Ah—it was good to be finally home. The tunnel yawned open to the view of a city towering in the cavernous space. Tall buildings were shaped by straight edges and harsh angles. Veins of light ran through them as though the city itself was an organism with translucent skin, having evolved after centuries of existing without the sun.

She couldn't help but notice that the guards escorting her inside Shambhala were nervous. Ha, how ironic. They were of the same people, after all. She wondered what lies Thales had spread about her to the rest of the Agarthans. Whatever they had been, she had doubts they did her any justice.

Although perhaps Thales's words were not needed. His fear had probably spoken for itself. After all, why else would the late Agarthan leader, renown for his ruthlessness, have chosen to imprison her for all these years instead?

But now times had changed. Thales was dead, having been killed by his own foolish ambitions and leaving the Agarthans leaderless and powerless. What was worse—now the Sothis incarnate was archbishop of that damnable cult of liars. So desperate were those who slithered now that they were willing to go against their late leader's wishes and free the prisoner he himself had locked away.

Well, she thought fondly as they passed through the gates of the underground city, I'm sure he's rolling in his grave—the bits of him that reside in the belly of carrion, that is.

Within the city, more guards joined them, including those on horseback. It was a stark reminder that she was still not welcomed inside these walls. Pinned in their tight formation, she was led towards the central alcazar. It was there that she would meet with the Agarthan Council.

And as she expected, the Council was nothing but a conglomerate of pitiable fools clinging onto the façade of power. She could tell the moment the grand doors opened and she took her first steps into the chamber. She saw that look in their eyes when they beheld her—telling her that they immediately knew who in the room was truly in charge.

But oh, how desperately did they cling. "Aestos," the chief councilman addressed in a booming voice. "Ultimate felon to the people of Shambhala—as deemed by Lord Thales himself, you—."

"Thales is dead," she interrupted curtly. "There's no need to bring him up."

Her interjected caused a brief, silent shock. Then, she saw offense ripple across the faces of the Council. "I see your years in incarceration have done nothing to tame your tongue! How dare you speak of Lord Thales so callously!"

"If I were you, I would take deeper offense in your lord's countless misjudgments," Aestos replied calmly. "Misjudgments that you and the Agarthans followed blindly—and to what end? No fruits born from your labor. In fact, Sothis has reclaimed her holy throne while you are still cowering in these shadows. The Agarthans are in a pitiable state, and if you want that changed you'll listen to me. After all, that's why you released me, isn't it?"

"Do not get ahead of yourself—you are a resource that we have deliberated. But your blatant disregard to authority has us reconsidering our decision. Do not think we have turned a blind eye towards your little incursion in Fhirdiad!"

"That?" Aestos chuckled, giving a dismissive wave of her hand. "That was a little pet project, if you will. I just wanted to get a feel of how the humans would react to my chaos—killing the king would've been a bonus, but alas things didn't go as planned. Well? What does the Council think? I was just messing around, but I nearly had the capital at my feet."

Once again, there was a pause. She saw the council members look amongst themselves. Aestos didn't really need their decisions, to be honest, nor their approval. But she would entertain this court of jesters—they had resources that would prove useful.

Finally, the Council told Aestos that she would be allowed to lead a small portion of the Argathan forces, albeit while under tight watch. At that, she suddenly burst out in laughter.

"Me? Lead your army?" she cackled. "Into what—a war? Didn't you already learn from the last one?"

"The humans are vulnerable while they recover from their five-year war," a Councilman pointed out. "With their wounds still fresh, they are weak. If we launch an attack now, victory will be a surety."

"I don't think so," Aestos dismissed. "If humans are to be commended for anything, it is their tenacity. Even when pushed to the brink of exhaustion, they can fight. And when you put a common enemy in their sights, they'll band together. No, a war would be beyond foolish."

"Then what say you? What grand plan might you have?" another Councilor challenged. "Throw another Demonic Beast at the king?"

Aestos's eyes flashed. She took a step forward. Immediately, the Council shrank back in their seats. A pair of guards quickly rushed forward, pointing their lances to Aestos. Her dark lips stretched into a wicked grin. "Fear," she said, "is a powerful weapon. I intend to be the voice in the dark, whispering aloud one's deepest dread—nurturing their doubt. And when I find the right ears to whisper into, I'll have the humans making enemies of one another. They'll never even know of our involvement."

"We have covertly operated on the surface for years!" a Councilman retorted. "Duscur and King Lambert's death—as well as the infiltration of Garreg Mach—were all conducted by us from within the shadows and yet they provided us no real progress! What makes you think your efforts will be any different?"

"You didn't find the right ears to whisper into," Aestos replied. "You just had your agents run around and spill as much blood as possible. Honestly, if I didn't know better, I would have thought you had a goat coming up with these strategies. No matter—it's no longer here nor there. I don't need an army, just a single individual."

"And who might that be?"

"I'm sure you remember him—from my understanding, you all had him exiled out into the sun shortly after my imprisonment."

Aestos saw the councilors' eyes widen. "Him? But—!"

"Yes, him," she cut in. "And no other."

"That is… It is unknown whether he still even lives. And if he does, what makes you think we can find him after all these years?"

"There's no need," Aestos replied. She turned, ready to take her leave of these bumbling fools. "He'll find me… and once he does, I'll plunge this world into chaos."

Before they had left, Nadine had consulted a map to estimate their travel time. Given the northern mountain range that ran between Garreg Mach and the former Kingdom, they would have to go all the way up to Galatea territory to cross it. That meant their travel time would stretch to at least two days.

Not that Nadine minded, though she had promised Seteth that she would return within four days. But given how things were going so far, she felt as though she didn't ever want to go back.

She felt herself stirring awake. Morning had arrived to start their second day of travel. Nadine shifted, giving a soft groan. Her entire body—head and all—was bundled tightly within the bedding. Although it was springtime, the nights out in the wilderness still grew surprisingly chilly. The morning air was still nippy, and she didn't want to leave her little cocoon of warmth.

But something had awakened her, wafting through the air, and it enticed her to poke her head out. The sunlight made her squint, and her tussled hair fell messily over her face. Nadine squirreled a hand out of her bundled bedding and rubbed an eye.

"Good morning," his voice greeted her as Nadine weakly wriggled from her sleeping bag, feeling very much like a filmy-winged butterfly trying to break out into the air. "Did you sleep well?"

"Like a log—much better than in my bed back in Garreg Mach, ironically," Nadine answered, finally getting her other arm free. She propped herself up into the sitting position. "That smells amazing. Hang on… did you kindle the fire all by yourself? I thought we agreed I was going to help out." As her drowsiness slipped away, strength returned in its place. Nadine kicked the last of the bedding off of her legs and stood to walk closer to the fire.

"It wasn't too much of a hassle. After all, our ancestors managed to make fires without the aid of magic, weren't they?" Dedue answered, using a stick to poke the kindling. The flames gave a small jump. Nadine settled down next to him, watching the fragrant steam waft out from within the small, cast iron pot. "Besides, I wanted to let you sleep in. When I found you within the monastery, you looked exhausted."

Had she? Well, Dedue certainly hadn't been the first person to tell her that. A part of her almost felt ashamed, unwilling to let the man next to her know of the long working hours and miserable restlessness that had constantly stolen her sleep away as archbishop. Knowing Dedue, his concern would've been unending. "Well, it was pretty late when we met in the Goddess Tower," she instead replied.

"I've seen that kind of exhaustion before." On Dimitri's face, was the part he didn't say, but didn't need to.

This time, Nadine didn't have a response. She pulled her knees up and hugged her arms around them, staring into the fire.

Luckily, Dedue dropped the subject. "Mind the smoke," he cautioned.

"Oh, it's too late for that. My hair already reeks like a campfire from last night."

"You were huddled quite close to the flames," Dedue recalled. "It did get surprisingly cold last night given the time of year."

"Hmm," Nadine hummed in agreement. "A good sign that we're deep in Faerghus territory?"

"That it is."

Last night's lovely cold front had ambushed them shortly after they had finished their supper. The waning fire was chewing through its last bit of kindling, and it was too dark to go and search for more. Nadine remembered having to inch closer and closer to its dying glow. It was then that Dedue had taken his scarf and wrapped it around her. Though what she really wanted was for him to bundle her in his arms. It was clear, however, that he was still a foreigner to outwardly displaying his affection—especially in a physical manner.

Even as she was thinking this, she suddenly felt Dedue's arm wrap around her. "How about this?" he said. "Since you missed the start of breakfast, I'll leave the cleaning to you."

Nadine smiled, her chuckle escaping as a heavy exhale. "I accept your negotiations," she retorted. Her eyes widened when she felt him plant a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

Well, he may have been a foreigner, but he was a quick learner.

"You know I'd kiss you back," she said, "but my breath is like something died in my mouth."

"I have a sprig of rosemary you can chew on."

"Ouch! Good to know that your standards are so high!" Nadine gave Dedue a light whack on the arm.

"Th-that is not what I meant."

"I know. I just can't resist a good tease." Nadine laughed—more than she had in weeks. She leaned against Dedue, feeling the sturdiness in his frame. The fire underneath the cast iron pot danced to and fro. A thought came to her, and she rolled it around in her head for a while like a little marble. But then it rolled down to her mouth and off her tongue. "When do you think we'll get married?"

The stick in Dedue's hand froze mid-poke. "I… do not know," he admitted. "Soon, I would hope, but it depends on a myriad of factors."

"Yeah," Nadine sighed. "I wouldn't mind making the announcement as soon as we get back. Although I suspect that quite a few people within the Church already know—Seteth, especially." She looked up at Dedue's puzzled expression. "Oh, come on. You came galloping up to Garreg Mach, swept the archbishop off her feet, and stole away from the monastery with her. How would they not suspect? It's almost like you've been under the tutelage of Sylvain or something."

Dedue gave a light chuckle. "Believe it or not, I asked for his help when I began to have feelings for you."

"You asked for…! And how did he react?"

"How you would expect—like a child on his birthday. I, on the other hand, was terrified that the news would spread. My greatest fear was that you would find out and begin avoiding me. At one point, I actually grew ashamed of my feelings. We were not so far apart in age, but you were my professor and I your student. Even so, try as I did, I could not get my adoration to leave me."

Nadine thought back to their academy days. When she was first assigned as the professor to the Blue Lion house, Dedue had been an absolute brick wall—hard to read and barely responsive. A complete contrast to the rest of the lively Blue Lions bunch. And towards the beginning of the year, any time she had tried to engage him in conversation, his eyes would treat hers like the sun. His words would be curt, always carrying the implication that the conversation ought to be ended.

"I never would have guessed," Nadine admitted. "You never seemed to really express anything unless it was towards Dimitri. And meanwhile I…" Nadine trailed off in a light scoff, leaning her cheek against a fist.

"What is it?"

"Nothing." The shoe was on the other foot. Now it seemed she was the one feeling bashful about her emotions. "I was… I was just going to say… your reclusiveness always stuck out to me. I felt as though I was seeing a mirror of myself from back in my merc days. I barely said a word to anyone other than my father, and Jeralt spoke for the both of us when we dealt with clientele. I never really told you much about my time as a mercenary, have I?"

"All I recall is hearing Hanneman say you were known as the 'Ashen Demon.'"

"Ashen Demon," Nadine repeated. "Goddess, I miss being known as that rather than 'Archbishop.' I miss those days. We traveled all across Fódlan—to hell with any tethers."

"Sometimes I wonder what that sort of life is like," Dedue admitted. "That of a wandering mercenary—no roots. I do not think I could be like that. I like my roots, even if they are dug into a dead land."

"It's not dead," Nadine chided, bumping him with her shoulder. "There are still people living and flowers growing on it, aren't there? Although… I know it's nowhere near where it once was. Maybe as archbishop, I can finally change that somehow. Although maybe the Church of Seiros has no business interfering with Duscur."

"Then don't do it as the archbishop. Do it as my friend and love."

Nadine smiled. Her right hand moved to her left, feeling the silver looped around her finger. "It's not going to be that simple. But even so, at least I won't have to do it alone, will I? I can't wait to see those fields, Dedue—it'll give me something to strive for." Nadine sat back, her eyes wandering up to the cloud-speckled sky. "How long has it been since you've been back?"

"I haven't returned to Duscur since I first left it. To be honest… I am nervous about the ghosts that will confront me there. But at least I'll not have to confront them alone." Dedue sighed. "This is supposed to be an enjoyable trip. Let's not get too sentimental just yet. Are you hungry?"

"If I don't eat within the next minute, I think I might die."

Cefiro's breath puffed from his lips in heavy gasps. Around him, the dirt of Garreg Mach's training arena was speckled with his sweat. Above his labored breathing and the pounding of his heart in his ears, he heard Master Zephyr's voice.

"Good, Cefiro. Your footwork has improved."

"Thank you, Master."

"You're quite out of breath."

"I—."

"I noticed it during our spar. You are not balancing your stamina between your physical strength and magical endurance. You cannot favor one over the other—the Eastern Church does not have the luxury of adequate forces to segregate between frontline soldiers and backline mages. Therefore we must act as both. Do you understand?"

Cefiro had heard this lecture countless times. But each time, he listened attentively, hanging onto those words to remind him of who he was. The boy dipped his head down. "Yes, Master. I understand."

"Very well. That will conclude our session for today. I expect you to continue training on your own time, Cefiro. Improve your balance."

Cefiro's head remained bowed. "I will, Master."

"That is all." He heard dirt crunch underfoot, and then Master Zephyr said, "Ah, Seteth, was it?" Cefiro lifted his head.

"Indeed. I hope you don't mind my spectating your spar." The green-haired man, whom Cefiro noted always carried himself with a distinguished air of authority, was standing just off of the training arena. He wasn't exactly sure what Seteth's role here was, though according to the archbishop, he was a good friend. Still, that didn't make Cefiro any less nervous around him. He just always seemed so… official. And that look he had given Cefiro when they'd first met was still fresh in his memory. He didn't know why Seteth had regarded him so—like he had seen something he couldn't quite believe. Cefiro would've asked why, of course, if he hadn't been so terrified of the man.

"Not at all," Master Zephyr responded, flipping the drapes of his wide sleeve behind his back with a curt flick of his arm. "I did not think those of the Central Church would have much interest in our antiquated techniques."

"On the contrary, I find them to be quite fascinating," Seteth responded. He gave a brief wave of his hand, a silent beckoning for the two men to take their leave of the training grounds as they continued their conversation. "I do not think I have ever seen a combat style that blends martial arts and magic so fluidly."

"It is not easy to learn, and few can truly master it," Master Zephyr admitted. "But when necessity demands it, toil we must."

As Cefiro watched them leave, a fierce curiosity overtook him. He followed just close enough to listen in on their words.

"I have to admit, we have not been able pay much attention to the other branches of the Church during our reconstruction efforts. Nonetheless, if the Eastern Church is in need of additional resources, I could speak with the archbishop about increasing allocations once she returns."

"That would be most appreciated, Seteth. Speaking of the archbishop, I heard she departed Garreg Mach rather abruptly. Might I ask if something urgent has called her away?"

"That regards… private matters, I'm afraid. I hope you'll forgive me."

"Don't apologize—I understand. To be honest, her quick departure took me by surprise. I had been hoping to discuss matters of my upcoming professorship with her."

"I can address any concerns of that nature as well."

Seteth and Master Zephyr had stopped just behind a short brick wall that separated one of Garreg Mach's walkways from a garden. Cefiro looked around and noticed a crate resting against the wall. Quickly, he climbed on top of it and planted his hands against the chalky brick.

"I see… well, in that case I wanted to talk about Cefiro."

"He is your apprentice, is he not?"

Upon hearing his name, Cefiro stretched up onto his tiptoes and tilted his ear up towards the top of the wall.

"Yes, although he has expressed to me his concern about my professorship and what that would mean for him. After all, if I were to take on a full-time teaching position at the Officer's Academy, I do not think I'd be able to retain him as my apprentice."

"It is understandable why he would be concerned, then."

"I do not want to abandon him—not when I am all he has. Therefore, I wanted to tell the archbishop that I will only accept the teaching position if Cefiro is allowed to stay at Garreg Mach."

Fingers tightened against the chalky brick. His calves strained as he stretched higher up, trying to catch the words that came up from over the top of the wall.

"Hm," Seteth pondered. "I do not see the archbishop having a problem with that. In fact, she's taken quite a liking to the boy."

"Do you think it would be possible for her to take him as her apprentice?"

"That…!" Cefiro had never heard Seteth choke on his sentence like that. But quickly, the advisor recovered. "That is certainly something you will need to ask her directly. You'll not find any stalwart guarantee simply from me."

"Fair. I'll await her return for that answer then."

"As luck would have it, the boy was something I wanted to discuss with you as well."

"You have questions about Cefiro? Very well, then—what would you like to know?"

"He piqued my interest when I first met him. Sometimes I catch glimpses of mannerisms that seem beyond his age. He… well, safe to say he reminds me of someone else that I know. What of his parents? You mentioned that you are all he has."

"They're gone, I'm afraid."

"Passed?"

"Their fates are unclear to me. All I know is that Cefiro was found without them. Hunters from a village in northern Daphnel territory were tracking game close to that valley—you know of Ailell, do you not?"

"Yes, the valley of hellfire, as some refer to it."

"Their pursuit lead them close to Ailell—they could tell when already the heat began to touch their bodies. The hunters were on the verge of turning back when they heard something rustling in the undergrowth. They found a boy—small, frail, and barely having seen his third spring. It was unknown how long he had been out on his own, but he was severely malnourished. One foot was already in death's door, and the other was fast to follow. They rushed him back to the village, where they were able to nurse him back to a relatively stable condition. It was clear, however, that he would need more advanced healing. The child was taken to the Eastern Church, and it was there he was finally able to tell us his name. But that was all he knew, the poor thing. The Goddess was gracious in her protection over him—had he not been brought to us any sooner, I don't know what would have happened."

"I see," Seteth remarked. "Yes, thank the Goddess for her divine guidance. How curious, though—a child all on his own near Ailell."

"I recall the villagers telling us something quite odd. They said that when the hunters found him, his skin was ice cold."

Seteth gave no response at first. Then, he said, "Curious indeed. Although I would wager the wilderness around Ailell still gets cold at night."

"That seems reasonable," Master Zephyr replied.

"If I may ask one more thing… did Cefiro look the way he does now when he first arrived at the Eastern Church?"

"He's healthier now, obviously. Other than that… I'm not sure what kind of answer you were expecting."

"Er… disregard that, Zephyr. I realize it was an odd question." Their voices were beginning to fade. Cefiro realized they were walking away again. This time, he didn't feel like following them.

He lowered down from his tiptoes, still standing with his hands planted against the brick wall. Master Zephyr had told he that he'd been discovered on his own by hunters—that much he knew. But the part about Ailell was new to him. He didn't know what or where Ailell was, but Seteth had called it 'the valley of hellfire.'

Was that bad? Did it make him unlikeable? Was Seteth going to tell the archbishop? Against the wall, Cefiro's hands balled into fists.

"Hey, I'm gonna need to get into that crate if ya don't mind."

Cefiro nearly jumped. His head whipped over his shoulder. Behind him stood a man—far, far younger than Master Zephyr or Seteth. Maybe even younger than the archbishop. Although to Cefiro, he still looked like an adult. His skin was a dark olive—not quite as dark as the man he had seen the archbishop leaving with a few days ago—but still a deeper hue than what Cefiro was accustomed to. His dark brown hair fell in locks that were just long enough to fall in loose curls, though it was cut neatly so as to not grow beyond his neck.

Lost in his stare, Cefiro forgot to answer the young man. "Uh… hello?"

"Oh!" the boy yipped. "Sorry!" He hopped down from the crate.

"Thanks." Clearly not one for small talk, the young man wasted no time in crouching down and opening the crate. From within, he took a pail and a pair of hedge shears. Noticing that Cefiro had not taken his eyes from him, the young man continued, "You lost or something?"

"Uh, no. It's just…" His unfiltered question was blurted out. "You look different."

"Uh huh." The young man placed the shears into the pail and picked it up. He stood.

Cefiro could practically hear Master Zephyr's chide in his head. Child, we must remain open-minded to people of all walks of life. As the Goddess treats all of her children as equals, so must we.

"Sorry, it's just I-I…"

"Don't worry about it. You're right—I look different because I'm not from around here. But after coming to Garreg Mach, I finally feel like I've found where I belong. The monastery's become my home now."

"That's like me!" Cefiro chirped, tailing the young man. "The Eastern Church is my home, but I came from somewhere else!"

"That right? Don't think I've met anyone from the Eastern Church before. What brings you to Garreg Mach?" They stopped by a row of hedges growing along the walkway. Taking the shears, the young man begin trimming the branches that had grown too long.

"Master Zephyr and I came here to pay our respects to the new archbishop," Cefiro answered, watching the trimmings fall onto the ground. "And now he's talking with the archbishop about becoming a professor for the Officer's Academy." Kneeling down, Cefiro began picking up the trimmings and placing them into the pail.

"The Officer's Academy… of course," the young man murmured. "Hey, you don't have to do that. I got it."

"Master Zephyr says we must always help where we can."

"Well… fine. Say, kid, what's your name?"

"Cefiro. And yours?"

"Cyril."

They spent the next few minutes in silence, working their way down the row of hedges. As he plucked up the cut branches from the grass, Cefiro continued to think about their short conversation. So Cyril was from a different place… and he looked different. Was that what Seteth meant with his strange, final question?

"Hey Cyril," Cefiro piped up. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"Do people treat you differently if you're from somewhere else?"

The hedge shears paused, and then flashed. Another branch fell onto the grass. "Short answer—yeah. That's just how it is. Why're you asking?"

"I didn't think it was a big deal that I came from somewhere else, but… now I'm worried that it is."

"Eh, you shouldn't worry too much. Where are ya from?"

"I… I don't know."

Cyril stopped trimming and looked down at the boy. Cefiro kept his eyes lowered to his hands, nervously picking at the branch between his fingers. In all honestly, he didn't truly know. He could've said Ailell based on what he had heard, but he didn't want to admit that either.

The shears began moving again, cutting away at the stray branches that broke away from the neat, manicured formation of the hedging. "Well, you look Fódlanian. That's really the only thing people around here care about."

"That doesn't seem fair."

"It's just how it is."