Part 1 — Lone Moon
Soon after escaping from the Holy Tomb, Edelgard von Hresvelg ousted her father from his throne and became the new Adrestian Emperor. She announced to the world her intent of declaring war on the Church of Seiros, who she said divided the Empire twice to sew instability and seize control of Fódlan through a belief system masking a desire for extravagance in spite of the peoples' suffering.
One of Edelgard's first orders came by air to Garreg Mach and was soon posted on message boards all across the Monastery: Every student from the Adrestian Empire was to return to their homeland to either help with wartime preparations, or to avoid being on the wrong side of impending bloodshed.
Even though the Lone Moon typically marked a transition out of winter and into a hopeful springtime, the Officers Academy was dourer than ever. Now the harsh reality of war resonated with the faint crying of those being torn away from their friends and peers by the hand of an 18-year-old girl once believed to be a proponent of peace.
"I just can't believe I did not suspect any of this," laments Professor Manuela as she slumps on a small seat in the office adjacent to the Monastery's Audience Chamber.
She alongside Seteth, Professor Hanneman, Alois and Gilbert of the Knights of Seiros, Byleth and the Officers Academy's two remaining house leaders had gathered for a makeshift war council of sorts. None of them seemed particularly pleased to be there under that banner, but it was a necessity now that Edelgard had announced her intentions.
However, it was clear that Manuela might have been the least enthused of the bunch. The former Mittelfrank Songstress had completely forgone any of the make-up she typically wore at her post as the Black Eagles' instructor and Monastery physician; her hair was a mess; and the fuzzy, blanket-like white cloak she wore over the sleeveless arms of her green corseted dress was barely clinging to her body.
Manuela was known for being disheveled after the binge drinking sessions that followed her universally unsuccessful dates, but the degree of self-loathing she exuded here was unprecedented.
"I was their teacher," she continues under everyone's watchful eye save Dimitri's — he was staring off into the middle distance.
"I should have seen the kind of darkness Edelgard was harboring before it bubbled up and hurt everyone else too. But she's always been such a sweet girl… Certainly not capable of anything we know that dastardly Flame Emperor was up to."
"You mustn't blame yourself, Lady Manuela."
Gilbert, one of the older soldiers in Rhea's charge, leaned against a wall nearby the female instructor. His burly black-and-grey bishop's armor contrasted greatly with his age-worn, slender face and orange hair with visible silver streaks.
"Like the rest of us, you were only looking at the hearty, pristine block of wood she presented outwardly," he says in a low-key tone that expresses his thoughts with a slow, stalwart wisdom. "Had any of us the time to truly begin carving in deeper, eventually her rotting, termite-infested core would have become more obvious."
From beside the room's main desk where Seteth sat and watched over the babbling instructors, Claude scoffs and gently elbows Dimitri.
"Harsh words there, Gilbert. See you've made your judgment call on our new Imperial Empress right quick."
"And I do so wish you'd find a better way to express it than with another damned woodworking analogy!" Manuela says before burying her face in her hands and grunting. "I swear it's like that is the only think you ever think about Gilbert."
The elder knight squints her way, but mostly keeps his serious expression.
"Perhaps I'll come up with more exciting ways of presenting things to you once you find an interest beyond getting your heart broken and reminiscing on your former glory, Lady Manuela."
"Excuse me?!"
Manuela is immediately incensed and jumps to her feet, glowering at the man.
However, her attention is pretty quickly drawn to Professor Hanneman in the seat beside hers. The scholarly silver fox had broken into hearty laughter as he leans into the chair backing where his light brown overcoat hung.
"Oh you think that's funny, you insufferable old coot?"
Manuela gets right up in Hanneman's face, threatening to poke his eye out with one of her sharp nails.
Yet he acts none the wiser, simply rubbing off his monocle on the matching brown fabric of his suit before settling it back over his right eye.
"As a matter of fact, I think it's quite funny Manuela." His voice, though exuding the same age-old wisdom as Gilbert, was higher pitched and dripping with the kind of sarcastic pleasure one can only derive from chastising a long-time rival. "You just can't handle the fact that he pegged you square between those dull brown eyes."
"Why you…"
Manuela snarls and clenches her outstretched hand into a fist. Hanneman continues to laugh at her expense, though Gilbert and Alois have taken to conversing amongst themselves now that things predictably centered on the hothead instructors.
Near where Seteth sat, Byleth glances between his fellow faculty members with a kind of disbelief not apparent in his stony gaze.
Seteth clearly picks up on his underlying attitude when Byleth eventually looks toward him and the house leaders on the opposite side of the desk. The green-haired man sighs and stands up, slamming his hands on the hard surface to immediately shut everyone up and draw their attentions.
"All of these childish assertions are untenable and reflect badly on your senior statuses." Both Manuela and Hanneman look down at the floor when they feel Seteth's harsh words pierce through their physical beings. "This bickering also gets us nowhere on figuring out how we're going to handle this Adrestian Empire situation."
"So how do you recommend we begin to address that, Seteth?" Alois asks as he steps forward from the wall beside Gilbert.
A sort of mentee to the late Captain Jeralt, Alois was very much Gilbert's junior in terms of his slicked-back brown hair and that youthful glow in his blue eyes. However, he was just as an imposing figure while donning glistening white armor with a broad left shoulder plate and a matching cape with reddish-brown interior lining.
Seteth stares at Alois, and then sits down, closes his eyes and drops his chin down on tented, interwoven fingers.
"Frankly I'm not sure," he mumbles. "The Archbishop is beside herself and doesn't think she can provide any worthwhile insights before calming down. As of now we don't even have proper intelligence, our scouting parties are due to return—"
There comes a heavy knock at the closed chamber door.
Everyone's attention is drawn toward the echoing bangs, but nobody moves toward it immediately.
"… Any minute," Seteth finishes before clearing his throat and speaking up. "Come in."
The doors creak open, and in comes Shamir: Another dual-timing Knight of Seiros and Academy instructor known just as well for her straight-forward attitude and battlefield prowess as she was for being an oddity who worked for the Church without being a believer.
Shamir briefly bows towards everyone in the room before straightening out and re-adjusting the green, canvas jacket that only extended down past her bosom.
"Just got back with the scouting teams, and I'm afraid there's bad news." Though she was clearly preparing to deliver an unpleasant status report, Shamir's tone remained as consistently collected — if not somewhat reserved and downtrodden — as ever. "Soldiers are already gathering en masse just outside of Enbarr's city limits. Possibly hundreds of them."
A worried murmuring picks up around the room as the scout runs a hand through her indigo hair and cracks her neck to the side. This little motion jingles the metal on her choker as well.
"We don't know when the army will be prepared or when it will begin to march, but Garreg Mach will undoubtedly see an attack before the month is over."
"They couldn't have possibly prepared an armada of that scale if they only started as soon as Edelgard took the throne," Gilbert remarks with his eyes closed and a hand stroking his chin. "Perhaps the Flame Emperor had more background access to the Empire's resources than we were led to believe."
"I can't imagine they would attack us anytime soon!" Manuela says with some conviction as she slams a fist on the arm of her chair.
"And just what makes you say that?" Hanneman asks, suspicious.
"We still have not finished migrating all of the Adrestian students out of their dormitories," she continues with a touch more annoyance threading each word. "The nobility would never condone an attack if it put their children in danger."
Suddenly, Dimitri punches the wall he was standing by — denting it slightly in the process — and looks out at everyone's surprise with a snarl.
"Do you not see reality?" His tone is harsh, though not near as unhinged or gravelly as it was that day in the Holy Tomb. "If that monster is just as capable of orchestrating so much chaos from the shadows as she is outright seizing the throne, who's to say any single noble could have a say in her affairs?"
Many people look around to avoid Dimitri's gaze, knowing he was right but not wanting to admit it.
Only Claude reaches out, resting a hand on Dimitri's shoulder.
"Come on Dimitri, no need to be so aggressive. We're all in this together, right?"
Dimitri scoffs and rolls his head back, and then runs a hand across it to push his hair away from his face.
"I'm not so sure, Claude." He looks back toward the crowd, squinting with eyes dulled by harsh, sleepless shadows underneath.
"If anyone in this room were truly on my side, they would all be plotting our assault on Enbarr right now. If we can strike at their heart before an army is assembled, then there's no chance they'll be able to stop us!" Dimitri pumps his arms. "We can shred through their defenses before they know what's coming, and then string up Edelgard to dissuade any future uprisings."
"Dimitri."
This time it's Byleth who spoke out, giving his student a stern eye from the other side of the desk. Many of the other faculty members looked a little uncomfortable at the idea of angling so much of the violence at the former Black Eagles' house leader.
"What? Don't tell me you believe I'm in the wrong as well Professor." Dimitri lets out a brief chuckle of disbelief and steps forward, a hand at his heart. "After everything she's done to our families, our friends…"
"I think Professor Byleth is more against the strategy than the conviction," Shamir chimes in.
Her magenta eyes cast an unflinching stare, even when Dimitri looks back at her with gritted teeth.
"I'm the only one here who has seen the sizable army Edelgard has established," Shamir continues. "Even if we marched on Enbarr now, we don't have the forces to surround an entire capital city. They can just as easily retaliate and send more men up different channels to strike at Garreg Mach while we are defenseless."
"Well then we gather more men!" Dimitri's tone is that of someone who believes themselves to be talking to a wall; offering the only solution that nobody else can hear. "I've spoken with Rodrigue Fraldarius. The Kingdom is more than prepared to provide forces for our cause, and I imagine the Alliance must be as well!"
When Dimitri looks over at Claude, he's deflated seeing the other house leader glance away sheepishly.
"Look, Your Highness." Claude takes a deep breath and shakes his head. "Edelgard's call for war has the Leicester nobles all shaken up. Some are on our side, but others think she might have a point."
"They're traitors then." Dimitri prods a finger at Claude's sternum. "If you are to be the head of House Riegan, surely you can prove your authoritarian strength by shoring up your people for war, right?"
"I'd just as soon send my people to die in a battle they don't wish to fight as you would don a Dancer's garb Dimitri, and you know it."
The two students stare each other down for a moment before Shamir interjects.
"In times like this, perhaps it would do you well to be more like your vassal, Prince."
Suddenly all trace of anger and tension in Dimitri's demeanor sap away. He looks at Shamir as if mortally wounded, eyes wide in surprise.
"More like… Dedue?"
Shamir nods.
"Quiet. Contemplative. Always looking to put the safety of others before his own desires." She runs a hand through her hair again, the other angled on her hip. "I've sat silently with him in the Greenhouse and learned more about his convictions than twenty of these war councils could possibly hope to convey. If you died running into a conflict unprepared, his spirit would crumble faster than your Kingdom."
There's a long bout of silence following Shamir's unusually verbose takedown.
Dimitri simply stares with a stunned look plastered to his face, eyes darting all around the room to find he was the center of attention. Even Byleth, his last bastion of hope and support, simply closes his eyes and stands back with crossed arms.
She was right, and everyone knew it. Including Dimitri.
"My apologies," the Prince eventually concedes before starting to make his way to the door. "Please let me know what decision you all come to, I must send a message back to Fhirdiad."
After Dimitri leaves the room, another long silence follows. Everyone was stressed after the events of the previous few days, and it became clearer the longer they sat together in this tiny office. Soon not even the Sword of the Creator could cut through the tension in the air.
But even so, Seteth clears his throat to bring attention back to the meeting.
"Tell us, Shamir…" He begins. "Just how threatening an army are we expecting to come across? We'll need every scrap of information available to prepare."