his right one.
Sharp cries of pain fill the room, and Byleth stills his breath for a moment before closing his eyes, until he can clearly envision a stone seat in front of him, surrounded by a green light.
You know, Sothis, he's never been that good with his left.
A sad smile Byleth doesn't remember ever making rests on his lips at the image of the snow-covered training grounds of Garreg Mach, filled only with his and Felix's soft, muffled steps and the loud clashing of metallic swords against each other.
The goddess grunts inside his mind, twitching in her seating.
Sothis, please.
"...Fine, fine, I understand. I would miss my arm too, if I were him."
Thank you, Sothis.
"Don't mention it."
For some reason, Byleth thinks he can hear her voice crack at her last words.
"Byleth… Be careful. It's four, now."
This time, even with the loud shattering noise that accompanies him on every one of his leaps back in time, the unearthly screams still follow.
It takes another pulse to reach the back of the room, where a portion of the ceiling collapses on Annette as a Wyvern makes its entrance from it.
"Three" he hears Sothis' voice from within, as blood pools at the corners of his lips.
He summons a Thunder from the sky above, striking down the wyvern before it can reach the building.
Byleth breathes a sigh of relief when he sees it precipitating onto the ground with a loud creaking noise outside the tall windows of the palace, right in the middle of its gardens.
Annette is safely at his side now, but everyone's gazes are focused on the monstrous creature occupying the center of the room.
Edelgard. Limbs corrupted and distorted, flesh the color of darkness and gore.
Has she always been like this?
Even if she's a full-fledged nightmare now, somehow it makes no difference to Byleth.
Her normal appearance wouldn't have made her any more human than this to his eyes.
Has there ever been a time where she was?
Byleth doesn't remember.
Perhaps, in those days long gone, between flower gazebos and tea parties…
As if hearing his thoughts, the beast roars and charges.
Dedue gets swept up in its clawed fury, along with one of Mercedes' legs.
"….Two."
Sothis, please-
"Two, I said!"
A puddle of blood and vomit at his feet, Byleth is back again, and lunges for the Empress' head before she can raise her claws at his students.
In his quiet fury, he fails to notice Flayn following behind him, and her kind, porcelain face gets smashed and twisted in the grasp of Edelgard's abhorrent talons.
"…."
Sothis.
The goddess doesn't answer.
Sothis, please do not cry.
"How can I not cry, you idiot? You're dying, don't you know?!"
…Yes.
She brings him back anyway.
This time, she doesn't say anything, so he counts for both of them.
One.
"Idiot, I didn't need to hear that!"
Byleth only realizes he must have stopped breathing sometime in the middle of his charge against the Empress when her putrid skin finally dissolves into the filtering dawn and his lungs fill with air again, burning his insides like wildfire.
Even if that hideous husk of a beast is gone, he knows the monster still remains.
He carefully approaches what's left of the Adrestian Empire, of their ideologies and beliefs that condemned thousands of innocents.
Images that he won't ever be able to completely sink in the depths of his mind resurface once more.
"To think that the first time I saw you cry... your tears would be for me. It's sad, and yet...I'm happy about it. Thank you...kid."
He grits his teeth, and takes one step towards the throne.
"You seem to have all the answers… So tell me, Professor. Please, tell me… How do I silence their desperate pleas? How do I… How do I save them?"
Another one. His throat fills with bile.
"Is this some kind of twisted joke?!"
Somehow, when he reaches her kneeled figure, collapsed under the sunlight slowly seeping in from the ravaged city outside, Byleth only sees a girl.
Alone, defeated.
For a moment, he wonders what would have happened if he had chosen her at the beginning.
If they had walked her path together.
He barely restrains the urge to throw up again at the thought.
Then, he sees Dimitri running towards him, his armored steps resonating hollowly against the marble surface of the room, eyes glinting with something that Byleth can't quite place.
Is it fear?
"Professor! Are you alright?!"
In hearing his words, he smiles softly at him, and his King comes rushing at his side, arms outstretched towards a body that Byleth doesn't feel like it's his own anymore. He surrenders himself into his warm embrace, relishing the familiar touch.
Peace.
Is this what it feels like?
It's been so long, Sothis.
"…Yes, it is."
You're still crying, Sothis. Why do you cry?
The goddess doesn't answer, and Byleth looks at Dimitri's face as they both pull back and advance towards the former Empress.
Judging by the expression on his face, Dima must have seen the same broken girl as him, because he stands above her and offers her his hand.
The leader of the Blue Lions, who had stepped on the Flame Emperor's mask as a burst of inhuman laughter escaped his lips, eager to kill and prey.
An abandoned prince sitting in the shadows of a crumbled tower, who had once been so lost in the abysses of madness and revenge he had mistaken Byleth for a ghost of his past, there to haunt him as well.
A wild, rampaging boar, who had craved nothing more than Edelgard's head on a silver plate for the past five years, reduced to a mere corpse of the just and righteous king Byleth had always seen within him.
The same King who now stands before them, basking in the sunlight, his hand extended towards someone who is simply his stepsister.
In his eyes, peace. Forgiveness.
If Byleth had a normal heart, he's sure it would beat, right now.
"El…"
Dimitri's words are cut off by a dagger thrown at his chest.
There, a crimson flower blooms, arterial petals flourishing in the cracks of his armor.
This time, it is Byleth who screams, before a rush of nausea and a distinctive noise he knows better than the sound of his own voice fill his world once again.
He closes his eyes, and jumps.
For one last time.
I'm so tired, Sothis.
She doesn't answer.
Since Sothis does not count, he doesn't either.
(It's not as if he can forget the number, now)
When he opens them again, the dagger is in his own chest, puncturing his lungs.
An inhuman shriek reverberates through the room, but Byleth pays no attention to it.
Instead, he just smiles.
He did it.
Now, he can go to sleep.
His eyelids feel so heavy, his heart feels like it's melting in the inferno blazing through his veins. But before-
Sothis, are you still crying? I hear you crying.
Sothis, answer-
It is not Sothis crying.
It's Dimitri, kneeled at his side, his blonde strands of hair tickling his neck as he desperately crouches on his body, where he feels the familiar sensation of his arms encircling him.
Tears are streaming from his eyes, falling down, down until they kiss Byleth's face, where he can taste them on his lips.
He looks so sad.
He's holding him with desperate urgency, hands running across his chest, trying to press the wound, while he turns around and his mouth opens to issue some orders Byleth can't comprehend.
He watches his King with marvel, and raises one hand at his face, tucking the loose golden strands behind his ear.
"You're beautiful," he breathes out.
For some reason, when Dimitri looks at him again, he is even sadder now.
"Pr-Byleth…please…n-no…"
"I wanted to visit Fhirdiad… with you, Dima. Without… the war.
"We'll- we'll go there, Byleth. Please…"
He feels people gathering around him, and immediately thinks about his students.
"I wanted… a future, with you" Byleth blurts out, still looking at Dimitri, weakly clutching their hands together.
He tries to open his eyes a bit more, see the other faces of the people he loves, but his gaze remains clouded, unfocused.
"I wanted…to do… so many things, with all… of you"
Something sticky and hot starts dripping from his mouth at his last sentence.
Then, his eyelids close on their own, eager to find respite.
Suddenly, Byleth can't feel anything anymore.
He never realized the full weight of his sensations, of all the emotions flowing through him -pain, regret, love, desire, anger- until he is suddenly stripped of every single one of them, devoid of his body.
It feels like falling.
A voice interrupts his blank descent into oblivion.
"A future. Really? Is that what you want?"
Sothis!
"Happy to hear me, aren't you? How strange… you shouldn't be able to feel anything, in here"
Byleth frowns in confusion. I always thought I couldn't feel much in the first place, he says.
"No, no, that's not what I mean, but- I have to disagree with you on that, Byleth"
Her tone is one of scolding, yet the warmth in her voice betrays a certain fondness.
He searches for an answer within him. After a pensive pause, he speaks up.
Actually, you are right. I believe I can quite feel, Sothis.
"Of course you can, dummy! Remember who created you!"
Byleth can almost hear her little feet stomping on the ground of the Holy Tomb in childish protest. He knows the goddess is old, but sometimes her behavior reminds him of a-
"And I'm not a child, even if I do look like one, thank you very much!"
A soft, muffled chuckle escapes his lips, even in the absence of his corporeal features. Byleth is not sure if Sothis hears it, in this blank space where he came to rest.
(She does, and smiles at him)
"Well, well, well, what a pleasant surprise… it truly seems you have retained some degree of emotion. You never cease to amaze me, Byleth. "
He's not sure whether to take that as an insult or a compliment, so he just nods politely.
Yes, Sothis.
"Aww, come on! Back to the dead fish face again? To think you're still so formal sometimes, after all the things we've shared... listen, Byleth, I have an idea. But I need you to be completely sincere with me for this, okay?"
She doesn't wait for him to reply, and presses on.
"Do you have any regrets, Byleth?"
Many images pass before his eyes.
A white-haired girl, lilac eyes wide with terror as the tip of his blade dips into her ribs, her blood dampening the green grass of the monastery gardens while the other students scream and flee on his first day on the job.
Him oversleeping on that fateful day, departing with his father and their mercenaries somewhere far, far away, leaving those three kids to an unknown destiny at the hands of some bandits.
An old librarian, struck at night inside the library with an axe to his head. An entire village that would have otherwise known the suffering of some sick and terrible experimentation, saved in that instant.
Him barging alone inside the Death Knight's quarters, strangling the girl who went missing for a year before anyone can see him throwing her body into a sunless pit no one would ever discover-
Sothis, no. Discard all these. There are far more important things.
The goddess lets out a surprised whistle, but does not interrupt him.
He focuses once more.
Him being kinder. Him smiling a bit more at his students, praising them louder after every successful result, understanding them better after each failed attempt.
Him telling them to keep moving on, to keep becoming stronger.
Him helping out Dedue in the greenhouse every day, introducing him to other students, making sure he wouldn't ever be discriminated against again. Maybe ask him and Claude to come fishing at the pond, all together.
Him comforting Ashe when his father got executed before his eyes, staying up after midnight reading knightly stories together until he was sure the boy was sound asleep. Him trying to stop the whole mission against Lonato, making Catherine reconsider, too.
Him helping Ingrid reply to the letters sent by her father, proving her she had all the strength she needed (and so much more) to carve out her own path as a knight, while bringing Annette and Gilbert together over a few nice hot meals at the monastery's dining hall.
Him baking more sweets with Mercedes, inviting her and her long-lost brother for tea, sampling the treats they made in merriment and harmony.
Him making Sylvain see that a crest didn't define his worth, but his actions did. Finding a way for the red-haired boy to cope with his feelings for his swordsman childhood friend while at it too, and possibly in a less destructive way than seeing him chasing around every cute girl in the halls, hoping to find a speck of genuine love like that.
Him helping Felix escape the shadows of Glenn, making him see what an exceptional individual he was on his own. Saving Lord Rodrigue too, because he knew that behind those harsh words and scornful looks, the boy truly loved his father.
Him kissing Dimitri as soon as he lays his eyes upon him-
Discard this too, Sothis.
"Why? You were doing so well, Byleth!" she whines.
Because I would look like a maniac, in doing so.
"Then just change this last part, you big, dumb-headed foolish fool-"
Okay, he interjects before she can add more insults to her roster.
Him inviting Dimitri to train together-
"Booooooooo," Sothis laments. "So boring, Byleth!"
Let me finish, Sothis.
Him inviting Dimitri to train together, bringing gifts over to his quarters and preparing hot-brewed Chamomile for the prince. Them dancing at the ball, bodies pressed gracefully against each other, then meeting at the goddess tower right before daybreak to wish upon a radiant future together.
Him noticing his pain earlier, the shadows looming over his figure a bit sooner. Him preventing the ghosts residing within his azure eyes to come undone at the sight of a fallen mask.
Him being there for him when the rest of the world wasn't.
And finally -finally- them kissing atop the Star Terrace, years after a war that would never be fought, as the newly appointed King and Archbishop.
(Actually, only seeing Dimitri crowned King would be fine for him. Byleth did not wish for, nor needed any kind of title to attain happiness)
"Why?" interjects Sothis, "I think you'd make a much better Archbishop than Seiros. Ugh, that rebellious, stubborn girl! I wonder whom she has taken after!"
I know exactly whom, Byleth chuckles lightly. At least, he would, if he still had a throat and a pair of lips.
Somehow, he's sure Sothis must be blushing, right now.
"I'm totally not blushing! And well? I know you still have some things you want to say! Don't try to trick me and spill them out!"
He thinks back at his life, again. He doesn't take too long to come up with the answers the goddess craves.
Him going out to drink with his father and the mercenaries. Jeralt and him, fishing together as always, but many, many times more. Him smiling around his father at every merry occasion, laughing at his silly jokes, gulping down booze together in front of a campfire. Him singing songs on the road with them, louder than he ever did.
Saying out loud that he loved his family, as strange as it was.
Him greeting Sothis every morning, always telling her how beautiful she looked. Him accompanying her to that canyon she had wanted to see, accompanying her everywhere she wanted to.
"Oh, Byleth", Sothis sniffs. "You're such an idiot. You're making me cry. Again."
Byleth frowns. He doesn't like the thought of Sothis crying.
"These are happy tears, moron! Resume your tasks, now. After your regrets, what are your wishes?"
My tasks?
"I have an idea" she replies enigmatically, ignoring his last question. Byleth knows that if Sothis had wanted to share any more than this, she would have done so already, so he doesn't press her.
"Thanks for the thoughtful gesture. Now, would you kindly resume? What do you want, Byleth?"
What do I want?
He's still in the void, so he can't really choose anything useful to bring in there.
He believes he hears Sothis slapping something between her hands, and freezes for a moment.
"Go on. That was my head, by the way. It's called a facepalm, because you hit your forehead with- ah, you're making me lose so much time! Just say it!"
I want…
A vivid picture paints itself before his eyes.
It's an image of him and Dima, slightly older, watching the snowy scenery of the royal castle in Fhirdiad.
In the gardens, Felix and Sylvain are chasing each other through the floral labyrinth, laughing in their chase, while on the other side Ingrid and Annette throw some magic-infused snowballs at two very distressed-looking Dedue and Gilbert.
Lord Rodrigue stands by and watches, until he gets treacherously hit by a particularly big one thrown by Gilbert-Gustave, and decides to join the fight.
Mercedes and Ashe are sitting under a gazebo a few feet farther, surrounded by fountains of ice that look like crafted glass. With them, a man with eyes the same striking hue of amethyst as the Blue Lion's healer slowly sips tea, taking small bites out of a selection of pastries while they chat amicably.
Sometimes, Ashe glances away from his book of heroic tales in order to look at Ingrid, clad in a very-sturdy looking knight's armor and sporting a hint of pale-blue eyeshadow on her eyes. She looks stunning.
Byleth can't help but notice that whenever Ashe looks in her direction, his cheeks redden a bit more.
When Sylvain suddenly falls face down in the snow after a sudden turn in the maze, Felix catches him in his arms and spins him around before kissing him passionately.
Jeralt and his mercenaries, only just arrived on the scene, start cheering like crazy before intoning sappy and vulgar love songs that everyone dances to. Surprisingly, Lord Rodrigue knows the song as well, and sings it louder than anyone else.
For some reason, his cheering is also the loudest among the Lions.
Up in the terrace, looking at this scene from above, are him and Dima.
The latter's hair is loosely tied back in a short ponytail, strands of gold flowing in the brisk wind, revealing the beautiful features underneath their blond halo.
On his fingers, Byleth notices the ring that once belonged to his own mother, shining under the pale winter light.
When his beloved turns to face him, his eyes are both still intact. They look at him like he's the most precious thing in the world, and he can only hope to return the intensity of their gaze.
Then Dima gently cups his face with his hands and brings their lips together, and Byleth knows he has finally found his answer.
Suddenly, all around them, it starts snowing.
"Is this what you want, Byleth? I swear, stop cutting fucking onions all around me and decide, for the goddess' sake! Which would be mine, just in case you forgot."
I would never forget anything about you, Sothis. I promise, he says earnestly.
"….Don't make promises you can't keep, you absolute fool!"
Her voice is softer when she speaks again.
"But I'm glad, Byleth, that you feel that way. Somehow, I feel so very warm now. Are you absolutely sure you want it to be snowing there?"
He thinks about it. Snowing.
"Be honest, Byleth."
Yes, snowing.
"Okay. Close your eyes, now. Well, pretend you have eyes, and that you can close them. Are you ready, Byleth?"
I am.
Ethereal eyelids shutting on void and whiteness, he obeys the goddess' orders.
When Byleth wakes up, it is indeed snowing.