Chapter 18: Rejection

26th day of the Blue Sea Moon 1180.

Today was the day of the Goddess' Rite of Rebirth. It was a special ceremony this year. In addition to the Archbishop and her advisor, who had returned just three days ago, the Cardinals were present within the Goddess Tower as well. On top of it, Byleth was also in attendance. Unseen to all but him, however, the last two attendants were Sothis and Hyperion, who were both floating about the place in ethereal, ghostly forms.

"Wow, this is weird. Neat, but weird. Thanks for showing me that trick, Sothis," said Hyperion.

"You're welcome," responded Sothis, "I thought I'd repay a bit of my debt to you and teach you something useful."

Hyperion smiled and shook his head. "There are no debts between friends," he countered, "Besides, you're already helping me with prayer management. You owe me little to nothing."

Sothis looked like she wanted to continue that conversation, but it was interrupted by Rhea. "This year's ceremony is less of a private affair, as you will have surmised. This is in light of recent events, considering that strange things have been happening. Some of you may also have heard the Goddess responding to your prayers recently. She is closer to us now than she has ever been since the founding of the Church. As such, there is no need for a ritual to beckon the Goddess."

The Cardinals looked at each other nervously. One of them asked, "Why are we here, then?"

"We are gathered here because this is the one place and time where we can take advantage of the Goddess' proximity. This is the one day of the year when the most people pray and direct the power of their combined faith at this tower," answered Rhea.

She directed her gaze at Byleth, who nodded and lifted his hand. A magic circle sprang forth that none of the Cardinals had ever seen. It was their first time witnessing thaumaturgy, after all. A bright light shone from the circle and there was a tangible magical tension in the room.

"It's primed," said Byleth.

"Wonderful," responded Rhea. She then turned to Seteth and held her hands out. He handed her a cloth-wrapped, long object. There was reverence in her movements as she slowly unwrapped it. The reason for this care became clear very soon as the object revealed itself to be the Sword of the Creator. She placed it at the centre of the room and nodded at Byleth again.

"Manifest!" exclaimed Byleth in a combination of a shout and a chant. While incantations were not really necessary once one had practice, thaumaturgy became significantly easier when they were used. This spell in particular profited from incantation due to its nature. It channelled the Sephira Malkuth, which meant "Kingdom" and was the tenth Sephira. It symbolised the manifestation of the divine in the material plain. Since incantations were material manifestations of concepts, words given form through sound in essence, it was conducive to the process to use one here.

Had the Cardinals known the processes behind the spell, they wouldn't have cared in this moment, for they saw the light leave Byleth's magic circle and coalesce in a see-through humanoid shape right above the Sword of the Creator. And, when the light had died down, they laid eyes on Sothis' form as she floated in the air.

"You were right, Hyperion. This does feel weird," she said to the empty air beside her.

"Told you so. This was a rush job. I had to come up with this on the fly when Rhea dropped the bomb on us yesterday," responded the (mostly) invisible man.

She laughed lightly. "I'm not complaining, dear friend. I think I shouldn't let the audience wait any longer, though."

When Sothis turned her attention to the Cardinals, most of them were too stunned to say anything. Most recognised her voice as the one of the Goddess, but none dared speak. One of the younger ones, however, worked up the courage to ask, "Uhm… My Lady, with whom were you speaking just now?"

"Some of you should know, right? I've talked about him to a handful of people," responded the Goddess.

"Do you mean this new God some of the more impetuous of our monks and nuns have been talking about in hushed tones?" asked an older Cardinal.

Sothis nodded and clapped her hands together. "The very same," she answered, "Though he has been quite vexed about me spreading the word ever since I've started to do so."

"You spread the word? But a new God would be bad for the Church! This could cause strife and division among the faithful!" another Cardinal interjected.

The Goddess raised an eyebrow. "So the Southern and Western Churches rebelled because there was no division or strife? I think not. Aside from that, I am not happy with the current state of the Church as it is. It has done more good than bad, and it has had an overall positive influence on Fodlan, but it is not my vision. Things will change, and that includes acknowledging the one who has made my return to this world possible. I will not have my followers, especially their highest ranks, sneer at Hyperion when they should be thanking him instead! I-"

"Sothis," called out Hyperion, "I'm touched, but please, don't overdo it."

The green-haired Goddess blushed in embarrassment. "My apologies," she said, "He is a close friend and I am fond of him. The thought that my followers would denigrate him is… irritating to me."

"I… see, my Lady. But the point stands. There will be unrest," the same Cardinal from before stated.

Sothis hummed. "That is true, but if we are afraid of correcting the wrongs in the world because it would be inconvenient, then our commitment to what is right is sorely lacking. Not that unrest is far off anyway. War is drawing near. It is inevitable at this point. All we can do is steer it as much as we can and use it to bring about a new age of peace, prosperity and progress at its end."

Before anything more could be said, the ground shook and booming noises could be heard from the cathedral. The Cardinals were disquieted and began to nervously looking around. "What in the world was that?" asked one of them.

"I think that the last of the Western Church's soldiers have just encountered the surprise I left for them at the Holy Mausoleum," said Rhea. The smile she wore on her face was unsettling.

Things were going well for Sandro and his troops since the Central Church had not been able to guard the Monastery adequately. He and his forces had been able to sneak in with little difficulty. This had made their secondary objective even easier to accomplish. A quick trip to the dungeons had the Bishop and Lord Lonato freed from their prison.

Now, they were on their way to the Holy Mausoleum, their charges in tow. The advance units and the main force had already started trickling into it. This operation still had to be done fast if they wanted to avoid casualties, though. Nevertheless, their success was already all but ensured. As soon as they had Seiros' remains, the power they held would be within their grasp, ready to bring low the Central Church heretics and their beast-worshipping ways.

As they finally entered the great hall that was the Holy Mausoleum, they were greeted by the sight of the main force securing the place. They were inspected and then let through to the sarcophagus in the back. Once there, Sandro looked at the thing and then started casting his magic.

"Is it really a good idea to do that?" asked Lonato.

The Bishop answered, "Please do not distract Sandro, my Lord. This task needs his full focus. As for your question, yes. It is a good idea so long as he is not interrupted. Breaking seals can be a dangerous task."

The old man harrumphed but let the matter rest. He instead took some time to equip himself. His weapons and armour had been taken from him upon his capture, after all. Sadly for him, the Western Church troops didn't have much in terms of spare equipment, but they did have a gambeson and an axe for him to use. It was possible that it would be needed today.

Nothing much happened for the next half hour or so. After that time, however, cracking sounds could be heard coming from the sarcophagus. The Bishop asked, "Sandro, what is going on?"

"It's the seal, Your Eminence," answered the man in question, "It's breaking in a non-standard fashion. It should be alright, though. I have disabled the built-in explosive spell."

"Very well," responded the Bishop, though he did take a step back from the sarcophagus. Lonato and the Western Church soldiers around them did so as well.

A few seconds later, there was a sound akin to shattering glass and a small wind swept across the room. "The seal is broken!" exclaimed Sandro. A cheer went through the assembled troops.

He then slid the lid of the sarcophagus to the side and looked inside. However, he found nothing in there. "it's… empty," he said.

The people around the hall looked at each other. That was not a good sign. Lonato's eyes widened as he had a thought. "It's a trap!" he shouted, "Everyone, run!"

As it turned out, that warning came too late to be of use. All over the Holy Mausoleum, the signature beams of Warp spells appeared. When those cleared away, there were suddenly several dozen huge objects that looked like oversized mechanical humans wearing closed robes. They bore helmets with visors from which an eerie yellow light exuded. As one, they turned to the nearest concentration of Western Church soldiers and raised their hands. Lances of light appeared in those very same hands, causing panic in everyone present.

"What the-?"

The unknown soldier's question was cut off when a lance of light hit him. It exploded, turning him and his entire unit into a red mist of flash-fried viscera. The other golems began shooting their lances as well. The resultant explosions did more damage, as any shockwave in an enclosed space would, and alerted the entire Monastery that something was going on.

That alert wasn't big on the list of Sandro's priorities, however. He was busier trying to figure out a way out of this mess. "We can't defeat all those things. They're too numerous! We will have to break through. Everyone, form a spearhead! We're pushing for the exit!" he ordered.

What followed was a massacre. The plan had been sound, of course, but those golems were tough and they were in a tight formation. Their lances ripped apart any unit they hit and they were very resistant to damage. The things were not invulnerable, as the Western Church forces had managed to bring down two of them, but by that time, hundreds of soldiers had already fallen. The casualty numbers were catastrophic.

Still, a group of about eighty soldiers, including Sandro, the Bishop and Lonato, managed to escape the Mausoleum and hurried up the stairs. With the immediate danger of the golems now behind them, they could slow down a bit, but not by much. They still had to escape the Monastery. When they reached the top of the stairway, they were exhausted and about ready to fall over, but the sight that greeted them kept them standing.

"Ah, Death Knight," began Sandro with a bitter tone in his voice, "You're late. We could have used your help earlier. No matter, help us get out of here."

The Death Knight and his personal unit behind him refused to move. Instead, he said, "I don't follow weaklings. I especially don't follow weaklings who tried to kill my liege. Only death awaits you." Then, he raised his scythe and charged, his troops hot on his heels.

For the second time that day, screams echoed through the Monastery as the last remnant of the Western Church was eradicated. No prisoners were taken and no quarter given. The Death Knight was an instrument of carnage, after all. As such, his enemies were swiftly reduced to a cooling pile of corpses on the floor of the cathedral.

It was this sight that Alois came upon when he stormed in with two full companies of Knights of Seiros. Spotting the results of the confrontation, he shouted, "Stand down and make your intentions known! Who are you and why have you killed those people?"

The black-glad figure stayed silent for a bit and then answered, "They were pests and they owed me blood. I have slaked my thirst for today. Goodbye."

Before anything more could be said, the Death Knight and his soldiers were warped out, leaving behind a bunch of knights and a bloodstained cathedral.

28th day of the Blue Sea Moon 1180, late night. Secret high security dungeons of Garreg Mach (under construction).

Captivity had been a strange experience for Kronya so far. It was not at all how she had been told it would be back home. There had been no torture, no threats of violence, no interrogation, no starvation, no enslavement and no attempts to make use of her body. Oh, some of the guards looked like they would want to, but those were always watched by their fellow guards as well. She hadn't seen any of former twice. It was surreal to realise that her wardens were protecting her as much as they kept her prisoner.

Honestly, it was almost better to live here than in Shambhala. Nobody protected anyone there, except for the big shots. Those had guards for days. Part of the reason why she had volunteered for her latest assignment was to get away from those among her fellow Agarthans who had become very handsy lately. It was the way things worked for them. Those who were strong enough could take whatever or whomever they wanted. Kronya knew that she was stronger than most, but she certainly wasn't the strongest. She dreaded the day on which a stronger Agarthan decided they wanted her.

Another reason had, of course, been her bloodlust. She'd wanted to kill as many of those subhuman beast-born scum as she could. The extasy she felt whenever she did the deed was divine. The feeling of piercing flesh with her dagger and snuffing out the lives of her victims was a pleasure beyond description. However, during her weaker moments, she often wondered if something was wrong with her. At times, she felt dull when killing. Dull, cold and wrong. Then, the extasy would set in and she'd forget about her moments of doubt.

Now, doubt was a topic for her. She had begun feeling it more frequently ever since she had been captured and had suddenly gained a lot of time to reflect on her life. It was pretty much the only thing she could do, apart from trying to hold a conversation with the guards, who obliged her only rarely.

As it was, Kronya found herself at a loss. Her life had been a whole lot of nothing up until now. She'd been born, had been trained – tortured, a part of her screamed – for her role as an assassin, had been taught the creeds and traditions of her people and then sent out to kill. She'd enjoyed it. Every minute, every second of it had been pure bliss, but now that she hadn't killed in a long time, she found herself asking the question of why. Why were her people the way they were? Why was she the way she was? Why did she sometimes think that the thing she enjoyed the most was wrong? Why did she enjoy it in the first place? And why was she asking all these questions?

She had no idea what to do about it. Such questions were frowned upon in Shambhala and their culture didn't have much in it that would help her answer them by herself. She knew that the "people" who lived above ground often prayed to the False God, but she was unwilling to put her faith in that filthy beast, and the Agarthans didn't really have a God to worship, except… Except the sun, she remembered. Would asking the sun even work? She didn't know, but trying wouldn't cost her anything.

So, she clasped her hands together in the praying gesture she had observed and started to invoke the sun in her mind. When that didn't work, she switched her mental invocation to any being or deity associated with the sun. That didn't work either, but she had a feeling that she had gotten closer. She refocussed her thoughts. Why did her people venerate the sun? The answer came to her almost immediately. They desired its light. And with that invocation, it finally worked.

"Ah, another one tonight," she heard a male voice speak in her mind.

Kronya was shocked. She had hoped for this outcome, but now that it had happened, she was frozen with indecision. "Are you the light?" she finally asked.

"Is that how you called me?" asked voice back. It almost sounded guarded. Nevertheless, it continued, "To answer your question, it's not quite correct. I am not light itself, but light is part of my domain. My name is Hyperion. Would you be so kind to tell me yours?"

"I am Kronya," she answered.

"Now that's a surprise," commented Hyperion, "I didn't think an Agarthan would ever reach out to me."

That threw her for a loop. "You know who I am?" she asked.

"I'm not omniscient, but I know a lot," he replied, "That's why I'm surprised you're praying to me."

"It shouldn't be," said Kronya, "We revere the sun, and that is clearly your territory."

Hyperion snorted and laughed derisively. "I'm surprised because I hold little love for your people. I hold them in contempt. They have also clearly demonstrated that the feeling is mutual. The Gods, including those of the sun, hate your people for what they have done. Still, the deed that made it so was carried out by your ancestors, not by you."

The Agarthan woman was torn internally. Part of her wanted to hate this thing for disliking her people. Another part of her wanted answers and a third, tiny portion of her wanted to cry out and beg for help. That last part confused her immensely and so, she decided to grab for answers.

"What is this deed you speak of?" she asked.

"Huh, you really don't know," answered Hyperion, "The thing that made the Gods hate you was one of your first hare-brained plans to kill Sothis, or Sopdet as your people might remember her. In an effort to kill her, your people performed and botched a ritual that then killed all the Gods except for the target of the spell. She then spent her days beating the shit out of your ancestors and fixing the damage they did to the world."

"…The Gods are dead? The True Gods too?" she couldn't help but ask.

"Yep," he responded, "Not that Sothis is that False God your people seem to think she is. She is a genuine divine being. She was simply different from the Gods your ancestors worshipped. That difference as enough to make them hate her and start this whole mess.

Now, before you ask how Gods can hate you when they're dead, you have to remember that they're Gods. Death isn't the end for them. They're limited and unable to influence this world, but they're still around. Your people should fear their wrath if they ever escape from their prison."

Kronya was pensive. "That doesn't make any sense. If Gods can't influence the world, you can't be talking to me."

There was a laugh again. "Good that you spotted that. It's because I'm a new God. I wasn't around when your ancestors killed the others."

She didn't know what to make of that answer. "What do you-?" she began, only to be cut off.

"I'm unwilling to answer any further questions about myself at this point," interrupted Hyperion, "How about we come to the reason why you called on me in the first place?"

"Would you even hear me out? You hate me," stated Kronya.

"A fair question," conceded Hyperion. He elaborated, "I hate your people for what they have done and I have no reason to like you, but I will only ever hold your own sins against you personally. And if you came to me for advice, I will give it to you."

"I see," she said after a small pause. "What do you know about me?"

"Not too much, actually," he answered, "I know that you're an Agarthan, that you're an assassin and that you've got a sadistic streak. You also seem to hate surface-dwelling humans with a passion."

Kronya was silent for a minute before she finally spoke again, "You know part of my problem, then. I'm… torn. I want to keep killing the fil-… the surface dwellers, but I also sometimes feel that it's wrong. Killing things makes me feel good, though I've started feeling bad about feeling good. It's been easier recently, but whenever I want to think about this, I suddenly start remembering how good it feels to kill my victims and make them suffer. This conflict inside of me, it's tearing me apart and I don't know what to do."

"That is a lot to unpack," responded Hyperion. "Let me start by saying that I find your behaviour reprehensible, but there's something about this that makes me think there's more at work here than a rotten personality, especially since you mentioned feeling wrongness. Can you elaborate?"

"I…," began the woman, "I can, yes. It happened the first time when Th-… our leader sent me on my first mission. He told me to get rid of a family that had made problems for him. I can still remember how good it felt to disembowel the father in front of his children, how fun it was to then flay the children in front of the mother and kill the mother by drowning her in a bucket filled with their blood. Just like our leader had ordered.

But right afterward, I felt nauseous. I wanted to puke. There was a voice that sounded a lot like me screaming at me that I was a monster. It wanted me to run away and never do anything like that again, but then I suddenly felt good again. Over time, the voice grew quieter. I've only really noticed it coming back recently."

Hyperion didn't speak for some time and Kronya grew nervous. "…How old were you back then and when did it happen?"

She didn't quite know what that had to do with anything. Still, she replied, "I was fourteen, I believe. It happened about a decade ago or so. I haven't kept track."

"There's definitely something wrong there. Something sick, twisted and disgusting. Unless you were born a schizophrenic psychopath, those thought processes can't be normal. I'm sorry for what I'm about to do, but I think it's necessary," was Hyperion's response.

All of a sudden, she felt something touching her. Not her body but her. It felt determined, angry and rough, but also concerned. It was both uncomfortable and strangely comforting. Then, there was a constricting feeling in her chest, right on top of her heart. That feeling was both non-physical and physical at once. At once, the presence she felt on her became hot and rage-filled.

"What the fuck is that abomination?!" she heard Hyperion roar. "That thing needs to go, immediately!" he exclaimed.

The constricting feeling grew worse. Soon, it went from uncomfortable to painful and from painful to agonising. She screamed as she felt something being ripped away from her being by a pair of glowing hands wreathed in fire. How she could feel those things without seeing, she did not know, and neither did she care as the pain grew even worse. She couldn't bear it anymore and just as she thought she was going to go insane, she felt something like a string snapping. The pain was gone in an instant, not even leaving a lingering ache.

"What was that?" she asked with an exhausted voice.

"That," answered Hyperion, "Was an abominable thing whose creator will suffer my wrath once I get my hands on them. You are free of its taint now, though."

Kronya was confused. What did he mean? What taint? She didn't remember- Her eyes went wide and her heartrate suddenly spiked. Then, it hit her. Her whole life came crashing down. All the things that had felt so utterly ecstatic, even in her memory, now evoked feelings of disgust. A veil had been lifted and now she felt the full brunt of all the actions she had ever undertaken. There was no doubt anymore, only certainty that she was a horrible person.

"What have I done?" she breathed out.

Hyperion's voice was grim as he answered, "You did what you were indoctrinated to do and forced to like. It does not erase the evil you have committed, but your actions were not wholly your own."

The woman started sobbing, even wailing as all her memories were recontextualised. Yes, she had committed evil deeds, too many of them to ever be redeemed. "I don't deserve to live," she choked out.

"Whoa, there! Don't do anything stupid!" shouted the man. He received no answer. "Kronya? Are you there? Shit! Stay put. I repeat: Don't do anything stupid, got it? I'll send help." With that, the connection was broken.

Conversations in prayer space were sped up to the speed of thought, sometimes even less if the deity was experienced. Therefore, it did not take long for Kronya's assigned prison guards to rush towards her when they heard her screaming. When they arrived at her cell, they found her crying. Through a wound on her chest, a mixture of blood and a black, tar-like substance leaked out of her. And, most alarmingly, she was in the process of trying to bite her wrists open. It took some time for them to subdue her, but they managed to knock her out before she could do any grievous harm to herself.

They were just debating who should fetch the healers when they heard hurried footsteps in the hallway. They quickly went into defensive positions and braced for combat when the footsteps stopped right in front of the open door. The figure to whom they belonged entered the room clad in only a sleeping gown and a pair of hastily put-on shoes. Nevertheless, most of them noticed immediately who it was.

"Professor Byleth? What are you doing here?" one of them asked.

"I was alerted that my help would be needed here and had a monk on patrol use Warp. Manuela has been notified and will get here momentarily," he answered.

He then made for Kronya's unconscious form and started cleaning the wound with water and alcohol before he cast any healing spells, fearing that the black muck could interfere with those.

As for the guards, they watched on in confusion and wondered what was going on.

1st day of the verdant Rain Moon 1180. Golden Deer classroom.

The last few days had been very hectic for Byleth. The briefing for the Cardinals had only been the beginning of the headache. It had gone reasonably smoothly, of course, since they couldn't exactly have argued theology with their Goddess of all people. The fallout of the Western Church's attack on the Holy Mausoleum was another thing he was still dealing with. The Death Knight's appearance had been a shocker, but it had also confirmed that Edelgard now seemed to be in their camp for sure. The third cause for problems at this moment was Kronya, however. He'd put her on suicide watch after the first incident. Since then, she had made eight more attempts.

That situation was an eye-opener for him. Up until that point, he had assumed that all Agarthans were evil and had to be crushed. In hindsight, such thinking had been terribly naïve of him. He had discussed this with Hyperion, who had performed the procedure that had left Kronya in the state she was in. The conclusion was that while the upper echelons of the Agarthans and a good chunk of the rest of them were probably beyond hope, many of the Agarthan people were likely also victims of their own leadership.

The former human had explained, in detail, just what had been done to Kronya and, by extension, to a good number of other Agarthans. It was a terrifying work of Qliphothic sorcery meant to manipulate the soul. It avoided the usual punishment for such deeds by not targeting the soul directly, but instead by encasing it in a sort of shell. This shell would then superimpose its taint on any emotion, feeling and thought of the victim. If done at a young enough age, Hyperion theorised, it would be nearly impossible for the victim to tell that any sort of manipulation was going on. He had also expressed his intentions for those who had devised this method and those who were using it.

"By the time the others and I are finished with them, they will be begging for Tartarus. And then, I'll throw them at the gates of Hell and let its denizens do the rest."

Hyperion was mellow most of the time, but he could be very scary when he wanted to. Byleth agreed, though. These people thought they were clever and that they could avoid their just punishment. Disabusing them of that notion was something he could get behind.

However, what kept the young Professor busy at this moment was a headache of a more pleasant variety. Dealing with his students could be stressful at times, but he appreciated his interactions with them. They had grown on him and he wished to see them live through the mess of the war. This goal was furthered by the vigour they put into their studies and their training, seeing as they knew that war was coming. Therein sadly also lay the problem. It seemed that they were a bit too eager at times.

"Classes tomorrow are cancelled," announced Byleth at the end of the day's lecture. "Instead," he went on, "We will spend the time learning how to unwind."

"But why? Shouldn't we focus on preparing as much as we can?" asked Lysithea.

He shook his head. "Preparation means nothing if you collapse from exhaustion," he explained.

"I agree with Teach here," added Claude, "It'll do us no good if we stress out too much."

"Precisely," said Byleth. He continued, "The other Houses will do the same as well. Additionally, my mercenaries, some knights and a few other people will be there to share their relaxation techniques with you."

"Is that really so important?" asked Leonie.

"It is," answered the Professor, "Fighting a battle is different from fighting a war. Body and mind get exhausted and when people break under that stress, they turn wrong."

Raphael was the next to ask a question, "Wrong? What do you mean?"

Byleth explained, "They leave the battlefield, but the battlefield doesn't leave them. They get jumpy, sometimes violent. Some forget who is friend or foe. Some become lost in the past or become unhinged murderers. Others take their own lives. And if you don't want the same to happen to you, you need to learn how to unwind."

The grim and horrified expressions around the room told him that the message had been delivered and received. Good. They understood how serious this was.

The Professor continued, "Before I forget, you will also meet a few people who will accompany us on our next mission. One of them is a graduate of last year's class."

"I wonder who it is," mused Claude out loud.

"Her name is Monica von Ochs. I expect all of you to be courteous with her and the others," answered Byleth, "Which means no interrogations from Claude and no dinner invitations from Lorenz." He fixed both of them with a hard stare.

"Sheesh, I get it, Teach," conceded Claude.

"Very well," added Lorenz with a frown.

With that out of the way, Byleth decided to conclude class for today. "Don't forget your performance reviews next week. That would be all. Dismissed. Lysithea, Marianne, please stay for a bit. I have something to discuss with you."

It didn't take long for the students to file out of the classroom. The two that remained behind waited for Byleth to close the door and seal the room with security spells Hanneman had taught him. Information control was very important, after all.

"You two must be wondering what requires this secrecy," he said. When they both nodded, he continued, "You are being offered a special opportunity."

"What kind of opportunity?" asked Lysithea.

Byleth answered, "If you agree, you will be assigned to a secret research and combat group."

The two girls blinked owlishly at him. That was a weird offer to make to the both of them. Sure, Lysithea was a natural candidate, but her time was precious, and her Professor knew that. As for Marianne, she spoke for herself, "But I'm not good at research. I can memorise formulae well enough, Professor, but I don't think I'll be any good at making them."

The former mercenary explained, "Some select students will join this group as well, but it will mostly consist of monks, nuns and Knights of Seiros. All manners of magic are subject to research, including Faith-based branches. You will excel there, Marianne. Lysithea, I think you will like it, too. One of the group's projects will be to find a solution to your Crest problem. This will involve Thaumaturgy."

The last part of that confused the two girls. "I don't know what Thaumaturgy is, Professor," remarked Lysithea.

"It is a field of magic Hyperion and I have rediscovered," he answered.

"The new God?" asked Marianne?

Byleth nodded and said, "Thaumaturgy is the magic of miracles. It is to White magic what Dark Magic is to Black Magic. Thaumaturgy requires both knowledge and a certain measure of spirituality in those who practice it. I think both of you will do well."

Both students stayed silent for some time as they thought the offer over. After a minute or so, Marianne asked, "You said this was a combat group as well. What will that entail?"

"You will be deployed with the unit during combat. It's as simple as that," answered Byleth. He added, "But that is for the future. Until the war starts and you're ready, you will not be deployed."

The uncomfortable truth of the war was something the two hadn't considered yet. In that light, it made some sense to recruit people early. Having organised units ready to go right from the start would be a boon for sure.

Lysithea hummed. "I think I will join, but I want my family and our household evacuated before the fighting starts," she said.

"That is acceptable. I will bring it up with the Archbishop," responded Byleth.

"Can I think it over?" asked Marianne.

Her Professor nodded. "Certainly. If you have questions, you can ask me. You can also ask Hyperion if you want to."

That was a reasonable suggestion. She hadn't yet tried to pray to Hyperion as she'd felt that it would be a betrayal to the Goddess. She would have to ask her about it.

Answering Byleth, she said, "I will."

Later that day. Byleth's mindscape.

The last few days, I had been upset. No, that was an understatement. I had been livid. Once in the known, Sothis had mirrored the sentiment. Kronya's case had brought to light the disgusting practices of the Agarthan leadership. It was essentially soul mutilation, a crime against nature so heinous that it merited eternal damnation. That it was happening in Fodlan, with impunity at that, was enough to send us into a fit of rage. As Gods who routinely dealt with souls, no less could be expected from us.

To understand the depravity of the Dark Shell, as I had termed the abomination, one had to understand the soul. Despite me borrowing terminology from Evangelion, souls and AT fields did not quite work as in that show. At the most basic level, the soul was the innermost core of the self. It stored every emotion, every memory, every sensation and every aspect of a person's personality. A soul never forgot anything and never remembered false memories. As such, once a person died, they remembered everything they had ever experienced, even if they had reincarnated and lived several lives. That made trauma a tricky thing. If people suppressed it, it would stay with the soul. If they processed it properly, the distortions in the soul would fix themselves and leave behind scar "tissue." It was, thus, supremely important for living beings that soul and mind communicated.

This was where the Dark Shell interfered. It manipulated this connection by first infecting the mind with thoughts and feelings that did not belong to the victim. Those infected thoughts would then be transferred to the soul. While the AT field would normally filter out foreign contaminants, it struggled when it was the real thoughts and emotions themselves that were infected. Conflicting, even contradictory, elements would then be introduced to the soul. As a result of that struggle, the soul would be hurt severely. Any trauma caused by this internal conflict was likely to be utterly devastating. In time, the parasitic Dark Shell would not have to piggyback off the mind and directly envelop the soul, sinking its claws into it. Eventually, it would fully integrate into the soul and take it over in the process.

I shuddered at remembering the small glimpse I had gotten of Kronya's soul after I'd ripped off that thing. It was… bad. Very, very bad. Her soul had been tortured, no, violated in the worst way possible. I had managed to remove the Dark Shell just in time. A few months later, and she wouldn't have survived it. But the wounds it had left on her soul were horrendous. It appeared I would have to set aside time to tend to her, too.

That was another topic I saw myself confronted with. My list of patients was growing by the day, but luckily, so was my proficiency with the process. By now, I could do it faster and more precisely than ever before. The only one of my "regulars" with whom I still took my time was Sothis, mostly at her insistence but also because I liked it as well. Still, number of those coming to me for help would increase even more in the future, and I was dreading the prospect. Even if I could deal with all of it in a millisecond, I would never be rid of my doubts about my adequacy in the field. It was unlikely to happen, considering my powers, but a single mistake could have terrible results.

Problems upon problems. It appeared that work was never truly done. Magic, politics, divine powers, the Underworld and apparently therapy were all taking up a lot of my time. It made me appreciate my evenings with Byleth and Sothis a lot. Those two brightened my days with their friendship. It was wonderful to live with people around whom I could be alone without being lonely, or enjoy being together when the mood struck me. It dulled the ache of missing my family.

Speaking of living arrangements, my palace in the Underworld was apparently coming together quite well. The planning phase was already complete, sadly without my input in a lot of areas. I hadn't even seen the complete plans yet. This was mostly because I spent my time in the Underworld doing different things, such as learning administration and governance from the old hands. It was as boring as it was necessary, but I would overcome that hurdle.

Another new time commitment that had opened itself up in the Underworld was training. While I got in a lot of practice with my soul powers and those over innovation and invention thanks to frequent use, I was lacking in other areas. I was studying under Aether and Ra for my powers over light and from Eros I was learning how to use fire. Tartarus and Izanami taught me about the powers a God of the Dead should wield. Fighting and the arts of combat were taught to me by an assortment of warriors from Elysium and Valhalla, though I was really not very good at it yet. I was dreading the day on which fucking Shiva decided I was good enough to learn from him. All in all, it felt like one big conspiracy of every damn pantheon in existence to take up as much of my time as possible.

It had its positive side, of course. Once I had these skills, things would become easier. Oh, I would still be very busy, but I'd get stuff done in a timely manner. I'd also be finally of some tangible use outside of being the idea guy of the headmates. I was sure that Sothis would appreciate the help. Plus, even though it was a bit silly when one considered her power, I wanted to protect her. She had been hurt in the past and I didn't want her to suffer a repeat of that. Naturally, I also wanted to be able to protect Byleth. Both of them were my friends. In more pragmatic terms, me being competent would be a boon during the coming war, not to mention after. I still had a long way to go, though.

"Well, nothing worth doing is ever easy," I sighed.

AN:

Greetings, dear readers. This update came quicker than I expected. It's possible that my next one will take longer, but I want to keep my three-weeks schedule if possible.

Now, let's talk about Kronya and why I went the way I did with her. I'm not a big fan of the "boobs = redemption" trope, so the impetus for my characterisation of her is not steered by that, at least not consciously. What separates her from other Agarthans in Three Houses is that she is the only one who begs for help. Even when they're terrified, Agarthans don't beg. They don't run. They only show their contempt. Solon even outright states that he's terrified of Byleth, but he stands his ground. What could explain this difference in behaviour? Well, I personally blame the black stone Solon pulled out of Kronya's chest. It couldn't have been her heart since Agarthans are explicitly stated to be humans. So, I came up with this.

Naturally, this also changes the face of the war. It's no longer "Agarthans evil. Hulk smash." Shambhala is a city, filled to the brim with Agarthans, including civilians, which means children and probably a good number of innocent adults. Destroying the place and all its inhabitants would be unjustifiable genocide instead of an extermination of pure evil. Byleth's dream of being a hero has just received a nasty slap to the face, fortunately before it took a dark turn. Heroes don't have it easy.

We come to the recommended story of this chapter. This week, I would like to introduce A New Player In The Force by USSExplorer. It is one of the few stories with the Gamer concept that is both well-written and features a character on the good side of the moral spectrum. As you can guess, it's a story taking place in the Star Wars universe.

Alright then, that would be it for this time. A big thanks to everyone who followed, favourited and reviewed this story, and see you next time. Have a good time, folks.