Fourier walks forward, his pristine red robe billowing behind him. He passes over the many rooms, paintings, and yellow wallpapers inside the manor—he takes one step after the other, and only stops once he reaches the main entrance.

He clenches his fists before ultimately reaching for the handle. The prince opens the gate—and just like that, he is no longer imprisoned by four walls and tauntingly high ceilings. His unfocused eyes are greeted by different shades of green: from the trees, the grass, and the fancy carriage the healer prepared for them. Slowly, his hand leaves the door's handle to hold his sword's pommel instead.

The moon and stars shine brightly over them, the only witnesses to their transgressions.

"His Highnyess will have more than enough time to look at the plants once we star meowving."

The voice brings Fourier back to reality, interrupting his inspection of the garden. When he turns, he sees his former knight is standing by his side, clad in an olive-green uniform that distantly reminds him of Crusch. It's a familiar, albeit chilling image that almost makes him do a double take.

Ferris dressed in the Karsten's traditional uniform would have been an adorable sight under any other circumstances. But with Crush missing and erased from everyone's memories, the clothes only make Fourier sick to the stomach. In a way, it makes him feel as if he isn't the only moving corpse in sight. A frown pulls at his lips when he notes Ferris is looking hastily over his shoulders and checking for intruders and bystanders.

"Sir?" the knight prompts, shifting —probably unconsciously— his weight from one foot to the other.

Fourier resists the need to remind Ferris that he is acting completely different to how the former him would behave. He has already realized that there is no point in trying to bring up memories he simply doesn't have anymore. Not unless they actually help them clear up their current mess.

His gaze follows Ferris' figure as he paces towards and quickly opens the carriage door for him.

Time seems to resume its normal progression. A sigh escapes his mouth before he speaks. "I'm going, I'm going…" Gripping his weapon tightly, he gazes towards the starry sky. "I was just— thinking," he admits, after he finally makes his way towards the carriage.

And it wasn't a lie. Fourier had spent the entire day thinking— comparing the names of those he remembers as having been a part of the Karsten Duchy back when he was alive, and the names of those they currently employ. There are some missing, but not as many as expected.

That discovery did little to calm the former royal though, as it's likely that several people he didn't know were forgotten too. And, immune to the erasure or not, Fourier couldn't remember those he never got to meet.

But if there is one thing Fourier is sure of, is that simply musing over their disappearance isn't going save them. Thus, the dead prince leaps onto the carriage.

He still has one mission to complete before he can go back to sleep.

Back when Fourier was alive, he had classes with the head of the Sage Council, Miklotov McMahon. Every morning from seven to eleven, the older man would teach him about many different subjects, including Lugunican History. And it was precisely during those lessons that Fourier first heard about the Immortal King's Sacrament: the magic spell a half-elf called Sphinx used many years ago to curse the corpses of dead Lugunican Knights and force them to follow her orders.

And while he does agree that he is currently cursed, the one objectively good thing about being trapped as an unfeeling, floating bubble— is that carriage rides are somehow much more comfortable than before.

Even though he has spent the last three hours sitting, his body doesn't ache—he feels no back pains, no stiff legs, only some slight numbness and the bitter reminder that something is inherently wrong with his body.

Fourier stretches his hand. Honestly, it's almost impressive.

Instead of doing nothing, he dedicated his time inside the carriage to write Crusch and Wilhelm's biographies. He can't jot down all their feats in a single morning, but a couple of pages is still better than nothing at all.

For Meckart, who Ferris said wasn't in much of a better state than himself, it could make the entire difference. At least he would have a name and face to mourn.

At the sound of birds singing, he leans against the window. The sun rose shortly after they left the manor, and Fourier hasn't exchanged a word with him since then.

He considers ordering Ferris to let him drive, but he changes his mind before opening his mouth. Shifting in his seat, his gaze wander towards the demi-human whose eyes never left the road ahead of them and hasn't said a single word since their journey started.

"You know," Fourier begins nonchalantly. "I never thought I would get to see the day you willingly left the Royal Army."

It is the main reason they left the manor in the middle of the night.

The healer's figure stiffens visibly at Fourier's words— he wasn't expecting him to address his resignation so soon.

"The Capital isn't the place for Ferri, nyot anymore," the cat demi-human explains, delivering a speech he had most likely inwardly rehearsed for hours. "The only reason Ferris joined the army was to serve His Highness… and Lady Crusch," he adds the last name hurriedly, a painful murmur Fourier almost doesn't get to hear. "With both gone, Ferris has no reason to stay a Royal Knyight. Ferris would rather go back to the Dukedom."

Fourier doesn't bother nodding. There is no point in faking his expressions when Ferris is only giving him his back. "What a strange world this is… Crusch is no longer a Duchess, and you are no longer a knight. Although I have only been gone for a year and half, it feels like much longer than that has happened," he muses.

Ferris huffs. "Imagine how it was for those who were stuck here, your Highnyess," he reminds him, ears down.

Fourier takes a brief pause to gather his thoughts. "And your decision has nothing to do with the Royal Selection, does it?" he finally asks. Because if Ferris couldn't let go of him, he couldn't have possibly let go of the Royal Family. Loyalty can be a dangerous thing, and Felix Argyle has loyalty to spare.

The former knight's reply is immediate. "Ferris is happy that his kingdom found a way to keep the pact with the Dragon and—"

"Felix," the blond interrupts him, annoyance leaking into his tone.

It takes Ferris some minutes to break the silence around them.

"... Ferri swore life loyalty to the Lugunican Royal Family. But that doesn't mean he is okay with serving whoever comes after them in the government." The trees passing by Fourier's window slow down.

The former prince rolls his eyes and forces a deep sigh— one loud enough for the healer to hear. "So you quit because you wanted to throw a tantrum?" he chuckles, mockingly.

Ferris' cat ears flatten as he turns over to glare at him. "Commander Marcos said Ferris would be allowed to go if Reinhard accompanied him, and— Ferris couldn't accept that."

Just like planned, Ferris spent the last part of his shift at the garrison reviewing the items retrieved during the rescue operation, and after not finding anything amiss, he requested a hearing with the Commander of the Royal Knights to politely inform him that he was going back to the Flugel Tree under Duke Meckart's orders.

Always the loyal servant, Ferris filled Fourier in with how the catastrophic conversation went immediately after returning home.

"No," was Marcos' curt reply.

Fourier's face remained neutral during Ferris' report. Marco's unmoving attitude wasn't unexpected, just disappointing. But the captain hadn't dismissed him, and instead gave him a chance to make his case.

Ferris still failed to convince him, though. Because truly, the duke didn't have a valid reason to send anyone back to the Flugel Tree, much less his only heir. The Whale never left a trail behind, and the ducal knights had long finished investigating the battlefield.

After more than half an hour of persuasion, he only agreed to let Ferris go if Reinhard —who interrupted them mid-conversation— accompanied him.

Fourier shook his head. "You still could have managed it bette—"

Ferris' angry face spans over to glare at him again. "Ferris won't follow anyone just because some dumb Dragon said so— nyot when Ferris could follow his Highnyess instead!" he snaps.

Fourier's sigh bears a mixture of tiredness and frustration. "That's the thing Ferris— you can't follow his Highness instead. Fourier is dead." The carriage jumps as he finishes talking, the wheels hit a rock while Ferris wasn't watching.

Ferris recoils, once again facing the road ahead of them. "No! That's—his Highnyess is wrong. He is here—your Highnyess is here. He isn't dead," the healer denies, voice quivering. "His—his Highness is here nyow. Thus, he is no longer gone and—" The knight pulls the ground dragons' reins, slowing the carriage until it comes to a complete stop.

The Flugel Tree stands a kilometer away from them. Huge and menacing: the place where Crusch last stood.

Ferris turns over to face him once again: his face is desperate, yet Fourier meets his pained gaze with apathy. "As concerned as Fourier would have been about your current situation—he wouldn't have appreciated your willingness to replace him with a decaying puppet," he notes, lips a thin line.

Ferris looks stricken. "Fo—Fourier isn't—your Highness isn't decaying nor—"

"The candidates are alive, Ferris—and Fourier isn't."

"Nyone of them are worthy of the title of King!" Felix Argyle's voice snaps. "Ferris spent enough time in Vollachia with Julius and Reinhard to know that he would rather die than swear life loyalty to a Vollachian princess. And dyon't get Ferris started with Emilia, the half-elf! The Dragon should be called senile by even considering she could organize a tea party, much less lead a kingdom! She is completely useless! And Anastasia— she is only a Kararagi merchant, what does she even know about ruling?!"

Fourier's eyes gleam in amusement. "You do realize that looking after the economy is a big part of governing, right?" He doesn't think Ferris has much to complain about Anastasia, not really.

Ferris audibly growls in exasperation while waving his hands. "Why is his Highnyess even doing this?!"

"Because you need to hear it, and better from me than Marcos."

Ferris doesn't reply. Glaring daggers at the grass with a downcast expression, and clad in green instead of white, Fourier almost doesn't recognize him.

"—maybe we should start looking from here?" Fourier continues. The clearing starts only meters away from them, and he has no doubt that the knights have already found everything there was to be found. It's better if they start off searching the forest instead.

Ferris stares at him once again. He doesn't seem overly fond of the idea. "…Fine," he acquiesces.

He looks even more scandalized when Fourier suggests splitting up.

It takes an order and several minutes of persuasion for Ferris to grudgingly accept the idea of being separated from him, even if for a short period of time. They end up deciding— Fourier ends up deciding, that the former knight shall search for clues near the east of the forest, and the late royal shall do the same by the west.

"We will investigate for—two hours? Go to the carriage after that time has passed… or a bit earlier than that if you find anything amiss that you want me to see," he says. They parked the carriage far away from the road, near the entrance of the forest, in a place both of them should be able to find it.

Ferris grimaces but nods, curtly.

The two walk away in silence and on bad terms. Both are armed with their respective swords, but as disagreeable as they currently are, the only thing they share is that neither expect to find an enemy.

Fourier drags his legs towards his designated area and starts looking for clues— or just anything that catches his eye, really. His feet move on their own for minutes, an hour: he lets his instinct drive him— it always worked for him when he was alive, so he doesn't see why now should be any different.

The scenery soon becomes repetitive. He passes over many bushes, flowers, and yellow shrubs: a quaint landscape painted with a palette of greens and browns. Nothing particularly eye-catching. His surroundings look normal, so normal that they feel unnatural. There is no magical force, no hostile rain, no grim ambience: only the sound of wind blowing and birds singing…

…it's infinitely disappointing. Fourier is no longer inside the manor, but he doesn't feel any less trapped. The treetops roof Fourier as his mind wanders and inspects the grass for possible glimmers of silver or gold. For a moment, he considers going back to Ferris and forgetting about spitting up.

Giving a mournful sigh, his feet continue moving and taking him to a place only Od Laguna knows where. Maybe if he were to—

Smoke infiltrates his nostrils. At least, Fourier believes it to be smoke. Whipping his head around, he notices something awry in the sky above him. Trails of grey float through the air. He hurries towards it and—

Fourier narrows his unblinking eyes. His first instincts were right—it really was smoke.

He walks a little further ahead and finds a burnt campfire only meters away from him. Under any other circumstances Fourier wouldn't find it amiss, but its used wood is still fuming, even if slightly… which means that it probably wasn't properly put out, and its creators most likely disbanded their refugee in a rush. Fourier drags his legs forward so as to check the rest of the perimeter. He immediately sees a broken tree and a very suspicious looking cave.

With a frown, he takes out a light stone. He doesn't know how deep the cave is going to be, but even if his new eyes adapt fairly quickly to the dark, he doesn't want to risk a dangerous creature ambushing him. Unsheathing his sword, he cautiously moves forward, trying to make as little noise as possible.

…It's just his luck that the cave is much deeper than he had originally expected. Ten meters in, he already needs the magically fueled stone to illuminate the area. Inwardly sighing, he continues his self-assigned expedition.

He finds neither animal remains nor unusual smells, but he does find a leaf mattress and some mabeast-footprints. His search does not offer him enough information for an accurate guess of how long it had been inhabited.

Still gripping his sword tightly, he goes deeper into the hollow—but halts again two steps later.

A stunned Fourier rubs his eyes in disbelief.

There, on the floor next to a muddy wall, rests a familiar looking weapon: a sword, which bears a golden pommel and the lion crest of the Karsten duchy on its cross-guard. Crusch's sword.

Fourier doesn't blink or breathe as he carefully picks up the Lion Rampant from the ground. He sits down and examines the weapon before him. It looks exactly as he remembers, with the exception that he has never seen it so far away from its (hopefully not former) owner's hands. Still stunned, he uses his long red sleeves to dust it off.

Breaking out of his shock, Fourier pulls the sword closer to his body and focuses on his current job. He stands up and quickly checks the cave once again, this time in much more detail. He spends an entire hour on it. He finds more leaves, more prints, and yarn of all things—but still no trace of Crusch.

Biting his lip, he decides to leave the cave and tell Ferris about his discoveries. Crusch's sword was made with the best materials available in the kingdom— even an illiterate child would realise how valuable it is. No-one would simply dump such a treasure in some random cave. So why leave it there? Who left it there?

He is sure that the answers to those questions are the key to find out what happened to Crusch. His gut also tells him that he must leave the cave at once. Immediately.

Running towards the entrance of the cave, Fourier turns off the light stone—

And is startled by the sudden noise of leaves being stepped on. Damn it all. Turning over and hiding behind a pilar near the entrance of the cave, he points his sword at the source of the sound.

He lowers it again, only seconds later.

—next to a bush, sitting cozily on the grass, is a small and adorable pup.

Fourier blinks. "Ah," he says, a bit surprised.

He can't help but find the brown canine disgusting.

A wild dog in the middle of the forest isn't unheard of, but something about the animal bothers him greatly. Temporary dropping Crusch's sword to the floor, he cautiously creeps towards the mutt. There is something off about it. The pup doesn't bark, it doesn't even growl—yet the silence only makes it look more menacing.

He kneels slowly, trying to catch a better sight of him.

…when suddenly the dog lungs at him.

"—!"

The dead prince scowls when the pup jumps and bites his hand. His red eyes glare furiously at the mutt. He should have just ran it through when he first saw it. "Fuck—" he curses out loud and raises up his sword to slice the creature in half.

But another noise reaches his ears, forcing him stop his attack mid-motion.

"Who—?!"

Standing up and preparing himself to strike, he stiffens as a red and white blur crosses his sight. He doesn't even notice the pup hopping away from him: his red eyes are too busy boring at the unexpected figure before him. Ferris won't like this, he gulps.

For a moment, Fourier doesn't say a single word. When a minute becomes two, the prince decides he has given the Sword Saint enough time to sort his thoughts out.

"Reinhard, it's been too long."

His hair is still a flaming red, but he is a year and a half older than Fourier remembers, and his general appearance proves it. He is both taller and much more intimidating: he no longer looks like a child playing grown-up with his father's uniform.

Fourier wipes his palm with his trousers. He doesn't truly bleed, so he can allow himself to ignore the bite for now.

The knight, who had been previously staring blankly at him, visibly recoils after hearing his voice. He closes his eyes—and Fourier somehow is sure that Reinhard is presently seeing much more than any other mortal has ever seen. A few seconds later, he opens them again. His right hand doesn't leave his sword's pommel.

Whatever Reinhard saw, he didn't like it.

"He said he had company, my blessing told me he wasn't lying…" Reinhard trails off, tone uncertain, "but my divine protection of life sense told me there was no one else at the manor. Both had been right, hadn't they?" he asks, softly.

Fourier doesn't nod, nor does he shake his head—because he doesn't need to, not really. He vaguely remembers Reinhard visiting Ferris' manor, two days ago, so he can already guess what the knight is talking about. "No one alive at least. It has been a rough week," he admits, "It's good to see you, even if I would have preferred a different setting. Did you come here on your own?"

The sun shines high above them.

Reinhard hesitates at first, but ends up replying after a short pause: "Julius is searching for Ferris as we speak," Fourier watches his serious expression crumble and make way to something akin to fear. "Which is probably a good thing," Reinhard hastily adds, but doesn't expand any more than that.

For yet another minute, neither speaks.

Fourier bends down and picks up the Lion Rampant from the ground. Fortunately, it hasn't gotten any dirtier. In the corner of his eye, he sees Reinhard's gaze follow his movements with attention.

"…Who?" The Sword Saint finally asks, voice low. But Fourier is sure the knight already knows the answer to that question, and is only asking because of wishful thinking. "Why would—?"

"Seems like Felix takes after his dad in more ways than one. Whatever happened the day he fought the Whale shattered his mind into many pieces— so he summoned me to help him." Reinhard turns almost as pale as Fourier. "I have been trying to do so… but it isn't as easy as I would have wanted."

The redhead simply remains still. Fourier already knows what is in his mind without asking: This wouldn't have happened if Julius and him had looked after Ferris better. "I—I'm… sorry, I…" He breathes out, tone shaken. "Is he… is Felix controlling—?"

Fourier frowns, and it's the first conscious expression he has done ever since the knight caught up with him. "Not really, he just doesn't let me die, so I'm stuck here talking instead," he interrupts.

Although the Sword Saint had been trained since birth to face many possible scenarios, from petty theft to a potential Second Great Calamity, he doesn't know how to deal with a nonviolent undead version of a member of the Lugunica Royal Family.

The Immortal King's Sacrament has always been used to create chaos, and the zombies it produces are supposed to be nothing but dolls. Fourier looks much more impressive than your average doll, though.

Fourier starts walking in direction to the carriage, Reinhard follows him, gracefully awkward and several steps behind.

The redhead opens his mouth slowly, "You have your sword, too. Did Ferris give it to… your Highness?"

Fourier raises his eyebrows. "…what?" It takes him a moment to comprehend Reinhard's words.

…they thought he wielded Crusch's sword?

"No, I just… found it in the cave." The idea of Fourier wielding a Karsten Family sword is preposterous. Especially because it confirms his theory that Meckart switched all his feelings for Crusch to him.

Fourier already had a doting father in life— he doesn't need another in death.

Reinhard narrows his eyes, staring thoughtfully at the cave next to them. He clearly wasn't expecting Fourier's answer to be a negative.

"I see…so, it truly got… lost a year ago…" Reinhard knits his brows and shifts his position to face the back of the small clearing instead. Fourier doesn't think there is anything special there—until he realizes Reinhard might be using his divine protections to sense the people who abandoned the camp he found Crusch's sword in.

As distressed as Ferris probably is, Fourier is extremely grateful for having crossed paths with the Sword Saint.

Opening his mouth to tell Reinhard about his plan, he is interrupted by the knight drawing a sharp breath. Fourier, alarmed, turns over to ask what's wrong, but doesn't have enough time to do so.

In a blink of an eye, the legendary knight takes the normal sword from Fourier's hand and leaves him holding only the one that belonged to Crusch. "We need to go now—" he says.

Fourier barely gets to nod before the world becomes a blur.

Sorry I disappeared. College got in the way and I have the attention span of an ant. This chapter is short but it was pure torture to write. I rewrote the entire thing so many times I lost count. 0/10 would not recommend.

This chapter was beta-read by Weekend_Ice_Cream and my boyfriend. Thank you so much to the both of you! Weekend also reread the whole thing and helped me find some grammar mistakes I had missed. 10/10 would recommend.

In other news, I posted on Ao3 a one-shot about Wilhelm's erasure that is canon compliant with this fic. But unlike Sleep Talking, this one is actually a crack fic hehehe. The Astreas deserve love too, right? I considered posting it here too, but I honestly hate FFN.

"Lugunica's Never-Ending List of Grandpa candidates" by Zeivira

History books aren't the same after Wilhelm van Astrea gets erased by the White Whale.

Now, the Lugunica rumor mill only has one question in mind: who is Reinhard's grandfather and why did the former Sword Saint keep it a secret?