Author's Note: I let this one fall to the wayside over the summer. Have a fair amount written ahead, it's the editing that's killing me.

Harpstring Moon – Familiar Scenery 6th of the Month -v- Bernadetta -v-

He was watching her. The Professor was watching her with his cold, blue eyes. Those merciless eyes that accompanied the harsh, unforgiving frown. That terrible frown that opened only to curse her with horrible sounds that parodied human speech. Heartless speech that made her belly shrivel with fear, brought the distant memory of the safety of her bed wailing in the corners of her mind.

Bernadetta shut her eyes and ducked her head behind her book. If she could not see him, he could not see her. Can't see him, can't see me, she thought frantically. Sweat beaded on her forehead. Her palms were sweaty, knees weak, arms were heavy. Goddess, she must look awful. They were all staring at her, weren't they? Staring and laughing at the sweating, terrified waste of space hiding in the corner of the classroom.

It did not help that the Professor had put them through another grueling hour of exercises that only a soulless monster like he could have devised. Running back and forth, back and forth. Just running. Touch the first step, then back. Touch the second step, then back. The third step. The fourth step. All twenty steps leading up to the monastery's grand entry hall. Six times! What sort of demon would make students do that even once? Even those hulking monsters like Prince Dimitri were gasping for breath by the end of it. Some of them hadn't even made it through all six repetitions before bowing out in failure.

She had not bowed out. No sir, she had not. Even though her muscles screamed in torture, even though her throat was dry as sand and every breath burned like hot fire in her lungs. He was scarier than the pain. More terrifying than the demoralizing feat of completing six repetitions of runs. If she bowed out, he would kill her. She knew it. The others had a free pass because they were useful. They were his students. But she was just an invader, an unwanted interloper. She felt it in his harsh, unforgiving stare.

And the staring! Always staring. The Professor never looked at students. He stared. Unflinching, unblinking. Cracking open their precious defenses and gorging on their secrets. Devouring their safety and security with those horrible eyes. She wasn't the only one who noticed it, surely. The others must be too afraid to say it. Or maybe it really was only her. Maybe she was the only one he subjected to his awful penance stare. Was he singling her out? What cruel, devious plot did he have in store for her?

"Berna-"

"I'M SORRY!"

The squealing apology ripped out of her lungs before she realized it. Throwing her head down so quickly it smacked into the desk, she curled into a protective ball, nearly falling from her chair in her desire to shield herself from the inevitable blow.

The blow never came. It remained waiting, hovering just out of her awareness. The room had gone silent, save for the scrape of chairs being pushed back. Everyone was watching. Everyone was watching her.

"Bernadetta." The Professor's ruthless voice sent a shiver down her spine. Unwilling to pull her head out from her arms, she whimpered and groped blindly for her fallen book. Plopping it over her head, she huddled under her makeshift shield and prayed for deliverance.

The Professor's hand slammed down beside her head.

"You dropped your brush," he growled, his voice as fierce as a starving lion.

She risked a quick peek, finding the object of his wrath still wobbling slightly as it settled. Cursing that brush for inciting the Professor's rage, she merely nodded weakly and reached out to snag the brush with three fingers.

"Do try to be more careful," was his parting warning. Turning with a grand flourish of his battle-worn cloak, the Professor stalked back to the front of the classroom.

Bernadetta breathed a sigh of relief. She was still trembling; this brush with death had left her terribly scarred. Would leave her scarred. At least emotionally, if not physically. Easing her book back to stand on the desk, she pointedly avoided eye contact with her fellow students and resumed studying. He had it out for her. She knew that. Sometime soon, he would catch her alone and gobble her up in the dark like a goblin. She was doomed.

-v- Byleth -v-

Byleth sat back down at the teacher's desk. The violet-haired noble girl was a piece of work, that much was certain. One week into her student exchange and he still had made no headway in calming her down. From the time she entered the room to the time she left the poor thing was strung up tighter than an archer's bowstring.

A lifetime's bad habit could not be undone so easily, he reminded himself. What little he had gathered of the girl was not promising, but it fit in far too comfortably to the stories of her fellow students. To a one, they shared the kinship of unfortunate circumstances and upbringing. Hers had a more… visceral impact than some of the others. Or perhaps she had simply never learned to bottle it up. Perhaps this was how she bottled it up. Who knew whether the terrified behavior was an act or the truth? If an act, what worse things did it hide?

When they had first approached him with the idea of student exchanges, he had thought it unnecessary and ridiculous. Their goal was to teach the students; constantly bouncing students between classes was disruptive and counter-productive. At least, that was how he saw it. The others disagreed, and after some discussion he grudgingly agreed to the time-honored tradition. Once a month, he chose two students to spend the next month rubbing shoulders with their counterparts in the Black Eagle and Golden Deer houses, and in return he received one student from each. In theory, the concept could be argued to hold merit, only in that it encouraged the students to look beyond asinine house rivalries and deepen the relationships between them all. As the future leaders of Fodlan, those ties would hopefully prove fruitful and good for the land.

Of course, his reservations about the exchange proved accurate the first month. Professor Hanneman had sent him Bernadetta, a student he had complained about more than once for her absolute lack of spirit and her paralyzing timidity. Manuela likewise offered a problem child, so to speak. The pink-haired Hilda lounged in the back row, fussing over her nails while shooting carefully timed glances over her textbook in a veiled show of paying attention to her studies. Neither of the pair showed much promise as he had sent Annette to the Black Eagle house and Sylvain to the Golden Deer house. Hanneman had already made sure to inform him of how much he approved of Annette's studious and inquisitive nature, and Manuela… Sylvain fit like a glove in her classroom.

The fact that he had gotten the short end of the stick from both teachers… perhaps it was hazing. Playing a joke on the new professor. That sort of thing could be understood; in fact he had expected as much. But using the students as their tools struck him as irreverent to their calling.

He might be overthinking it.

"Professor?"

Dmitri eyed him expectantly, waiting for permission to approach. The future king of Faerghus struck Byleth as a man of great potential. He had strength, brains, and surrounded himself with reliable peers. If he learned well here at the academy, he could become a powerful king.

At his wave, the young prince stepped up to the desk and stood straight and tall, his posture as immaculate as a recruit under the blistering lash of a drill-master's tongue. The deference they all showed him had only increased since the mock battle. That was good. With Dimitri setting a commendable example, they were shaping up to be an easy class to maintain control over. This gave him more time to acclimate to the position.

"Professor, could you help me figure this out?" Dmitiri turned his notes around and presented the case study Byleth had assigned him. "You wrote that the Battle of Cinder Meadows could have been resolved in favor of Almyrans had they sent a contingent of archers along this rise. I understand the reasoning behind it; archers set in that position would have held the entire pass at their mercy. But something is not sitting right about your conclusion."

Gesturing for Dimitri to come around, Byleth glanced over the map and notes, recalling the hours spent fruitlessly attempting to apply the same logic that Jeralt had imposed on the battle review. Like Dimitri, he had been unable to draw a straight path to the conclusion. Because, like Dimitri, he had failed to consider the Almyran mages and their renowned Wind Magic users.

As he walked Dimitri through the Almyran battleplans, drawing attention to each detail with patience born from his own understanding, Byleth took occasional glances across the classroom to ensure that none of the students were assuming him distracted. Curiously, he caught Bernadetta peering at him with wide, terrified eyes from behind her book. The instant their gazes crossed she squeaked and vanished behind her book.

Others thought the girl was hopeless. Byleth was determined to prove them wrong.

-v- Edelgard -v-

The Knight's Hall often emptied by the dinner bell. After a long day of classroom studies, practical exercises, and individual coursework, most students lacked the energy to keep training. The few that did had quickly learned their own favorite locations, and an unspoken agreement had been formed among the late-night trainees for rotating the Knight's Hall. Those that preferred to train this late often did so in part because of the desire for solitude. Distancing themselves allowed everyone to make the most of their solo training.

Not that hers were ever truly alone.

Edelgard spun on her back heel, ducking under one of the swinging practice dummy's arms and slashing her training axe into its side. The heavy wooden core teetered away, shivering from the force of her strike, before rebounding back at her with a vengeance. She did not have time to parry it however, as the other two were rounding on her. Her axe clacked and sliced with cold efficiency as she dodged and parried between the three training dummies.

She liked these training tools. Tall wooden posts with multiple beams of various length and width attached along their surfaces. They hung from hooks in the ceiling, placed on rollers along a grid-patterned network that allowed for them to be moved about and placed where needed. When struck they moved, twisted, turned to provide an everchanging array of incoming strikes. It was a novel concept. She appreciated how it forced her to think on her feet and increase her peripheral awareness.

It hurt, too. One dummy arm snuck past her axe and slammed into her shoulder. Though hardly a killing blow, the weight of the dummy carried enough force it knocked her sideways, pushing her into the path of yet more arms that slapped at her arms and back.

A snarl of fury rippled in her throat and she shoved one of the dummies out of her way. The force she put behind it sent the dummy swinging in a wide arc. When it came down, it would be thirty pounds of force crashing into her. She had only a moment to free herself of the other two before-

Black coils swept across the room, catching the loose dummy and locking it into place. A foreboding chill seeped into the air. Edelgard brushed it aside; she was well-used to the effects that followed black magic. Still, her training ground to a halt at the unwanted assistance. Catching the remaining dummies, she eased them to a stop and removed herself from the cluster.

"I did not ask for help," she grumbled, glaring at her ever-present shadow. Hubert had good intentions. He was the only one she could trust here, after all, and he had proven his loyalty a hundred times. A bit over-protective, sometimes. His constant shadow at her side could grow tiresome, but she refused to chide her companion for his dedication. Putting up with his interference was a cost she would gladly pay to see her goals achieved.

"You were losing control," Hubert admonished. "If you let your anger control you, it will be the end."

"I can control myself." She accepted an offered towel and wiped sweat from her face. Her breathing was harsher than she had realized. Glancing over her house clothes, a red sleeveless shirt and shorts embroidered with the Black Eagle crest, she realized she was also very sweaty. The long-sleeved undershirt and leggings she wore glistened with wetness. "What time is it?"

"You missed dinner," he answered. "I requested a servant bring us food. It should be along shortly."

"Thank you, Hubert." Edelgard smiled at him. She spent a few seconds recognizing the bruises and aches that were creeping into her awareness now that her adrenaline faded. There was not a spot on her body that did not ache, though she knew most of those aches like the back of her hand. It had been years since she had received them, and they would never leave her. "I did not intend to keep you."

"It is no imposition."

Many people… no, practically everyone, considered Hubert to be a callous and unfriendly person. In some ways they were not wrong, but Edelgard knew that the young man had a softer side. It was a side only a select few saw, and it did not display itself as warm-hearted kindness. Caring for those who had earned his loyalty meant everything. She worried for him, sometimes. He did not mix terribly well with the other Black Eagle students. He did not mix well with anyone at the monastery. His devotion to her goals was his only concern, and to that end she knew she had to convince him to make an effort into being more approachable. At least for the students in her own house. And even then, Edelgard was careful to select only those that showed promise.

"Then I will see myself to bed after we eat." She set her training axe on one of the racks beside the entrance. "I have kept you long enough for one day."

"You should rest," he agreed. "It will be a long day tomorrow."

The door to the training hall creaked open, allowing a dark figure inside. Edelgard regarded the intruder curiously for a moment, seeking its identity under the rain-wet cloak. Pulling back the edge of its cloak, the figure revealed itself as Professor Eisner, and he carried a tray with two platters stacked with food and drink.

"Professor." Edelgard nodded slightly in show of respect. Hubert's mouth twitched deeper into a scowl, but he held his silence.

"Edelgard. Hubert. I was coming out of the dining hall and ran into a servant carrying these. He was not equipped for the rain."

The professor offered the tray to them. Hubert accepted it, deftly snatching the tray up before Edelgard could exert herself. Not that the tray would be troubling. Gesturing for both men to follow her, she led them over to the fireplace further down the room and took a seat on one of the couches. Professor Eisner stoked the dwindling fire and added a few logs while the students ate.

It went without saying that Hubert tested her food before letting her eat.

When the professor did not leave, Hubert glared up at the still-standing man. "Do you require something?"

"Hubert!" Edelgard shot him a warning glance.

"I was going to take your dishes back when you finished," the professor replied, not showing a hint of a reaction to Hubert's barb. The professor hardly showed reaction to anything.

"That is kind of you, professor. You did not need to bring this out to us yourselves."

Professor Eisner shrugged modestly. "I had planned on utilizing the training dummies as it was. Do you mind?"

She nodded agreeably. Offering the slightest bow, the professor excused himself and strode over to a training rack. Unlike most of the students she had seen, Professor Eisner did not take his time examining the training weapons before selecting the one that fit him best. There was subtle variance in the weapons: some were fashioned to imitate longswords, others curved sabers or straight-edged falchions. The professor snatched up the first one in his path on his way to the hanging dummies.

Content to watch in silence, Edelgard finished her meal and enjoyed the show. The professor was not an inherently graceful fighter. Sure, there were some times he had astounded them all with his speed and skill, but he was not graceful. His cuts were efficient, his thrusts economical. Byleth Eisner did not waste an ounce of effort in battle. Nor did he in training. He did not practice absurd flourishes or extravagant maneuvers. The savage clacking of his training sword slamming into the dummies rang out in a constant rattle, growing so rapid from time to time that it almost sounded like a single extended noise.

Dummies were no equivalent to live combat; Edelgard knew that all too well. Humans were smarter, stronger, but also weaker and more fragile. Unpredictable too, to an extent. The free-swinging weight of the dummies did add some measure of uncertainty to the training, as their myriad limbs could strike from so many angles.

Her eyes drifted over to the training axe she had used. Professor Eisner oversaw some of the combat skill training of the students. It was not an official part of his duties, but after seeing him in action several of the Blue Lions had approached him to request one-on-one instruction. Students from other houses had joined in, and Professor Eisner graciously set aside time from his schedule to accommodate. Edelgard had not taken advantage of the opportunity herself; regardless of other factors, she did not think it proper for the leader of the Black Eagles house to occupy a different house's professor. She also did not want others to think that she needed further training.

It was not that she considered herself a perfect warrior. She was still young, and had much to learn before she reached her peak. Any appearance of weakness must be avoided, however, and she was loathe to give any ground to rumors and speculation about her fitness as the future emperor. It chafed her, the many sacrifices she had to make.

Now was as good a time as any, she told herself. It was a rare instance where opportunity rang.

"Hubert, would you take our dishes back to the dining hall?" She gave him a pointed stare that silenced the question she knew would follow such an unexpected request. "After that, you may attend the evening as you see fit. I would like to be alone."

Offering a grudging nod of acceptance, her closest friend gathered up the dishes and left the training hall. Edelgard felt the suspicion radiating from him, the worry as well. Her plan was not exactly subtle. A man of Hubert's intelligence would have seen through it all just by hearing the request. It was dangerous.

She was vaguely aware of her heart pounding as she strode over to pick up her training axe. An uncomfortable itching cursed her palms, satisfied only when she wrapped her fingers around the axe's padded grip and picked it off the rack. The thwacking sounds had ceased behind her, replaced by the steady creaking of the training dummies hanging on their chains.

His eyes were on her. Crawling across her back, inspecting the weapon in her hand. A sharp breath hissed out of her lungs, buying her a moment to steady her nerves before she turned back to face the professor.

"I expected you were done for the night," he told her.

"Not quite," Edelgard replied. She lifted the axe and gestured at the dummies. "These are good for a workout. I would prefer to have a true sparring session before retiring for the night."

Professor Eisner caught one of the swinging dummies with the flat of his blade. The massive weight of the wooden pole stopped cold, an unintentional reminder of the prodigious strength the unassuming figure possessed. Silently, he began guiding the dummies to the side of the training floor. Edelgard took that as acceptance, and joined him in clearing the sand-covered pit. She was grateful that he was not looking at her. An unseemly queasiness had settled in her belly and she frantically tried to force it away. The air tasted cold on her throat despite the warmth of the early summer evening.

There were few times in her life when she had experienced inexplicable fear. This was one of them, but it did not feel quite the same. The professor posed no danger to her; not physically, at least. She might come away with some bruises, as any good training bout should provide, but he would not hurt her badly. He had no reason to. It was not fear of death, then.

What other sorts of fear were there? Fear of failure? Failure of what? Of living up to his expectations. He had no expectations that she could see. He gave away nothing. And his expectations should not matter anyways. The only person whose opinion mattered was herself. Trying to carry the weight of others' opinions would crush her, like it had crushed so many.

Her jaw clenched in irritation as the queasiness melted away, overcome by the rising anger at her own weakness. She could not afford to fail. Not in this, not in anything. Her only goal was to press on, to rise above her weakness, her enemies. A duel with Professor Eisner would be educational, a learning experience. That was all. Like so many others, he was just a tool, a stepping stone in her plan.

So why did she shudder when his solemn gaze swept over her? Why did his mere presence prickle her skin, make her think back to that night at Remire village and wonder where she had gone wrong?

-v- Byleth -v-

Edelgard took her place offset the center of the dueling pit. She reeked of sweat and exhaustion. As was her custom, she had gone to the training hall directly after the afternoon electives, which meant she had spent more than two hours in training. Two hours was a lot, even for someone of her drive and determination. He had sensed it on his arrival. Her posture mimicked a fresh and ready fighter, but her stance was rigid and uncompromising. Like a string stretched to its limit, waiting for the delicate plucking hand that would tear it in two.

Did she realize how tired she had become? Possibly. It did not appear she cared. There was an apprehension in her voice when she spoke to him, a hesitation in her movements as she entered the pit. Only a fool would think they stood an even chance. Had this been a fight to the death, it would already be over. But this was simple sparring. A good time to educate her, and learn her own potential. He appreciated her drive and motivation. As the leader of her house, it reflected well on her that she took her self-improvement so seriously.

"I will spar as long as you desire," he told her, "but if I say we are done, we are done."

"I understand." The white-haired student nodded seriously, her expression grim as she lifted her axe and adjusted her grip.

He tapped his sword against her axe. Edelgard drew back a step to give herself room. For a quiet, calculating minute they circled the pit, eyeing each other's defenses and analyzing potential weaknesses. In her exhausted state, the gaps were everywhere. She had a careful defense laid out, but her preferred fighting style included a shield. The difference a shield made could not be overstated. Byleth counted a half-dozen strikes that would have ended the duel in an instant.

Her axe came back, then swept up from the floor. Sand sprayed up ahead of the wooden blade, and he skipped backwards to avoid both sand and axe as Edelgard charged. Shifting her swing into a lunge, she slammed the top of her axe against his sword. The impact made both weapons shiver, and he allowed himself to take another step back to bleed out her momentum.

Retreating before he could muster a counterattack, Edelgard backpedaled to the far side of the pit and took stock of his reaction. Her breathing had quickened a touch, though she smoothed it back to normal. The faintest narrowing of her eyes indicated her displeasure that he had not chased her.

"I am not looking for a training dummy," she grumbled.

"You are a formidable opponent," he told her. "I would be a fool to attack without assessing your capabilities first."

He took a few short steps closer, holding his sword out until it nearly touched her axe. Quick as lightning, he flicked the tip of the sword to bat her axe aside. Diving into the gap, Byleth stretched out his sword arm and felt the training sword thump into her chest.

Only, her chest was not there anymore.

Faster than he had expected, Edelgard twisted to the side and bent at the knees, bending over backwards to let the sword blade sail over her. She moved like liquid, faster and more agile than he had ever seen her. Leaving one hand off her axe, she let it swing wide and braced herself with her free arm, catching her fall before she tumbled. A foot kicked up, soaring up in a wide circle. Byleth was too close for it to be a telling blow, but he had overextended. Though he had held back his strength to avoid hurting the girl, he had still expected to be stopped by her body. Without that resistance his lunge had extended to the point his weight rested entirely on his forward foot. Her shin slammed into his shoulder with enough force to stagger him to the side, and he nearly went down in a tumble as he hurried to regain his balance.

Edelgard swiped her axe awkwardly across his knees, a weak blow but one that upset his balance further. Taking a page from her own move, he allowed himself to fall partway and caught himself on one hand. Kicking his feet out and up, he threw his heels over his head and flipped over the startled Black Eagles leader. Suddenly his sword was at her throat, and she was still suspended on a single leg and arm.

A risky move. Flashy, unexpected, and nearly effective. Had she ever tried that as a mercenary in his company, Jeralt would have boxed her ears for it had she survived. It served its purpose, however. One of her supposed weaknesses had been a feint, a lure to draw him in. There had been no warning that she had a trap laid out. That meant he would have to approach her more cautiously.

"Again," he told her, lifting the sword and stepping away. She recovered her footing with a smirk. Though she had not landed a 'killing blow,' she had nearly toppled the professor, a feat none of the other students had managed. It was a small victory. He debated whether or not to teach her some humility.

No, this was a sparring session. There was no value to overwhelming her. As a student, her place was to learn, to grow. That was the sole reason for his position in the academy. Besides, he rather liked the ingenuity of the maneuver. It was not at all a good one, and certainly nothing he would ever expect to use, but her willingness to try it impressed him.

"Does that satisfy your assessment, Professor?"

Though she spoke with her usual grim voice, there was a barely noticeable humor to her tone.

"As I said, you are a formidable opponent."

"High praise."

"I treat all opponents as formidable. That is how you stay alive in the mercenary world."

The trace of humor vanished, replaced by an insulted glare as the imagined compliment was turned on its head. Edelgard took a deep breath, and charged. Her axework was impeccable, on the level of veterans more than a decade her elder even with her tiredness slowing her movements. Byleth allowed her to strike again and again, concentrating on the defense, parrying occasionally and matching her assault to let her see the various defenses presented. She did not speak again for some time, but concentrated on the sparring. Her fierce eyes missed nothing. When the torchlight caught her just right, he could practically see the information soaking into her as she memorized each counter, each parry, and each deflection.

After some time he switched to the attack. It was a seamless transition that nearly caught her off-guard. Suddenly it was her axe that caught his sword, and her ceaseless advance became a stubborn retreat as he walked her around the pit, this way and that, driving her constantly backwards each time she tried to mount a stand.

He called an end to it when Edelgard attempted to catch his downward swinging sword on the haft of her axe. Byleth's training sword cracked against the haft and the axe splintered. Chips sprayed in her face, scoring her cheek and forehead as she stumbled to the ground, deep cracks spreading through the broken training weapon.

"Enough," Byleth ordered. He dropped the training sword and knelt by her side. Edelgard's eyes were wide, her breathing harsh as she stared at the fractured wood in her hands. Blood trickled down a few pricks on her ivory skin. She did not appear to be in pain. She did, however, appear to be in shock. Moving her hands in different directions, she pulled gently on the axe and the weapon came apart in the middle, split roughly along the grain. Blood stained her palms from flesh rubbed raw.

Byleth brushed his hand over her face and summoned the strength to impart healing energies through her body. Her breath hitched as the cold sensation spilled through her face. The cuts healed instantly, restored by the white magic. Wiping the remaining blood from her face with his sleeve, he looked her over and checked for more injuries.

"Are you hurt?"

"No, Professor." Edelgard shook her head stiffly. Pushing herself to her feet, she tossed the broken axe into a bin for discarded training materials. "That was a strong blow."

"It is getting late. And you are at your limit."

Her mouth opened to voice a protest, but she held off from speaking. The truth of it was that she was exhausted. Even she could not deny that. Her shoulders sagged just from the effort of standing. Her breathing was still harsh and uneven. He had no doubt that she desired to keep going. But her health was part of his responsibility. Too much work would ruin her body.

Instead of denying his accusation, Edelgard stood in the pit and stared at him.

"Why did you not choose me?"

The question caught him by surprise. He returned her gaze for a moment, contemplating the context of her words.

"Choose you?"

"When you were asked to choose a house to lead." Her brows furrowed. "Professor Hanneman told me that the Archbishop allowed you to choose a house. You chose Dimitri."

"I chose the Blue Lions," he corrected.

She huffed, not accepting his redirect. "You had fleeting interaction with students other than myself, Dimitri, and Claude before making your decision. Surely in the three hours you were in the monastery before the decision was made you did not have time to establish a credible assessment of the houses. The only students you had a semblance of familiarity with were the leaders themselves. Unless your choice was based on the country that we hail from."

Her analysis was not incorrect. The decision had been thrust upon him very abruptly, and he had barely any time to catch his bearings, let alone meet the students, before he was called upon to decide. In the end, he had hardly spoken to any of the classes, let alone developed opinions on them. There was only one that had truly stood out to him. But that was not why he had chosen Dimitri's house.

"What would you say if I chose the Blue Lions at random?"

"Then I would call you a liar."

The accusation was designed to draw a response, any kind. But it did not. He weathered the harshly spoken word without so much as a blink. His attention lingered on her lips for a moment, studying the thin slips of pink from where such crass language emerged.

-v- Edelgard -v-

Heat bloomed in her throat at the realization of what she had said. It was unbecoming of the future emperor to speak so boldly to an instructor. Her heart meant it. Gods knew she meant it. But to actually say it aloud… that was unacceptable. A sliver of shame crept through the iron walls of her pride. She should not have said that.

What had provoked such a slip of her control?

"I chose the Blue Lions," the professor stated, brushing off Edelgard's words as easily as one shook fresh snow from a rug, "because they needed a professor. Professor Essar is a good fit for your class, Edelgard. His studious nature pairs well with how you run your class. And Professor Casagrande can handle Claude and the Golden Deer students in a way I could not. Dimitri and his classmates are somewhere between, as am I. I am no scholar, and your House is full of those. Nor am I blessed with exuberance; the Golden Deer have that in spades. The Blue Lions are strong, intricately connected. Five of their students have a deep-set history, and two more have ties from before this Academy. That I can work with. I am no miracle worker, Edlegard. I know my limitations and where I will fail."

"So you would have failed as a professor in my House?" Edelgard was unsure what to make of his confession. Ordinarily, such an admission of weakness was accompanied by guilty expressions or sorrowful tones. His unchanging grimace offered no hints to what transpired behind those words. Was this a lie too? Or was the truth far simpler than she expected it to be?

"You are dancing around the question you truly wish to ask," he said.

Her tongue clung suddenly to her gums, all traces of moisture having retreated from her mouth. Edelgard stumbled on her words for a moment, her breath catching as she nearly bit her tongue. Confusion stopped her cold, left her wondering what he meant.

The question she truly wished to ask.

If there was such a question, she was unaware of it. The way he delivered the ultimatum warned her that he knew what it was. Could he see through her? Expose secrets she kept even from herself? She was used to deflecting or rebuffing such things. What she was not used to was instinctively moving to answer them. Yet her thoughts had screeched to a jumbled mess, her mind tripping over itself as she anxiously tried to divine the meaning of his words.

"I… I do not understand, professor."

Professor Eisner's shoulders rose with a long breath, and his exhale seemed too long and drawn out to be human. She was acutely aware of that confusing moment where her fingers gripped his wrist, at the village of Remire, with Kosta's axe blocked just inches from her chest. She had felt no pulse, no heartbeat pushing blood through his body. Yet his skin was warm, hot even. And again, at the mock battle between classes, he had stalked out of the woods with Bernadetta's arrow embedded near to the fletching through his chest, seemingly unbothered by the near fatal wound.

She wondered if the professor was human sometimes, or if he was some godsforsaken monster.

Her musing stopped cold when the professor took a step closer. Though they still stood several feet apart, the small approach seemed to cut the distance between them dramatically, and her body tensed in reflexive anticipation and distrust.

"I did not choose you," he said slowly, as if picking his words with care. "Because if I had chosen the Black Eagles, we would have been professor and student."

"But you are a professor, and I am a student," she countered. Her confusion only mounted at the bizarre statement.

"I am not your professor." He held out a hand. Edelgard examined it with interest, uncertain whether to accept it or bat it aside. After too long a hesitation, she shook his hand with as much strength as she could muster. It was not much; the long hours of training had left her drained.

"What is the difference?"

"You have a difficult road ahead of you," the professor told her. "Not just here. After. As the future emperor of Adrestia, you will have challenges and dangers all around you. You need the best training for that. Professor Essar can give you far more in the classroom than I can. Should you need anything… outside of that," he pointedly tossed his training sword back to the rack. It clattered into place on its pegs with uncanny precision. "I would be honored to walk by your side."

Edelgard remained silent for some time, staring at the disturbed sand where he had stood. Over and over, she digested his words, listening to them forwards and backwards, rolling them about in her thoughts to pry out any hidden meanings. Even after he left, even after Hubert stopped by to check on her, she pondered the mystifying professor and his inexplicable words.

And she wondered why her belly twisted itself in knots over his quiet, brooding gaze.