Three rogues scatter down a hallway on the ground level of the dilapidated city north of its centerpiece castle, trying to avoid a circling shadow. A somewhat heftier man toward the back of the group stumbles and skids to a halt on his hands and knees. A whinny from on high cues the whooshing sound of a falling star, and in his haste to scramble back up he leaves his sword by the wayside.
The diving hooves of Ingrid's Pegasus through the open ceiling of the hall knock the lagging man down again before he can get far. Her armored white steed glides down that open runway, wingspan barely scratching the sides. As the animal passes over the two ragged-clothed men further ahead, Ingrid and Sylvain strike with their lances from either side. Ingrid tugs on the reins once the men are defeated, letting her Pegasus' hind legs brush against the stone floor before the beast trots to a stop and retracts its wings near the far end of the hallway.
As Ingrid flips her Hero's Relic around to slide it into the holster on her back with a sigh, Sylvain jumps down from the saddle behind her and grins up at the blonde girl.
"Just like old times, eh?" He laughs and smoothes out his windswept red hair.
Ingrid rolls her eyes in return and pets her partner's mane.
"What, like that time we got our butts kicked and life as we knew it literally fell apart?" Ingrid glares back at him over her shoulder; green eyes barely hiding as matching bows behind her ears hold back her short-cut hair. "I'd like to hope you're not so gauche that you remember that fondly Sylvain."
"The losing part? Not so much." Sylvain starts to mosey around to the front of her Pegasus, grey plate armor clanking as he drags the base of his lance along the floor. "But I did miss the wind blowing through my hair."
He turns on his heels, looking up to Ingrid and her steed with a wider grin. As he holds his lance like a cane, his other hand thumbs the hilt of a sword strapped to his thigh.
"I can't imagine that anyone who spends half as much time in front of a mirror as you would ever be okay with frizzy Pegasus hair," Ingrid scoffs as she leans in with a smile, wrapping her arms gently around her animal's neck.
"Hey. The hair only matters if I'm on a date." Sylvain throws his unkempt fiery locks back. "Being on the battlefield is the only time I'm ever not on a date."
"Well at least you recognize that," Ingrid mumbles through her teeth.
Their quiet moment is interrupted as one of the walls explodes behind Sylvain. A man flies through the ensuing cloud of dust and debris, bounces off the adjacent wall, and lands lifeless on the ground; broken and limp. Sylvain faces the action with his Lance of Ruin raised, and Ingrid draws Lúin with one hand as the other attempts to calm her Pegasus while it apprehensively swings its head back and forth.
They barely hear the sounds of footsteps over settling dirt and rock, but soon enough Annette runs out from the cloud with one arm covering her mouth and nose.
Eyebrow raised, Sylvain lowers his weapon as Ingrid shifts all focus to her Pegasus.
"Wow Annette, really giving us a scare here you know?"
The orange-haired girl keeps her arm over her face for a moment longer to cover the red blossoming on her cheeks, but brings it down so she can brush the dust off her outfit.
"Sorry! I must've hit the guy harder than I thought." Annette smoothly transitions from grooming herself to resting her hands on her hips. She huffs. "Either that or this whole place is way more decrepit than I'm giving it credit for."
"I'd be willing to wager both," Ingrid chimes in while offering their friend a greeting by proxy of a raised hand.
"Frankly the structural integrity of this ghost town bothers me less than the fact that you're over here," Sylvain remarks with an uncharacteristic frown as he crosses his arms. "Aren't you supposed to be posted down south with Mercedes? You didn't leave her to fend for herself, did you?"
Again Annette huffs, and this time she really puffs out her chest to try and appear more intimidating — as fruitless an endeavor as that may be.
"I wouldn't just leave Mercie by herself on a battlefield! Think you're forgetting who's the bestest best friend in the world here, lover boy."
Ingrid barely stifles back a chortle, which draws Sylvain's ire back toward her. The Pegasus Knight quickly pretends she's readjusting the green cape hanging down from the fuzzy collar around her neck.
Sylvain rolls his eyes and looks back to Annette.
"All I'm saying is it's irresponsible to leave a healer off on their own. Even one as capable as Mercedes."
"Well you'll be happy to know she isn't alone."
Suddenly Annette's gaze softens as she turns to face where the thick cloud of detritus once floated. "None of us are, actually."
Byleth and Mercedes enter the enclosed space, and the atmosphere thickens as Ingrid gasps.
"No way," Sylvain mutters as he rests a hand on his temple.
"Professor?" Ingrid scrambles to climb down from her Pegasus.
As Sylvain starts to approach Byleth, Mercedes steps aside and gestures toward the silent, stone-faced man like a showgirl with a pleasant smile. With his first look over the red-haired warrior, Byleth couldn't help but feel he had visibly changed the least of all his former students. The change from an open uniform jacket and semi-unbuttoned shirt to full plate armor did a lot to project maturity, but his stunned stare was near identical as far as Byleth was concerned.
Sylvain lays his right hand on Byleth's shoulder and starts to move his head around, taking in the other man from every angle he could. Byleth remains still and follows his gaze with just his pupils.
The red-haired man leans back and grins normally, squeezing Byleth's shoulder.
"Hey."
Byleth nods in return. Sylvain laughs heartily.
"You really had us going there, Professor." He finally steps back, giving Byleth some space. "If you gave it another year, I might've really believed you were dead."
"How are you not?" Ingrid hesitantly adds as she slinks up behind Sylvain.
Even though she tries her best to use Sylvain as a shield while looking over Byleth, the former instructor can see the battle going on in her eyes. She must have been happy to see him, but wasn't ready to let that overshadow her fear that it might all be a trick — that she might be hurt again.
Byleth closes his eyes. There was no real way to answer her question without divulging anything his team would not be ready to hear.
Luckily Annette was there to save him.
"Does it really matter Ingrid?" She saunters up and takes Byleth by the wrist, then holds it up in the air. "He's here, and so is Dimitri! We have a chance."
Ingrid is taken aback and holds a hand over her heart.
"Dimitri? Is he really here?"
Sylvain scoffs.
"Told you he was too stubborn to bite the dust, Ingrid."
As the Blue Lions talk among themselves, the portly rogue slowly gets to his feet and collects his sword again. He starts to run at them, seeing an opening in their distraction to get revenge against the blonde Pegasus Knight while her back was turned.
Byleth notices when he starts to get close and brushes Annette aside so he can draw the Sword of the Creator. As he does the former students in the crowd finally notice the assailant too.
However, before any of them get the chance to retaliate, the man abruptly stop as the sharp tip of a blade bursts through his chest and shreds the stringy tunic covering it. He gasps out a few times, sputtering blood in the process. Then the blade lifts him up onto his toes, and his breathing stops with one last whimper.
Once the blade retracts, the rogue collapses like a ragdoll. In his place, Felix stands with his sword dripping scarlet.
He wipes it off once before sliding it into the sheath attached to his hip.
"Are you all really this daft?" He says with spite.
As far as Byleth could tell, Felix was his old self; brought to extreme measures. Darker circles under his sharp, squinting eyes suggested a long pattern of sleeplessness over the last few years, and his hair was more messily pulled into a small ponytail than the carefully constructed bun he used to keep. Yet the precision of that strike and his overall demeanor told Byleth that Felix had not skipped a day of training over the past five years. Like his sword, he was sharper than ever.
"I'm surprised the whole Kingdom hasn't fallen apart yet if its best and brightest are so easily dulled by the reverie of a reunion."
That sharpness extended to his tongue too, it seemed.
Though Annette and Ingrid visibly shrink under the criticism, Mercedes seems nonplussed. Sylvain simply ruffles his own hair and shrugs.
"Personally I'm just happy to hear you think of us so highly," the red-haired man says with a chuckle.
Felix closes his eyes and puffs his aggression out through his nose.
"Of course that's all you'd take out of that." The raven-haired man turns on his heels, kicking up dust. "You'll still be a Margrave if we all get out of this alive and well, Sylvain. It'd do your people well if you didn't fall in battle."
The swordsman starts to walk away, prompting Annette to take a few steps toward him with an exacerbated expression.
"Um, Felix? Did you not see what's happening here?" She gestures at Byleth with wide, sweeping movements of her arms.
Felix stops and tips his head down.
"I noticed. We can catch up later." He slowly turns his head just enough to catch Byleth through his peripheral vision. "Though, it is a welcome surprise."
That's about all Felix offers before he confidently storms off into the night once more. Annette sighs and rests a hand on her hip as Sylvain turns back to the main group.
"Well, that's Felix." Sylvain shrugs. "What did you expect?"
"Trust me, it's good to see some things never change." Byleth smiles slightly. That little emote picks up everyone's mood around him.
"Now," the green-haired man continues. "Let's finish this shall we?"
Byleth brings his sword up and points out the battlements of the castle looming over the dilapidated hall.
"With these numbers, we'll be unstoppable."
The Blue Lions rally with a cry, and prepare to end the struggle here and now.