AN: This chapter features a short section that might be uncomfortable to read for some. It was uncomfortable to write for sure.

Chapter 30: Bonds

20th day of the Red Wolf Moon 1180, long before sunrise. Byleth's mindscape.

When Byleth entered his mindscape, he was emotionally exhausted. He had known beforehand that the battle had been unlikely to be won, but it had still hit him hard. So much death at once had been a bit too much, even for him. The hectic mess that had been the retreat and the desperate effort in the medical tent afterwards hadn't eased those burdens one bit. He only hoped that his friends, students and soldiers would make it through this emotional turmoil. If even he was having problems coping with what had happened, then the others would for sure. He'd seen it.

Jana was a complete given. She rarely ever called him "little brother" instead of simply addressing him as "kid." When she did, it was either after a long period of separation or when she was very emotional. As collected as she had appeared, she had probably been close to hysteria. It… hurt, Byleth realised. It hurt that she was hurting. Maybe he would have to take a page out of Hyperion's book and hug her again in the morning.

Speaking of the resident Godling – a term Sothis had insisted on with a teasing grin –, Byleth was now looking for him. Not only did he want to talk with him, but he was also very much tempted to ask for soul-soothing. Up until now, he'd been reluctant about it, thinking that he wouldn't be affected to the degree that he now was. However, he was coming to realise that he was going to need it. He'd seen what became of people whose issues remained untreated, and he had no wish to join their number.

After a few minutes of looking, Byleth finally found Hyperion. The man was lying on the couch in his part of the mindscape. With him was Sothis. She was sitting on the couch and had Hyperion's head in her lap. She was absentmindedly raking her fingers through his hair as she stared at the bookshelf. It appeared that she was lost in thought. Since she was distracted and because Hyperion's eyes were closed, neither had noticed Byleth's approach until he was nearly next to them. Once they realised that he was there, however, they greeted him.

"Hello, Byleth," said Sothis as she turned her head to look at hm.

Hyperion opened his eyes. "Welcome back," he said.

"Hello," was Byleth's response.

A small chuckle escaped Hyperion. He wore a bitter smile. "Tough day, huh?"

"Yes," said the youngest of the three. "Can… can you help me?"

Hyperion nodded and – reluctantly – sat up. "Thanks," he said towards Sothis, who was now disentangling her fingers from his hair.

"Anytime," she said with a smile.

Hyperion clapped his hands together and stood up. "Alright then," he said, his voice directed at Byleth. "Do you want the speed treatment or do you want to take it slow?"

"I'd prefer fast," said Byleth in response.

"Fast it is, then," came the answer.

The young God reached out to Byleth's head and touched it. An odd sensation went through the former mercenary's being. He felt a mite more relaxed and he realised that a certain edge to his emotional state was now absent. Agitation subsided, as did grief and guilt, two emotions which Byleth had spent a long time learning to recognise. A few other minor irritants disappeared as well, after which Hyperion withdrew his hand. The whole process had lasted a mere fraction of a second.

"Alright, that should do it for now. We'll repeat this over the course of the next few days and you'll be right as rain," he said.

Byleth tilted his head. "Repeat? Haven't you fixed it?" he asked.

A sigh escaped Hyperion, and he explained, "No. Fixing the damage done to a soul takes more than that, if it is even possible. Souls are very tricky to heal. The sad thing is that the soul's resilience is the very thing that makes it hard to treat. It takes a lot to seriously damage a soul, but that also means that it takes a lot to heal it properly. Souls resist outside influences."

"It is very hard," agreed Sothis. "I may have a harder time at soul-soothing than Hyperion because I only have a minor domain on the soul, but I can tell that even he struggles sometimes."

Hyperion nodded. "Precisely," he continued, "Cases like Edelgard's are problematic. Even worse are the people who were rescued from Nuvelle. The real kicker are my Agarthans. Do you know why?"

Byleth shook his head in denial.

"It's because whenever a soul is touched, it tries to bounce back. Trauma builds up over time as the soul tries to resist the change, but the inverse is also true. Whenever I treat someone, their soul passively tries to re-traumatise itself. That is why the treatment must be repeated over and over again until the soul recognises that its healed state is its default form. In my hardest cases, I will have to continue treatment for months, if not longer, especially where my people are concerned," finished Hyperion.

That caused Byleth to grow still. He did not quite understand this explanation, but he understood enough of it to realise that, like all healing, soul-soothing was hard, and that it took continued therapy rather than ambulant treatment. One question remained, though.

"Your people?" he asked.

"My Agarthans," replied Hyperion. "They've been through a lot. You've seen the state Kronya was in after the discovery of the Dark Shell. Nadja is even worse off. The sick shit that was done to her makes me want to hurl. The things Nikola has seen and been forced to do are in the same category."

Sothis piped in again, "I pity them," she said. "No one should have to suffer like that. I suspect that I don't even know half of it, but I can tell that they need help."

Hyperion grimaced. "You're right. They've spoken to me in confidence, and I will not betray it, but I will say that Thales will spend his afterlife in the deepest pits of Hell for what he's done."

A dark look passed over Sothis' face at that. "That place already has a few new residents as of today."

Byleth was curious about that. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I am the arbiter of every soul," she answered. "I see all the deeds a person has committed over the course of their lives as soon as they die. I, or rather a part of me, am the judge of whether a soul enters my Heaven or not. If a soul cannot enter, it is sent to the Hall of Judgement. I do not judge there, seeing as it is an automatic process, but I can sense every judgement that takes place. Today, I saw the lives of several Agarthans who had a hand in implanting Dark Shells in field operatives and knew what they were. They were dragged out of the Hall by creatures I dare not describe and were taken through fiery gates that appeared and disappeared whenever such a judgement was made."

Both she and Hyperion shivered. Whatever those creatures Sothis had talked about were, Byleth had no desire to inquire about them any further. There was another thing connected to the topic which had aroused his curiosity instead, however. "What about those who implanted Dark Shells without knowing what they were?" he asked.

"They landed in Tartarus," said Hyperion, "Though there were a few exceptions who actually landed in Asphodel. You can't exactly be blamed for obeying orders when your soul is literally enslaved."

"So, these ones bore Dark Shells too?" asked Byleth.

"Yes," answered Hyperion with a tired sigh.

"Today was not a good day for any of us," said Sothis.

Byleth titled his head again. "There was something on your end as well," he said. It was not a question.

"You hit it right on the head, my friend," responded Hyperion. "You dealt death and we dealt with death. There were a lot of souls in need of guidance. Today or rather yesterday sucked, big time."

The young Professor had not considered that angle. The Goddess of Death and the God of the Dead would indeed have had a busy day when one looked at it this way. There was an unidentified feeling of discomfort attached to that realisation. He did not like that his two friends were so negatively affected by the previous day's events. He disliked any sort of thing that made them sad or angry.

"Well then," interrupted Sothis' voice, "I think that's about enough gloominess for tonight. Let's do something to cheer up and relax."

"Agreed," said Hyperion. "Come on, Byleth. Sit down while I look for a good movie."

Not much later, they were all seated on the couch. Byleth sat on his own while Sothis enjoyed the comforts of Hyperion's lap. The latter had his arms wrapped around her midsection and rested his head on her shoulder. Not paying much attention to the entertainment, Byleth instead observed his headmates. As he watched the content smiles on their faces, he concluded that he, too, could kick back and enjoy the moment.

20th day of the Red Wolf Moon 1180, shortly before sunrise. Castle Goneril.

Hilda had woken up early despite the previous day's exhaustion. Marianne's presence and continued health had kept the nightmares at bay, but restlessness was not so easy a matter to get rid of. As such, she hadn't been able to sleep for too long. Unwilling to wake her bunkmate, she had quietly snuck out of the tent and made her way to Castle Goneril. Maybe meeting up with her family would do her some good. She also wanted to give her father a piece of her mind. The battle might have gone differently if he had shown up with reinforcements. She hoped that meeting him and ranting at him would calm he nerves somewhat.

So, here she was, behind a tree near the front gates of her family's residence, waiting to be granted entry by the guards. Curiously, though, the guards were paying more attention to what was behind the gates than what was before them, which meant that they hadn't seen her approach. Something strange was going on, and Hilda had a feeling that the guards wouldn't give her a straight answer if she asked. She hid behind the tree and carefully peered around it to see what was going on.

There was little to see, but much to hear. She heard something metallic rattle, followed by a pained cry and shouting. Then, the noise seemed to move in a new direction. She caught a small glimpse of movement through the crack in the gates which the guards had opened to look through. It wasn't much, but together with the shouts of "get rid of the trash" and "to the back", she was able to conclude that someone was moving something to the sally port. She felt both apprehensive and curious about this. Deciding to follow up on those feelings, she used the foliage and scattered trees to sneak away from the front gates and get to the sally port from the outside. There was a mystery in Castle Goneril, and she, as a daughter of the House, had to determine if it was a threat to her family.

It took Hilda a quarter of an hour to get to the sally port undetected. She was already fearing that she would be too late to catch up, but those worries were laid to rest when she heard laughter, muffled screams and other disquieting sounds. She hurried now, possessed by the terrible feeling that something wrong was going on. When she peered the corner that obstructed her view between her and the source of all the noise, she froze in shock and disgust at the scene unfolding not even two metres away from her.

"Oh yeah, I like the way he's twitching. That's always the best part. He's about to croak; I can feel it," sounded a woman's voice in a tone of ecstasy.

She was naked, as was the bronze-skinned man beneath her, and her hips moved up and down on his. Contrary to her expression of pleasure, his was one of panic. The reason for this were the woman's hands crushing his throat. He was unable to fight back since his own hands were bound by shackles, as were his ankles.

"Take your time. They won't expect us back for a few hours."

Next to them was another man. He, however was unbound. The same could not be said for the gagged, bronze-skinned woman beneath him. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh was clearly audible, and so were her muffled screams. A knife was being dragged across her chest. It had clearly been used to carve many cuts into her skin. She was also bound similarly to the man who shared her complexion.

Bile rose in Hilda's throat. She was revolted. By the Goddess, what the fuck is this?! she thought. There was no time for more thoughts, though. If she remembered the Professor's lectures about how to kill people unarmed, the bronze-skinned man was only seconds away from death. She had to act now.

Her hand reached into the rock pouch the Professor had made everyone wear at all times, even when they were not wearing armour or expecting battle. As her hand closed around a rock, she thanked his paranoia in her thoughts. With steel in her eyes, she threw the rock as hard as she could. It impacted the naked woman's neck, knocking her out instantly. Hilda then tackled the surprised man on top of the bronze-skinned woman and punched him in the face. She punched him again and again, even when he used his dagger to try and stab her. She sustained several cuts to her shoulders and collarbone before one of her punches knocked the man out. She stared down at the bloodied face of the man and then drove her fist down onto it one more time. The whole thing had lasted less than half a minute. Swift and decisive; the Professor would have been proud of her if he had been watching.

Hilda finally turned to the two still conscious people near her. She took the gag out of the injured woman's mouth and asked, "Are you two alright?" She winced right after that. Of course they weren't alright. People who had experienced the things these two had never were. She'd seen it in Nuvelle.

"No," answered the woman, "But thank you for saving my brother and I."

"You're welcome," said Hilda quietly.

Said brother tried to speak, but it came out as a mixture of a gurgle and a cough. Hilda knelt down next to him and took a closer look. He had quite a few bruises on him, especially on his chest and face and around his throat. Now gladder than ever that the Professor had insisted that everyone learn the Heal spell, she cast it. She wasn't and expert and would only ever be able to do patchwork, but she hoped it was enough for now. The man seemed to be beathing a bit easier at least.

"We need to get you away from here," she said. "You can't stay. Let's head for the camp. The Professor will know what to do."

The woman looked alarmed. "No! I don't want to be near soldiers. Almyrans are not liked here," she said.

Hilda felt like slapping herself. How had she missed that? The only two groups of people she knew who had bronze skin were the Almyrans and the people of Morfis. It had been decades since anyone from Morfis had been in Alliance territory, but Almyrans showed up pretty frequently. The two people before her had likely been captured after the last attack on Fodlan's Locket over a year ago. They had likely been camp followers since Almyran warriors either fled or died instead of surrendering.

Shame flooded her entire being at that thought. She'd grown up on stories that painted the Almyrans as bloodthirsty savages who could barely be considered human. Her father had always told her that Almyrans were only good when dead or subjugated. Her own views had developed accordingly, though to a lesser degree. She'd always seen Almyrans as brutes with no sense of civility, but she'd never hated them like her father did. Looking at the situation before her, she couldn't help but think that when it came to the comparison between her family's soldiers and the Almyrans, it wasn't the Almyrans who were the savages.

Another lump was now stuck in her throat, but she forced herself to speak. "The Professor won't care. He wasn't raised in the Leicester Alliance."

The siblings exchanged meaningful glances. Eventually, the woman addressed Hilda again. "Fine. We can't really run in this state anyway. Let's get it over with," she said with a tired voice.

"Let's get those shackles off you two first," said Hilda.

She searched through the discarded clothes of the unconscious Goneril guards to see if any of them wore the keys to the shackles. Even if they were supposed to dispose of the Almyrans, they would have wanted to take the shackles back with them. Good ironwork cost a lot of money. Fortunately, it didn't take long for her to find what she was looking for. She fished the keys out of a pouch and proceeded to unlock the shackles on the Almyran siblings. In a twist of vengeful dramatic irony, Hilda then put the shackles on the pair of unconscious guards.

"Grab some of their clothes," she told the siblings. "We can't have you walk around naked."

They did as asked and prepared to follow Hilda back to the camp. It was difficult to walk away from the castle walls with any measure of stealth, especially since Hilda was dragging the guards – prisoners, now – along, but they managed. Whenever the captives threatened to wake up, she knocked them out again. It slowed her down, but it didn't really impact travel time that much. The two Almyrans she had with her were injured, after all, and her mediocre skills with Heal were just enough to keep someone more or less stable. As such, it took them quite some time to arrive at their destination.

By the time they had reached the camp, the sun had already been up for quite some time. The sentries spotted Hilda and her company with ease. She'd spotted them too and was now beelining for them. Her strides grew larger as she did so, and she deliberately ignored that it led to more bruises and lacerations on her prisoners as she dragged them over the rocky ground. Before long, she was in shouting distance and made her intent clear.

"Bring some stretchers! We have people in need of medical attention" she shouted, "And get the Professor! I've also got prisoners."

She did not see the wary glances of the Almyran siblings behind her. In a sense, she didn't need to do so when she could guess. She knew that they were apprehensive, and that with good reason. She didn't worry, however. She trusted that the Professor would resolve the issue to the satisfaction of everyone, minus the guilty parties. It remained to hope that the two would think the same once they got to know him.

Just a few minutes later, a group of soldiers with stretchers arrived. They looked like they were Church soldiers, which was not all that surprising. The halers in charge of the medical units were monks and nuns from the Church complement of the army. The soldiers wasted no time putting not only the Almyrans but also the prisoners on the stretchers. They hurried off towards the medical tent, Hilda being hot on their heels.

Once they had reached their destination, the soldiers quickly put the two Almyrans on cots and then hurried off again. Healers rushed over immediately to have a look at them. The man's injuries were the most pressing concern. Damage to the throat was always dangerous, after all. Nevertheless, the woman was also being seen to, and so was Hilda. They both had sustained cuts which needed to be treated. It did not take up a lot of time to take care of these things, though it still left the Almyrans and Hilda with an adrenaline crash. The healing was done, but recovery would take time for the bronze-skinned siblings.

Not long after the healers had left the three alone, Byleth arrived together with Jana, Lars and the Golden Deer. He headed straight for them, the others in tow. Seeing the two siblings flinch, he stopped, and the others followed suit. He inspected them, looked at their tells and narrowed his eyes. There was something fishy going on, something he was sadly all too familiar with.

"Claude, with me. The rest of you, step back a bit," he said.

As the youth in question stepped forward, the Almyrans noticed his complexion and facial features. They relaxed visibly at that. "Are you…?" asked the woman.

Claude nodded in confirmation. "Born and raised in Almyra," he said, much to the shock of those who had not known, that being the healers within earshot.

"But how can that be?" asked one of them. That took everyone's attention to him. "You're Duke Riegan's grandson, are you not?"

Claude laughed. "Right you are, but his sons Godfrey and Liam as well as Godfrey's daughter died. Officially, they were accidents, but I'm inclined to say it was assassination. I'm the son of Duke Riegan's daughter Tiana."

The healer blinked owlishly at him. "I heard she'd left Fodlan, but Almyra? Why? The Alliance and Almyra have been enemies for centuries!"

A snort escaped Claude. "How would I know? My mother's crazy. Maybe she thought she'd be safer from assassination there. Aside from that, we don't need to be enemies anymore. There haven't been any attacks on Fodlan's throat since before I got here," he said. Leaving the stunned healer by the side, he turned his attention back to the two Almyrans lying on the cots. "Claude is a cover name, but I don't think it'll hold up for long anymore. My real name is Khalid."

"I'm Jasmina," said the woman, "And this is my brother, Farud."

"A pleasure to meet you," responded Claude.

"Wait a moment," piped in Farud. "Your name is Khalid, your mother is a crazy foreigner by the name of Tiana and you're a noble," he said as he put the facts together. His eyes widened. "My Prince," he whispered as he stared at the youth in front of him. He attempted to get up, but Claude pushed him down.

"Woah, easy there," said Claude. "The healers went through the trouble to patch you up, so you might want to refrain from undoing all their work. Take a rest."

Farud nodded reluctantly and stayed put.

"Did they know?" asked Jasmina.

"The Golden Deer?" he asked while sweeping his hand through the air, "Yeah. The Professor told them a few days ago. He apparently knew since before we met, thanks to a certain someone," answered Claude. "They're trustworthy, even Lorenz, no matter how much he likes to harp on about pretty much anything I do."

"I resemble that remark!" said the purple-haired student.

"Honestly," Claude went on, "I'm surprised you get on so well with Hilda."

"Why would we- oh," said Jasmina. "She's a Goneril, isn't she?"

Farud tried to stand up again, but was pushed down once more. "Stay put," ordered Claude. "She wouldn't have taken you here if she meant you harm."

The man calmed down somewhat, but he remained tense and shot a wary glance at Hilda, who seemed to find the ground very interesting right now. Her head hung low as she looked down. It was quite obvious to everyone that she was ashamed. Even Farud, agitated as he was, could see it. He looked back at Claude again.

"She's more like Lord Holst than the rest of the family, isn't she?" he asked.

"I wouldn't know. I've never met Holst, but I know Hilda. She might still be a bit lazy, even if the Professor has made progress in beating that habit out of her, and she is still somewhat prejudiced against Almyrans – growing up around Count Goneril will do that – but she's never hated us," answered Claude.

"More like Lord Holst, then," he confirmed.

"You've met him?" asked Hilda. She'd raised her head a bit.

Both Farud and Jasmina nodded. "He came to visit us personally after we'd been captured," answered Jasmina. "He was quite pleasant, and he treated us well. For the two weeks we were imprisoned in the fortress, we had food and water. Nobody hurt us either. Things only started to go wrong after we were transferred to this place." She shuddered.

Farud was in the same boat as his sister. He shuddered as well, and he added, "There were over a hundred of us at the beginning. Most died in the mines. About a dozen died from starvation because the guards 'forgot' to bring them their food. Some of us were handed out to Count Goneril's brother for…'entertainment.' Sometimes, the two guards who… the ones Lady Hilda brought along were charged with disposing of 'broken toys.' Jasmina and I weren't in a bad enough state yet, but your arrival here must have spooked the Count, and he ordered that we be taken away from the castle and killed."

Looks of shock, anger and disgust answered that story. This was an outrage that was not to be tolerated. None of those present were enthusiasts of such callous disregard for people's lives.

"He was right to be spooked," said Byleth with a dangerous edge in his tone. "He was warned years ago when the Archbishop rescued an Almyran child from here and took him into her care."

"His name's Cyril," Claude piped in. "He's got a sharp tongue, that one. He was kept as a servant with housekeeping duties until Archbishop Rhea took him away from here."

"Count Goneril has not only ignored the warning, he has acted in gross violation of it," continued Byleth. "He will be tried. If your accusations are true, I will personally execute him. Possibly his brother as well."

Hilda flinched and gulped. "Professor?" she asked. "If… if it comes to that, would I be excused?"

He nodded. "They are your family, no matter what they have done. I will not force you to attend," he answered.

"Thank you," she said meekly. "If you're going to arrest them, you'll have to hurry. They'll be expecting the guards I took captive to return soon."

Byleth acknowledged that statement with a sharp nod and gave new orders. "Jana, interrogate the prisoners. Lars, get the company together. Claude, stay here with Jasmina and Farud. Leonie, stay as well. You're not back to your best form yet. The rest of you, come with me; even you, Hilda. We can't let the Count suspect anything wrong until the arrest is made."

"You have the authority to do that?" asked Jasmina in wonder.

"The Archbishop is my grandmother, and I earned the title of Knight of the Covenant. I have judicial authority in spades," said Byleth. Then, he turned to the others again. "Let's move."

With those words spoken, the group dispersed. Nobody objected to their orders, not even Hilda, who felt understandably upset about it all. The others went about theirs with less difficulty but with no less grit. Arresting one of the Lords of the Round Table Conference was a big deal, after all. Still, justice would be done. Byleth understood this best of all.

"I've confirmed it," came Hyperion's voice about fifteen minutes later while he and his escort unit were on the move. "I'm gladder than ever that I installed that search function in the new cataloguing system of the Underworld. It made finding the Almyrans in question quick and easy. Jasmina and Farud didn't lie. The sick shit that's been going on in Castle Goneril is on the level of Nuvelle, maybe even worse in some cases."

Anger rose in the young Professor. "He and his brother will face justice, then," responded Byleth.

"In this world and the next," intoned Hyperion.

Ironically, Byleth and his companions were received in the castle with much fanfare. The Count himself and his brother were already in the courtyard, waiting for Byleth and the others to approach. As they did so, the Count smiled brightly – and in a fake manner. He stepped closer and bowed just enough to not seem rude.

"Welcome to my humble castle, Professor," he said.

"I am not here in that capacity," replied Byleth.

Count Goneril seemed offended by that statement. "Very well, Sir Eisner. In what capacity are you here then?"

"Judicial," answered Byleth. "You and your brother are under arrest on the charges of engaging in the enslavement of sentient beings, murder, torture, rape, violating a direct judgement of the Archbishop and insubordination to your liege, this being Duke Riegan, whose orders to aid us in battle were ignored by you. Soldiers, seize them."

And with that statement, all hell broke loose.

The same day. Blue Lions field camp.

Mercedes had had a strange time these last several days. She didn't like the war she was fighting in at all. All that death and suffering were awful, and yet she knew that if she didn't help, it would be even worse. It weighed heavily on her mind, but fortunately, there were some good things. Annette always had her back, and Mercedes loved that girl for it. Her classmates were also fun to be around. Learning new and interesting magic at the Officers Academy was great as well. Another positive thing, specifically the one that had caused the strangeness of these past few days, was the letter Seteth had given to her. It was from Emile.

She'd kept its contents to herself, but she found that she needed a second opinion on it. She also knew just with whom she'd share it: Annette. There was never really any question about it. The problem that remained was the timing, however. There had not been any free time until now, but an opportunity had emerged. Seteth and Flayn were off on an assignment they refused to talk about, which meant that everyone else was more or less free to do what they wanted for a day. It gave Mercedes the time to find Annette and talk to her in private.

"So, what did you want to talk about, Mercie?" asked Annette once they had reached a secluded spot.

Mercedes took Emile's letter out of her satchel and handed it over. "Have a look at this. It's from my little brother," she said.

Annette furrowed her brows. "Are you sure I should be reading this? This sounds private," she pointed out.

"Just read it. I need your advice," insisted Mercedes.

Dear Mercedes,

I have struggled with the decision to write you this letter for some time now. I did not want to, but I was urged to write you for "my own peace of mind." At first, I thought it was foolish, but the longer I've tried to write this, the more I feel that it is the right thing to do.

There are many things we should talk about, but only a few of these things are among those I can bring myself to speak of. Much of that which we must discuss is deeply unpleasant. I am afraid that there is barely anything in terms of good news.

One thing you should know is that when you and Mother left House Bartels, it was me who asked her to leave me behind. If she had taken me with you, my father would have hunted us all down. I stayed behind to protect you. And, in order to protect you, I killed him and all my half siblings years later.

He'd found out where you and Mother were hiding. Since Mother was past childbearing age, he wanted to take you as his new wife and use you as a broodmare for more children with the Crest of Lamine. Our half-siblings would not have helped you. You remember how much they liked tormenting us. There was now other option left to me than to kill them all.

I love you, Mercedes; you and Mother. For love of you, I killed them all and became a monster. And it is for love of you that I've stayed away from you. That day has changed me. I became a bloodthirsty, cruel beast. There is a nigh unquenchable thirst for blood in me, and I cannot risk you falling victim to it.

Fortunately, I am receiving help. I am certain that you've heard of Hyperion by now. With how much he talks about the Goddess, she must be telling stories of him too when you pray to her. He has been helping me. The treatment is slow-going, but it is effective. It is getting easier to ignore the urge to kill and my other self does not come out as often as before. Soon, we hope, I will feel restrained enough to talk to you in person without the desire for blood endangering you.

There is so much more I wish I could say to you, but I cannot. Not now.

With love,
Emile

Annette stared at the letter with wide eyes. A hand covered her mouth. "Oh, Mercie. All those horrible things… Are they true?" she asked.

"I knew that everyone in House Bartels except Emile was murdered, but I had no idea that it was him who did it," answered Mercedes. "I also didn't know why it happened. I knew Mother and I shouldn't have left him behind."

"But your step-father would have hunted you down! Emile said so himself," said Annette.

"We left him to rot!" shouted Mercedes. Annette flinched at the uncharacteristic outburst and took a step back. The colour drained from the blonde woman's face. "I'm so sorry, Annie. I shouldn't have shouted at you like that," she said. "I'm just so upset. I love Emile. To know that my sweet little brother was forced to become a murderer; it breaks my heart. It hurts. It makes me angry."

"Angry at whom? Baron Bartels?" asked Annette.

Mercedes shook her head. "I'm not just angry at him, but also at Mother and, most of all, at myself. We left Emile alone. He protected us, and when he needed help the most, we weren't there."

Annette breathed out, "Oh Mercie…" She threw her arms around the older woman and caught her in a tight hug. "It's not your fault."

"Yes, it was!" choked out Mercedes. She was tearing up as she returned the hug. "We left him behind. I left him behind! I failed him. I'm a horrible sister."

"No!" protested Annette vehemently. "You're wonderful. You're kind to everyone and always so thoughtful. I refuse to believe that you're as cruel as you make yourself out to be."

Mercedes didn't answer for quite a while. She simply clung to Annette and cried while the girl patted her on the back and held her. "What should I do?" she finally asked after a few minutes.

"Haven't you asked the Goddess?" asked Annette back.

Mercedes shook her head. "I didn't want to bother her with my personal problems."

"But that's what she's there for!" exclaimed Annette. "She even told me she likes hearing my songs, and those surely matter far less than serious problems like yours."

"Alright. Maybe I will ask her tonight," conceded Mercedes with a sniffle, "But for now, I want your opinion."

Annette hummed. "You love your brother, right?" she asked.

The young woman was aghast. "Of course! Haven't you listened?"

"Then write him back and tell him that," said Annette. "Tell him that you love him and that you're sorry. That's a good start, right?"

"But how will I get that letter to him?" asked Mercedes.

"How did you get his?" countered Annette.

The blonde answered, "Seteth gave it to me." It took a second for her to understand what Annette had implied with the question. "Oh," she said in comprehension, feeling quite silly.

The orange-haired girl giggled. "Alright then, let's get to it! I'll help you with the draft. Let me get the parchment!"

With that, Annette broke their hug and rushed off in the direction of her tent. Mercedes had to fight a laugh when the younger girl tripped over a large rock. "Who put that stupid thing here?" exclaimed Annette. A smile wormed it's way on Mercedes' face and she made to follow. There was a letter that begged to be written, and she was intent on answering the call.

21st day of the Red Wolf Moon 1180. Garreg Mach Monastery.

Anselma wiped the sweat off her brow as she put down her sword. It had been a long time since she'd wielded one, having stopped practicing after her flight from Adrestia years ago. Thankfully, her sparring partner was excellent at gauging her skill level and always fought just above it to keep her on her toes. She could practically feel the rust come off when it came to her proficiency with the blade. As the sword fell into its sheath, she sent him a grateful look.

"It was a great spar. Thank you," she said.

Jeralt, the aforementioned sparring partner, waved her off. "It's alright. Keeps me from getting rusty." He then turned to the small audience who had observed their sparring match. It consisted of Hyperion's group of Agarthan defectors. "Alright, who's next?" he asked.

"Me," said Kronya, "I still haven't gotten used to fighting in this new uniform yet."

She was referring to the black form-fitting armours she and the other Agarthans wore. They were tailored to each of them individually and had cost a big heap of gulden each, but with the funds they had acquired from cashing in on a few bounties over the course of the last week, the financing had not been a problem. The colour scheme was black with red accents here and there, while a white circle on the front bore Hyperion's symbol. That way, it served not only as excellent protection but also as a firm declaration that they were the new God's clergy.

"You're just complaining because our Lord is not letting you run around looking like a whore anymore," said Philip as he rolled with eyes.

"Hey! If you've got it, flaunt it," countered Kronya. "I know it's hard for you to grasp, what with that gaping abyss between your legs you call your dick, but some of us enjoy the attention."

"Philip, you know just as well as I do that our Lord insisted on the uniform because he wanted us to be protected," interjected Nikola. "And Kronya, stop falling for his goading, please. It's embarrassing to watch."

"That aside, I agree that Kronya should practice next. She's really not used to fighting in so much clothing," commented Nadja.

Kronya snorted. "Thanks for taking my side," she said drily.

Jeralt sighed from where he stood and watched the four Agarthans bicker. He murmured, "Good grief."

"They're a lively bunch, aren't they?" asked Anselma in a whisper. "I'm happy to see that they're recovering so well," she added.

Jeralt raised an eyebrow at that and said, "I'm a bit out of the loop. I've been on a bunch of assignments recently. What do you mean by recovery?"

"Has nobody explained the mechanisms of the... devices that used to be within them?" asked Anselma.

Jeralt shook his head. "No. All I understood from the explanation I got was that it messed with their heads and made them do things."

"It's much worse than that," she said. "It influenced their minds and souls. Not only did it make them obey the cruel orders of their superiors, it also made them enjoy whatever sick thing they were ordered to do. Murder, torture; you name it. They were forced to do it and forced to enjoy it. It must have been the purest form of Hell."

He thought this over in his head. "That explains Kronya's initial behaviour after whatever was stuck in her chest was extracted."

Anselma nodded. "Yes. There were pre-emptive measures taken with all the others so they wouldn't attempt to take their own lives. The heavens know that Nikola and Nadja would have done it if given the chance."

"Have they talked about it to you?" asked Jeralt.

"No," she answered with a shake of her head. "But I know it. I recognised the signs in how they behaved before and how they behave now. They remind me of myself. I would have killed myself when I was still stuck in that mansion if I had just had the opportunity."

He shot her a concerned look at that. "Are you still considering that?"

She smiled and shook her head again. "No. I have something to live for. My daughter needs all the love I can give her, and the love she gives me in return is more than enough for me. I see the same joy of rediscovering what it means to truly live in Nikola and Nadja."

"And the other two?" asked Jeralt.

"They're still looking," answered Anselma, "But I have a feeling they're getting closer to the answer. They all have each other, and that is already more than they seem to have had before."

"Hey, what are you two whispering about?" interrupted Kronya.

Jeralt snorted. "We were waiting for you to finish gossiping."

"Gossiping? Now you're going to get it, old man!" said the offended orange-haired woman. She raised her practice daggers and stomped over to him.

"Get it?" he replied, "You're about a hundred years too young to teach me anything about fighting. Now show me what you've learned!"

As the two went to have their bout, the other three Agarthans approached Anselma. "So, what were you really talking about?" asked Nikola.

"About you and myself," she said.

Philip raised an eyebrow at that. "Why? Do we have something in common? I mean, you've got pretty light skin, but it's not as pale as ours, and I don't think you were born underground."

Anselma chuckled slightly, though it bore a sad quality. "No, it's not because of that," she said. "It's because I see myself in the four of you. I know what it's like to be a slave."

"Oh," remarked Philip, all the lark from earlier gone.

"I also know what it's like to find joy again, and I want to help you find yours, if you let me," she said with a smile.

"That sounds like a great idea," spoke up Nadja, "But how will you do that?"

Anselma answered, "How about we begin by being friends. Does that sound like a good start to you?"

"Ha!" laughed Nikola, "I think I will like being around you."

"I agree," added Philip. "There's still a spot open on our team. Jeralt says we need five to operate on his system. What do you say about joining us?"

"That sounds like a splendid idea," answered Anselma.

"I'll see about talking to Lord Hyperion, then," said Nadja.

Nikola agreed to that. "Good thought. She'll be a full member that way. It would be horribly gauche if she were the only one without uniform."

He didn't quite know why, but Nikola had a feeling that he was causing someone a headache right now. Strange, he thought.

AN: Greetings once again, dear readers! Again, a big thank you to all of you who favourited, followed and reviewed.

I'm happy to announce that another chapter has been completed. There are a few things I would like to mention about the lore of the game and what I added to it:

First, it is unclear how many members the House of Goneril has, but it is stated that there are more people in it than just Hilda, Holst and Count Goneril from what I remember.
Second, House Riegan is a strange topic. The current Duke is named Oswald. Godfrey and Tiana are also named in the game's lore. Godfrey's daughter is unnamed but mentioned. Liam is a semi-OC. The game's lore mentioned that Tiana left the Alliance in 1160, the year when Godfrey was named heir after the previous heir's death. Said previous heir was never named. As such, I decided to call him Liam.

There's not really been a lot of action, but I thought that some interaction might be nice as well. We still had plot-relevant things going on. I also wanted to make it clear that I haven't forgotten about Jeritza.

Now then, today's recommended story is a novel by the name of Sorcerer to the Crown by Zen Cho, wherein English sorcerers during the regency period have a slight problem, namely that magic is drying up. Something needs to be done. Sadly, Zacharias Smith and Prunella Gentleman, the main characters, face prejudice and politics in their quest to resolve their situations.

Alright then, folks, I hope you've enjoyed the chapter. Stay happy and healthy, everyone. Until next time!