"QUICK! Starboard, starboard-"
"The stones! Watch out for the gla-"
"AAAA!"
"No, not there, that button, that one!"
"Come on, let me do it-"
"Picky, what are you-"
"HYA!"
A sickening lurch pulled the S.S. Lune to the right.
"Agh-"
"Watch it!"
"Byleth-"
"HURRY!"
Sparks flew everywhere, showering the prisoners in hot fire.
"NOT LIKE THAT!"
"Two hours to the event horizon," came a cool, female voice.
"I KNOW, YOU-"
"Three, Two, One..."
"NOW!"
The ship tumbled. Explosions raged. Wires swang down. The floor became the ceiling. The ceiling became the floor.
"HOLD ON!"
The walls blurred into one. Everything was everywhere. He could only grip the nearest handle, eyes closed, praying. Somebody screamed. Picky felt his grip weakening. The air filled with light, and then...
"Asteroid X-22 is passed," said the female voice. "Please continue to enjoy your journey."
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~~o00o~~
Chapter 53: Not When You're Different
(4516 A.D.)
~~o00o~~
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For a moment, static buzzed through the air, but Picky gave the camera another hit, and it crackled into life. He sat in front of it, hands clasped.
"To all who are receiving this, good afternoon. This is the fifty-sixth day of our journey, and the fifty-sixth entry into our video diary. Present and correct are Picky Minch, Alle, Kumatora, Byleth, and Prince Poo of Dalaam. As ever, we report from the S.S. Lune."
Picky swept his long blonde hair over his forehead. He didn't look particularly happy, but he looked resilient, and in this situation, that was what he needed.
"It is the last day," he continued grimly. "As the Establishment planned, we are on course for the event horizon in just under two hours. The asteroids are becoming more frequent, now-"
"Not a problem for me!" said a pink-haired woman, hopping into frame.
"-Indeed. But, more pressingly, we are travelling at a rate of three astronomical units per hour, on perfect course for The Unicorn. Byleth, has it come into view?"
An old, shrivelled-looking man peered out of the spaceship's window. His hair was long and grey, lined with streaks of blue.
"It sure is," he croaked.
"Then we haven't got long," Picky said, turning back to the camera. "The Final Five of Magic is facing its final day. The Establishment's plans are coming to fruition. The S.S. Lune's journey has been long — surviving the wormhole that brought us from Earth, surviving the vacuum of space, but now it approaches the Unicorn's gaping mouth." He looked at his feet. "Therefore, this is our final entry. Signing out is I, Picky of Elemental..."
"I, Kumatora of Psychics," murmured the pink-haired girl.
"I, Prince Poo of Diplomatics."
"I, Alle of Creation..."
"And I," croaked the wizened man in the corner. "Byleth, of Time."
There was a sombre pause.
A gentle buzz filled the spaceship as Picky switched off the camera, stuffing it haphazardly into its bag. He cast his eyes to the others, who motioned their support.
It had been a long fifty-six days.
In Picky's opinion, the group was about as diverse as you could get. Prince Poo of Dalaam was a rumoured immortal, who formerly ruled much of the far east, while Kumatora was a tomboy, who was raised away from the Establishment's walls and regimes. Picky knew Alle, the Creation user, as a distant acquaintance, but Byleth, the old man, was an enigma to them all. It didn't matter who they were, though, what mattered was how they got there.
Their fates had been bound by the Establishment, the centralised governors who ruled over New Earth. In 4513 A.D., the Establishment banned magic, seeing it as a threat to their rule, meaning the five of them had been rounded up to be disposed of. The magical stones had been taken, crushed into a delicate powder. The Establishment sentenced the whole lot to Black Hole execution, and the group were loaded into a small spaceship to be sent through the nearest wormhole. As planned, they'd been spat out on course for the Unicorn, the closest Black Hole to Earth.
On the whole, Picky thought it was quite bleak.
In fact, he thought to himself bitterly, magic had been ruining everything since the start. Ever since Picky's big brother, Porky, had gotten greedy and touched the Time Stone, magic had lingered over Picky's tired shoulders like a cloud. The family fell into disarray. Porky was gone. Picky had to live on the streets, where using his Elemental powers was the only way to survive. That's how the Establishment found him, in the end.
And before he knew it, he was here. Drifting through space with four people he scarcely knew. The ship was beyond repair, uncontrollable, and even if it could be brought to life, the gravitational pull of the Unicorn was immense at this point. There'd be no hope of escaping.
In silence, Picky watched the stars glistening out of the window. Picky loved the stars as a child, and now he'd come to envy them. He envied how they did not feel, did not suffer, how they could live for millions of years while he, Picky, was a mere flicker in a wave.
"One hour and thirty minutes to the event horizon," said the cool female voice. "Please enjoy your journey."
Kumatora sighed. "Can't we get rid of that thing?"
"No," Alle said patiently. She leaned against the control panel, easily the most level-headed of their group. "It's good to keep track of time."
"Agreed," Picky said. He eyed the remains of the Magical Stones; when they'd been destroyed, their powers had vanished. "I'd rather know when I'm going to die."
Nobody quite knew what to say to that. And so, the ship continued, the end looming ever closer. Everything they'd tried had failed, from rewiring the engines to repairing the stones. It was despair, but Picky had gotten used to it.
"We tried our best," Kumatora said, in a weak attempt to be cheerful.
But Byleth gave a small shake of his head. Alle looked down at the floor. Prince Poo turned away.
"I dreamt for so long," Byleth said heavily. He had a way of speaking that made every word sound like his last. "I dreamt that one day, the magical and non-magical people would be united."
"Now look at us," Alle said bitterly. "It's because the Establishment is jealous."
"It is because they fear the abnormal," Byleth corrects. "Magical people have been persecuted throughout my five thousand years of living. This is why."
"Five thousand years," Picky echoed. The words sounded foreign. He couldn't imagine staying sane after that long. "You must've seen a lot."
"That must've been before New Earth's creation," Kumatora said. "You must be the only person alive who remembers Old Earth. The only person who remembers pre-antinatalism."
Byleth looked up. The lines on his face were thicker than ever, maps of lifetimes lived and stories told. His experiences were written in his eyes — this man had seen empires rise and fall, had seen everyone he loved die time and time again, had even seen worlds themselves burn. He was as close to a god as mankind had ever reached.
"Indeed," Byleth said. "And now, those memories shall fall."
The silence returned, snaking into Picky's mind. They had lived with so much silence, especially on those nights where they couldn't sleep, yet didn't dare to speak into the darkness for fear of interrupting each others' thoughts.
But Picky wondered if being quiet had become powerful. A refusal to show weakness. The only way they had left to rebel.
"Look," Prince Poo said softly, looking out of their telescope. "A supernova."
The others came over, taking turns to press their eyes up against the eyepiece. In the far, far distance, great pulses of light were radiating from a body, waves of vibrance filling the darkness. The light was distorted by the Unicorn, stretched by the gravity well, yet it outshone all else, and Picky wondered if it could be seen even from Earth.
But even the magnitude of the supernova would be swallowed up eventually, eaten by the black abyss. Or perhaps the supernova would become a black hole itself, the core's mass so immense that no force could prevent it from becoming a single point in space and time. Maybe one day, another ship would be bound for its darkness, and five more lost causes would be within. Another five who didn't fit in. The old saying, life is good, but not when you're different.
The S.S. Lune ploughed reluctantly on, and as it did, Picky felt a tear trailing down his cheek. It caught him by surprise — he hadn't cried throughout this whole ordeal, but here he was, weak at the very end. The usual questions passed through his mind; what did he do to deserve this? Did anyone even miss him back at home? What was his family thinking? Picky had hidden his magic from them, but the Establishment had made his face public, putting a reward on his head. Were his family being punished as Picky sat here? Did they resent him, or were their fingers crossed, hoping their last son would come home?
Before Picky took to the streets, he'd been the family's last hope. Porky had been erased from the family history, and after he'd disappeared, Aloysius had piled up his last possessions on the fire. Picky remembered watching the smoke billowing into the air, the last toys and scraps of clothing disappearing. It had scared him. Would that be happening to his things, too? Would everything sentimental be gone?
No, he had told himself, multiple times, but he couldn't be sure.
Nothing stopped him from worrying.
"Tell us about Dalaam," Kumatora said quietly, looking at the young prince. "Tell us what it was like."
"Well," Prince Poo began. They had heard each other's stories many times before, but even now, they offered some comfort, some closeness in these dark times. "Dalaam was a beautiful village in the Far East of New Earth. The geography, buildings and delicacies are like those in the Old East, in Old Asia. It is where I was born, and it is to where I pledged my allegiance." The Prince adjusted his meditative position. "There, discipline is vital, the soul and the mind are connected, you see. One must train, one must master oneself in order to unlock true wholeness."
"And you, Kuma?" Alle asked. "How about your hometown?"
The pink-haired girl gave a soft laugh. It had become a running joke at this point — they all knew Kumatora didn't really have a home, that she'd run away during her childhood. It was a strange ritual, how the five sometimes pretended they knew nothing about one another. It meant they could keep talking, stopping their minds from brooding on the end.
"When I was just a little girl, I took a boat," Kumatora said. "I arrived on the Nowhere Islands with no idea who my real parents were. The Magypsies were the ones who raised me in the end. Good fellas, I like to think. If a little rigid... But, hey, they made me a Princess! Princess of the Osohe Castle, they called me." She smiles. "'Twas a good time. A good, good time… until I was betrayed to the Establishment, but that's another story."
The others nodded faintly with recognition. Of the group, Kumatora was probably most of their favourites. Over the weeks they had been together, she always took it upon herself to lift their spirits. It was something they were very grateful for.
"Seventy-five minutes to the event horizon," the voice said pleasantly. "Please continue to enjoy your journey."
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~~o00o~~
(4937 years earlier)
~~o00o~~
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421 BC was the peak of the English Iron Age.
In those days, most people were farmers, fishermen or slaves, worshipping old Celt gods, living a basic but substantial life. Celt settlements dominated the sweeping valleys of the north, characterised by their towering Hill Forts, which acted as the precursor to castles, sites for both defence and attack.
Territorial borders surrounded them Long ditches, some many miles in length, separated towns and villages from one another. Communication between settlements was limited, but some would brave the long trips through the fields to see their families and friends. Yet, by this time, regional identities had begun to expand, and separationist ideas were starting to thrive. Regionalism and expansionism were rooted in culture. Towns would invade their neighbouring villages, capturing inhabitants as slaves.
The farming town of Onett was no different. To the east was the opposing settlement of Tazmily, known for its sheep and sunflowers. The pair were rivals, and they had fought for decades, building up a lengthy history of grudges, and by 500 BC, the bloodshed was so enormous that a Great Forest of trees was grown to separate them. Even so, the rivalry didn't stop. Some would still brave the trek through the forest, but it was said they would never return. This and the long, winding river began to root ideas of spirits, naiads and dryads, developing the Onetian culture for years to come.
Tazmily became little more than an afterthought as the years moved forward. The Onetian people mostly focused on farming wheat and getting by, avoiding the ire of Mr Mayor and the richest landowners. Fear of the gods' wills was a powerful tool in those days, and the rich would use it to collect the best sheep, the best fish, and the best produce from their subjects. It was a dark and unequal time. But the rich and poor had one thing in common, one thing that united the people into one, dangerous force.
A deep, unexplainable fear of magic.
In the northernmost wheat fields, there stood a dark, abandoned roundhouse. Somehow, though the rumours could never be traced, many believed it to be a kind of magical haven. It was said to be the source of the town's misfortunes, whether those be droughts, fires, or floods. It was cursed, wicked, said the highest priests. Mr Mayor renounced the place as quarantined, but nobody dared approach it to knock it down. Could witches be living inside? Monsters?
...No. Of course, there was no such thing. There were no spirits, no witches. The only resident was a fifteen-year-old farmer, living all on his own. It was a miserable life, some might say, but he enjoyed the seclusion, especially because he was so different from everybody else.
Ninten, that was his name. He'd only been a child when magic had begun to shine through him. His family thought him a prophet at first, but it seemed the power he possessed was so wild, so godless that the theory was quickly dropped. Some declared that demonic activity was to blame, but other than the occasional magical outburst, Ninten appeared to be a perfectly ordinary boy. This vexed his family greatly.
When the time came for him to move from home, he saw the abandoned roundhouse and took it as his own. Secretly, he was fascinated by his powers, deeply curious as to their origins, and this was the ideal place to experiment. He could make ice fly from his hands. He could make fire erupt from his fingertips. In his secluded new home, he experimented and experimented for as long as he pleased, noting down all he could in journals, storing his knowledge away for generations to come.
His routine didn't last.
It was a perfectly ordinary day when his life turned on its head. The crops were growing just fine — Ninten had watered them only in the morning. He'd boiled himself a fresh bowl of broth for lunch. He'd washed and dried his clothes in the river. All in all, it was a productive day.
Then, someone knocked at his door.
Ninten frowned. Who could this be? People scarcely called at his house, not these days, not since the rumours had begun to circle. He heaved himself up from his chair, opening the door to reveal a boy around his age.
He looked like a strange fellow. His hair was remarkable, in that it was bright blue and sticking out in multiple directions. He had a kind of awkward look about him, but for somebody so young, his eyes seemed remarkably wise. Ninten stared for a moment, but he soon regained his composure and began to speak.
"Hello? Who are you?"
"My name is Byleth." The boy's voice was neutral and clear. "Are you Ninten?"
"I am. Why do you ask?"
Byleth looked behind him. Ninten thought he saw a slight nervousness come across his face.
"Can I come in?"
Ninten was taken aback. It was quite ungainly to ask to enter someone's roundhouse, especially when night was falling. But, the stranger looked honest, so Ninten acquiesced.
"If you wish."
Byleth came in. Despite the town's fears, Ninten's house was surprisingly ordinary. Though the wattle and daub outside were decrepit and cracked, the inside was actually quite homely. There was only one room, with a cauldron for cooking standing in the centre. Around the border were various haphazard furnishings, including a straw bed, hay bales, a row of shelves filled with papyrus journals, and a few makeshift storage compartments. Sprigs of wheat covered a stump by the bed, upon which a blazing torch stood. Ivy crept over the ceiling, some of it hanging precariously close to the flames.
Byleth seemed a lot more at ease indoors, laying down a sack of some sort by the entrance before sitting himself down on a log, smiling. Ninten procured a supply of honey mead, as was customary, and he handed a chalice to the blue-haired figure opposite him.
"So," Ninten said, sitting down. "What brings you here?"
"That's... a long story," Byleth said. "Really, I just needed a place to hide."
"From what?"
"The tax collector." Byleth's lips quirked. "He was getting quite violent."
"I see," Ninten said. He thought the boy spoke remarkably casually, and he narrowed his eyes at it. What's more, a tax collector had never visited his house. He focused hard on the man in front of him, but it was as though his subconscious was trying to tell him something. Then, to his alarm, his thoughts began falling into place, and a singular idea entered his brain.
He's magical.
Ninten tried to bat the idea away, but it lingered. What could it mean? What sort of divination was this? A message from the gods? His trouble must've shown on his face, because Byleth frowned.
"Is everything okay?"
"You're magical," Ninten blurted. "Like me."
He clapped a hand over his mouth. Byleth raised his eyebrows, breaking his composure for the first time.
"Like you? You mean, you're…"
"No!" Ninten tried foolishly to deny it. He was instantly ashamed of the scene he was creating in front of this handsome guest. "I mean…"
"You're right, I am magical," Byleth said curiously. "I've never met another magician before... what exactly can you do?"
The words rolled off Ninten's tongue. "I can make ice and fire. I can read emotions. I get these senses, intuitions about things, and they usually turn out to be true…"
Byleth watched, taking it all in. Then, he said, "Do you want to see what I can do?"
Ninten nodded. He was curious, after all.
And so, Byleth clicked his fingers, and the world stopped.
Quite literally, it stopped. The torch's flame stopped flickering, instead hanging still in the air. All sound vanished, no birds, no wind, no creaking walls. The grass outside was frozen. The air was still. Nothing happened.
Ninten looked around in awe, all adultlike composure gone. "How did you do that?"
"Sothis," Byleth said simply.
"Sorry?"
"It's a... voice." Byleth put a flustered hand to his neck. "A figure. Well, only I can see and hear it. She can do these things through me — freezing time, reversing time, sending people forwards and backwards in time. Those last ones can create horrendous paradoxes, though. Sothis doesn't allow those to happen."
Ninten looked at Byleth with awe. He'd never once considered that there could be other magicians, and yet here one was, guided by a voice. A magician of time, no less! It seemed impossible. But Byleth clicked his fingers once more, and the world sprang back into life.
"You can stay as long as you like," Ninten said, because suddenly, it seemed like the most important thing in the world. "Hide from the tax collector. Show me more. This is... incredible, I think."
"It is," Byleth agreed, and so, the pair talked for hours, revelling in their newfound company. Ninten learnt that Byleth had been born near Giant's Cavern, a great chasm near the northwest wheat fields. In return, Ninten told him of his troubled childhood, how he'd been renounced by the other boys and made to feel like an outcast. By the morning, the outsiders had found commonness in each other, and from then on, Byleth would stay at the roundhouse quite often. The two friends would talk and laugh about their powers, sometimes farming together, sometimes fishing, sometimes writing about them in Ninten's journals. They'd walk through the market together to do their shopping. Whenever there was an opportunity to share their time, they'd take it.
The magic was their little secret. They knew that if anyone found out, they'd be executed. Sorcery was a practice that only the highest priests and Speakers were allowed to practice, in their farcical encounters with deities. Often, ceremonies would occur, in which Speakers would pretend to receive divine messages, pretend to cast miracles, and pretend to fuel the spirit of the town. But Byleth and Ninten saw through these lies. They saw how people sacrificed their best lambs and their firstborns to these non-existent gods, and they wanted no part in it. It was because of this that their visits to the town became less frequent. They sought each other for company, rather than the easily-addled townsfolk.
Observers of their budding friendship, if there had been any, would've called them codependent. The connection borne by their powers fuelled this togetherness, this strong sense that they were meant to be friends. It was not romantic, but brotherly.
And in time, rumours soon began circulating through the village of the demon-infested boy and his evil blue-haired friend. They were renounced for not giving their dues to the gods, their names slurred for their differences, but the duo didn't care. They were far too busy laughing and enjoying one another's company.
They were wiser than others, that's what they thought. Perhaps it was a naïve sentiment, but maybe it was true. Either way, they were happy.
Nothing could change that.
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~~o00o~~
4516 A.D.
~~o00o~~
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"Not long left," Alle murmured. "Anyone got any regrets?"
The SS Lune creaked and groaned around her, almost as if it could sense the oncoming end. The void outside had become thick and black, and the passengers were starting to wonder if the tug on their feet was the Unicorn's gravity, or whether it was just their imaginations.
"Regrets?" Picky asked.
Alle nodded. "Anything you'd like to resolve before it's all over."
"Yeah," Kumatora said after a while. "I have a few things."
Alle gestured for her to go ahead.
"My home," Kumatora began. "My real home. Wherever I came from. I always meant to find it, to use these psychic powers, but… I never got a chance. There was always something else I had to do."
"Maybe that's for the best," Picky said grimly. "Who knows what the Establishment could've done to it?"
Prince Poo looked down, a hand on his arm. "I regret leaving my people. I have not served them my dues. I can only hope my replacement is sufficient."
"And I regret…" Picky paused, biting back the urge to say everything. "I regret being with my brother, and watching him beat up this kid. I just stood there, watching, and we left him there, hurt."
"Ouch," Kumatora said, wincing. Picky could only nod.
"I regret many things," Byleth croaked. He was still sitting in his corner, his head facing the window. "I regret all the great and terrible things that mankind cast upon our time. I regret the years that passed me by, all the friends who came and went. I regret the faces that grew, withered, and dissolved into ash. Oh, and I regret that Freddie Mercury died so soon…" He cracked a slight smile, though none of the others understood the reference.
"Well, I regret not saying goodbye to my pet crow," Alle said, flustered. "Seems a bit stupid after all that poetry."
Picky looked up. "You had a pet crow?"
"So to speak…" Alle smiled. "He'd sit on my window and talk to me. Not English, mind, but I think I could understand. I used my powers to bring him food and water, and we got on like a house on fire."
Picky slowly nodded. Crows were quite remarkable creatures, he thought. After the nuclear blast in 2936 AD, they had been one of the only birds to survive. The Establishment's brutal farming strategies had made them even rarer.
"The Establishment will fall eventually," Byleth stated, as though he'd read Picky's mind. "It can only be a matter of time before rebellions begin."
But Alle grimaced. "It feels like they've got a pretty strong following. They're productive. Nobody's rebelled so far. They've mastered politics, they've mastered control. It's a political dystopia."
"Indeed," Byleth said. "However, repressing rebellions never works. Every empire must fall."
"Not this one." Alle shifted in her place. "They're too strong."
"It only takes a weak link," Kumatora countered. "One wrong move and the chain shatters."
But now it was Picky's turn to grimace. "We were supposed to be the weak link. Magic was supposed to prevail. The Establishment won."
"There will be others," Byleth said simply. "Magic never fades."
"Are you sure?" Prince Poo observed the glass case behind him. It was full of colourful dust, all that was left of the magical stones.
"Magic came from nowhere," Byleth reminded them. "Magic existed before the Stones — even I existed before the Stones — so it can exist after them too. They only concentrated the magical forces into one object. That's what the Establishment never understood; destroying the Stones only removed the prison. Magic roams free on New Earth."
"But not here," Picky said.
"Not here," Byleth agreed. "But somewhere. And that shall be enough for the Establishment to fall."
There was another, perhaps more hopeful, silence. But sombreness quickly began to descend, and Kumatora quickly cleared her throat to banish it.
"What was it like before antinatalism?" she asked Byleth.
Picky grimaced. Antinatalism was one of the Establishment's biggest policies, and it had been introduced some two hundred years ago. The Establishment's leaders believed the population was becoming too numerous, and that there were too many independent thinkers. So, it became law that all embryos had to be genetically engineered, lab-grown and conceived in vitro by donors' gametes. Husbands and wives were randomly assigned, they were given a maximum of two children, and they were expected to raise them.
This all meant that the Establishment could raise cohorts of good, obedient citizens without bloating the population. Of course, few followed the antinatalism laws, especially on the outskirts of the neo-megacities, but those who were discovered to have conceived a child of their own were severely punished.
"It was glorious," Byleth said heavily. "Free. Wonderful. You name it."
Kumatora seemed only able to nod.
"One hour until the event horizon," echoed the speakers. "Please enjoy your journey."
This time, nobody snarked back. It was really starting to set in, this was the end. They had spent the whole journey full of hope, trying to stall the fusion reactors, trying to activate the steering controls, but to no avail. The Unicorn was approaching.
Alle came to sit beside Picky, leaning against his shoulder. If they'd been on New Earth, Picky would've perhaps considered pursuing a romantic relationship with her. They'd become quite close throughout their ordeal. It was a shame that heterosexuality was so disliked by the Establishment — they called it a 'temptation to breed.' It wasn't illegal by any means, but it was certainly frowned upon.
Picky put an arm around her, and they stayed like that for a few minutes, completely lost in thought. There was nothing more to be said, no more sympathies to be expressed. The Prince of Dalaam sat still in the corner. Byleth peered out of the window, and Kumatora, ever optimistic, took a last bash at the unresponsive controls.
A great deal of light was beginning to pour through the windows. The ship was entering the photon sphere, a swirling mass of light and material that orbited the Unicorn's deadly centre. They would stay in orbit for some time, but the friction of the ship against the circling rocks would bring their demise; they would be plummeting towards the event horizon soon enough. The light twisted and distorted around them, the emptiness coming ever closer. Even an hour away, travelling at three astronomical units an hour, the ship was beginning to vibrate. The fusion reactors whirred.
"It's a cool death though, right?" Kumatora said unconvincingly. "Better than being burnt, or drowning?"
"Yeah," Alle murmured, making Picky jump. He'd almost forgotten she was beside him. "Not many people can say they've done this."
"And at least we are not alone," offered Prince Poo.
"Even better, once we're past the event horizon, we won't die immediately," Byleth said. "There could be minutes left, hours even. I do not know."
"What will it be like?" Picky asked. Terrifying though this was, there had always been that curiosity. They truly were the first to experience this.
"Nobody knows for sure," Byleth said calmly. "Perhaps we may come out the other side unscathed. Maybe we'll be spaghettified. We will have to wait and see."
"It looks so dark," Kumatora said, looking outside. "There's nothing there, nothing at all."
She was right.
The engine roared in the distance. Picky listened to it as it consumed the fusion reactors' energy. He could feel a little tug at his navel, and he wondered if that was the beginning of the spaghettification progress — he pondered how long they would survive, whether they would even make it to the event horizon in the first place. Picky could swear the inside of the ship was getting brighter and brighter, almost like heaven as they hurtled toward the photon sphere. He instinctively held onto Alle, listening to the thrusters roar, fear prickling at his stomach…
The thrusters.
The thrusters!
Picky jumped up. "I've got it!"
The others looked at him in amazement.
"We need to turn around the ship!" Picky exclaimed. "We'll be able to escape!"
"We can't turn the ship," Alle reminded him gently. "The movement controls-"
"No, watch!"
Filled with certainty, Picky ran down the ship's length, hurtling to the front. He readied himself, and then, quite suddenly, he launched his body at the wall. The motion sent a tremor down the ship, but didn't seem to do anything else.
"Come on!" Picky shouted. "We can do it! This can turn the ship, I know it!"
The others hurried over. Picky slammed himself once more into the wall, ignoring the throbbing in his side. Kumatora followed suit with a cheer, and the S.S Lune groaned under the attack.
"More!" Picky shouted. "We need to turn ourselves around!"
The barrage continued. Bodies struck the walls, each tipping the ship an infinitely small degree off course. Shouts filled the engine room as over and over again, they hurled themselves forward, fuelled by pure desperation. Bruises were ignored. Aches were discarded, and they kept going and going. Picky could swear they were doing it — he could swear they were moving. Even Byleth got involved, pushing his frail body against the window.
"Keep going!" Picky yelled. "Don't stop!"
They obeyed. Bangs rang out. Picky worried the titanium wall would give in, but they would surely die either way, wouldn't they? It didn't matter anymore. He launched himself again, ignoring the nearly deathly pain that had developed in the left side of his body. The ship seemed to lurch — or was that his imagination? Hope began to swellthrough Picky's veins.
But it was short-lived. There was a sudden grinding, sputtering noise, followed by a series of crunches and groans. The roaring of the thrusters ground to a halt, and out of the window, Picky saw them floating away.
"No!" Picky cried, falling to the floor in desperation. "No! Come back!"
But the speakers crackled to life, and the cool, female voice laughed. "Nice try, prisoners. You have activated protocol 750, and the thrusters have been detached. Forty-five minutes until the event horizon. Please enjoy your journey."
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~~o00o~~
(421 B.C)
~~o00o~~
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Ninten wasn't a rich man, but he wasn't a slave, nor was he a peasant. He was that strange middle ground which hardly existed in those days, and for that, he supposed he had to be thankful. As he grew into his later teens, Ninten lived a comfortable life, one without much worry or trial, and one that he would come to be thankful for. Maybe it was because he and Byleth were frugal with their money — they did not hire harlots or participate in the rituals of the 'regular people'. Ninten liked to consider this as the source of their happiness.
"We are more enlightened," Byleth said one day. They were seventeen at the time, enjoying a pleasant evening away from the fields. "The world is wrong. We're the only ones not conforming to it."
"You think?" Ninten asked, putting his feet up on a hay bale. It had been a recent discovery that hay bales made much better seats than hard, splintery stumps.
Byleth took a gulp of the vegetable broth he'd prepared earlier. "Absolutely. Do you see anyone else like us? Doing the things we do? They are mindless, sheep even."
"Perhaps we're mad?" Ninten suggested.
"Oh, we are," Byleth said serenely. "Anyone who does not follow the pattern is mad. That will be true throughout all of history. Yet, that's no bad thing."
But they were interrupted by a sharp knocking on the door.
Ninten stood. "I'll get it."
He strode over to the handle, feeling bizarrely confident. In fact, he was so contented with life that he didn't think to fear what might be on the other side. But when he pulled the door open, there stood a pair of iron-clad men. Ninten blanched, looking between them. What could this mean?
They grabbed him around the neck. Panic seized him, and Byleth sprang up, but it was too late. As Ninten protested, a rope was tied around his wrists, a blade pointed to his throat.
"Leave Byleth," Ninten croaked, his eyes watering. "Please, he's done nothing wrong-"
"He who converses with the devil must shoulder the devil's burden," snarled the nearest man.
And so, they were taken quite unceremoniously from the roundhouse. The assailants weren't careful, taking no heed in dragging them across Ninten's precious crops. Ninten had a mind to shout and argue, but iron swords glistened in the men's sheaths.
They soon reached the town road. Some jeering rang out as they passed through, and Ninten had the terrible thought of a sacrificial pyre. But to his immense relief, no such sight came into view, and instead, he was hauled down a set of rickety stone stairs. He nearly stumbled at the bottom, his captor abruptly stopping, sliding open a wrought-iron doorway. Ninten was shoved from behind, and he tumbled inside, landing face-first in the dirt.
A loud thud told Ninten that Byleth had met the same fate. He picked himself up, just as the door slid shut behind him.
They were in what seemed to be a lifeless underground room. Stone brick walls rose up from the ground, topped with a compacted dirt roof. Two brackets containing torches hung in the corners. There was nothing else.
"Hey!" Ninten exclaimed. "Let us out!"
"Not until your sentence is decided," came the sneering reply.
"What sentence? We've done nothing wrong!"
"You have been found guilty of sorcery and public disturbance. The gods and the prophets shall be consulted, and in five days, you and your associate will be punished."
Ninten paled. The idea shot fear through his heart. Had he and Byleth been seen?
"But that's not fair," Byleth protests. "We're innocent!"
"You have defiled the gods," said the voice outside. "That is crime enough."
Ninten began to pace agitatedly around the room. How could he have been so stupid? They should've run away, escaped the town together long ago. But, no, this was';t a disaster. Ninten took a deep breath. He had to be rational; surely, magic could help them escape.
He took Byleth into a corner. "Freeze time, and we can get out."
"The frozen time is limited," Byleth said grimly. "I cannot unlock this door without the key."
But Ninten did not relent. "Then I shall use my fire powers. I will melt the iron with my bare hands."
"And go where?" Byleth asked. "They would catch us, Ninten. We need to wait."
"Until what?" Ninten wrung his hands, fear striking him again. "What if they come in here and kill us?"
"I've got a plan," Byleth soothed, placing his hand on Ninten's shoulder. It was an uncharacteristic gesture. "Just wait and see. I promise, we're going to be okay."
But despite Byleth's pledge, the days in the prison were dark and miserable. The pair were fed only the worst grains, pig feed and dirty river water. For whatever reason, the sentencing seemed to be taking a long time, something to do with whether the gods would accept them as a sacrifice or not.
It was a bleak prospect. Ninten was missing home — he was reminded inexplicably of those old stories, of the people who disobeyed commandments and were stoned to death. It was pretty clear that their punishment was going to be an execution of some kind, as the guards so often hinted. It was just a question of how it was going to happen.
He had faith in Byleth's plan, though. He trusted Byleth with his life; throughout the years they'd known each other, they'd become like brothers. Byleth was the smart one, always thinking far ahead, always able to calculate outcomes with impeccable accuracy. Ninten had learnt to follow him, and nothing bad had come of it yet.
"How much longer?" Ninten complained at the day's guard, kicking at the dirt with his ragged sandle. "What if we die of thirst before you decide our sentence?"
"You won't," snarled the guard. "You are receiving fresh water from the Onett river-"
"Which is thicker than a cow pat. It's not fair, it's not right — would you treat your gods like this?"
But the debate was interrupted. The cell's door slid open, and light poured in. Before them stood a man with particularly yellowed teeth.
"The sentence is decided," the man said gleefully. "Come with me."
Ninten touched Byleth's hand in acknowledgement, and they followed the man out of the prison, up the stairs and into the roaring blue sky. Ninten's vision grew fuzzy in the searing daylight, but he could make out men, women and children turning away from him in shame. A crowd seemed to have gathered. Some carried blazing torches, he realised with a shock, and some carried vicious-looking iron tools. Ninten swallowed the lump in his throat.
Suddenly, he felt a shove to his back, and he was forced into the middle of the audience. His hands were wrenched behind him, tied together with a thick length of rope. Byleth appeared, undergoing the same treatment, wincing as he stumbled and was hauled back up by his hair. In the daylight, Byleth's face was marred by dust and dirt, and Ninten figured he looked much the same. Trying to quell his panic, he took the opportunity to scout out the crowd, spotting his sisters, Minnie and Mimmie, among other former friends. Over in the distance, the sun was obscured by something tall, covered in woven branches. His hands trembled.
"At last," whispered Mr Mayor, leader of the village. He approached them with a sort of hunger, a greedy gleam in his eyes. "The magicians… the sorcerers have been caught. No more shall they enrage our gods! No more droughts shall fall!"
The crowd wildly cheered, some waving their flaming torches in the air. Ninten prayed that Byleth's plan would come into action soon.
"The peace has been disturbed," Mr Mayor continued. "The gods have been denied their sacrifices. What do you say to that, Ninten?"
The crowd fell silent, but just as Ninten was about to speak, Byleth stepped forward.
Mutters broke out, but Byleth was unfazed. He rose a commanding hand for silence.
"You wish to say something?" Mr Mayor said, sounding offended.
"Absolutely," Byleth said coldly.
"And what might that be?"
The crowd waited with anticipation, and Byleth steeled himself. Ninten tried to give him his best supportive expression. He wasn't quite sure if it worked.
"It's all wrong!" Byleth exclaimed suddenly, and to Ninten's dismay, he sounded kind of frenzied. "Everything is wrong! Don't you see? These sacrifices, these rituals to gods who do not exist? Gods who bring drought, suffering? Locusts? This is madness! Your prophets, they lie! They do not hear divine messages! I tell you the truth, they merely want your money, your firstborns, your riches. But there is still time to change your ways." He extended a hand. "Let us go. I can show you the truth of magic. I alone can bring you into the light."
There was a resounding silence. It seemed to echo off the buildings themselves. Then, one man cried out, "Blasphemy!"
The rest followed.
"Sorcerers!" called a woman in grey.
"Liars!" shouted Minnie.
"Demon-infested!"
"Unclean!"
"Cursed!"
"Burn them!"
"Sacrifice them!"
"Sacrifice them!"
"Sacrifice them!"
The cries rang for miles, but Ninten could hardly hear them. Had that been Byleth's plan? Byleth looked at him, full of fear, and Mr Mayor surged forward, a delighted grin on his face.
"The people have spoken!" he cried. "These wrongdoers will be sacrificed to the gods, burnt at the altar like lambs! May your blasphemy save you now, sinners!"
In the distance, the tower of branches fell away. From the street rose a golden pillar, piled high with rope and wood. It glittered, encrusted with treasure and riches galore. The crowd rushed forward, shepherding Byleth and Ninten towards it.
"Sacrifice them!"
"Burn them!"
"Slaughter them!"
Ninten felt himself being grabbed around the waist. He rose, struggling, but the guards were too strong. They lifted him and Byleth with ease, carrying them towards the pyre. Mr Mayor followed closely behind, tossing a piece of flint in his hand, beaming from ear to ear.
Primal fear struck Ninten again and again. Was this it? How would it feel to die, to burn like firewood? Would it hurt? The altar came clearly into view, and Ninten was thrust against it, back to back with Byleth, the boy he trusted more than any other. A thick coil of rope was wrapped around their middles, binding them together and to the golden pillar. Heaps of wood and greenery were thrown at their feet. Mr Mayor menacingly slashed at the flint, sending sparks flying into the air. The crowd surged forwards, jeering and chanting.
"To the great gods of Onett!" Mr Mayor called. "We bring you these sinners! Take them as your own, free us from these curses! Tonda Gossa!"
Sparks flew through the air. Ninten forced his eyes to close, just as the smoke began to rise. Flames appeared from out of nowhere. Terror writhed in Ninten's stomach — it was coming, he could feel it.
Hope was gone.
It was time for him to die.
.
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~~o00o~~
4516 A.D.
~~o00o~~
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"Ten minutes to the event horizon. Please enjoy your journey."
Outside the S.S. Lune, the remnants of galaxies were a thick soup, reduced to mere beams of light orbiting around the Unicorn's merciless darkness. The Unicorn never relented, more and more mass disappearing into its cataclysmic abyss. It dominated this corner of space-time, greedily harvesting all it could consume, so small in diameter but so enormous in magnitude.
Inside, the ship was cold and empty. Byleth's wizened form lay on the windowsill, and anyone who didn't know better might've assumed he'd died. Picky was staring resolutely at his fingers, an arm around Alle's shuddering shoulder. Prince Poo had resumed his meditative position, he looked unlikely to speak ever again. Even Kumatora looked bleak, sitting listlessly on the ship's floor.
There was a definite pull at their feet now, there was no denying that. Picky wondered absent-mindedly how much he could be stretched before he would be inevitably asphyxiated, and how much of the whole process he would get to see. He had madly considered lying down on the floor, perhaps then he would be stretched horizontally instead, but what good would it be? At this point, the end was an inevitability.
"I guess this is it," Kumatora said, her voice hoarse. "It's been a sweet trip. Seriously, you're all great."
"You're great too," Alle said quietly. "Everyone here is. We tried our best."
"We did," Picky echoed.
"One must never give up," Byleth croaked from his corner. "Not when there is still time."
But Prince Poo shook his head. "It's a lost cause. We must accept that, and await the darkness."
"No, we must not," Byleth said with more force. "We must consider the possibilities, giving up is a fool's errand. This very ship, the S.S LuNe, is named after two magicians who never gave up. The most famous magicians to have lived, save for Ninten himself! Thousands of years ago they were born, the brave Ness and the resilient Lucas..."
"They're fairy tales, Byleth." Picky stuck out his lower lip, a childish habit he'd sustained. "Stories made up to make magicians feel better about themselves. You've lived a long life, longer than all of us combined, but it's time to let go."
"I have lived a long life because I didn't let go!" Byleth cried, and he was beginning to sound quite fierce. "I have seen friends die, lovers separate, stars fade, worlds reborn! I have survived hordes of creatures, I have survived burning at the altar, I have survived it all! I tell you, I have been an old man for a very long time!"
"But you had magic back then," Picky sighed. "The time stone is dust."
"Oh yes," Byleth said with passion. "And my appearance reflects that! As soon as it was destroyed, I became decrepit in appearance, a presentable corpse if you will… but never in spirit! Looks deceive! I existed before the stones and I will exist after them, too! I tell you; Sothis forbid it, we cannot give in."
"Then what do we do?" Kumatora asked plaintively. "What the hell do we do?"
"We hope," Byleth said.
"For what?"
"There are myths, rumours…" Byleth looked around at them all. "White holes, afterlives... I do not suggest for a second we survive, merely, we advance, we become more enlightened. We move onto better things."
It sounded whimsical to Picky. An old man's attempt at giving them hope. He sighed, pulling Alle a little closer. "It's over, Byleth. Accept it."
"You may accept it," Byleth said, and he bowed his head. "That is your decision to make."
Silence fell once more.
Picky's heart thrummed, his thoughts drifting over this terrible situation. Would the Establishment ever fall? He had already entertained the idea of becoming a symbol of revolution, a figurehead for the people. He fantasized about being a martyr. Surely people would see their execution and oppose it? Surely their absence wouldn't go unnoticed? But it could easily be kept quiet, anyone could turn a blind eye, they could be too scared… These thoughts continued to wrestle inside Picky's head until he could take it no more, and he lay down on the floor.
The worst part was everyone he was leaving behind.
It was hard to bear. It reminded him of the last day of school, parting ways with old friends who became acquaintances, then became strangers. Except, this time, it would all be so much quicker. This time, his friends would be with him until the bitter end, and they would see it all through together.
In a way, that was comforting. It filled the emptiness that was to follow, at least.
"Five minutes to the event horizon. Please enjoy your journey."
The crew barely responded. Each gripped slightly tighter onto whatever they had their faith in, but nothing was said. The bright light from outside was starting to dissipate as the event horizon drew closer. The radiance of the S.S Lune was dimming as photons were pulled away towards the Unicorn. Alle's hand felt unusual in Picky's, and as the forces continued to build, he began to wish he'd spoken more to her throughout the journey.
Nerves were always the killer, they always had been. Speaking to people, getting things done... Picky was always too slow, and then time ran out. That's why the school friends faded. That's why he could never get help to hide from the Establishment.
Kumatora broke the silence. "What are our last words gonna be?"
The Prince of Dalaam was the first to reply. "To fight against the Establishment, we built a mental fortress. However, our efforts were futile, and we lost." He looked back down. Picky knew he did not intend to speak again.
"Time fades," Byleth croaked. "Yet, it always leaves a scar."
"Let the world know I died for love," Alle said simply.
Picky thought fast. The fact that people were resigning themselves to their fate was somewhat more disturbing than the fate itself. Nevertheless, he tried to come up with something suitable, "We're out of luck, and out of time."
"What can I say after all that?" Kumatora gave a nervous laugh. "Oh… I know. Time to get outta these girl clothes!"
For the final time, silence fell.
"Zero minutes until the event horizon," echoed that cold, female voice. "Please enjoy your deaths."
The ship groaned, beginning to pass that invisible barrier. The barrier past which not even light could escape. Picky wrapped an arm around Alle for the final time, feeling the latter huddle against him. He wasn't scared anymore.
Almost at once, something quite unexpected began to happen. The event horizon appeared to split into two distinct entities, light from both striking the ship as it passed. Inside the horizon was not darkness, but an immense glow, infinitely bright.
In this place, space travelled faster than light, pulling the ship and all its crew inexorably inwards. All matter lengthened, the gravity at foot being stronger than the gravity at head. They were not quite torn apart, the Unicorn was small enough that the forces weren't too strong yet.
Looking up one last time, the gravity of the black hole appeared to have concentrated the view of the outside world into one singular band. All else was nothingness. The view was dim, hard to make out — or, it would have been if the crew were still conscious.
As the ship approached the singularity, it and all its crew dissolved into nothingness. There was no matter left, all that remained was energy and light.
It was over.
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~~o00o~~
(421 BC)
~~o00o~~
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.
Red-hot flames licked at Ninten's soles. They climbed canes and sticks, billowing searing smoke into his aching throat. Crackling filled his ears, Byleth's body writhing against his. He screamed, pulling at his bonds as the skin of his feet was scorched and burnt. The fire latched onto a fern, bringing the heat up to Ninten's chest. Sharply, he tried to tear himself free, but it was no good.
The crowd disappeared behind a thick veil of grey. He could hardly breathe. The smoke would kill him first, not the fire. He coughed, spluttering, the world erupting into an empty fog. Everything swam, the jeering crowd mingling with ringing in his ears, mingling with all his darting memories, the first day at school, the first day of discovering his powers, the fire, the ice, the ice-
He grasped at consciousness once more, his throat scorched and raw. "PK FREEZE!"
It did nothing.
"PK FREEZE!"
No more — it was the end. Ninten's mind raced, but it fell short. Thoughts were ensnared in smoke. Ideas were beaten down by asphyxiation. He screamed for one last time.
But then, everything stopped.
Byleth moved like lightning. Ninten could hardly process the scene before him. The flames arched stiffly and still, the smoke hanging like fog in the sky. Suddenly, his lungs were awake with fresh, clean air, and Byleth was pulling him away. His bonds fell from his hands to the ground, and the fire vanished before him, replaced by only a stretching meadow.
"Byl-"
The blue-haired boy pulled him into the grass. "Shush! We haven't much time!"
"Where-?"
"Quiet!" Byleth said, and Ninten obeyed.
He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Was this an afterlife? Byleth was unscathed, not a hint of soot marring his body. Ninten looked down at his hands and saw that he too was clean.
"I can save you," Byleth said.
The determination with which he spoke sent shivers down Ninten's spine.
"We have five minutes at most," Byleth continued. "I'm not sure where we are, but-"
He fell short, interrupted by a gentle female voice. "Oh, Byleth. We can be wherever you like."
Ninten looked all around for the source of the voice, but he failed to make it out. Then, suddenly, a woman descended from the sky.
Ninten's first wild thought was that she looked like an elf. Pointed ears matched sea-green eyes and an elaborate golden tiara, but then a mane of emerald hair outshadowed it all. It flowed like the ocean, spreading out to a seemingly infinite distance, set in perfect, graceful layers. Yet, Ninten did not find himself intimidated. He caught his mouth hanging open as the lady touched down on the ground, gave him a sort of half-amused smile, and turned to Byleth.
"Well, Byleth? Will you not introduce your friend?"
"Lady Sothis." Byleth shot to his feet. "This is Ninten. Ninten, this is Lady Sothis. She's… a sort of mastermind, the one who seems to give me powers."
"Mastermind? How crude." Sothis gave him a reproachful look. "I prefer the term companion."
Byleth nodded. "Very well. My companion. But, time is short, Lady Sothis, I-"
"Make your plea," Sothis said simply.
"My lady... don't you know it already?" Byleth asked incredulously. Ninten could only watch as Sothis raised her eyebrows.
"Most certainly," she said. "But it's polite to ask."
"Lady Sothis, we don't have much time, the time freeze-"
"-Will last," Sothis finished. "Now, what is it you would ask me?"
Byleth took a deep breath, giving Ninten a quick glance before drawing himself up to his full height. "Save him."
"How?" Sothis asked. Her gaze bore into his.
"Allow me to send him forward."
"Funny," Sothis mused. "The sentiment of men… it is often ignored. This is an unusual request…"
Byleth did not look away. "Can I do it?"
"Absolutely not," Sothis said, and she looked distastefully down at Ninten. "The paradoxes are too great, these powers are not to be harnessed-"
"He'll die," Byleth protested. "Please, you have to — there's no other way!"
"We'll all die eventually," Sothis said dismissively. "Including you. Why are you so keen for him to live? Don't you understand, he will still die in the end?"
"He can live for longer," Byleth said, and he stepped forward. Ninten could only watch him, wondering what being sent forward might entail.
"Longer, shorter, it means nothing." Sothis made a contemptuous noise. "Time is a web, not a line."
"Save him."
"You could run," Sothis said.
"Not forever."
"Oh, Byleth." Sothis looked at him as a grandmother would look at a child. "You will run, you will be running for a very, very long time. But I tell you this, I will not allow you to save him."
Ninten's heart sank. Byleth shook with anger. "Why not?"
"He is simple, Byleth. He's just a boy."
"He's not just a boy."
"Yes, he is," Sothis said. "He's not anything. He's not important."
"But he's-"
"Your friend, yes, but nobody special."
"He is to me!"
Byleth's voice rang out across the grassy plains. Sothis stared at him with a look of abject shock, and Ninten thought she might smite him down then and there. But she did not. Byleth took a deep breath, suddenly keen to look anywhere else than at Ninten or the deity before him.
"Well," Sothis said eventually. "It seems you are just as passionate as I suspected. That's all I needed to know."
"All you needed to-?"
Sothis interrupted him with a sweep of her hand. "For the record, I think it's sweet. Therefore, I will permit you to, on this occasion, send him forward. But you must understand what this means?"
"I do," Byleth said, gritting his teeth. "Thank you, Lady Sothis."
"You have shown good faith," Sothis said, and she began to ascend back into the blue vista. "You've not got long to say goodbye to him, so make it count. I'll leave you in peace."
Byleth nodded grimly, and Sothis's mystical form began to dissolve. Ninten watched, wondering if he was dreaming, and Byleth came down beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. The air seemed to fall still around them. Ninten felt a funny sense of dread in his stomach.
"What was that?" he murmured.
"Sothis," Byleth said. "Now, Ninten, do you trust me?"
"Of course," Ninten said. "But, what - what's going to-"
"I'm sending you forward," Byleth interrupted. "Two-thousand years or so. It should do the trick, get you out of this awful situation. Perhaps magic will even be legal by then."
"Two thousand years?" Ninten said faintly. "But what about our families? Our home?"
"It's that or die on that pyre," Byleth said, taking Ninten's hand. Ninten felt his heart thumping, his eyes welling up. He didn't want to go.
"Are you coming too?" he asked, though he already knew the answer. Byleth shook his head, gripping Ninten's hand tighter.
"I cannot. I can't send myself through time, Sothis doesn't allow it. But I'll run from the fire, I'll escape, I promise. I'll come the long way round, and I'll find you again. I have to.
Ninten's face fell.
"Your memories will be replaced," Byleth continued. "To avoid paradoxes. You will have a new life, it'll be as if you've lived it since birth. You will forget everything here, you will forget your family, you will forget... me."
"I could never forget you!" Ninten exclaimed, aghast.
Byleth gave a sad smile. "You won't really have a choice. It'll be painless."
"But not for you," Ninten protested.
"Not for me," Byleth agreed, and Ninten looked so crestfallen that, quite suddenly, Byleth's composure broke, and he pulled his friend close. "Ninten, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I'll miss you so much."
"I'll miss you too," Ninten mumbled.
"You'll be okay, I promise. You'll be safe."
"Will you?" Ninten asked.
"I'll be fine," Byleth said, but Ninten could tell he was lying.
There was a pause, a tiny moment when Ninten wondered if they could stay there forever. Byleth sounded like he was weeping. They'd come so far together. Now, Ninten would go even further.
A clap of thunder sounded above. "Quickly!" Sothis called. "I can't hold this freeze forever!"
It was time.
Dutifully, Ninten unfolded himself from Byleth's shaking arms. He wanted to be strong, for Byleth to remember him as courageous, bold, and all those other good things. Byleth followed him, shuddering, and Ninten wondered how on earth he was supposed to forget him, that hair, that face. It seemed impossible.
"I suppose this is goodbye," Byleth said.
"I guess so," Ninten said back, sounding hollow. "Thank you for everything, Byleth. Thank you for all you've done, for being you, thank you for just... being there. All the time."
"Thank you, too," Byleth said. "You are... very dear to me. I will miss you forever. Endlessly."
"I'll miss you too," Ninten said, and he had to fight back the urge to cry when Byleth placed his hands on his shoulders. He wanted to say so much more, lament about magic, complain about their affliction, but he found it didn't need saying. Byleth began to whisper some ancient words. Ninten gripped onto his name, Byleth, Byleth, Byleth, determined to remember it when he woke. The light faded. Byleth's touch began to vanish. Byleth. Byleth. Byleth.
When he next opened his eyes, he was sitting on a moving train. Green hills rushed by outside. In the distance, there was some kind of tall, gothic building.
"But what if Professor Bowser catches us?" Ana, his girlfriend, giggled beside him. Ninten stared at her, momentarily dazed. He must've drifted off — Ana had quite the habit of telling long stories.
"Don't be silly," Ninten said, grinning. "Come on, my love. Let's get ready, we're nearly at the boarding school."
Meanwhile, in the grassland, Byleth had sunk to his knees. All sorts of bittersweet feelings flooded through him. He's safe now. He's alone. You're alone. Sothis's hold on time was slipping away, and Byleth knew that soon, he'd have to run.
It would be a long journey. Two thousand years, to be precise.
But he'd find him again, he knew it. Wherever that may be. He clung tightly to this hope, and he stepped back into the flames.