Feels good to be back.
Just as a very, very brief Author's Note, I wanted to give credit to the story "One Shot (For Now) With My Bow" by NashvilleKanons [ID: 13053573] for giving me some inspiration on blocking the first part of this scene. Though most of that story then becomes NSFW rather quickly, so fair warning.
Also apologies for the later upload today, had some technical difficulties working out discussions with StJames1 [ID: 6729713] who it looks like is gunna be helping me out with some beta reading! I always appreciate an extra perspective, and so far he's already given me interesting things to think about with just this first chapter. Sorry I can't include the period in your name 'cause of this website's weird linking rules.
Part 2 — Ethereal Moon
Byleth slumbered in the abyss for nearly five years.
During that time Edelgard von Hresvelg's former pseudonym as the Flame Emperor became a true moniker as the fiery war her rise to power stoked clouded the entire continent of Fódlan in chaos and misery.
The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus is in shambles as an Imperial loyalist named Cornelia uses power obtained through a coup to keep the capital under an iron fist and subdue the same revolts that spring up in eastern territories amid the absence of their one true heir. The Leicester Alliance is fractured as some of its leaders choose to side with the Empress while others seek the end of her tyrannical reign. The Adrestian Empire levees its forces on all fronts with hopes of completely unifying the war-torn continent.
In the year 1185, around the eve of the fall of Garreg Mach, the one who embodies the Goddess awakens in a small farming village at the base of the monastery. Hearing that his old stomping grounds have been abandoned for a good many years, Byleth makes his way back in the hopes that his students would hold true to their promise of returning for what would have been the impending Millennium Festival.
The opulence that once characterized Garreg Mach Monastery was naught but a memory as Byleth wanders the abandoned, dingy and dilapidated halls of buildings that — to him — were bustling with masses preparing for battle just the afternoon prior. Scattered about the crumbled infrastructure that coated the floors were bodies wrapped in dark, meager attire. Some still carried the spoils of their attempted pillaging around their waists. One man practically lay on a bed of gold as the bag of coins he had been carrying burst apart from the same gash that nearly severed his chest in twain.
At the base of a tower near one of the far corners of the desolate grounds, Byleth comes across a curious sight: Fresh blood still melting into the moss covering the cement between bricks as it slowly dribbles down. A body sprawled half out the entryway, donned in the red-highlighted armored garb of the Adrestian Empire. The words of the farmer whom had awoken Byleth by the riverbank came to mind. Imperial troops had recently come to investigate and were slaughtered. Every last one.
Immediately Byleth knew who had slaughtered them. Yet every fiber of his being told him to turn around and walk away, to avoid the truth that made his head spin.
He carries on and enters the tower, careful not to disrespect the dead by trampling on his corpse. That courtesy became difficult to adhere to as he found the interior piled with bodies, all abuzz with flies and emanating the stench of death.
As he ascends the echoing steps of the tower, Byleth pays attention to each and every body he passes; many recently deceased. Some were brutalized to the point that Byleth's stomach churned just trying to discern what the mangled flesh he looked upon could have once been. It was like an animal had paralyzed everyone it came across, giving them no chance to fight back before being ruthlessly torn asunder.
When he reaches the more spacious room at the apex of the tower, the stench mostly dissipates through the open doorways looking out upon the near-bottomless chasms of the mountain range surrounding the outer edges of the monastery. Though his face doesn't budge an inch, Byleth was glad he could breath normally again. He turns his gaze skyward to find some sunlight streaming down from a haphazard hole in the ceiling, illuminating the center of what was otherwise a near pitch-black chamber.
When he follows the light back down toward the far wall, his breath catches in his throat as he finds another living person sitting flush against the stone. Time stood still as Byleth takes him in and finally comes to the crushing realization that everything — his five-year disappearance and the sorry state of Fódlan — was true.
"Dimitri?"
The Professor's voice is hoarse as he struggles to get the word out, but the enclosed chamber echoes the slight sound into a cacophony that makes the blond warrior flinch into himself and clutch the immense spear in his right hand.
Dimitri looks up, and the sun serendipitously dips down to such a degree that it illuminates his dirt-and-blood-spackled face.
Where once Byleth knew a boy relentlessly caught between the youthful charisma of a noble in his prime and some unspoken pain, now he saw the glare of a chiseled expression from someone whose forced maturity left him wandering a dark mental abyss. His features were framed by unruly, long hair that was matted with filth and barely exposed his dulled blue left eye. The right was completely obscured by an eyepatch.
Byleth slowly approaches his former student, each step squishing as he trails bloody footsteps from the pile-on in the stairs. As soon as the green-haired man steps into the light Dimitri winces, caught right in the glare off of Byleth's shining black armor.
He stops, expecting Dimitri to react. Expecting him to say something. Anything.
But Dimitri continues to stare, as if looking right through Byleth. So the Professor approaches again, and when he's close enough offers the blond Prince a hand.
Dimitri turns from the gesture, cowering into the blue-and-black coat that Byleth remembered once dwarfed him and Edelgard during the chilliest winter months. Now, even though Dimitri was sitting, Byleth could tell it fit his burly frame perfectly.
"I should've known…" Dimitri remarks, gravelly voice grating against his throat.
Byleth tilts his head slightly, curious.
"That one day… You would be haunting me as well."
Suddenly Dimitri throws his arm out, swatting Byleth's hand away. The Professor takes a step back, giving Dimitri enough room to stand up on his own using the lance as a crutch. Once he was on his feet the weapon no longer looked quite as immense, as Dimitri had grown to tower over his former mentor. He was always a tall, gangly boy, which added to his overall charisma and appeal. But now all Byleth saw when he looked upon him was the somewhat hunched posture of a storybook ogre.
"What must I do to be rid of you?" Dimitri asks with a venomous hiss as he pounds the base of his weapon against the ground. "I will kill that woman, I swear it. Do not look upon me with scorn in your eyes."
At the mention of 'scorn' Byleth's gaze soften as he tries to look up into Dimitri's good eye. He gets a brief glimpse at the dark ring underscoring it before Dimitri flinches.
Byleth has no idea what to say. It seemed like Dimitri wasn't really talking to him so much as he was talking toward him. But words came from deep in his core:
"Everything will be okay," Byleth coos as he reaches out and rests the back of his fingers lightly against Dimitri's right cheek.
The Prince gasps and stands silently, as if he had forgotten how to breathe. Then he clasps his free hand around Byleth's. The metal of their gloves clink with such aplomb that Byleth was sure Dimitri would have broken each of his bones were they not covered.
"You… It can't be!" Dimitri exclaims. "You're alive?!"
Byleth nods.
All this time Dimitri had been convinced he was looking upon a ghost. Though Byleth would not have blamed him — his pale skin and green hair did give off an ethereal quality. He was happy to see some of his former student's faculties returned.
"If that is the case…"
Suddenly Dimitri's expression curdles, and Byleth could hear his voice distorting.
"That can only mean you are an Imperial spy. Did you come here to kill me?"
Byleth's expression ticks ever so slightly into a concerned frown.
"Answer the question!" Dimitri demands, stepping into the light with his lance at the ready. The Prince wore intense, jagged black armor that was covered in nicks and dents, as well as a few cuts that revealed cerulean metal underneath. Byleth found it hard to tell whether the garb was fashioned black or if it had rusted from years of splattered dirt and blood that accumulated with nary a desire to clean or polish.
"Of course not," Byleth reassures with a firmer tone and an unflinching stance.
Dimitri stares, his eye wildly wavering in its socket but never escaping Byleth's gravitational pull.
Eventually he manages to close his eye, duck his head slightly and grunt while bringing his free hand up to cover his forehead. The conflict in Dimitri's scrambled mind was so blatant it was practically audible in the otherwise silent tower.
The Prince pushes past Byleth and teeters toward the open door, motions jerky and unsteady to the point that he needed to use his lance like a cane just to make sure he didn't topple over. Byleth turns to follow him, and finds words once again at the tip of his tongue.
"I'm glad you're safe."
He had no idea what happened to Fódlan in the five years he had been gone, but Byleth knew whatever it was had been especially cruel to Dimitri. The Prince freezes up hearing those words and scoffs.
"Am I?"
He leaves, and Byleth takes a moment to recollect himself before following.
Dimitri hobbles his way back onto the main grounds of Garreg Mach Monastery, into territory Byleth recognizes from months of hard-wired routines. The greenhouse appeared mostly intact, but that was about the best he could say for the place. What was once a pond full of fish practically jumping at the opportunity to become that night's supper now only seemed to breed chunks of concrete and brick. The three classrooms for the Blue Lions, Golden Deer and Black Eagles were all boarded up, and some of the pillars holding up the stone awnings outside them had collapsed onto the now-weathered, yellow grass of a gathering space overgrown with weeds.
When they reach the bridge leading up to the crumbling Cathedral, Byleth finally speaks up. He tries to find out what Dimitri had been doing since the fall of Garreg Mach, but barely learns anything beyond Dimitri's self-proclaimed status as a walking corpse.
As they approach the closed entryway, Dimitri shoves the massive twin doors open as though they were curtains and continues inside without missing a step.
There were a million tiny blemishes in the Cathedral that Byleth could probably pick out if he really took the time to examine the space, but it all paled in comparison to the tragically collapsed ceiling at the far end of the chamber. He could still recall all those times Archbishop Rhea, or Flayn, or Ignatz, or Marianne, or half a dozen others stood beneath the great glass mural to give prayer. Now it was impossible, as a mountain of rubble and brick filled nearly half the structure.
"There are more important matters at hand," Dimitri hisses as he walks toward the rubble, voice rebounding throughout the giant room.
Byleth slinks after him, which Dimitri seems to take as permission to continue. He glances ever so slightly back to give Byleth the impression he was being addressed.
"Do you not smell them? Filthy rats. Everywhere." His sour tone fluctuates to a pained whimper. "And traces of those who were here long ago." Then, just as suddenly, into a sickened spit. "And thieves, crawling from the woodwork, attracted by the promise of treasure."
Once he reaches the edge of the rubble, Dimitri turns to face Byleth. The Professor stops his stride under the one-eyed scrutiny.
"Since the Monastery fell, order in the area fell right along with it. You must have seen the state of the town near Garreg Mach on your way here."
Like a funeral procession had just passed through and left its emaciated cargo behind to catch trout from a mucky river.
"Vile thieves run rampant. They pillage and loot to their heart's content." He squints, and Byleth could feel evil pierce his heart.
"I must kill them. Every last one."
Dimitri starts to return to the entrance just as soon as they had arrived, and Byleth steps aside while brushing some of the green hair from his eyes.
"What do you plan to do?" He asks, too curious to let his apprehension stop him.
"I told you," Dimitri says without stopping. He sounds as if offering to do something as menial as washing dishes. "I will kill them all."
"We don't have to kill them to stop them," Byleth retorts as he begins to follow in Dimitri's footsteps once again. "Even thieves are just trying to survive, and I…"
"They must die."
Dimitri's interruption was final.
"Someone must put a stop to this cycle of the strong trampling the weak." The words cut through Byleth and bring him to a halt. "Or do you condone their actions? Do you believe that the pillaging and slaughtering those rats live for is justified?!"
Byleth stands still, staring at Dimitri's back as his voice becomes louder and more maniacal the further he walks.
"It is reprehensible, and they must be put down! I intend to give them a taste of the pain they have inflicted on others. Even if it means becoming a rat myself, I swore to at least do that much."
He stops and goes silent. Byleth tilts his head.
Then Dimitri continues, muttering to himself. "I will not let them down…"
It was hard to deny that Dimitri was not in the best of mental states — to say the least. Yet… Byleth could hear his steadfast convictions outlining that crazed logic. The undying desire to protect those he cared most about; the drive to bring peace and equality to the world by snuffing out the evils at its black heart; the exact kind of truly chivalrous, loving character that helped Byleth fall for Dimitri and his motley band of noble and common friends all those years ago.
If that was still there deep down, Byleth knew he had to stay by Dimitri's side. He had to help, for Dimitri's sake.
Byleth approaches the former Blue Lions' head. "How many thieves are there?"