"Could we stop for a moment?"

Whatever light remained behind the snow and clouds outside began to dim, and the outside world was looking as if it was covered in a blanket of cotton and wool. The only thing that hinted to the outside world's existence beyond Seteth's office were the lights that were beginning to shine through uncovered windows. Garreg Mach seemed more like a ruin than ever.

Of course, Ashton realized he was older than the monastery itself.

"By all means," Ashton said, taking a deep breath and leaning forward. "I assume you have questions, professor?"

"More than a few," Byleth replied, his arms crossed. "I am finding this all rather hard to believe. Seteth, can you corroborate his story, considering I know who you are now?"

"Your penchant for glibness never ceases to amaze me, professor," Seteth said, rubbing his temples.

"Please, answer me," Byleth pressed.

"I can confirm that Ashton is telling the truth," Seteth finally said. "I was there the day he returned Flayn – Cethleann – to us. It was a great relief, and he will always have my gratitude, just as you will."

Ashton blinked. "Did something happen to her?"

"She was kidnapped five years ago, during my tenure as a professor here," Byleth explained. "We still do not know why she was taken, although Seteth said that it might have been because of her blood. Since I know who she is now, I can only imagine what her kidnappers wanted from her."

Ashton turned to Seteth. "Could it have been them? The pale ones?"

Seteth looked down at his desk, his face caught in a deep frown. "I have not discounted the possibility. But the ones you fought down there were in league with the Death Knight and the Flame Emperor. I saw no signs of their meddling."

"The coffin I was put in had to have come from somewhere, old friend," Ashton whispered, placing a hand on Seteth's desk.

"Solon seemed rather pale when we fought him," Byleth added.

"I am not even going to ask who that was," Ashton said, "his name sounds evil enough."

"And his actions prove as such," Byleth said, looking away. "But I am not here to tell stories of the past. That is what I was asking you about."

"You interrupted me," Ashton chuckled.

"Only because it sounds incredulous," Byleth said, turning to face Ashton with thin lips.

"And finding me below this monastery, an ancient soldier from a long gone age, is somehow less incredulous?"

Byleth went silent.

"I already said that everything he has spoken of is true," Seteth said, lacing his fingers together. "I remember the day we made that decision. Seiros truly believed you to be some kind of gift from the Goddess herself. I was not convinced of that, but you had done us a great service, and that was good enough for me."

Ashton leaned back. "A shame it did not result in much, hm?"

"We truly did try to find a way for you to return to your world," Seteth continued, brows furrowed. "We searched and searched, but there was no information about such magic existing. Macuil was the first to give up, and then Indech considered it a lost cause. Only Seiros and I continued, even after you two-"

"Do we need to spoil that bit?" Ashton interrupted Seteth. "And besides, it was not a jab at you, Cich- Seteth. It was just me reflecting on all that has happened. It's… in a way, it has happened again, has it not?"

"I suppose it has, but do not forget that I am still here. Rhea is out there, too, somewhere. You are not alone this time," Seteth said quietly.

"Mmm. That's a comforting thought," Ashton murmured.

"It is good to know all of this," Byleth said suddenly, "but, would you please continue? I am becoming restless. I need something, anything, to explain all that has happened. My birth, my sleep, something about this."

Byleth ran a hand over his mint-green hair. Somehow, it looked familiar.

"You asked, and so you shall receive," Ashton replied, "but I do not know if you will find the answers to your questions in my tale. I was not around for the entirety of the war, it seems."

"Most of it," Seteth commented.

Ashton's brow furrowed. "How long?"

"We lost you in Imperial Year 46. The war did not end until Imperial Year 96."

Ashton frowned but tried to cover it with a whistle. "Another fifty years, then? I should have been there. I should have been there for them. I could have…" Ashton rubbed at his eyes. "It is too late for regrets, but I cannot help it."

"There was nothing you could have done."

"If I had done anything else, perhaps we would not be here," Ashton sighed.

"You cannot go back," Byleth suddenly spoke up. "When we are done here, you will help us in our fight, won't you? We will need all the help we can get."

"Fighting against the Empire? An Empire I nearly gave my life to see prosper and grow? By the Goddess, where do I sign up?" Ashton chuckled humorlessly.

"I am serious," Byleth continued, "do not make a joke out of this matter; the Empire is a threat to all of the continent. They have a benefactor, people who lurk in the shadows that have created war beasts for them to use, powerful magic that can sunder a cliffside, and who knows what else. They are not the Adrestian Empire that you fought for in ages past."

Ashton took a deep breath and held a hand up. "Peace, professor. I think I understand the situation. Or, at least, I understand that I do not know the full situation. Times change, as they say, and I have been gone for a very long time."

"So you have. I am glad we got that out of the way," Byleth said. "Even if we'll only be able to hear things from yours and Seteth's perspectives, I feel as if something will be revealed that I can use. Soon, hopefully."

"Continue with your story, Ashton," Seteth said, nodding once.

"You are a strange man, professor," Ashton snorted. "But, very well…"

The last remnants of the sun's light stretched out over the horizon, leaving Garreg Mach Monastery in a dense blackness that torchlight almost couldn't pierce. Snow still fell from the sky, and the ruined monastery looked more like a snow-torn ruin than a pious fortress that it had once been. Below, the town of Mach stood like a graveyard, its people long having turned in for the cold winter night.

Of course, Ashe could not afford such pleasantries. Not when he was given the night watch along with Sylvain.

"Do you think they would mind if we took a nap?" Sylvain asked beside him, placing his hands behind his head as his breath came out in white mist. "It's too cold of a night to be out and about anyway. If the Empire is going to attack us now, then they would lose half their troops in the cold."

"You seem to be holding up just fine, Sylvain," Ashe noted.

"Well, obviously," Sylvain chuckled, looking up to the black clouded sky and smiling. "You ever been to Gautier territory, Ashe? It's much colder than this during the winter. This is like a chilly autumn breeze to me."

Ashe felt a chill go up his spine as he stood up and paced about. A frigid wind blew past them, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "I-it's good that one of us is so accustomed to this! I suppose that explains why the Empire hasn't been able to take your family's territory yet, right?"

The smile on Sylvain's face faded slightly. "It hasn't stopped them from trying."

"…Right," Ashe replied, stopping in his tracks and looking out over the battlements and out into the night. "I'm sorry, Sylvain, I didn't mean to-!"

"It's alright, Ashe," Sylvain said, holding a hand up and grasping his lance.

The Lance of Ruin…

Ashe never did much like the look of the weapon. It didn't seem like the sort of weapon a knight would wield into battle; it was a sickly thing that looked as if it was made of bone. When he thought about it, all the relics seemed that way. Felix's Aegis Shield, Ingrid's Lúin, His Highness' Areadbhar, and even the professor's sword – all of them looked grisly. Of course, he never would have said so out loud, not in the presence of Church members, at least. They were supposedly holy relics, but he never got the sense that they were until he was told of it.

"To be honest, Ashe, I'm surprised to find you here at all," Sylvain said, walking up beside Ashe and placing one hand against the battlements, while the other, still grasping the Lance of Ruin, placed the but of the weapon on the floor. "You are not a knight. Not yet, but I had heard you were under Gwendal's banner not but a year or two ago. Now, I'm not trying to say that you are with the Empire, but…"

Ashe's lips thinned. "My tenure under Gwendal's banner is over. It ended long ago. My loyalty has always laid with the people of Faerghus and His Highness. You do not need to worry, Sylvain."

Sylvain was silent for a moment before nodding. "Good." He then let out a jovial laugh. "Good! I will take your word for it. I would hate to know that someone I consider a friend is on the wrong side of this conflict, you know? It would break my heart."

"Like the hearts of all those maidens you never stop toying with?" Ashe replied, half-jokingly as an embarrassed blush spread across his cheeks. He almost couldn't believe his own words.

"Where did that snide remark come from? Have these past few years been so terrible that even you have started to become bitter and sarcastic?" Sylvain tapped the stone he leaned against, his metal gauntlet clicking with every motion he made. "I will have you know that I have barely had the time to even be in the company of a woman. Too long, if you ask me. I'm starting to forget what it's like to have a warm body by my side."

"Do you remember what you said to me? Before the war started?" Ashe asked, taking a deep breath. "I do not need to be a knight to be gallant. I do not need a vow to be valiant. I am glad to see that you have put things like that aside for now. I always knew you were a decent person."

"Hey now, that's the Ashe I know!" Sylvain laughed again, pushing himself away from the battlements and walking away with a hand against his forehead. "Able to see the good in people even if there is barely any left. I can almost imagine you as that same wide-eyed idealist, idolizing tales of knights and chivalry. Of course, a lot of good chivalry did Faerghus when the Empire ran through us, huh?"

"Actually, you know what? Let's talk about something else!" Ashe quickly said, clapping his hands together. "It's too dark of a night to be talking of the Empire. The professor and Gilbert went back down into the Holy Tomb today, right? Do you think they found anything?"

Sylvain stopped, turned back around, and shrugged. "If they did, I haven't heard anything."

"Well, what do you think they could find?" Ashe pressed. "The last I heard, it was a letter from the Archbishop herself that led them down there. It could be anything; a priceless artifact, a powerful weapon…"

"A beautiful, ancient girl with eternal youth?" Sylvain added.

Ashe sputtered. "I am being serious, Sylvain!"

Sylvain looked to him. "And I am not?"

"It would have to be something important," Ashe said, looking up at the ruined monastery behind him. "I only hope that it is enough to turn the tide."

"If it was enough to do that, then why did she not use it during the battle?" Sylvain pointed out. "It was probably some Church artifact she wanted the professor to use if the worst came to pass, and considering where we are now…"

Ashe turned. "It could be a lot worse than this."

"Maybe, but I can't think of any way it could be," Sylvain replied, shrugging. "Do you?"

Ashe was about to retort, but his words died in his throat as he heard the clopping of horse hooves. It was a distant sound at first, and judging by the pace, it was not moving very fast. A messenger, perhaps? But who would be sending them a message then? Only those high up in the Church even knew that Garreg Mach was home to much more than bandits anymore.

Sylvain heard the noise too, and he wordlessly followed Ashe, Lance of Ruin by his side, as Ashe himself leaned over the battlements to get a better look.

There was a horse trundling up the path to Garreg Mach. It had passed the village and was heading straight for the gate. Ashe couldn't tell who the person riding it was; they were covered in so much cloth and so many furs they could have been anyone.

Ashe turned to Sylvain, who gave him a subtle nod in reply.

"Men! To stations!" Ashe ordered. The men who occupied the ruined walls of Garreg Mach stood at attention – remnants of the Kingdom army and Knights of Seiros alike reached their positions and aimed their bows and javelins down at the intruder.

Ashe took out his bow and aimed alongside them. They would wait either for his command, or for his arrow to fire.

"Stop right there," Ashe demanded as the person, still atop their horse, stopped just short of the gates into the desolate marketplace. "State your business. This is no longer Empire territory."

The person was silent for a moment, before Ashton saw them look up. He could see the light reflect off their eyes.

"Would be that we would be having the meeting like this, friend," a familiar voice said, in even more familiar broken Common, even if it sounded like she was playing it up.

"…Put your weapons away," Ashe ordered, several of the men looking to him. "She's not an enemy."

"I think I know who this is. Are you sure you want to be dropping your guard so quickly? I know I am the last person you would expect to refuse a lady entrance, but if this is who I think it is, we cannot trust her," Sylvain said, looking at Ashe with narrowed eyes.

"I know Petra, Sylvain," Ashe stated, looking to the stairs behind him. "I'm going to hear what she has to say, but not from up here."

"Whatever you say, Ashe," Sylvain said, shrugging. "I've got your back, just in case things go bad."

Ashe nodded and leaned his head over the battlement. "Meet me at the gates, Petra!"

Before he left, he saw her unhood herself. Her long dark pink hair billowed out, and she looked up to him with a smile.

"I await with eagerness."

The Sword of Zoltan practically weighed nothing.

Even if Felix had no opponents to practice with in the late hours of the evening, even just swinging the sword in the training area was enough, at least for a time. He still remembered the battle before, down below in the Holy Tomb. It was the most exhilarated he had been since the war first started.

Before then, it had been nothing but battle after dull battle against conscripted Empire soldiers or opportunistic bandits. He took no pleasure in taking life; in fact, he found it to be distasteful. People could always improve, but only so long as they were alive. And conscripted soldiers didn't seem as if they wanted that life.

Then again, just like Felix, they probably didn't feel as if they had a choice.

"Are you training? Seriously?"

There she was. That damned nagging voice. She wasn't even in the Holy Tomb that afternoon – in fact, Felix hadn't seen her all day. What was she doing in the training arena so late?

"Yes, I am training," Felix replied. "Do you have a problem with that?"

Ingrid walked toward him, the sound of her footsteps echoing throughout the snowy arena. "Usually I wouldn't. I know you, Felix, you'd train until your hands fell off if you had the chance and there was no one around. What I want to know is why you're here after a battle."

"Because I can. Go away."

"Am I really so annoying to you? You won't even speak my name?" Ingrid asked.

Felix finally stopped his swinging and let out a sigh, the fog of his breath making it difficult to see.

"I want to train because there is nothing else to do in this snow-torn ruin, Ingrid. If I want to train so late, then nobody can stop me."

Felix had to admit, Ingrid had changed much since her academy days. Gone was her long blonde hair and the last remnants of her girlish years. She looked like the proper knight she always longed to be; her face was angular and strong, her hair cut short, and her green eyes still had a spark to them that not even five years of brutal war could kill.

Of course, Felix would never tell that to her face.

"Now you're starting to sound like His Highness," Ingrid groaned. "Always talking about one thing and nothing else."

"Do not compare me to that Boar," Felix snapped.

"Fine, I won't. You're still being ridiculous!" Ingrid snapped back. "If you keep doing this, then you'll get sick, and you can't fight or train if you're sick. Do you want that?"

"I'm stronger than that," Felix replied quietly, taking a deep breath before sheathing his sword. "I'm sure you will be glad to know you succeeded. I don't even want to train anymore."

"At least I have succeeded at something today," Ingrid muttered, rubbing her forehead.

"If you consider this a success, I would hate to see what you consider a failure."

"Look at Dimitri, Felix," Ingrid said, frowning as she crossed her arms. "Look at him and tell me that we have not failed him."

"He's a wild animal," Felix replied, scoffing.

"He's our friend," Ingrid said sharply, brow furrowing. "I thought even after everything, you still considered him as one, too. Was I wrong?"

Felix went silent, holding the handle of his sword in a deathgrip.

"I thought so," Ingrid said, nodding. "We failed him, Felix. We weren't there for him when we should have been. Not after Duscur, and not after the invasion of the monastery."

"He would have dragged us down with him," Felix argued, whirling around.

"Would he? Do you truly believe that?" Ingrid asked mildly.

"What does it matter now?" Felix asked, lips thinning. "What does it matter, Ingrid? It's already too late. There is nothing we can do. He's more beast now than man, just as I always said he was. None of you believed me then. Do you believe me now?"

"I will keep trying," Ingrid declared, turning her back on Felix.

"Where are you going?" Felix stepped forward.

"Away from here. I'm granting you your wish. You should be happy about that," Ingrid replied, waving a hand. "Goodbye, Felix."

When she was gone, Felix snarled as he held his sword up, ready to slam it into the ground in a rage. After a moment's hesitation, however, he stopped and looked at it.

It was the same one he had acquired during his days at the academy, before the war, before the near endless death and suffering. Felix remembered the conversation he had with Dimitri that day, when he saw it.

Wait, where did you get such a blade?

Hmph! I suppose you would recognize its value. I came upon a merchant selling weapons and came upon this with the rest of the steel.

That pattern around the edge… There's no doubt. It was forged by Zoltan, the master swordsmith!

With one last sigh, Felix sheathed his blade and left the training grounds.

"Pacing around again?"

Catherine turned to see Shamir leaning against one of the pillars near the archbishop's old office. Catherine could remember her being there so clearly, it was like Rhea was still there alongside them. Of course, she knew it was simply her mind playing tricks on her; a consequence of her lack of sleep in the past few days. Still, she couldn't help herself. She should have been down there, finding what the archbishop felt was so important it needed to be hidden away in preparation for the invasion.

"I can't help it," Catherine replied, continuing her mad pacing. If she continued, she'd dig a hole straight through the floor. "I want to know what they found. They've already been up for a few hours and yet we haven't heard anything from the professor or Seteth. Even Flayn doesn't know what's going on."

"You want to know what they found? I saw what it was," Shamir said simply, her face as placid as ever.

It feels like the years of war have hardly touched her.

"You know!?" Catherine nearly squawked, stopping in place. "Why didn't you tell me!?"

"And miss the chance to see you pace around?" Shamir replied, deadpan.

"This is serious, Shamir!" Catherine said, moving forward until she was right in front of Shamir, with a hand on the pillar she leaned against. "Tell me, right now!"

"Now you're all forceful," Shamir noted.

"Shamir!"

Shamir shrugged. "Four went down into the Holy Tomb, yet five came up. They didn't find something; they found someone."

Catherine stared at Shamir blankly for a few moments before blinking. "What?"

"Do you want me to repeat myself?"

Catherine waved a hand. "I heard you fine. I just… don't understand. They found someone down there? They could not have been down there for five years, unless they were part of the bandits. And even then, the bandits did not touch the Tomb."

"I just know they found someone. I saw it myself," Shamir said nonchalantly. "A man, by the looks of it. Tanned skin and brown hair. Plain looking. His armor, though – it looks similar to a Knight of Seiros. Only… hmph."

"What? What did it look like?" Catherine pressed.

"It's hard to explain. He was battle-worn," Shamir continued. "There was a large gash in his side. Beyond that, his armor looked ancient."

Catherine stared blankly again before shaking her head. "That makes no sense."

"You are the one who asked," Shamir replied.

"If I didn't know any better, I would think you were making it all up," Catherine sniffed, turning away.

Shamir let out a breath. "You are the one who asked. I told you all I know. Have I ever lied to you?"

Catherine stopped, standing up straight. "No. I guess you haven't."

"I'm not sure if that was what Lady Rhea wanted the professor to find," Shamir said, shrugging again. "But we will need to wait for a while before we hear anything definitive."

Catherine turned her head. "We need to wait for the professor and Seteth to finish their interrogation, you mean."

Shamir raised a brow.

"There's only a few ways this could be anything other than a ruse, or something else," Catherine continued, holding up a few fingers. "Either this is a bandit who somehow made it to the Holy Tomb, trying to steal the artifact Lady Rhea left behind. Or…"

Catherine and Shamir stared at each other for a moment.

"That's the only theory you can come up with, isn't it."

"I am a warrior, not a scholar."

"You are a blunt instrument."

Catherine shrugged. "Perhaps. I am an instrument of the Goddess and of Lady Rhea."

"And how useful is an instrument with no one to use it?" Shamir asked.

Catherine snorted. "Well said."

Without any more words to say, Shamir silently slipped away as Catherine continued to pace in front of Lady Rhea's former office. The snow continued to pile outside the stained-glass windows.

Who is he?

I'm glad to see me not incorporating Three Hopes lore into this was seen widely as a smart move lol. Definitely put some fears of mine to rest.

Anyway, just a small interlude Chapter to remind you that, yes, this is still a 3H fic. We aren't gonna be spending the entire thing in the distant past.

Here's a link to our Discord server: discord .gg/9XG3U7a

See you guys next week!