Happy Halloween. Let's get spoopy.
Late Pegasus Moon meant that there was still a chill in the air, and a bug spreading around the neighboring towns had even Garreg Mach's infirmary busy with the sick. Marshmallow root was running low for those with especially strong coughs, so Nadine volunteered to run down to the greenhouse to harvest more.
As she headed to the ground floor, she realized that this would be her first time at the greenhouse as archbishop. These past few months had kept her too busy for any leisure time. Even sleep had been scarce. To be honest, Nadine was feeling at the end of her fuse, but rest could not be afforded when the country was still bleeding from the aftermath of the war and needed faith to mend.
At least the sight of the flowers and scent of their sweet, floral notes would put a little ease in her mind.
Indeed, the sight of blossoms of varying hues immediately soothed her worries as Nadine stepped into the greenhouse. The bright, shiny skins of vegetables gleamed in the light, tucked between dark green leaves. Nadine took a deep breath, her eyes skimming over the different flora growing here. Then, remembering her objective, she adjusted bag strap that ran across her shoulder and set to work locating the marshmallow plants. When she found them, Nadine used a garden spade to begin diligently digging up the plants and their roots whole. She only took a handful—telling herself that she would come back for more if needed.
After uprooting the last marshmallow plant and shaking off the excess dirt, Nadine tucked it into her bag and stood. As she made to exit the greenhouse, a potted plant sitting lonely in the corner caught her eye. She paused, turning towards it. For some reason, it looked familiar…
Then she realized. Of course—she hadn't recognized it at first without its small white blossoms. Nadine crouched, gently cupping one of its sprigs. She moved her hand, letting the bough slide against her palm. Why was it just emerald that decorated its skinny branches? Where were the small buds of white?
Nadine wondered if perhaps it needed water. Her hand slipped down to the dirt to feel how dry it was. Fingers moved gingerly over the shredded mulch, drawing closer to the thin, woody stem—
Where it touched something. A small, folded piece of paper. A bit of string looped it to the plant's stem. Nadine gently tugged it loose. She held it out in front of her and unfolded it.
They will only bloom under the light of the moon.
It was clear who had written these words here. And how deeply they made her ache. Nadine thought to when she had seen him last. It had been on the day of her enthronement. He must've left the Moondrop here at that time. She remembered what he had said to her.
Goodbye, Archbishop.
She should've told him. She should've. But every time, doubt had stilled her words and choking them to death before she had a chance to voice them. That little whisper of doubt—the damned thing—always taunted her with the same question.
Do you really think he'd choose you over the king?
She had always been too afraid of the answer, and so she had never allowed herself to find out. They were right where they were meant to be. Fódlan needed her, demanding that she put those needs above her own. And even as tired as she was, she would abide.
"Ha!" Nadine scoffed aloud. The greenhouse keeper shot her a confused look, though the archbishop hardly noticed. "Enough moping, Nadine. How old are you again? Far too old to tolerate this drama—that's for sure." To the Moondrop plant, she said, "Come on then, let's get you outside. You'll catch your death of warmth if you stay in here." She gripped the edges of the pot and heaved it up with a strained grunt. Step by step, she carried it out of the greenhouse and placed it just outside the entrance. "There you are. It's supposed to be a cloudless night—you'll finally be reunited with the moon."
Look at me, talking to a plant like an actual twat. I better get these marshmallow roots back up to the infirmary before I start talking to the fish in the pond as well.
Nadine returned to the stairs and headed up to the second floor. As she neared the infirmary, she pulled the bag strap over her head. Suddenly, she caught a glimpse of someone leaving the infirmary. As the person passed Nadine, she did a double take and abruptly stopped in her tracks.
"Oh—Archbishop!" The cloth wrapping was pulled down from her lower face.
"Manuela!" Nadine greeted, stopping as well. "My apologies! I didn't recognize you there."
"Oh come now, your excuses are going to have to be constructed better than that," the woman replied with a cheeky wink. "Look at that adorable little blush! I'm only joking—just because you're archbishop now, doesn't mean I can't have a little fun with you." Suddenly, the playfulness dropped from Manuela's face. "Oh my… honey. I know that look."
"Look?" Nadine repeated uneasily.
"Something's wrong. And it has to do with a man, doesn't it? Yeah, I know that look all too well."
"Oh—no!" Nadine deflected quickly. Had it really been that obvious? "Manuela, you misread—!"
"Who is it, huh? Who'd dare hurt my precious archbishop? Just say the word, and I'll break him in half."
"It's not a man, Manuela, honestly. I've just been overworking myself."
Luckily, that explanation convinced the woman—most likely because the bags under Nadine's eyes attested to her words. "So it is a man," she said.
"No—."
"And that man's name is Seteth. I swear, that one doesn't know when to give it a rest—literally. No offense, Archbishop, but you look absolutely bone-ragged. Just how much sleep have you been getting?"
Nadine gave a dismissive shrug. "I haven't given it much thought," she admitted. "Maybe… five hours a night?"
"That's… well, I don't think you need me to tell you this, but that's not very healthy."
"I know, but even when I'm not being kept up by my duties, I find it hard to sleep." The truth was that what kept her up at night was the monster that had taken the shape of her worst fear—that despite being surrounded by so many people all the time, Nadine already felt alone. And that loneliness had worsened when she and Seteth began making plans to revive the Officers Academy.
And on the nights she felt restlessness cruelly steal away her sleep, Nadine would find her feet taking her out of the bedroom and towards the Goddess Tower. It was there that she would look up and see the night sky through the broken roof.
They always seemed so far away, those stars—as if they moved just a little further away every time she looked. But night after night, still she would look because watching them drift away was better than never seeing them again.
Something was wrong. Loud shouts came from the direction of the main road. Angry voices hammered the air, the words just too indistinct for Dedue to make out from where he was. But as he drew near, they began to take form. Men were arguing—there were two parties, from the sounds of it.
"—And now they've brought the king's fucking men on us—just 'cause they can't keep their murdering hands to themselves!"
"You watch your mouth!"
"Or what? You'll bite me too, dog?"
"Enough!" a voice boomed. Dedue recognized the captain. "Might I remind you that we are all men here and should conduct ourselves as such?"
"The only men I see here are standing on this side," a voice sneered. "Don't compare us to that pack over there."
"I swear I'll—."
"Stop! Brother, don't do something you're going to regret."
Dedue and the rest of the knights reached the main road—that dividing line. It acted as a wall between the two groups that stood on either side of it. On this side were a pair of Duscur men—boys, really. Adolescents that Dedue recognized were too fired up for their own good.
On the other side were three men—one of them already had a thick, wooden baton in his hands. The air was thick and nearly unbreathable, like the ashy air when one lingered too close to an open fire. As he came up behind the boys, Dedue dismounted.
"You hear that, dog? Keep your leash on." More fuel to the fire.
One of the Duscur boys, the one with his hands already dangerously clenched into fists, suddenly lunged forward before his brother could react. But another hand quickly shot out and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him to an abrupt halt. The boy whirled around to confront whoever would dare stop him, and found himself staring into a set of hardened eyes amidst a scarred face.
"You should listen to your brother," Dedue warned softly, "and stay where you are."
"Stay where I am?" the boy repeated furiously, "while they spit their lies into our faces and accuse us of crimes just because we look different from them?" He threw a scowl back over at the other men. "Well thank fuck I don't look like them! I could bash my face with a shovel a thousand times and still come out the other end looking better than that! Was it an accident, or did your mother fuck a pig?"
The man with the baton stepped forward. "You want to say that again?" It looked as though he meant to finally cross over the road when the captain moved his horse out to cut off his path.
"Remember that you are here to provide us with your accounts of the murder, not to put on this circus. I give you all your final warnings, or I will have each of you placed under house arrest!"
From where he stood, Dedue turned back to the boys. "Listen to the captain," he said. "Inciting violence will only make things worse."
"I thought you were here to help," the boy snarled back. "But being the king's lackey makes you think you're better than us, huh? Does his Majesty's lap keep you nice and warm?"
"Oh, shut it!" a familiar voice suddenly snapped. The three looked to where it had come from. She was shuffling down towards them, this time aided by a wobbly little cane.
"Madame Vega?" the boys said incredulously.
"You certainly don't look like children, although the annoying prattling that reaches my unfortunate ears tells me otherwise." Each thump of Madame Vega's cane brought her closer, until she finally reached them and continued right past. She stepped onto the main road, only stopping when she was directly in the middle.
"And this one," she said, giving a curt wave of her cane. "This man on his horse here—this is the captain?" No one answered her at first, having been rendered quite speechless at this old woman's sudden and powerful entrance.
Madame Vega harrumphed and looked back at Dedue. "Well?"
Instead of answering her question, Dedue asked, "What are you doing here? You needn't have come—I was going to give your account to the captain."
"And I've since learned that it's a mistake to trust men with important tasks—they'll get too busy starting fights on behalf of their front-facing tails to get any work done. You're going to learn what happened to that dead woman without any of this nonsense, even if it means dragging this poor old girl out of the comforts of her lodging."
"Who let this crazy bitch out?" one of the Faerghus men sneered. Madame Vega suddenly shot him a look that could've pierced clean through a fortress knight's armor.
"Instead of wasting your breath here, I would be more concerned about what your wife and your neighbor are doing in your absence—lest you want your second child to be like your first."
Up until now, Dedue had never seen someone weaponize her words so… poignantly. Madame Vega's voice never rose above a stern scolding, and yet Dedue could've sworn he saw the man physically shrink.
"Oh, I see many a thing that go on in this village," Madame Vega continued, her voice softening just a little. "When I sit out on my porch for a smoke, or when I take my dear little goat up to the pastures to graze—no one notices a little old woman. No one noticed her on the day that Faerghus woman was killed, either. And before any of you accuse me of lying or trying to cover things up, let me say this first: the killers were not from this part of town…" She pointed the head of her cane towards Dedue and the boys—towards the village behind them. "… Nor did they come from that one." Her cane moved, pointing towards the opposite side.
"So what are you implying?" the captain asked.
"They weren't from here," Madame Vega said. "And after they offed that woman, they didn't stay. Which makes me think…" This time, the old woman's eyes met directly with Dedue's. "… that you shouldn't either."
What on earth could she have meant by that, Dedue wondered. But before he could piece a single guess together, distant hoof beats thundered. A messenger rode into the village. From the looks of him, he had come from Fhirdiad. And from the looks of his horse, they had not stopped even once.
"Captain!" the messenger cried when he reached them, pulling his panting, sweating steed to a halt. "You are to return to his Majesty at once!"
"What's going on?" the captain demanded. The pale look on the runner's face read like a bad omen.
"The capital is under attack!"
Dedue felt himself grow cold, as though he had suddenly been plunged into icy water. "Dimitri."
Reports of the skirmishes that had broken out on Fhirdiad's streets reached the king's ears, although they were coupled by assurances that the remaining knights would keep the rebels away from the palace.
Likely incited by those who still sympathize with the former Empire, Dimitri thought as he stepped out onto one of the palace's balconies. In the distance, he saw black smoke rising out from among the buildings. Trying to overthrow my rule while I am still a fledgling king. Even so, what they are trying to do is futile. Surely they must know this? Then are they so willing to turn their steel against me that they would throw their lives away to foolish deaths?
No, perhaps they have an ulterior motive. They lack the manpower to dent my forces, but perhaps they are attempting to villainize me—paint me a ruthless king who drowns his streets in red. If that is the case, I will not fall to their ruse.
Dimitri turned. "Lieutenant!"
The knight came forward. "Yes, your Majesty?"
"I want all of my men out there to be reminded that they are only to suppress the insurgents. Casualties are to be avoided as much as possible—do I make myself clear?"
"Very clear, your Majesty." The lieutenant left.
With a sigh, Dimitri looked back out towards the smoke. He heard the distant rumble of another explosion. Within a few hours, the noises would subside. His knights would put down the rebels and captured a few to take back to the palace. Then, he would have to deal with the aftermath and whatever consequences came with it.
Professor, you were always better at that—the grittier side of leadership. No matter how tough it got, you always seemed to make problems appear so… manageable. Not I. Being able to see the lighter side in such grave situations… I am still quite new to it.
The cold wind ruffled the fur around his shoulders. It was best to head back inside and wait for the reports.
But just as Dimitri turned, he heard another explosion—this one was much, much louder. Then, something horrifying reached his ears. It was a roar, loud and guttural. It shook the very air, and Dimitri felt it even from where he stood. He whirled around, looking back out towards the city. His remaining eye was wide as he watched a tower shudder, and then collapse into a cloud of dust.
"What… what on earth?" he uttered under his breath, gripping the railing with tight hands. Amidst the buildings and dust, he thought he saw a large shape stir.
This was no time to stand idly by! Dimitri hurried back into the palace. Urgency lent swiftness to his feet as they carried him to the main entrance, where a messenger was just stumbling in. "Y-your Majesty!" he gasped.
"What's happening? Speak!"
"It—it came out of nowhere!" the boy stammered breathlessly. "The men were not prepared! It's some kind of large beast—gray, s-scales like armor—!"
"A Demonic Beast?" Dimitri cried. "Here? That's not… it's not…!" There had been no sightings since the day the Kingdom had marched into Enbarr. Those horrible, twisted creatures made to defend the Adrestian capital had been born from humans corrupted by stolen Crest Stones. Those poor, lost souls turned into weapons by Ed—.
He quickly stopped himself. Dimitri had told himself that one day he would find the courage to say her name again.
"If nothing is done, my men will be slaughtered out on those streets," Dimitri said, his voice heavy. "Listen to me carefully—I want you to go down to the armory and tell them to have my armor ready to be donned by the time I get there."
"Your Majesty—!"
"Do as I say!" he suddenly snapped, a darkness clinging to his voice. The messenger jumped, and then scurried away to carry out the king's order. Dimitri then found another servant to give the remaining knights his command to wait for him by the main gate.
With the word sent out, Dimitri hurried the armory. There, he was fitted into steel plating—that which had been designed carefully for the king. Thin chainmail protected the parts of him exposed to the air. It glimmered in the light like pure silver. Riveted plates, thick enough to absorb even the heaviest of axe blows, were reserved only for the vital parts of the body so as to allow the wearer to move with ease. A thin layer of gold had been painted over the steel, purely for aesthetics, and bore the insignia of blue, roaring lions.
Dimitri extended an arm. Brought to his waiting hand was Areadbhar—the sacred lance that had long been passed down through his house. He found himself staring at the Hero's Relic, his eyes pinned to the grotesque, bone-like lance head.
This was the weapon that took the emperor's life. I can still feel the way it cut through her—.
"Your Majesty!" A knight appeared at the doorway. "The monster is approaching the palace—fast! I fear the messengers we have sent out will not retrieve the others in time!"
"Then we go out and meet it head on!" Dimitri stated fiercely. He lowered Areadbhar to his side and marched out of the armory. "Are the men ready?"
"They are."
When Dimitri arrived at the main gate, he quickly surveyed the knights there. I do not know if this will be enough, he thought desperately. I have to trust that it is, at least until the rest of the men are able to pull back to the palace. However, the fighting out on the streets was likely stalling them.
These couldn't have been mere rebels if they had a Demonic Beast waiting in the wings. Dimitri wondered what kind of enemy they were up against.
A terrible, reverberating scream split the air. The thundering beats of something large and heavy pounded the earth, sending massive quakes that traveled through the stone underneath their feet.
And then Dimitri saw it come into view around a building. His heart dropped at the sight of it. This was no ordinary Demonic Beast. Hideous were the creatures he had faced during the war, but this one made them all pale in comparison. Jagged, mutilated scales rippled across its body like shredded, cracked leather. Small, beady eyes were set in a horribly elongated face that ended in a toothy maw—but this creature's mouth split open into four jaws instead of two.
Each of its four legs ended with taloned feet, curled and sharp like a bird of prey's. Dimitri caught sight of a pair of shriveled, limp human arms growing out of the Beast's chest—the last remnant of the person that had been mangled into this horrible mockery of life. Some dark, twisted magic unlike anything Dimitri had never seen had spawned this one.
"Ready yourselves, men!" Dimitri called out, gripping Areadbhar tight. "For the Kingdom!"
"For Fhirdiad!" they shouted in response.
It only took a few seconds for the Demonic Beast to reach them. With a scream, it raised one of its front legs and smashed it down. The knights had already scattered out of the way, and the Beast's strike only shattered stone.
"Break through its scales!" Dimitri hollered over the clamor to his men. "And once you've created a window, hit it with everything you've got!"
Pointed, sharpened metal bit and gnawed at the Beast's steely pelt. Arrows soared, attempting to dig into the cracks between the scales. Summoned bolts of lightning and pillars of fire tried to wear away at the hardened hide.
It was no avail. The Beast showed no signs of pain—only anger. And as the battle wore on, every now and then a knight would slip up. Or he would grow too tired to get out of the way in time. Men found their ends crushed under the Beast's stamping feet or swept up in its grotesque jaws.
Each of their deaths cut Dimitri like a wound. They were all dying for him—because of him. He knew they had all sworn their lives for the king, but he couldn't allow it to be like this. Not any longer.
A conjured ball of fire slammed against the Beast's neck. It made the monster flinch—nothing more. Flames climbed around the Beast's intact scales before quickly evaporating into the air. Dimitri saw it turn its head towards the mage that had struck it. He watched those disgusting jaws curl open.
No. Not any longer.
He dropped Areadbhar. His hands found a heavy chunk of stone and lifted it. The muscles in his arms and shoulders bunched, and he heaved it with a booming bellow. The boulder found its target, smashing into rubble against the Beast's head. It quickly turned to look at Dimitri and snarled. Quickly, the king snatched Areadbhar back up.
It lunged, jaws open. Dimitri swiftly sprang out of the way of its fanged maw. Areadbhar moved like a blur, stabbing into the Beast's cheek—
Where, to the king's horror, it remained stuck. Dimitri gave it a single desperate pull. He heard the Beast growl. Quickly, he released the lance and threw a fist towards the monster's eye. But it swerved its head away, taking Areadbhar with it.
A taloned foot stomped down, shattering the ground beneath Dimitri's feet. He felt his balance topple as the stone under him shifted. He fell over onto the jagged rocks. Above him, the Beast opened its jaws so wide that Dimitri could see the pale tip of Areadbhar jutting through the inside of its cheek.
In that moment, he thought it so bitter that his reign would end like this. There was so much he still needed to do.
The Beast brought its gaping maw down. Dimitri let out the breath he had been holding onto.
Suddenly, something flying through the air caught the light. The sun glinted off of it for just a split second, nearly blinding the king, before it struck the Beast's head with a resonating clang. The monster gave an aggravated snarl as its head was knocked to the side by the object. Dimitri heard it land heavily next to him. He looked. It was an axe.
A horse's shrill whinny cut through the air. Dimitri turned his head. He saw a large figure jumping down from his steed. It was… was…
"Dedue?"
With his axe gone, the king's retainer was pulling the broad scutum shield over his forearm. "On your feet, your Majesty!"
Dimitri quickly pushed himself up, feeling his strength revived anew with Dedue's arrival. Towering over them, the Beast shook itself back to its senses. It swiped at Dimitri, who rolled across the ground to avoid the blow.
"Where is your weapon?" Dedue asked, bewildered at the sight of Dimitri's bare hands.
"Stuck in its face!" Dimitri shouted back. Dedue looked up at the Beast's head. It was fortunate that he did—for the monster was preparing to bite down. Dimitri felt himself being shoved aside. Quickly, Dedue lifted the scutum just as the Beast came down. Its jaws were stuck around the shield that had been angled to keep it from closing its mouth.
From where he was, Dimitri saw the tense pain on Dedue's face as he held against the Beast's jaws. His body trembled against the strain. A crack shot through the metal plating of his pauldron. Then, Dimitri saw Dedue lift his other arm. Strained fingers stretched towards Areadbhar's handle. The shield suddenly slipped an inch, bringing the jaws closer.
"Dedue—!"
"Stay back, your Majesty!" He fumbled for it again, this time his fingers successfully closing around the lance. With a sharp yank, he tore it from the Beast's cheek. But when he freed Areadbhar, Dedue was no longer able to keep the shield in place. It slipped completely. The jaws closed down, and he disappeared between them.
"Dedue, NO!"
Dimitri sprang forward. Areadbhar found its way into his hands. He flew up, finding strength in his anguish. The lance cut between the Beast's jaws. Dimitri thrust it up, feeling the Relic stab through the roof of the monster's mouth and into the soft flesh beyond.
Those deformed jaws flew open to let out an agonized scream. Dimitri tore Areadbhar out and stabbed again. He would've kept going until the Beast's brain had been rendered to pulp had it not pulled back. It stumbled, blood flowing freely in torrents from its mouth. It threw its head up towards the heavens, letting out one more tortured shriek, before collapsing into a twitching heap.
Dimitri's breathing came in shuddering gasps of air. He quickly turned to the man on the ground beside him. "No… no, no, no!"
Dedue's armor was cracked beyond repair. From between the split metal, red blood seeped—an offensive sight that taunted Dimitri.
He had lost so many good men today, but Goddess please, not him too. Dimitri dropped onto all fours. His eyes flew up, scanning around for somebody—anybody—nearby. "Get a healer!" he shouted into the air. "I need one now! Anybody who can cast white magic—please!"
Beneath him, Dedue coughed. More blood spurted out from the broken armor. "Your… your Majesty… are you… alright?"
"You fool! You damned fool!" Dimitri snapped, grabbing Dedue's hand. "I'll never forgive you if I have to watch you die!" He looked up at an approaching priest. The healer gave the king a reassuring nod and knelt down next to them. Letting out a shaky breath, Dimitri again lowered his eyes. "I will not let you live for me, and I'll certainly not let you die for me. Do you hear me?"
But Dedue, weakened by his wounds, was unable to answer.
"Bring him inside—quickly!"
From atop one of Fhirdiad's watchtowers, a lone figure stood leaning against the parapet with both hands. A disdainful grimace stained his face as he watched the Beast in the distance die with a pitiful scream. And with it died the revolution—this little farce that had been incited to cause a little chaos within the capital. He had hoped that the chaos would've been enough to consume the king, although hope and disappointment were oft two sides of the same coin.
No matter. The rebels would keep fighting until the last of them was killed or captured. The knights could interrogate all they wanted to find the true mastermind. Even if the prisoners told them the truth, it would still do nothing. They would say that the rebellion was first born out of that little dark room—the one where disgruntled men had gathered around a table to voice their anger. They would say one among them had leaned forward and told them of a plan. They would say he was the one who told them to head out to the neighboring villages and cause enough havoc to lure the knights away from their king. They would say he showed them a secret weapon that had turned one of them into a monstrosity beyond recognition.
And when the knights would ask for the name of this man, they would say that it had been Raz, someone they had known for a long time. Someone they thought they had figured until now.
That information would do none of them good because Raz was dead—had been, long before they had gathered together in that dark room.
Slowly, with his eyes still fixated on the palace, the man began changing. Like smoke, his skin evaporated. His face peeled off in wisps to reveal a different one underneath—anemic and sickly white even under the shadow of the watchtower. It was framed by long locks of jet-black hair. The hands that gripped the parapet became slender and ended in long, pointed nails.
Suddenly, the transformed figured pushed off of it, stepping back. "Hm," she scoffed under her breath. "No matter. I still have more chances left open for me. That's more than can be said for you, isn't it, my dear Thales?" A condescending smirk stretched across her dark lips.
She turned, walking towards the stairs to leave the watchtower. Littering her path were the corpses of the Kingdom soldiers that had been posted there. Their dead faces were twisted with frozen agony and their bodies had been brutally maimed by some dark, twisted magic.