Raw
Before he realized it, Dimitri propelled himself to just outside the knight's hall, purely driven by rage. The trust he put in the professor broke in a way that he never thought could and it left him with a bad taste in his mouth.
Lies. All lies. When would they end?
The final bell struck a familiar tune, but something about it rang hollow, reverberating in a soulless tune.
Could he heed to the professor's explanation? Five years . . . He thought the empire's army killed him during the evacuation of Garreg Mach . . . But he survived that. Where did he go? And why did he return?
Maybe isolation wasn't as appealing as the professor hoped it would be. Maybe guilt weighed him down. Or maybe he was telling the truth? Injuries prevented him from returning or something similar.
Either way, hatred consumed Dimitri, if only fleetingly. He hated being used. He hated being lied to. He hated that he could simply be just a plaything for the professor. Had he seriously misjudged the professor's intentions all this time?
He found himself staring down familiar stairs. The graveyard. He spent too much time here the last few days. He visited Rodrigue briefly, wishing things ended differently. The ground was still freshly dug, the brown mound was easy to spot because of it.
That girl. Her hatred. Her eyes. Her brother. Everyone perished in some miserable manner these days.
"What do I do now?" He questioned the grave, although knew Rodrigue could not answer. He probably could not hear it, regardless.
He found the professor's parents' plot, a previous curiosity overcoming him. Araleth's name was faded from the stone, but 'Jeralt Eisner' was clear as day.
'Eisner' – the name was accessible all this time, but by the time Dimitri could figure it out, he was too preoccupied with the 'Flame Emperor' and her allies to care. Maybe he could have learned the truth sooner.
He looked at the names of the surrounding plots but did not see the infant son. A burial urn, perhaps? There would not be much in the way of remains for someone so small and . . . and burned.
The files did not say where Byleth was buried, but surely it would be near his parents? Especially given how close in time those deaths were. Why was he nowhere near his mother – and now father?
Was his name on the stone and faded from weather? Dimitri inspected it closer; even though 'Araleth Eisner' was illegible, the indentation was still there. There was nothing between her and Jeralt.
'Seteth might know,' He thought.
Was there any point in caring now? He could not stand the thought of being abandoned by the professor. He never thought of that possibility before tonight. He planned to leave? When? Why? Maybe it was time to steal that journal after all . . . Get the perspective from Jeralt, the source of this extravagant plan.
He heard someone humming and found the source from a woman in an off-white dress. She held a bouquet of ivory flowers in the hands, pressed deeply into her stomach. Her skin was paler than her dress and shimmered with a mystical glow. She had waist-length blue hair that curled toward the ends and darker blue eyes that met Dimitri's unshyly.
"No one visits the cemeteries at night," She said unsolicited, "Too many of the residents are afraid of ghosts. Woooo!"
"And you aren't?" Dimitri didn't know why he entertained her, although her face did have a resemblance to the professor's.
"Nope," She stood before the gravesite of the Eisner couple, alongside Dimitri. A chill ran down his spine.
"Not a believer in the paranormal then?" Dimitri asked.
"Just the opposite. I have no fear of them. You?"
Dimitri shook his head, "I've seen enough ghosts . . ."
"Ghosts can be terrifying. But only if you let them be. Hmm. I wonder why they never fixed her name. it is sad to be erased from history like that."
"Did you know her?"
"One could say that, I suppose. So much has changed since she walked these grounds. For so long, she was a forgotten entity. Living on only in her husband's memory. And now he rests here as well."
"You seem to know a lot about that . . . And her son? Byleth?"
"What about the child concerns you so?" She placed the flowers at the base of the tombstone and pulled a single lily from the bunch. It had a vibrant blue streak through the center, lining each of the six petals.
"I just . . . It's not exactly what I expected to learn. I want to know the professor. And I'm afraid of what that actually means." Why was he saying all of this?
"Staring at markers for the dead will not help you. Listen to him," She tore off a petal and let it fly in the breeze.
"I'm sorry, who are you again? I don't think I caught your name."
"There is more to a person than just their name," She twirled the flower and picked off the opposite end. Dimitri frowned and said nothing. It was almost as if . . .
"I know what you're fretting over, dear. You're overthinking it," another petal soared passed Dimitri.
"Were you eavesdropping on us earlier? This is none of your business."
Foreboding clouds gathered above. That night would bring another bout of rain.
"Ah. Perhaps not. But I will continue to do so."
"I don't know who you are, but I suggest you back off."
She plucked another from the lily. It was almost bald now, with two solitary petals at opposing ends.
"I will not. No one is safe in the dead of night."
She dropped the lily, leaving only those last petals intact. Her eerie words gave him a bitter reminder of the dream he had. The picture of an impaled professor became the forefront of his mind's eye.
"You will be the death of me." The final message from the specter.
The professor. Dimitri left him there, in the cathedral. Did the professor wait for him to return?
He was about to excuse himself from the woman, but she disappeared. The flowers she left had also mysteriously vanished. Maybe she was simply another figment of his fractured mind, but he could not waste time with that – he hurried back, cursing himself for leaving in the first place.
His fingers turned numb and the prickling sensation jarred him awake. Stone greeted him and he breathed in the air bouncing from the freezing floor. Byleth coughed violently, chest and throat scorching – how long did he sleep?
Pins and needles shot through every surface area of his skin, exposed or not. He pushed off the ground to his hands and knees. Another shockwave lashed out from his side. He grabbed it as a reflex and a cold wetness seeped through.
He crawled forward, counting the aisles of benches to the back; where he and Dimitri sat at the concert. Would he return? Byleth needed him to, even if he came back to yell some more. He had every right to be angry; but, leaving Byleth behind was a dangerous plight.
He could barely force himself to slither to one row. He grasped the bench once more and attempted to stand, gasping for air at such a mundane task.
The final bell rang, masking all other sounds. Even so, he sensed someone from behind. Before he could prepare, that someone came rushing in and drove a knife in his uninjured side. Now he had a matching set.
"Ugh!" Byleth yelled. He twisted his body and held out his open palm, shooting a fireball into his assailant's face.
Byleth pulled the knife out and slashed his enemy's throat while he was recoiling. The unidentified body sank, pooling blood around it.
"Damn it," Byleth grunted at his new wound and managed to straighten himself out. He took a moment to cut his caplet and wrap it around the new site, pressing on it. He sprinted to the door, adrenaline now pumping, and hurried past the gate.
An unseen archer volleyed him from above the gate. An arrow burrowed into his back, between his shoulder blades and he dropped the knife as a result. Fresh, warm blood oozed out his back. The arrowhead fastened itself between muscle and bones, so it did not drill all the way through.
Byleth located the archer in a balcony before a grand stained glass window and summoned a circle above his head; thunder poured from the center and struck the archer. He was unsure if it killed him, so he conjured another bolt.
He could not remove the arrow or mend that wound on his own, so he limped forward with each new wound stinging and zapping relentlessly.
At the end of the bridge, Byleth saw a soldier with a lance who wore the polished white armor of the monastery. He doubted its authenticity and could not afford to be wrong by lowering his guard.
"I have a report for you," Byleth called out with raspy voice from the halfway point, "Trespassers in the cathedral."
"You're in bad shape," The soldier said. Byleth stopped moving. He stood at a disadvantageous spot and felt the whip of the wind lashing against him. "We need to get you to the infirmary."
Byleth looked over his shoulder – his eye twitched at spiking jolts – to determine the threat level.
"Where is the rest of the patrol?" Byleth questioned, "There should be more men."
"I don't know. That's a good question."
'Stay awake,' he commanded himself.
The soldier advanced, saying something garbled by Byleth's failing senses. He was slipping, he knew that much, and prepared himself for any possibility.
'Dimitri,' he searched for any signs of him, 'I really need you right now.'
His panting slowed down, but he drew in long and heavy breaths in exchange. His shoulders, neck, head, and eyelids weighed down on him, and his body threatened to keel. Bright red frostbite colored his hands and face.
Storm clouds gathered overhead, he noticed and squinted irritably at it, "More rain."
He cupped the knife on his belt, assessing the immediate need of unsheathing the weapon – one of the few tools he currently possessed other than magic.
Booming footsteps rushed at him from the cathedral entrance and Byleth adjusted to identify the source, momentarily removing his attention from the soldier.
The new foe, a heavyset aggressor, raised an axe above his head and threw his weight into the downward strike. Byleth evaded by jumping backwards. The axe's blade wedged into the nearby parapet and the man struggled to reclaim it.
A last-minute realization gripped him, and as he feared, the soldier lunged the lance for a back attack. He narrowly avoided it by lifting his arm and twirling his body away in a subsequent leap. Mid rotation, Byleth used the vampire light spell of Nosferatu to both stagger the falsified ally and replenish his strength.
As he landed, the axe man evidently forfeited his attempt at retrieving the axe and punched Byleth in the jaw. His neck cracked deafeningly, and his body forcefully spun around.
Byleth fell forward and caught himself at the opening between two of the parapets, one hand on each stone slab, staring at the rushing stream and the sharp rock bed beneath him. The pain from his three existing cuts ripped through him and he shrieked involuntarily – the howling wind wailed from all directions, carrying his cry.
He pushed himself back up, regardless, and attempted to discern the other two's placement. If they knocked him off the bridge, he would not survive. His chances were slimming either way.
He saw the lance coming at him again and protected his body by sacrificing his left arm. The edge shredded him from his wrist to his elbow – in a counter measure, Byleth retrieved his personal dagger, rushed at the soldier, and drove the it into the only exposed area – between the eyes.
Another scream filled the still night. Someone was sure to have noticed the skirmish by now. Even if they did, the other burly man already pincered Byleth and threw him back first into the stone.
As his back hit the stone, he felt the arrow push deeper in. A chill came over him, but it was different than a normal one. This wasn't cold necessarily, but it rippled from the site and spiraled through his body. Paresthesia formed in each limb and it struck his head.
He knew it then. His chances fell to zero.
Byleth took in one sharp breath and held it. He watched the man wriggle the axe from the stone and raise it. He came to end Byleth.
'Move.'
His eyes locked on the jagged edge of the axe head.
'. . .Move.'
His numb hands would not budge.
'. . .Pulse . . .'
The world shattered at Byleth's command. He exhausted his divine magic at Gronder, so time resumed. Each second ticked toward his demise. Out of ideas and unable to move, Byleth closed his eyes in resignation.
'Dimitri. I am so sorry.'
A rush of something blew passed. Nothing hit him and confusion took hold. He opened his eyes and saw something blue. He couldn't make out what it was, but it looked soft.
"S. . .S," His head slumped. His airway closed, pinched off. He nearly lost consciousness.
'I can't breathe.'
Someone grabbed at him. Reflexively, his right arm flailed to fend off the attacker. Whoever it was caught the hand and held it to a cold chest plate.
"It's me," He said in an anguish of its own.
'Who?'
The unknown man gently placed Byleth's hand down and slid his arm around his back. He lifted Byleth up and a searing agony exploded in his body. Byleth writhed and wailed; it was an otherworldly sound that echoed endlessly back at them.
"I have to move you, professor," The man's voice shook. They traveled to a destination unknown. Byleth still could not draw in air properly. He gasped excessively to regulate but hyperventilated instead. His throat clicked at each failed attempt to bring in oxygen.
"Professor!? Hold on just a little longer."
Every muscle began to spasm at random. Whoever held him cradled him closer.
'It's so cold.'
His lungs seized. He stopped trying, feeling a pull in every possible direction. His chest jolted. And again. Then everything released.
"Help him!" Dimitri yelled in the infirmary, full blown panic setting in. He set the professor's body on the bed, unsure what the collective damage entailed. Manuela, who had readied herself for bed, snapped back awake and attempted a heal. She screamed for more aid.
The professor's skin was blue under all the blood. She grabbed the professor's wrist. Then his neck. And finally his heart.
"What are you doing?" Dimitri bellowed, "Hurry up and heal him!"
"No," She mouthed.
"There's no time to wait!"
"There's nothing I can do –"
"Stop talking and –"
"He's already gone!" She screeched.
"Gone?" Dimitri repeated, unable to fathom it, "He can't be gone."
"I'm so sorry," She huffed, restraining her own emotions, "There's nothing that can be done."
"You didn't even try!"
"My spell bounced off of him. In order for it to work, he has to be alive. He's –"
"STOP! Stop it, stop it, stop it! He's not . . . he can't . . ." Dimitri seized his head, pulling fistfuls of hair.
Manuela closed her eyes tight and exhaled, then she said, "I can try one thing. It probably won't work."
She took off her coat and began chest compressions. Old fashioned CPR.
"One. Two. Three. Four . . ." She counted as she pressed, then at ten she performed mouth to mouth, spurning as her lips touched the professor's cold ones. Dimitri watched in horror.
"What is going on?" Seteth entered the room then stopped at the sight, "What happened?"
Dimitri barely registered the question. This couldn't be happening . . .
Seteth inhaled and assisted Manuela, allowing her focus on breathing into him while he did the compressions.
"Go tell Gilbert what happened," Seteth breathlessly ordered Dimitri, "We need to neutralize the enemy."
"But I," Dimitri's body refused to leave.
"There is nothing more you can do for the professor. I promise we will do all we can. We need to stay a step ahead now."
"No need," Gilbert said, "I heard all the commotion. Your Highness, let's give these two space to work."
"No – he's. I can't."
"You have done what you could. Leave the revival to them." He led the reluctant Dimitri out to the hall, who all but dug his heels into the floorboards. It was a wonder how Gilbert managed enough strength to pull him away. More nurses and priests rushed by to assist.
"Where did this happen?" Gilbert asked. Dimitri sighed heavily and crossed his arms.
"The cathedral bridge."
"Come with me."
"Yes," Dimitri frowned. Being away from the professor gave him a newfound objective, "If any of them still live, I will crush them."
"If any of them yet live, we need to gather information first," Gilbert corrected.
"What would be the point? We know who they are. Imperial spies."
Gilbert sighed, "Please show some restraint. Walk me through what happened."
Dimitri lowered his head. Here he was, afraid the professor planned to abandon him – however, in reality, it was reversed.
"I left him," He confessed, "This is my fault."
"Left him?"
"Yes! Like filthy little cowards that they are, they attacked when he was isolated. Alone. This is my fault. This is all my fault!"
"Please don't blame yourself. Why did you separate?"
"I was mad at him. That's all. If I could go back and change it, I would. I can't. I just can't. if he dies because of this, it will be on my head."
"You need to compose yourself. It sounds like you were not aware of any dangers."
"It doesn't matter. I should have known. There is always danger."
"What's done is done – all we can do now is move forward."
"Without him? Is that even a possibility?"
"If you wish to save your kingdom, it is. If you wish to aid Seteth and the knights of Serios in saving Lady Rhea, it is. Steel yourself, Your Highness."
"Oh, I'll steel myself alright," He said threateningly. Gilbert recognized his descent. He prayed that the professor revived and quelled Dimitri's inner demons.
As Gilbert passed familiar faces, he sent summons to the more trusted members of the inner council and gave orders for them to meet at the infirmary and then the bridge. At the moment, he wanted to contain hysteria to a minimum.
"You really think anymore would show their faces?" Dimitri scoffed, "One of them wore monetary armor. We can't trust anyone."
"They've been doing well at blending in. As it stands, there is no good way of determining spy versus ally."
Dimitri muttered something unintelligible under his breath – not even he really knew what he said. It all started to blur together.
They were at the bridge and counted two bodies and two weapons. A soldier with a dagger through his head and the other a man with his body snapped backwards – his hands touched his heels with his chest unnaturally puffed out.
Dimitri heard the professor's final scream in his head. It roared so deafeningly and repeated in his eardrums endlessly.
Something in him laughed. It was a low rumble at first, as if he found something mildly amusing. Then it grew louder and more cynical.
"Your highness?" Gilbert was sent on edge by this unusual behavior.
"Oh, it's nothing," Dimitri quickly frowned, "I only just now realized something."
"And what would that be?"
"Just focus on your task."
Gilbert sighed heavily. None of this was good. He examined the soldier with the knife protruding from his forehead and said, "This knife is . . ."
"The one the professor keeps at his hip."
"And him?" Gilbert pointed at the warped man.
"My doing."
Gilbert shuddered at the brutality but said nothing. They continued in silence. Splotches of blood trailed out from halfway across the bridge, marking the spot where Dimitri picked up the professor. He was so focused on protecting the professor, Dimitri blacked out on how he killed the axeman.
Everything else, however, scorched itself into his memory. The raised axe. The incapacitated professor. The fear of losing yet another beloved person. And how the professor could not identify Dimitri, so he tried to fend him off. Down to the last, he would claw and scratch to preserve his own life.
The professor made such unnatural noises that Dimitri knew it was the end. He felt it in his gut. The professor passed in Dimitri's arms, but he could not acknowledge the truth just then. To add the final insult, Dimitri also doubted that the professor ever recognized him. He was too far gone by then.
He died thinking Dimitri was an enemy.
They stumbled on another dagger that caught Gilbert's attention. It was silver with black swirls on the hilt and down the twisted blade. Gilbert picked it up and marveled at the unusual shape, "It probably belongs to one of them."
"So, you found a clue after all. It would be rude to keep it all to ourselves. Why don't we return it?"
Gilbert did not have a fitting response to that. They continued in silence until Gilbert asked, "Where is the night patrol? I need to get a schedule on who was supposed to be here."
"Hmph."
"Did you see any when you left the first time?"
"I wasn't paying attention."
"It's safe to assume that they've placed themselves within the monetary guard. We've known this, however, for quite some time. They must have added to their own ranks despite our efforts to expose them."
"Tell me, Gilbert," Dimitri crossed his arms, "How do we trust anyone in this operation? We can never truly tell what anyone is thinking or what their true objectives are. Even you and I had doubts about the . . . the professor."
"I don't know. Hmm. Does the reason you were upset with him have anything to do with that doubt?"
"It doesn't matter now."
"Humor me a moment. Did you learn something?"
"Just drop it! None of it matters anymore!"
"Maybe it doesn't," he conceded, "But it might help ease your mind to talk about it."
"I should have minded my own damn business. If I never pushed for an explanation, we would have had a nice night and walked back together. He was tired. I should have known. He owed me nothing."
"So, I was correct in my assumption . . ."
"Yes. You were. What he told me upset me. But it shouldn't have. I made it about me when it should have been about him. Now look where I'm at. Back where I started."
"What did he tell you?"
"Ask Seteth," Dimitri scouted on ahead. He really hoped to find an enemy soon so he could properly vent his frustration. He already went through this loss once – this time, however, would be even worse.
Inside the cathedral, Dimitri found the professor's first kill. When Gilbert joined him, he knelt beside the body and examined the kill wound. He matched it to the blade they picked up and said, "Interesting. The professor must have taken this blade from him. The wound has a curve to it that matches this."
"Good," He said.
"It looks like you were right. They hoped to ambush him when he had no reinforcements. Unfortunately, we may not have enough to learn more about who 'they' are."
They returned to the bridge, where Seteth and the members of the Blue Lions, minus Mercedes and Annette, met them.
"Dimitri," Ingrid made a sorrowful face, "I am so sorry."
"What happened?" Sylvain asked.
"Is there still a threat?" Felix followed up.
Gilbert answered, "We are still in the middle of investigating. Three enemies dead. No sign of anyone else, either."
"Seteth," Dimitri asked, ". . . Is he . . .?"
Seteth exhaled, "We could not revive him. I am sorry to report that your professor is . . . is dead."
"How did this happen?" Ashe shuddered.
"Tch," Felix shook his head, "I'm going to look for more intruders."
"We'll go together," Sylvain nodded, "We gotta stay together right now."
"Agreed," Ingrid said and Ashe nodded. The four of them went on ahead, while Dedue stayed with Dimitri.
"How are you?" He asked, even though he knew what to expect. Dimitri just shook his head and looked off into the distance.
"Gilbert. Your Highness," Seteth said, "I know this is probably not what you want to hear at this time, but it will become relevant soon. About the professor's identity and the secrets that come with that."
"What does it matter?" Dimitri asked.
"It matters. I know that Archbishop wanted him to be buried in the Holy Tomb in the event of his death. His bloodline is . . . well, he is kin to Rhea."
"What?" This caught Dimitri's attention.
"He was likely targeted because of that. They may come back and try to steal his body. We cannot allow that happen, under any circumstances."
"They would . . . steal his body?" Dimitri flummoxed.
"To learn about the Crest of Flames and the power that comes with it. Yes. If you don't want him to be defiled any further, then you need to listen to me. I know this is hard, but if you ever really cared about him, you will do this one final act. We must take his body to the Holy Tomb and seal it off until we find the Archbishop."
"Yes," Dimitri said, "I don't want them anywhere near him."
"Good. Yes. We should move him as soon as we can."
Gilbert frowned, "And what will you tell the monastery?"
"I propose we carry out a closed casket ceremony so they can mourn and pay their respects. Only a handful of us should know the true resting place for the professor."
"And will his false tomb read as, 'here lies the beloved professor?'" Gilbert crossed his arms.
Seteth sighed, "No. You said you both looked into the Eisner family? You know of Araleth and Byleth?"
"Yes. We do," Gilbert nodded.
"The baby thought to have died in the fire survived. That child grew up and became your professor. The professor is Byleth Eisner."
"Excuse me?" Gilbert demanded, "Why?"
"It all stems back to Jeralt's decision to flee the monastery. He felt this place endangered his son, so he took the infant and ran. As for the details behind that rationale, you would have to talk to the Archbishop to know the full story. She was the only one present at Byleth's birth."
"This story becomes more and more troubling," Gilbert's stern face grimaced further.
"No wonder he couldn't find the right way to explain it," Dimitri turned away from everyone, "A mountain of lies."
"Finding the exact truth became both of our goals. However, both the Archbishop and Jeralt gave him a number a false and conflicting stories, that he could not possibly understand his own life."
"But you don't have all the answers?" Gilbert pushed.
"No. I don't. I have a partial understanding. The Archbishop kept her secrets with her – Jeralt, at least, wrote his down and left them for the professor. For Byleth."
"He told me about that journal," Dimitri confirmed disinterestedly.
"It won't have everything – Jeralt didn't know everything. It is one perspective, but if Byleth told you the journal existed, he would not have minded you reading it."
"That's what he said," Dimitri remained impassive.
"I have no objections, if that was a wish of his. However, I will probably have to hide that journal away at some point. Our enemies already know too much, and I cannot allow sensitive information like that to fall into their hands."
"Go ahead. I've heard enough," Dimitri walked away from them toward the cathedral, with Dedue following behind.
"Gilbert," Seteth inquired, "What is your take on his mental state?"
"Troubling. I will keep an eye on him."
Seteth shook his head, "Things just took a turn for the worst; however, we must carry on."
"That's an understatement . . . What will you do?"
"With the students searching the cathedral and the infirmary still busy, I doubt that they would be so brazen to attempt a body snatching. I may retrieve that journal."
"Allow me to join you. I would like to read Jeralt's thoughts."
"To be honest, I am not so sure that I am comfortable with that. It contains some of his perceptions on Lady Rhea that I am sure you may find distasteful."
"So, you mean to still withhold information?"
"We can discuss it along the way. Let's allow the children time to grieve together."
"Hey!" Felix said with intensified irritation, "So, what did happen?"
"We were told to meet at the second floor," Ingrid explained, "When all of us gathered, we were told about the attack. Seteth said you were the one who brought the professor in."
"Funny," Felix continued, "You don't have a scratch on you. Something smells. Well?"
"Enough," Dedue stood between Felix and Dimitri, "We are all upset by what happened. There is no need to start throwing accusations."
"I want to agree," Sylvain rubbed the back of his neck, "But Mercedes and Annette said that you two were together all evening. Felix is right, though – you don't look like you were in a fight."
"We shouldn't be arguing," Ashe said, "What if there's someone still here?"
"Hmph, we'll get the truth one way or another," Felix promised.
"You're right. For the most part, I wasn't in that fight. Not until the end."
"Oh? Care to explain yourself?" Felix asked.
"We got into an argument and I left. You are absolutely right – does that make you happy? Are you satisfied with that answer?"
"Not in the slightest. You 'got into an argument'? What, he hurt your fragile little ego so you left him to die. Makes sense," Felix scoffed.
"I didn't know there were spies," The argument sounded weak, even to Dimitri. What else could he say?
"There are always spies, you dolt!" Felix shouted, "How the hell did you of all people forget that!? You are incredibly selfish, do you know that? This whole thing could have been avoided if you weren't so stuck up your own ass!"
"Felix," Ingrid reached to calm him.
"No! I am down sugar coating the truth. One day and he already monumentally screws up. You never leave someone by themselves. Do you know what separates this place from the rest of us? A long bridge – not exactly a great place to be boxed in."
Dimitri gave him a dead expression. He knew Felix was right and that there was no defense to what he did. He was emotional and let his logical side suffocating in the dark.
"Has anyone bothered to tell you about Gronder yet? Oh, I bet we were all falling over ourselves to not mention that."
"Okay, c'mon. Let that one be," Sylvain even wanted Felix to calm down.
"No. I won't. Who here knows about the spear? We were all on the same field – we all saw it happen."
"That's enough," Dedue warned.
"No. Let him speak," Dimitri ordered.
"You take one look at Edelgard and you just rush toward her, not caring about anything around you. You distracted him. You caused him to stop paying attention to the approaching alliance. He got impaled watching you run away from the rest of us. This. Was. All. You."
"Okay, you've had your say," Sylvain sighed, "there's nothing any of us can do about it now."
"What was the argument about?" Felix questioned, "What was so important that you just had to go?"
More tension grew each second Dimitri did not respond. It all seemed so stupid now, but Felix and the others deserved to know . . .
"I learned that he had plans to leave Fódlan and meant to never be found again."
"Awesome," Felix commented, "Right. Leaving Fódlan doesn't sound like a half bad idea."
He pushed passed Dedue and Dimitri, purposefully slamming into the prince. Sylvain shook his head, "You know, he just kind of disproved himself. What do we do when we're angry? We tend to walk away. I'm going to go make sure he doesn't do anything rash – for what it's worth, Dimitri, learning someone might leave without a trace is worth getting upset over."
Sylvain left the cathedral as well, leaving Dedue, Dimitri, Ashe, and Ingrid.
"That's so strange," Ingrid folded her arms, "That doesn't sound like something the professor would do. Is there any context to that?"
"It . . . it sounded more like his father's idea," Dimitri remembered.
"They were very close," Ashe nodded, "If it was back when his father still lived, I could see them agreeing to something like that. They were accustomed to a life of travel and maybe wanted to journey beyond the borders?"
"He was a fill-in professor," Ingrid added, "Maybe neither of them planned to stick around for an additional year?"
"That could be," Ashe agreed, but Dimitri did not feel much comfort in what they were saying.
"Still," Ingrid continued, "There's been many times where I have stepped away due to disagreements. Sylvain is right about that."
"Hmm," Dimitri grunted.
"I think we should discuss this another time," Dedue noticed the withdrawal on Dimitri's face.
"You two should head on back," Dimitri showed a hint of his compassionate side, but overall remained flat, "It's possible there are still infiltrators, but they won't show themselves until we're vulnerable."
"And what about you?" Ashe asked.
"I hope they try to attack me – I would very much like it if they tried."
"Easy," Ingrid shook her head, "I know it's hard, but you can't lose yourself again."
"I will do what I can."
"We will stay with you and carry that emotional burden," Ingrid smiled, hoping to encourage, "You are not in this alone."
"This is not the life I ever wanted," Dimitri expressed, but moved away from that notion, "You should pay your respects soon. I doubt there will be much more time before he becomes just another grave."
Ashe and Ingrid paused uncertain what to do next.
"Go," Dimitri said more forcefully.
"We should go with them," Dedue suggested, "Pay our respects and then try to rest."
"Oh Dedue," Dimitri said with mock glee, "I will never sleep again."
He heard the scream throughout the entire conversation. He doubted the scream would ever stop. He could only imagine what closing his eye would do.
"You will sleep. You have to," Dedue countered, but Dimitri ignored him and ushered them all away. In the opening between the gate and the chapel, Dimitri stopped Dedue to talk to him. The other two left the cathedral, feeling unnerved.
The night's surprises did not end there – Flayn approached the bridge with her ruffled sleeves saturated in blood. In between her fingers, she held with a similarly soaked arrow, still fully intact.
"Flayn?" Ingrid ran up to her with Ashe following behind, "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," She seemed in a state of shock, too, "Have you seen brother?"
"Not in a few minutes," Ingrid replied, "Are you hurt?"
"It's not my blood," Her eyes were glossy.
"Then what happened?" Ashe asked gently. Flayn jumped, startled at his voice.
"I'm sorry," He said, "I thought you saw me."
Seteth rushed to Flayn once he and Gilbert returned with Jeralt's journal.
"Flayn? Please, please tell me you're okay!"
"I am fine. Brother, I – " She stammered, giving Gilbert time to catch up. She offered Seteth the arrow in her hand, "This arrow came from the professor. It's what struck him – his heart."
"Flayn, I don't – you dug it out?" Seteth held her hand and took the arrow from her.
"She told me about it," Flayn met Seteth's gaze.
"Who?" Seteth asked, "Manuela? Mercedes?"
"No. I had never seen her before, brother. She whispered to me what to do to make him breathe again."
"So, he is well again?" Seteth prayed for a good answer.
Flayn sniffled, "Once I pulled this arrow out, he began to breathe. But brother, his injuries are . . ." She closed her eyes and failed to suppress tears, "they are worse than mine ever were."
"I thought you were asleep, Flayn. You weren't supposed to see him like this."
"She woke me up and whispered it to me. She told me what to do."
"Where did she go?" Gilbert asked.
"I tried to follow her, but she lost me. The other healers are caring for his heart wound. And it is deep, brother – I – it may have been better if I left him the way he was before."
"Don't say that," Seteth assured her, "You did the right thing. You gave him a chance."
"A chance, yes," She cried, "Or undue misery."
"He is strong. He can manage a little pain," Seteth smiled weakly and hugged Flayn tightly.
"What did she look like?" Gilbert questioned again, trying to identify the mystery woman.
"Long, blue hair. Blue eyes. Like the professor's, before the goddess gifted him power."
"I will see what I can find out. You said you saw her come this way?"
Flayn nodded, "I thought so."
"We never saw anyone with long blue hair," Ashe told Gilbert, "There isn't anything we can do for the professor, but we can find this woman and thank her for the tip."
"Or capture her on suspicious behavior. Ashe. Ingrid. Come with me – let's find our mysterious 'helper'."
Dimitri halted after Ashe and Ingrid left and pulled Dedue to the side. They were safely nestled between the two walls and had eyes on all the entrances in case a follow-up attack occurred.
"Are you still hoping to be attacked?" Dedue asked bluntly.
"If it happens, I will gladly end them. But, no. That's not the point. You heard Seteth. He wants to take the professor's body to the Holy Tomb tonight."
Dedue folded his arms, "I heard. Will you be up for that task?"
"I don't have a choice."
"I think you should rest. You look pale," Dedue said with concern. Dimitri chuckled. Even his laugh sounded off.
"I told you before. I will not sleep tonight. Or the next. Or any of the ones that would follow," There was a strong piercing gaze from his good eye – an edge that only took form once he fell off the precipice.
Dimitri continued, "You know, I hated the professor for those five years. 'He died' – that is the conclusion everyone came to. And I hated him for it. I hated that he couldn't keep his promise, but I knew that one or both of us would break it eventually. That's just how this life is."
"Your Highness . . . These last five years were not kind to you."
Dimitri scoffed, "Still not the point. In those five years, I had to survive on my own. I accepted that he died in Edelgard's invasion. But never once did I dream about him. I think I know why now."
Dedue's forehead creased, identifying where Dimitri's thought process went.
"I never saw him die. I was never responsible for his death. With everything that followed since, I could not linger on it. Even though I've always had strong feelings for him – good or not. When I was mad at him, my anger amplified. More so than what should make sense. But when he smiled or laughed, I never knew such peace existed."
Dedue closed his eyes. He figured as much and struggled to find any comforting words.
"I will keep my promise to him, though," Dimitri clenched his teeth, "I will save my kingdom and help the knights search for the Archbishop. But I don't know that I can do much more. I am just so tired . . ."
"You will find the strength you need to rule the kingdom. There is no one else who is fit for it."
"Hmm," Dimitri forced a smile, "You know, it's funny. I'm used to feeling anger or sorrow or any number of negative emotions. This is the first time I've felt absolutely nothing."
"I think we should return. Even if you think you won't sleep, you need to sit down and get something to drink. Your Highness, please understand that none of this is your fault."
"Don't lie to me. I might as well have killed him myself. I left him to the wolves."
Dimitri left the area and walked along the bridge. Seteth cradled a despondent Flayn, who had her own clothes drenched in blood.
"What happened?" Dimitri asked.
"Oh, you're still here," Seteth stood up and helped Flayn to her feet, "You just missed them. Gilbert, Ashe, and Ingrid all went in search of a woman."
"What woman?"
"Flayn says she helped identify a way to revive Byleth. There isn't a healer in our ranks that matches her description, though, and Gilbert found it suspicious. She had long blue hair and blue eyes, though none of us saw her pass this way."
"Then he's alive?" Dimitri asked, but the description of the woman matched the strange eavesdropper from the graveyard, "Blue hair and eyes?"
"Barely alive," Seteth corrected, "It's too soon to know if he can be saved, but Flayn said he drew breath. Whatever happens now is the will of the Goddess."
Dimitri felt his own heart beating rapidly. A betraying feeling of hope basked over him and he prayed to her that Byleth's life would be spared.
"I will go search, too," Dimitri said, "Excuse me. Dedue, help Seteth take Flayn somewhere safe."
"Alright," Dedue said, ". . . You aren't going to visit the professor?"
"I'd just get in the way," He said, sprinting to the graveyard. He had a feeling he would find the 'mysterious woman' there.