"I do not recall sending for you, uncle," Edelgard spat out, her breath coming out deep and ragged. "For what reason have you decided to pay me a visit? Did assaulting Derdriu prove too great a challenge?"

The tent the Emperor of Adrestia was languishing in was uncomfortably hot, or at least it felt that way to her, what with her injuries. Bandages covered most of her midsection, along with several around her legs and arms. She was not immobile, but it would likely be months until she would be able to fight at full strength again, according to Linhardt.

Edelgard could not wait that long.

Despite her foul mood, the creature wearing her uncle's skin had entered through the tent flaps directly in front of her, casting light straight into the room and over Edelgard's injured form. She wasted no time in greetings, and it appeared that Arundel did not expect it, considering his expression did not change upon Edelgard calling him out.

"I plan to march within the day, Your Majesty. Of course, I do not expect the Alliance to put up much of a fight after the beating their leader took during the Battle of Gronder," Arundel stated, his hands behind his back as he walked around Edelgard. "And I would advise you to speak more candidly with me, my niece. I bring news."

"Out with it. It cannot be much worse than what has happened already," Edelgard replied, laying her head back as she closed her eyes.

"Very well," Arundel said, bowing his head. "I only received news of this a mere hour or two ago. It appears the archbishop has escaped."

Edelgard's neutral expression quickly settled into a deep frown. Her eyes remained closed. "How?"

"The report did not clarify, but she could not escape your clutches without help, I am sure. Or perhaps without you to keep an eye on her, she simply decided that the risk was worth it. The level of destruction is immense, according to the report," Arundel tilted his head forward, the angle making it look like he was glaring at Edelgard. "Now, what did I tell you before? She would have been better off in our hands. She would have… served a greater purpose, shall we say."

"I will not submit even one such as her to the likes of you," Edelgard replied, her eyes opening and her brows furrowing. The glare she sent to Arundel would be enough to melt straight through plate armor. "I already have all that I need to win this war, and we both know what comes after. Aymr will serve for now."

"Of course, of course," Arundel stated, waving a hand.

Edelgard let out a sigh. "Rhea escaping from Enbarr was never entirely out of the question. Perhaps I should have put her under stricter surveillance while I was away. It does not matter. When I am able, I will lead my armies to victory personally. The professor is powerful, but his power is not infinite."

"We thought the same, and yet they escaped Zahras, or did you forget that small detail, my niece?" Arundel asked, raising a brow. "An impenetrable darkness between worlds, yet the Fell Star cut through it as if it was naught but a small set back. And here we stand, at the precipice of another loss. I wonder what we shall do when hellfire rains down upon us, as a gift from the 'goddess'?"

"Such apocalyptic phrasing, uncle," Edelgard remarked. "It is almost as if you know something that I do not."

"Where would we all be without our little secrets?" Arundel asked in response. "I will sacrifice this small bit to you, though: there have been whispers among the ranks since the survivors of the assault on Garreg Mach have returned. I trust you know who they speak of?"

"...The Champion," Edelgard breathed out. "The stories they have spoken of, of a sparkling soldier upon the battlefield, wielding a hammer; there is only one who fits that description, and with Rhea herself being who she is… Ah, that stands to reason, yes. Why have you told me this? Is this to insult me? How far are you willing to go to attempt to bring me down?"

"Oh, but I am merely watching out for you, Your Majesty," Arundel replied, his voice filled with faux-worry. His smile was at least mocking. "And not everything is as it seems. Do be sure to watch closely in the following months, my niece. It will be a show that none will forget."

After those cryptic words, Arundel bowed, and left. His voice still echoed within Edelgard's eardrums as she hummed to herself, closing her eyes again as her thoughts were filled with questions. Perhaps she should have left Hubert behind to watch the archbishop, but her attendant would never leave her side, especially not in an important battle such as Gronder.

"You are as slippery as the worms you share your home with, Thales," Edelgard mumbled, "And one day, my foot will fall and crush you."

The ethereal lights deep within Shambhala were one of the few things that gave Myson peace.

All of Shambhala was bathed in eternal darkness beyond those lights, constantly pulsing like the veins of an otherworldly beast, far from the reaches of the tainted fools who walked the surface world. Before Myson stood a glass pane, and beyond that, the greatest creation the modern Agarthans could create, even with the limited technology they could muster.

"The vessel will be ready within a few more months, my lord," a nameless pale-skinned warrior said, bowing as he entered the metal chamber. "All lights are green. Nothing can stop his return now."

"And Nemesis?" Myson asked, turning toward the nameless Agarthan. "Is his body prepared? Is his core secured?"

"Yes, sir," the Agarthan replied. Myson had to sneer at the loud clanking of the black plate mail - what primitive garb they had been forced to wear ever since the 'goddess' had all but destroyed them. The weapons beyond the Titanus had all been used up, and even the Titanus were not infinite. If only Thales would stop jealously guarding the codes-

But then again, who was Myson to question the whims of the almighty Agastya? The thoughts of one such as him could easily destroy the lesser mind of any Agarthan, or any other host he may choose.

And perhaps there did remain some semblance of brilliance within that fool's vein-stricken cranium, for the being in front of Myson, loosely hanging from cables and wires, was above them all.

In the most direct terms, it seemed to be the wire framework of a giant human skeleton. What would one day become its arms were held out to either side as if crucified, and its eyes were compound and glowing red. Though it showed little, if any, signs of activity, it would prove useful for their god's return. And with Nemesis as its herald, they would finally bring order and wisdom back to the beasts above, and start humanity's second golden age, free from the machinations of the draconic goddess and her degenerate children.

But that was still a distant dream. It would take many more years for the superstructure to be completed, perhaps even a dozen more, and Myson knew, deep down, that they may not have the time to complete it. Which was the second reason Nemesis was brought back. In the event anything should happen, their revenge would be had.

Myson also had to stop himself from sniggering at the thief's expense. Though Nemesis had the blood of a being on-par with a god flowing through his veins, he had been sealed away within the very same contraption that he had trapped the knight Seiros had taken a fancy to. They hadn't been able to attain that pod, so it was only fair that they received something in return. And besides, no doubt Nemesis would thank them; the thief was being given a second chance to serve humanity, though Myson had his doubts that the so-called 'King of Liberation' would take the chance.

They had at least divined the function of said pods. The ancestors of the Agarthans had become enamored with the children of the goddess at one point, it had seemed. The pods were designed to mimic said children's abilities to heal from any injury, over years of 'slumber'. It was an ingenious piece of technology, and like many things from humanity's golden age, it had long been lost. Even then, there remained only a dozen or so of the pods, and knowledge of them was kept within the realm of the Sages. None could use them besides the Sages themselves.

It was a privilege Nemesis did not deserve, but there were few options.

"Good," Myson said, finally, after dwelling within his thoughts for almost a minute. "Look upon perfection, peon, for it is fleeting. Our god shall return, and with it, we will reign supreme over this land and planet once more."

"Will he use it?" The soldier asked, "Will we have time?"

"You ask questions far above your station. You have given me what I have asked for, and now you must leave. The body must be tended to."

The soldier's face scrunched up before returning to its neutral position. Bowing, the soldier left a moment later, leaving Myson in the dark, with the only source of light being the glow of the technology that surrounded him, and the eyes of Prometheus that almost seemed to focus on him.

Byleth had never been one to believe in superstition.

Even when the being within his mind had called herself 'Sothis', and laterhe learned that was the name of the goddess herself, a small part of him still believed that there must have been some sort of reason for why such an entity would decide to call his headspace home. Whether it was his still heart, or something within his head itself, he could not guess, and he was not willing to cut himself open trying to find out.

Byleth had known of the Church of Seiros long before he had been made a professor at the Officers Academy, though he never knew any of the specifics; Jeralt had taught him better than that. But still, he had found himself curious, and he was plunged into a world of faith and mysticism that his rational mind could at times barely tolerate. Though he harbored the fragmented remains of the goddess within himself, he had always remained skeptical.

Yet even then, looking upon the remains of Gronder Field, Byleth wondered if it was what the Eternal Flame looked like. Then he chided himself as he could hear the moans of those who had been torched and broken - those in the Eternal Flame, supposedly, deserved said punishment. Very few of the soldiers whose bodies laid across Gronder Field deserved their painful deaths, and yet Byleth had been the one to deliver many of them to it.

It was strange. Years ago, he would not let the deaths of those who got in his way affect him so. But at Gronder, something shifted, and he tried not to weep at the sounds that reached his ears. Outwardly, he still seemed the part of the emotionless and aloof professor of the Officers Academy. On the inside, however, was a raging storm.

"Dimitri is alright," a voice said behind him. A moment later, Shamir appeared at his side, bow in hand as she wiped her forehead. "Seteth is tending to him now. I'm surprised he's still breathing."

"And Dedue?" Byleth asked, not budging an inch.

"He'll live, it looks like. Roderigue practically dragged them both to the medical tent before they could bleed out. That's all there is to it, really. The Battle of Gronder is over." Shamir reported, placing her bow down as it leaned against her leg and crossing her arms. A moment later, rain began to fall, and she held out her hand, catching the first of the droplets.

"Claude's forces attacked us," Byleth said, although it sounded more as if he was speaking to himself, to Shamir's ears. "And I have not heard word from Ashton or his group. This has been the worst week of my life."

"You must not have lived through very many weeks," Shamir said succinctly. "You should have been there for the Dagda and Brigid War."

"Well, I certainly could have participated in that, had I been in the area at the time," Byleth replied, "Somehow, from what I have read, I feel like this conflict will be remembered as worse."

Shamir was silent for a moment before nodding. "Maybe. I don't make it a point to compare wars very often."

"Mm. And neither will I," Byleth said, bowing his head and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I wonder what course of action Dimitri will have us take, when he recovers. He seemed almost repentant just before that girl's blade pierced his throat. He's lucky Dedue was even there. If we hadn't saved those Duscur people all those years ago…"

Byleth did not have the time to think about what could have been, he realized. Such thoughts would only lead him to melancholy. Instead, he looked up at the sky for a moment before gathering himself.

"Hopefully this will all be over soon. This is the farthest anyone has made it into Empire territory, I presume," Byleth said.

Shamir grunted. "Yes. Though that isn't saying much. We could press the advantage and attempt to take Fort Merceus, or maybe Prince Dimitri will finally come to his senses."

"You are speaking of royalty, you know. Have you no respect?" Byleth asked, brow raised.

"I can't tell if you're joking or serious, and I also can't tell which is scarier," Shamir shrugged. "I don't have it out for the kid, if that's what you mean. I'd just rather bleed out fighting for a king worth a damn rather than a crazed animal, you know? Is that so bad?"

"No, I suppose not," Byleth shook his head. "And I understand your misgivings. Several left with Ashton because of that. I will speak to him when he recovers. Maybe then, things will get better."

"I hope you know what you're doing, Byleth," Shamir said, "I've followed you this far, and the only person I trust the same as you is Catherine."

"Perhaps I do not need to know what I am doing," Byleth said, "maybe Dimitri's friends will pull through for him. Even with Felix not here, I can tell Sylvain and Ingrid have been chafing under his leadership. With the right push, I could have them bring him out instead. Do you suspect that will work?"

Shamir shrugged. "It's worth a shot, I guess. Don't know why you're asking me, though."

"Because, people of few words we may be, you are more in tune with people's emotions than I," Byleth replied, crossing his arms again. "Before I fell into that pit near Garreg Mach, I had only just become aware of who I was. And I knew what I wanted to do for the first time in my life. Before that point, I simply let others decide things for me. But… Ah, I got caught up. I meant to say that you are more in tune with people's emotions, yes? You are, even if we are both mercenaries with hardly a social skill between us."

"If you want to talk about social skills, look no further than Catherine," Shamir grumbled, "that woman could talk up a storm if she wants, and not just because of how quickly she can speak."

"Have we attempted to weaponize her for that purpose?" Byleth asked, his tone not betraying whether he was serious or not.

"No, and I don't think we will. Thunderbrand's a lot more effective anyway," Shamir admitted, "the thought did cross my mind, though."

"A shame," Byleth said before shaking his head. "Nonetheless, I think I'll speak to Ingrid and Sylvain. Get them moving, so to speak. Perhaps they simply haven't spoken out of loyalty to Dimitri, but they should learn that loyalty comes in many forms."

"Be sure to let me know how that goes, then," Shamir said, patting Byleth's shoulder before moving on. "I want to see whether it works or not."

Before Byleth entered the medical tent, he listened to what was happening inside. Though the sun hung low over the horizon, it sounded to his ears that there was a spirited conversation happening within.

"...if you went out any more than you already have, I would've thought you'd have gotten a cold. You know, before you and Edelgard nearly killed each other. Is it the coat? It must be the coat. Girls love cloaks. Makes you look all dark and mysterious."

"His Highness is laying on this cot after suffering a grievous injury, and you're here spouting off about women again. If this was any other time, I'd punch you. Right now, though, it oddly feels comforting."

"I… must agree. It would not be the same without your skirt-chasing, Sylvain."

"Ingrid, Your Highness, you have wounded me. I will never be able to recover from this."

"You will. You have suffered worse."

Byleth chose that time to enter, if only because he knew that they weren't speaking of anything earth-shattering. When he entered, he saw Dimtri laying down before him, with a row of cots to either side. Dedue was in the other, and his head was turned to Dimitri's direction.

"Professor," Dedue greeted curtly.

"Ah, professor? Good of you to drop by," Sylvain said, slapping his knee. "I was just telling these two about my trip into the nearby village the other day, where I-"

"Skirt-chased, as you always do," Ingrid finished, her hands folded in her lap. "I don't even know why you bother talking when we all know what you're going to say."

"I wanted to come here and see how Dimitri was doing," Byleth said, "and perhaps steer you two to speak to him, if he was conscious. It looks as if that will not be necessary."

Dimitri was out of his armor, his midsection wrapped in bandages, though thankfully most of his body was draped in a robe. He almost looked presentable, if it wasn't for his messy blonde hair. Nonetheless, there was something to his one visible eye that Byleth hadn't seen since before his time at the monastery.

"Professor, I…" Dimitri began, "I am glad you have come, either way. I wished to apologize to you."

"You have nothing to apologize for," Byleth said.

"That is not true, and you know it, professor," Dimtri shook his head. "I have been… difficult, these past few months, have I not?"

"An understatement if I have ever heard one," Sylvain commented.

That earned a glare from Dedue, and Byleth did not miss the way Sylvain shivered from the intense eyes glaring into his back.

"I will not press further, Dimitri, and I will leave you to your friends. Though I was your professor, they have known you for longer than I have," Byleth said, crossing his arms. "I am not the one you should apologize to, and I know you are haunted even now. But it is never too late to turn back. You can still do good, as can we all. Rest now."

Dimitri sighed. "Very well, professor. I… is Marianne around, do you know?"

"I will send her to you if I see her," Byleth nodded. "Until next time, Dimitri."

The fields of Gronder were washed of blood in the days following the battle. Only the bodies of the unburied remained, their slumped over, armored forms like tiny hills.

If Claude was a poet, he wondered if he would be able to find beauty, even in such carnage. As it stood, all he could wonder beyond that was whether or not he would be able to ride his wyvern again if it came to it. Despite Lysithea's best efforts, Claude could feel the injury flaring up every so often; a deep gash along his back that had nearly paralyzed him, courtesy of a lucky Imperial with an axe. Claude may not have been a poet, but he still wished it had been Edelgard to deal that blow; it would have made for a more compelling story that way.

Then again, being struck down by a common foot soldier lended some irony to it.

Despite the grisly wound that even healing magic had a tough time healing, Claude was even worse off once he could think clearly again. The Kingdom forces had struck his own, even though they were nominal allies. Of course, Claude made no attempts to clear the confusion. How could he? The fog prevented him from seeing very far, and to charge up above the fogline would leave himself open to enemy archers, which would have been doubly ironic for a death, all things considered.

"Claude, are you seriously getting lost in thought right now?" a light voice said beside him. Though he was afforded his own tent, there was someone in particular who refused to leave him alone, much to his relief and annoyance.

"And what else am I supposed to do? Stare up at the canvas?" Claude asked, holding his hand up to the ceiling conversationally. "Wonderfully crafted, it is. I can see each individual fiber it was sewn from. Beautiful, really. I wish I could use it for the flags at my wedding ceremony."

Hilda crossed her arms. "Hmph. Fine, then. Maybe you're alright. Maybe I should send word to my brother to come and pick me up. I've heard the Almyran border has been really entertaining recently."

"Hilda, look me in the eye and tell me you're going somewhere with more work," Claude said, looking back down with narrowed eyes. When Hilda couldn't meet his gaze, he let out a small laugh. "I thought not."

"You're impossible," Hilda grunted, "but you're right, I guess. Couldn't just leave you now, can I? Though I was curious about what we're gonna do now, you know. Considering you're injured and the war isn't just gonna wait for you to get better."

"We retreat to Derdriu, obviously," Claude said, wiping his brow. "And from there, we fortify. I've heard that Lorenz has joined the Kingdom, so maybe Count Gloucester will actually hold his ground against the Empire. A little bit. And with the time we have, we plan for reinforcements."

"Reinforcements? From where?" Hilda asked.

Claude waved a finger. "That's for me to know, and you to find out."

"And here I was thinking you were beginning to trust me," Hilda said, pouting. "I don't like being kept in the dark like this, Claude."

"Sorry, Hilda, but I can't risk this getting out," Claude sighed, "it's… complicated, to put it mildly. Old family matters, backroom deals, you get the picture, right?"

"It's Almyra, isn't it?" Hilda asked without hesitation. "You're getting reinforcements from Almyra."

Claude closed his eyes. "I gave away too much info, didn't I? Damn."

"It's not exactly hard to guess, Claude," Hilda said softly. "You're at least part Almyran yourself, though I don't know from where. That much has always been easy to guess. I just hope you have Fódlan's best interests at heart."

"This continent can't keep going on the way it has been, Hilda," Claude finally said. "Unless it opens its doors, and stops shutting out the outside world, it'll always be a den of strife and inequality."

"I can't say I understand your motives, exactly, but maybe you're right. Besides, I'm still here, so it must be a cause worth fighting for, right? And I don't plan on leaving either, no matter how much I threaten you," Hilda stated.

Claude let out an airy laugh. "How lucky I must be, to have such a stalwart ally: Hilda of House Goneril, laziest woman in the world."

"If you weren't recovering from a gaping back wound, I'd've slapped you for that," Hilda chided.

Though it was bittersweet, they continued to talk throughout the night.

Small chapter before next week where I probably won't be writing much lol.

Anyway, not much to say. Hope you enjoyed! See you next time!