Chapter 44: Oblivescence

g?aRrEg? Mac?h? mon?a?stEry?, ?¿?, fó?dlan?

iMperial?B yEaR ?!?

The church bells rang through the halls of the monastery, signaling an end to the day's instruction. Chairs creaked, papers fluttered, and textbooks thumped closed as Byleth's students rose from their seats, gathering their belongings and chatting about their weekend plans through low, excited whispers. Byleth set down his writing chalk and smiled along with them.

"Great job today, everyone," he said, wiping away the remnants of white dust lingering on his fingers. "Don't forget: your essays critiquing the military tactics of the Crescent Moon War are due to me by tomorrow morning, if you haven't turned them in already." He shook his head as Sylvain opened his mouth to speak. "And no, 'I stayed out past curfew last week drinking and trying to pick up women instead of working on my assignment' will not be considered an acceptable reason for late work."

Sylvain chuckled and threw him a lazy grin. "Nothing gets by you, Professor."

"You seriously haven't started it yet?" Ingrid asked. Sylvain shrugged, and she huffed out an exasperated sigh. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Relax, I'll get it done." Sylvain hooked an arm around Ashe's shoulders, winking down at him. "Because my favorite study buddy is going to help me catch up on all the reading I missed. Right, Ashe?"

"Huh?" Ashe pressed his lips into a frown. "I never agreed to that, but… if you need help, I guess I can—"

"Don't bother," Felix scoffed. "Let him struggle through the textbooks and the essay writing alone. It's about time he faced some consequences for that careless nature of his."

"I wouldn't be so quick to criticize him if I were you, Felix," Dimitri said, crossing his arms. "Last I checked, you hadn't turned in your assignment yet, either. You've spent far more time in the training grounds with your sword than in the library with your quill."

"I don't remember asking for your opinion, boar."

"Now, now," Mercedes said with her usual gentle smile. "Let's save the bickering for later, boys. We have a surprise we need to finish preparing for, remember?"

"A surprise?" Byleth asked. "What's the occasion?"

Annette giggled and rocked back on the heels of her boots. "Oh, you don't have to worry about a thing, Professor. It's nothing special, nothing special at all!" She waved her hand dismissively, though the bright twinkle in her eyes told a different story. "Just make sure you don't go to the dining hall for another… uh…"

"Thirty minutes," Dedue whispered to her.

"Thirty minutes!" Annette announced. A beat of silence passed, then, "Wait, thirty minutes?! That's it?! I still have to decorate all the tables!" She whirled around and scrambled for the door, nearly knocking over a stack of textbooks as she rushed out of the classroom. "And the cookies! We need to put in the cookies!"

"Oh dear," Mercedes sighed. "I hope she's not planning on trying to bake them herself, because that can only end…"

"Terribly." Felix rolled his eyes. "Unless this 'surprise' is supposed to be a scorched kitchen and another broken oven."

"Goddess, and we just had the kitchen counters replaced!" Ashe tossed down his books and hurried out the door with Mercedes close behind, both of them chasing after her like it was a matter of life or death (though knowing Annette's culinary "talents"… it probably was). "Hold on, Annette! Wait for us!"

Dedue pinched the bridge of his nose. "Apologies, Your Highness, Professor. This is not how this was supposed to go." He offered a short bow to both Byleth and Dimitri before he, too, turned to leave the classroom. "I will make sure they do not cause too much trouble for the kitchen staff."

Ingrid clamped a hand around Sylvain's arm, then Felix's. "And I will make sure these two inconsiderate knuckleheads finish their assignments before tomorrow's deadline." She snatched up the collars of their uniforms and dragged them out the door, throwing a strained smile over her shoulder. "There won't be any late work from the Blue Lions this week, Professor. Not if I can help it."

Byleth nodded his thanks, chuckling to himself as the trio disappeared around the corner in a flurry of grumbles, laughs, and lighthearted bickering. Dimitri ran a hand down his face, much less amused, and turned to Byleth with an apologetic frown.

"Forgive us, Professor," he sighed. "Everyone seems to be a bit more rambunctious than usual today. I hope they haven't been giving you a difficult time, or causing you too much undue stress."

Byleth shook his head, smiling fondly at the trail of students passing by the doorway. "Not at all. I actually find it quite refreshing."

"How do you mean?"

Byleth shrugged, rummaging through the drawers of his desk. "I'm not really sure. It's strange, but… it feels like it's been so long since I've seen you all like this." He scooped out a worn cleaning cloth and slid over to the chalkboard, his smile softening around the edges. "Everyone here together at the monastery, acting so lively and carefree and—"

Fake.

Byleth's hand stiffened. The cloth slipped through his fingers, falling to the tile floor in a rumpled heap as a (familiar) foreign voice rang through his mind. Distant, but desperate.

Fake. Fake. Fake.

He gritted his teeth and jerked his head, shaking away the intrusive thought. Fake? What was fake? This was the normal, everyday life of a Garreg Mach professor—Byleth's normal, everyday life. The life he had been living with his father, his mother, and his students since he had first stepped foot into the Officer's Academy. Everything was just as it should be.

…Wasn't it?

"I suppose I can understand that sentiment," Dimitri said. He bent down to pick up the cleaning cloth at Byleth's feet and stepped over to the chalkboard himself, wiping away a section of Byleth's lecture notes. "I know our class can be rather difficult to handle at times." He cast a brief glance out the window, where Sylvain had escaped from Ingrid's hold to flirt with Dorothea as she passed through the courtyard. Dimitri sighed, muttering, "Some more than others."

Byleth frowned. Not at Dimitri, not at Sylvain's philandering and the commotion that was sure to follow, but at the chalkboard. He squinted at the notes he had written with his own hand, at the concepts he had asked his students to copy down, study, and memorize…

It was all gibberish. Random words in random order, upside-down numbers, meaningless shapes and symbols, all scrawled like chicken scratch across the dusty board. Byleth knew his handwriting could be messy at times, especially while he was teaching, but this… this wasn't…

It's not real, the voice spoke again. None of it is. You know it in your heart, and yet you refuse to see the truth.

"But at the end of the day," Dimitri continued, cleaning the rest of the unintelligible mess off the board before Byleth could make sense of it, "despite the chaos and hassle, we are all still part of the same house. United as classmates, friends, and—dare I say—family." A warm smile brightened his face. "Don't you agree, Professor?"

"I…" Byleth tried to answer, but his lips refused to form the words. "I…"

"Professor?"

You have to remember, the voice came again, louder this time. So loud it made Byleth's head tremble and throb, like someone had bruised his face with the hard steel of a gauntlet. Remember me, and the heart we share.

"I don't know who you are," Byleth whispered, the words weak and raspy as they slid off his tongue. Dimitri frowned at him and said something, seemingly concerned, but Byleth could no longer hear him. He couldn't hear anything at all—nothing but the disembodied voice haunting his mind, and the blood pounding painfully against his ears.

Yes, you do, the voice said. We have been connected since the moment you came into the world and drew your first breath. Such a bond is not so easily broken, no matter how hard he might try to make you forget.

Another flare of pain threatened to split his skull in two. Byleth stumbled back, banging his hip against his desk, grasping his head and digging his fingers into his hair. Trying to make it stop, stop, stop!

Look upon my face, the voice commanded. Remember me, and remember who you are.

Byleth's gaze slid to the small mirror sitting on the edge of his desk. Slowly, he picked it up by its thin, silver frame with a trembling hand, squinting down at his reflection. No, not his reflection—the reflection of a young girl, with hair as thick, vibrant, and green as the earth itself. A girl he had (known for his whole life) never seen before, staring straight into his soul.

I am S̶͖̪̅̽͂͌̽o̶̳͋t̵͎͍̲̆̍͛̚̚ͅh̸̻̳̫̟͕͊͝i̵̲̋̃͘͝ṡ̴͉, she said, reaching out to him through the mirror, and you are my—

Dimitri ripped the mirror out of Byleth's hands and smashed it against the wall, shattering the girl's reflection into a thousand pieces. He stomped on the glass shards with the craze of a wild beast, slamming his boot down again and again and again until all that remained of the mirror, and the reflection within, was the silver dust sticking to the bottom of his heel.

The pain in Byleth's head dulled into a slight, throbbing ache as the mysterious girl's voice—what girl?—faded from the world, and faded from his memory. Everything was fine again. Everything was just as it should be.

Everything was… just as it…

Should…

Be…?

Byleth blinked down at his hands. No. No, something wasn't right. The mess on the chalkboard, the pain lingering between his scattered thoughts, the mirror—what had he seen in it again?—and Dimitri's reaction to it…it wasn't (normal) anything he needed to be concerned about. Stop questioning it.

"W-what?" Byleth pressed his fingers to his temple, wincing. "That's not what I—"

"Something wrong, Professor?"

Dimitri's voice snapped Byleth out of his chaotic thoughts. Right, of course, Dimitri was still there, and Byleth had worried him with his strange behavior. Behavior unbefitting of a professor at the Officer's Academy. How careless of him.

With a shaky sigh, he dragged his head up to meet his student face-to-face, to apologize for the breach of etiquette—

Byleth froze, eyes flying open and breath dying in his throat.

The Dimitri standing before him was (frighteningly familiar) not the Dimitri he had come to know. He was taller, broader, visibly older, his figure framed by a bloody fur-lined cape that sagged around his shoulders like the limp, rotting carcass of a wolf. Scraggly strands of greasy blond hair hung down the length of his neck, caked with mud, dirt, and sewage. His right eye had been gouged out, and what remained of the empty socket leaked thick streams of blood down his cheek, painting the curve of his crooked smile an ugly red.

"Something wrong, Professor?" Dimitri asked again. "You look a little…" The smile sharpened, angry and dangerous. "Out of sorts."

Byleth tried to take a step back from the horrifying image, but Dimitri snatched his wrist with a punishing grip and yanked him back to his side. "Abandoning me again? Abandoning us?" Dimitri shoved his face into Byleth's, the rancid stench of death oozing from every breath. "Why do you insist on rejecting His gift? Why must you cling to the memory of that wretched Nabatean—that beast?!"

"What are you—let me go!" Byleth tried to twist his arm out of Dimitri's grasp, but the fingers around his wrist only tightened, threatening to break bone with the prince's superhuman strength. "Dimitri!"

"Look at me!" Bloody spittle spewed from Dimitri's lips into Byleth's mouth. "Is this what you want? Is this really what you want to remember?! You want to return to the world where you abandoned me—failed me—for five years, the world where you couldn't prevent me from turning into this?!"

Bile and nausea burned up Byleth's throat. "No, that's not—I would never—"

"Oh, that's so good to hear, Professor."

The painful pressure around Byleth's wrist vanished. Byleth staggered back into the wall, gasping and coughing and fumbling for the steel sword on his hip. His eyes snapped back to Dimitri, hand on the hilt of his blade, ready to defend himself against Dimitri's sudden fit of rage.

But no attack came. Dimitri stood in the center of the classroom a safe distance away, all traces of blood and grime cleaned off his person. The dirty cape and matted hair were gone, too, replaced by his neatly kept Officer's Academy uniform. Back to his usual regal self, as though nothing had happened at all.

"We should probably head to the dining hall soon," Dimitri said. The skin around his eyes—both of his eyes—softly crinkled as he put on a friendly smile. "I know it's not much of a secret anymore, but everyone has been hard at work preparing this 'surprise' class celebration. And it won't be much of a celebration if our teacher isn't there to join us in the festivities."

Byleth just stared back at him, slack jawed. What the hell was going on?!

"Come on, Professor." Dimitri reached the doorway in just a few short strides, motioning for Byleth to follow him out into the courtyard. "We don't want to keep the others waiting, do we?"

Byleth's body refused to move. He remained pressed up against the wall, fingers digging into the cracks of the stone behind him as his mind sputtered with a flurry of clashing thoughts.

(Dimitri is dangerous when he's like this) Dimitri was just worried about his teacher's well-being, like the model student he's always been. (Why did he break that mirror? What had made him so angry?) Why was Byleth standing there, pondering stupid questions that didn't matter? How long did he intend on making his students wait for him to pull himself together?

(But this isn't normal!) Everything was fine.

(Something is terribly wrong.) Everything was just as it should be.

"Come on, Professor," Dimitri repeated. He was still smiling, but all Byleth could see was a single blue eye, dark and bloodshot, leering at him with a dangerous glint. "Let's go."

Everything was just as it should be. Everything was just as it should be. Everything was just as it should be. Everything was just as it should be. Everything was just as it should be. Everything was just as it should be. Everything was just as it should be, stop questioning it.

Byleth was too tired, and too unsettled, to argue back.

"…All right."

Cautiously, Byleth pushed away from the wall and followed Dimitri out of the classroom, (making sure to keep himself out of arm's reach) trailing behind by a few paces to check on the other students scattered throughout the courtyard. The Black Eagles were all in their usual spots, engaged in their typical post-class activities: Linhardt napping beneath the shade of a tree; Bernadetta ducking behind a bench and squeaking every time an unfamiliar face passed her by; Dorothea humming and brushing her fingers through her hair, watching over Petra as the princess tuned and tightened her bow; Hubert and Ferdinand arguing over Manuela's lecture material, Adrestian politics, and the superiority of coffee compared to tea; Edelgard chastising Caspar's reckless training habits, sighing as she counted all the cracks he had punched into one of the courtyard pillars with his new pair of gauntlets.

A warm flicker of nostalgia fluttered through his chest. Seeing them all here like this… so normal, so safe, so full of life…

(It made his heart ache with unbearable guilt, and unbearable sorrow.)

"It seems the Black Eagles are just as lively as the Blue Lions today," Dimitri said. He smiled in greeting to Edelgard, princely and polite (and fake). Byleth wanted to smile too—shouldn't he be happy to spend time with all his students like this?—but his mouth refused to curl into shape.

"Lively is not quite the word I would choose," Edelgard sighed. A few paces behind her, Linhardt rolled onto his side, pressing his face into the grass as he fell into an even deeper slumber. "But yes, I suppose most of us are in rather high spirits. With the school week coming to a close, it's only natural for us to share some measure of excitement." She glanced to Caspar and the cracked pillar, pursing her lips (as black veins crawled across her pale cheeks). "Though some of us still need to learn how to channel that excitement into less destructive activities."

"Hey, it wasn't my fault!" Caspar said. "The pillar totally moved when I wasn't looking and got in the way of my swing."

"No, it didn't," Linhardt mumbled in his sleep.

"Pillars can be moving on their own?" Petra looked up from her bow, curiosity furrowing her brow. "Is this a common occurrence in Fódlan?"

"I suppose when one suffers from a lack of spatial awareness and common sense," Hubert (choked on the spear lodged in his throat) said dryly, "then yes, such a miraculous event would be quite easy for the imagination to conjure up."

"See, he gets it!" Caspar (fell to the ground in a broken, mangled mess of twisted limbs) pumped his gauntleted fist and grinned. "Thanks, Hubert!"

Dorothea hid a (dying rasp of breath) quiet laugh behind her hand. "I don't think Hubie was complimenting you, Caspar."

"Huh?"

"Regardless of how it may have happened," Ferdinand said, "it is our duty as students of the Officer's Academy, and as nobles of the Empire, to confront our mistakes head-on and take the proper steps to correct them." He patted Caspar's shoulder, head (split open over the Bridge of Myrddin) raised with noble pride. "We will see to it that this pillar is repaired. All of the Black Eagles, working together as a united house."

"A-all of us?" Bernadetta peeked over the back of her bench, eyes as wide as a cornered rabbit's. "But I don't know anything about stonework! I'll probably just mess it all up and make the cracks look even worse! And that will make Seteth mad, and then—oh no—he'll tell Lady Rhea, and then the Knights of Seiros will come after me but weak little Bernie isn't fast enough to outrun a bunch of knights so I'll have to find a deep dark hole far far away from human civilization for me and my plants to hide in but the knights will probably just find me anyway and then they'll—they'll—"

"Slow down, Bernadetta," Edelgard sighed, "before you forget to breathe and pass out from speaking too quickly. Again."

Bernadetta squeaked out an apology and ducked back down behind the bench, red-faced from (the fires of Gronder boiling her skin and burning her alive) all her anxious rambling.

"Well, if Bernadetta feels uncomfortable taking part in your reparation efforts," Dimitri said, "the professor and I would be more than willing to help after we've stopped by the dining hall, should you need an extra hand or two."

"Help us? With your strength?" A teasing smile softened Edelgard's (rotting, demonic) face. "I appreciate the offer, truly, but I'm not sure delicate work like this is really your forte. You might accidentally knock the pillar down before we can even attempt to fill in the cracks."

Dimitri (stabbed Areadbhar through Edelgard's stomach, wincing as her dagger sunk deep into his shoulder) laughed at that, resting a dramatic hand over his heart. "Oh, you wound me, El. My strength can be unpredictable at times, it's true, but I'm not so hopelessly clumsy that I would destroy an entire pillar like that."

"I wouldn't be so sure, Your Princeliness." Claude snuck up behind their backs, slinging an arm around Dimitri's shoulders with (dark, exhausted circles plaguing the skin beneath his eyes) a playful grin. "We've all seen how you handle the weapons in the training grounds. Pretty sure I saw you shatter a steel blade against one of those old straw dummies last week—split the dummy clean in half, too."

Dimitri's cheeks reddened with the faintest flush. "That was one time."

"One time? Ha! I can rattle off like ten more examples right now off the top of my head."

"Please, don't—"

"And I bet Teach has some juicy stories he'd love to get off his chest." Claude flipped his smile onto Byleth (a smile he hadn't worn for a very long time). "Well, Professor? Don't be shy. Go ahead and share with the class."

Byleth blinked. Claude had spoken to him, and now he was expecting Byleth to produce a response. Of course, because that's how conversations worked. He opened his mouth to say something.

…

Anything.

…

Anything at all.

…

"Teach? Hello?" Claude waved his (calloused and blistered) hand in front of Byleth's face. "You okay there?"

(No, I'm not okay.) Byleth's mouth hung open, silently, stupidly. He tried to swallow, but the movement grated his throat, like he was gagging on a thousand shards of frozen glass. (Nothing is okay. What's wrong with me?)

You have begun to remember the truth.

Byleth's eyes shot open, his breath stilling in his lungs. That voice… (he knew that voice!) he didn't need to acknowledge that meddlesome voice; it would be better for him to focus on his students instead.

A̴̙̳̖̪̓̈́͗͝n̷̻͆̔̈́́ą̴͚̩̋̑͋͝n̷̨̬̮̉̓̎k̸̨͕̟̓̚͜ō̸̧͔ș̵̰̭̳͒ has invaded your mind, the voice spoke again. His magic is warping your thoughts and your memories, trapping you inside a dream of your own creation.

A sharp jolt of pain thundered through Byleth's head. Nonsense. Nonsense. A dream? The voice was clearly lying. Byleth should really stop listening to it and start focusing on what really matters, like his students. Perhaps he ought to invite them all to tea later?

But your will is strong, and his hold on you has already begun to crack. Byleth dug the heel of his palms into his temples to try to stifle the pounding headache, but the pain only worsened (as his mind fought to reclaim his thoughts and his memories) as the voice continued to torture him with its presence. Find the strength to remember—to awaken once again—and you will break free completely.

Don't listen to her. She doesn't know what's good for you. There is nothing to remember. You are right where you belong.

Look upon my face, the voice said. Remember me, and remember Who. You. Are.

Byleth turned around on unsteady feet. Turned away from the courtyard, turned away from the three house leaders watching passively as chaos warred behind his eyes, as his mind was torn in every direction at once. So much pain, and guilt, and fear (overflowing from a well of broken memories, becoming whole again) that nEEdeD tO BE sUPpRESSeD.

Slow, staggered steps carried him back to his classroom. To the stained glass window outside the doorway, filtering the soft glow of dawn through its sparkling panes. To the girl who stood in his reflection.

Remember.

Her name. (He remembered her name) Her name didn't matter. (Her name is…) her name DOeSn'T MaTTeR!

Another surge of pain seared across Byleth's mind, burning him from the inside out. He gritted his teeth and pushed through it, clawing her name out from the dark fog clouding his memories, twisting his lips to force it off his tongue.

S̴͎̗̫̥̤̘̗͍̩̄̃͂̏̂͑̿̈́̊̒̕͘͝o̴̢̰̣͙̮͔͎̝͇̞͇̰͋t̶̡̛͔̭͕̥̥͔͔͎̗̰̠̩̫̞̻̉̾̿̓̕̚͜͜͝h̷͎͎͎̭͊̎͂͝ḯ̴̛̘͈͌̉͆̈́̾̃́̃s̴̤̰͔̺͈̪̤͙͛̓͆̔̕̚ͅ

His mouth was locked shut. His nose was bleeding. The pressure in his head threatened to crush his skull. (Keep trying) why do you insist on hurting yourself?

S̶̜̪̐̃̋͠ó̸͈͚͗̂t̸̛̬̠̓͒͆̇h̶̲͋į̷̓̔͛͝ŝ̶̯

You don't need her!

S̶o̷t̸h̸i̵s̶

Stop—!

"Sothis."

The floodgates burst open. Memory after memory flashed across his eyes, a torrent to wash away the fog and drown out the darkness attempting to tamper with his mind. He remembered everything: his stilted childhood; his life as a mercenary; Sothis and her throne; his first meeting with Dimitri, Edelgard, and Claude, and all the rest of his students; the nerves of presenting his first lecture as a professor; the Holy Tomb and the Sword of the Creator; his father's death; Edelgard's betrayal and Dimitri's rage; his fall into that dark abyss and his five-year slumber; the war; the blood of so many soldiers and students on his hands; his coronation as Archbishop; the undead invasion of Garreg Mach; his journey into other worlds; the ambush at the Bottomless Canyon and his failure to escape; the rush of water as a hooded figure with blue hair knelt beside him, lowering a hand over his face—

"I-I remember," Byleth gasped, panting as the painful pressure in his head began to dissipate, as his thoughts became his own again. "I remember. I—" His eyes snapped up to the window and, for the first time since that fateful day in the Sealed Forest, found Sothis floating there in the reflection, smiling back at him. "Sothis! You… you're here? You're back?"

Not quite, she said. But we have no time for explanation. You must return to the waking world—quickly, before his magic takes hold of your mind again.

"Waking world?" He slowly glanced between the window, the floor, the blue banner of Faerghus hanging over his classroom's entryway. He dragged his finger along the wall, feeling the grain and dips of every stone so clearly on his skin. "Then… all of this is…"

An elaborate illusion, constructed from memories of years past. A dream meant to trap you under his influence for all eternity. Sothis reached toward Byleth through the reflection, pushing her fingertips against the glass. But you can still escape. You must escape. I can help, if you—

An arrow whistled past Byleth's ear and pierced through Sothis's reflection. The window shattered with a sharp spray of jagged glass, grazing his cheek and neck as the shards burst from the window's casing.

"Sothis?!" Byleth dropped to his knees, hands sorting frantically through the scattered shards. Her reflection was nowhere to be found. "Sothis, are you—"

"You just had to go and make things difficult," Claude called out from behind him, cold and derisive. "Didn't you, Teach."

A monstrous black claw seized Byleth by his shoulders, elongated nails digging and slicing deep into his skin. Edelgard's hand, he quickly realized, corrupted by the same festering rot that had consumed her during the Battle of Enbarr.

"Is this truly what you want to remember?" her distorted voice hissed. She forcibly spun him around, bearing down on him with red eyes and blackened teeth. Demonic tar burrowed into her face, pulsing with ooze and peeling away at her pale skin. "You want to return there? To this? To the world where you drove me to become a monster?"

"Back to the world where you let so many of our classmates die?" Claude chided. Behind him, the courtyard had been set aflame with the fires of Gronder, of Myrddin, of Merceus, of the Imperial capital, engulfing the bodies of all the students Byleth had failed to save—Dorothea, Caspar, Hubert, Bernadetta, Ferdinand, Leonie, Ignatz, Lorenz. Their corpses screamed and cried and cursed his name as their skin blistered and boiled, as vultures picked at their remains, as their blood soaked the field and washed over Byleth's feet.

Byleth squeezed his eyes shut and tried to slap himself awake. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. He just needed to wake up and the horror would go away, because it wasn't real.

"Oh no, this is very real." Dimitri snagged a fist into Byleth's hair and yanked his head up, forcing him to watch the carnage of the courtyard unfold. Byleth tried to shove him off, panic rising, but Dimitri's grip on him was stronger than steel. "Come now, Professor, is this not what you wanted? To reject the peaceful life we have offered you here, all in favor of that hellish nightmare you call reality?"

Byleth gritted his teeth. "Let go—"

"If you truly wish to remember all of your failures, all of the pain and suffering you put us through, then by all means…" Dimitri sneered at him with a single crazed eye and grabbed Byleth by the neck. "Remember."

Dimitri hurled him across the courtyard, sending him tumbling through scorched grass, jagged rocks, and blood-soaked dirt. He smacked into a body, felt the crunch of plastic and glass beneath him as he rolled to an abrupt stop over a pair of glasses. Ignatz's glasses.

"Pro…fessor…" the body groaned, reaching out to Byleth with a broken, trembling hand. "W-why? Why did you… d-do this… to me…?"

Byleth scrambled back from him, bumping into another corpse as he struggled to find his footing. Leonie, crushed beneath a rotting horse. "P…lease…" she rasped, disfigured fingers curling weakly into Byleth's sleeve. "H…el…p…"

Byleth yanked his arm away, smoke burning his lungs and tears burning his eyes. He stumbled back on unsteady feet—

He tripped over another body. Lorenz, riddled with arrows and spears, the bruised skin of his face wilting like the shriveled rose dangling from his armor. "Don't… don't leave us t-to die… again…"

Byleth shoved his nose into his elbow, coughing and gagging on the stench of decay plaguing every inch of the courtyard, every inch of his dead students' faces. They twisted their necks toward him, bones cracking, dragging their broken and bloodied limbs through the grass toward him. Gray, glassy eyes glaring, stalking, haunting his soul with scorn and contempt.

Byleth pressed his face further into his arm. Enough. He didn't want to see it anymore. He didn't want to see it. He didn't want to see it. He didn't want to see it.

"Something wrong, Professor?"

A gentle hand came to rest on Byleth's shoulder. He flinched back from the touch, cracking one eye open to see what manner of horrors had come for him next—

"Whoa! Sorry there," Leonie said, offering him an apologetic smile. Wait, Leonie? But hadn't she just been…? "I didn't expect Captain Jeralt's kid to be so jumpy."

Byleth blinked at her, wide and slow. "What?"

"You appeared to be in quite the panic, Professor," Lorenz said. He, too, looked alive and well, no wilting skin or withering flowers in sight. "You were mumbling to yourself, and your complexion has taken on a rather ghastly shade of white. Did something happen?"

"I…" Byleth rubbed his eyes. The fires were gone, his students were all back on their feet helping Caspar fix the broken pillar. No corpses, no pain, no suffering. Everything was just as it should be. "I don't…"

"Do you want me to go find Professor Manuela?" Ignatz asked. A bundle of paintbrushes peeked out from his pocket, still wet and bristled from recent use. "Or your father? I think I saw him heading toward the fishing pond earlier. I can go grab him, if you—"

"No, I…" Byleth pressed his shaky fingers to his temples. What was real? What was part of the dream? All of it? None of it? Was this even a dream at all? "I think I… I think I just need some time alone..."

Leonie shrugged. "If you say so. Just don't forget to stop by the dining hall later. Us Deer have been helping your Lions prepare for that celebratory feast thing—even Hilda has been contributing, if you can believe it." She smiled and waved as Raphael passed by with a heavy barrel of ale balanced on his shoulder. Lysithea and Marianne followed close behind, carrying stacks of cups and silver plates for the coming festivities.

"I have concocted the most exquisite blend of tea for the feast, as well," Lorenz said. "It would be a shame if you were to miss out on it, Professor. A travesty, even."

"O-of course." Byleth's eyes swept the length of the courtyard, searching for any kind of reflective surface he could use to speak with Sothis again. The window by his classroom was still broken, and there were no mirrors in the area that he could see…

His gaze slid to the silver plates in Marianne's arms.

"I'm looking forward to it, Lorenz," Byleth said, swallowing down a shaky breath. "The party and your tea, that is." Slowly, cautiously, he took a step to the side, inching closer to Marianne's position with a strained smile. "I'll be sure to join you all after…" Another step, and another, until she was only an arm's length away. "After I take a short walk to clear my head."

Lorenz's haughty expression darkened. "To clear your head, you say? Don't you mean…"

The rose on his uniform shriveled up as the rot of death consumed his body once more.

"Leave?"

Byleth swiped a plate and ran.

A flurry of furious voices whipped the air at his back, shouting at him to stop. Byleth kept running. He barreled out of the courtyard, shoving past faculty—Manuela, Hanneman, Jeritza—and knights—Catherine, Shamir, Alois, Cyril, Gilbert—and students—Yuri, Balthus, Hapi, Constance—as he ran, and ran, and ran as fast as his legs could carry him through the monastery. He didn't look back, he didn't slow down, for fear of the grotesque nightmares that were surely in pursuit.

"Sothis!" Byleth pleaded, glancing down to the plate as he rounded the corner of the dormitories. Smoke plumed out of the stairwell and scorched the stone walls around him, just as it had the day Edelgard's army invaded Garreg Mach. "Sothis, talk to me! Please!"

Sothis's image, though faint, stuttered into view of his reflection. Byleth! she gasped. What are you doing? You need to get out of there! Your time is running—

"I know, I know!" Byleth slid into the horse stables and ducked down behind a barrow of hay, panting for breath. "How do I do that? How do I wake up?"

I can try to use what little power I have remaining to help pull you out. Sothis pushed against her side of the silver reflection, groaning with frustration when her hands failed to break through. But Ả̴̤ň̶͇a̶̮̚ņ̷́k̴̳̎o̶̖͊ș̵́'̸͔̄s̶̯̍ magic is strong, and heavy is the weight of your guilt.

"My guilt?" He stole a quick glance over the top of the barrow. No one there. Not yet. "What do you—"

This world is as much your creation as it is his, Sothis said. She scratched at the silver plate, fingernails raking over her side of the reflection to try to create an opening. He has manipulated your memories and your consciousness to keep you trapped within your own mind, to discourage you from resisting the dream, but it is your desires—and your regrets—that drive the illusions of this world. The stronger they are, the more power his magic will have over you.

She frowned, stretching her hand up toward him and the reflective barrier between them.

To leave this place, she said solemnly, you must accept the pain of the past, and let go of what can never be.

Byleth closed his eyes, drawing in a cold, shaky breath. He pressed his fingers against the plate, overlapping the hand offered by Sothis's reflection. "All right," he said. "I'll try to—"

A dark sphere of miasma blasted through the stable, striking the barrow and launching it through the back wall in an explosion of hay and horse feed. Byleth rolled out of the way and scrambled up to his feet, plate tucked protectively against his chest. The horses shrieked and stamped their hooves as another sphere crashed through the roof, spraying wooden splinters and sawdust across every corner of the stable grounds.

"My teacher," Edelgard's distorted voice rasped. Her grotesque, hulking body staggered through the crumbling walls, dripping ooze with every step. "Come back to us. We finally have the chance to set things right, to bring peace to Fódlan without the need for war or gods." Her eyes flashed, and for a moment, she appeared as her younger self again, smiling so softly—so hopefully—it made Byleth's chest ache. "All of us. Here, together."

"No." Byleth steeled his grip around the edge of Sothis's plate. "We can't."

Edelgard's smile cracked into a scowl. Black vines whipped around her body as the demonic form returned, elongating her arms, her torso, and her neck. "You don't have a choice."

Byleth darted out of the stables as Edelgard slammed a monstrous fist into the ground. He bounded down the first set of stairs he could find, running without a particular direction in mind; he just needed to evade her—evade all the nightmares and their twisted temptations—for long enough to secure his escape.

"Any luck yet?" he grunted through panted breaths. Sothis clenched her teeth and shoved her hands against the silver plate, wisps of green fire bursting out from her fingers. A small crack split open the reflective surface, radiating with Sothis's divine energy. He rested his hand over it, focusing on the draw of her power, on the faces of his students. His real students, the ones he could only help by escaping this place.

They were his reason to fight. To live.

Almost, she said. The green fire wrapped around his fingers and warmed his heart; the heart shared between mortal and goddess. Just a little more—

An arrow tore through Byleth's hand, sending the plate—and Sothis—flying from his grip. Byleth skidded to a stop and stumbled over his feet, snapping out his other hand to try to catch it before it—

"No!"

The plate shattered across the floor, silver smashing against stone. The warmth of Sothis's fire vanished in an instant, as did her voice, her reflection, and the fleeting bond their souls had shared.

"Give it up, Teach!" Claude called down from his wyvern's saddle. The beast spread a massive shadow over the monastery, whipping up dust, smoke, and broken plate shards with every beat of its wings. "This would be a lot less painful for everyone involved if you just stopped resisting and accepted the peaceful life we've built for you here."

Byleth winced, clutching his bleeding hand close to his chest. It wasn't real, he knew that, but damn if it didn't hurtlike it was real.

"Please, Professor," Dimitri said, begged, as he stalked closer to Byleth, holding his lance with a dangerously tight grip. "After everything you have suffered, don't you deserve a happy ending? With us?" He offered a hand to Byleth, both eyes brimming with youthful hope. "All of us, all three houses, working side-by-side to forge a brighter future together. Just as the world should be."

Byleth shook his head. Past Dimitri's shoulders, he caught the glimmer of dawn shining across the gentle waters of the fishing pond…

And the briefest, faintest flash of Sothis's reflection, beckoning him closer.

"It's a nice dream," Byleth said, fixing his gaze on the pond. Where the real Dimitri, where his living, breathing students, were waiting for him. "But that's all it is. A dream."

"Professor." Dimitri's voice dropped into a low, seething growl. His right eye rolled out of its socket, spilling blood down his twitching cheek. "Don't."

Byleth drew his steel sword with his uninjured hand and charged forward. He rolled under a vicious swing from Dimitri's lance, sliding across the stone-pressed walkway and sprinting straight for the pond. An arrow from Claude's bow flew for his sword arm, another two aimed for his knees, but Byleth cut all of them out of the air before they could strike their marks.

Byleth's boots pounded across the dock, its wooden planks creaking and groaning under every hurried step. The waters were in sight, Sothis's reflection was just within reach—

"Back for another round of fishing, kid?"

Byleth froze at the dock's edge. Not him. Not now.

"You already had quite the catch this morning," his father said, grinning as he threw an arm around Byleth's shoulders. "But I guess you can never have too many fish in your bucket. Do you mind if I join you this time?"

"Jeralt," Byleth whispered. "Let me go."

"Again with the formalities?" Jeralt sighed, pulling Byleth in closer to ruffle his hair. "We don't need to be so secretive about that anymore. Everyone here knows you're my son—and Sitri's, too."

"Because we're as inseparable as families come!" Sitri laughed and hugged Byleth's arm. She cupped a hand around his cheek, her touch as warm as the light of the morning sun. Her smile, too, was just as bright and radiant. "We are both so proud of our sweet, sweet boy, and I make sure everyone knows it."

Byleth jerked his head back. "Stop—"

"Why? So you can try to leave us again?" Jeralt's tone was lighthearted, spoken with the undercurrent of a playful chuckle, but his grip around Byleth tightened possessively—and painfully. "You may be a big-shot professor of the Officer's Academy now, kid, but your parents aren't quite ready to part ways with you just yet."

Byleth! Sothis's faint voice cried out. The pond lapped up against the wooden planks of the dock in soft, quiet splashes, causing Sothis's image to ripple and blur. Hurry!

"They aren't real," Byleth muttered to himself. He shook his arm out of Sitri's hug and shoved Jeralt off his shoulder, wincing at the heartbreak falling over their faces. "They aren't real. They aren't real. They aren't real—"

Jeralt caught his wrist and yanked him back before he could even attempt to turn away from them. "So what if it isn't real?" he said. "If this dream allows us to be together as a family again, what's the harm in staying this way?"

"I have people who need me." Byleth tried to tug his wrist free, but his father refused to give. "People I need to protect—"

"Like how you protected me?" Jeralt's voice turned bitter. The skin around his eyes sagged, peeling away beneath the rot of death as red stains blossomed over his chest. "Do you really want to go back to a world where your father is dead because of you? Even with your ability to reverse time, you were still too weak to save me."

Byleth's chest ached at the terrible memory. "No, I—"

"Do you really want to go back to a world where your mother is dead because of you?" Sitri's body had been replaced by a faceless mannequin, rigid and cold to the touch. A husk, a stand-in, for the mother he had never known. "I sacrificed my life to bring you into that world, and what has it given you? A life of endless fighting, and a life of endless loss."

"S-stop it—"

"Do you really want to go back to a world where so many of your students are dead because of you?" Edelgard said, walking up behind his father with all his deceased academy students in tow. Students who had died on his order, and students he had killed with his own blade.

"The same world where so many of your students live traumatized and permanently scarred," Dimitri and Claude said in unison, the last of their surviving classmates—bloody, battered, and miserable—all lined up beside them, "because of a war you failed to prevent?"

Byleth hung his head in his hands, eyes squeezed shut and burning with unshed tears. Stop it. Stop it. I'm sorry, just stop it.

"But none of that matters anymore," Jeralt said softly. His hand patted Byleth on the back, the same soothing gesture Byleth remembered from so long ago in his childhood. "Here, you can start fresh. All of us here, together, in endless dreams of peace and happiness." He wiped away the tears dotting Byleth's lashes with his thumb, cupping his face and smiling. "A world where the pain of loss does not exist."

You must accept the pain of the past, Sothis had said, and let go of what can never be.

Byleth rested a trembling hand over his father's, basking in the warmth, and care, and love in his touch. "That sounds like a wonderful dream, D—" the word stuttered on his tongue; he had only ever used it a handful of times in his entire life, "…Dad…"

Slowly, Byleth lowered their hands from his face. With a short, shallow, unsteady breath, he took a step back from his father, a step back from his mother, a step back from all of his students.

"But that's all it is," he said. "A dream."

Hardened resolve set deep into his eyes.

"And I can't be part of it."

He swiveled around on his heel and shoved his hand into the pond's reflection. Sothis's warm fingers instantly interlaced with his, growing hotter, and hotter, and hotter as the wisps of her green fire roared into flames. Cleansing his mind, freeing his soul…

And burning the false world behind him to ashes.

I knew you could do it, Sothis said with a smile. Her voice flickered, weakening as the crackling fires began to consume her, too. But know that… your work… is not yet… finished…

Byleth's eyelids grew heavy, his consciousness slipping away as the dream slowly crumbled down around them. He tried to speak to her, to thank her for all she had done for him, but his sluggish tongue refused to move.

The road ahead is… indeed… a difficult one, she said, barely a whisper off her lips. But if you… work with your students, your allies, and the… the others of your kind… you will find the means to win. I… know… it…

Darkness filled Byleth's vision. The flames around him sputtered into dying embers, so weak and distant he could barely feel any warmth from them—or from Sothis—at all.

Farewell…

Her hand faded from his grasp.

…and good luck.

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Byleth woke up.

Next chapter: A way out.