Ha ha, ha, one!

Chapter VI

The first whispers of spring tickled me as Cyril and I ascended the great tower. Our job for right now was to tidy up the grand bell that rang at the hour every hour. It was a big job– there may have only been one bell that had to be taken care of at this moment, but it was a ridiculously large individual.

"What was Almyra like?" I asked, curious about my friend's past.

"It's a pretty scummy place," Cyril replied flatly. "For a country that loves starting wars, they sure don't care at all about the people harmed by it."

Yikes. That was a pretty scathing critique. "Yeah, that's dumb. Talk about not having your bases covered."

"I don't have much else to say about it. What was your home like?"

"We were a tiny commune living deep in the woods of northern Faerghus," I said, reciting the lie that I had ingrained in my mind. "We were completely outside the influence of the country– heck, I didn't even know there was a world outside of the woods until I left it. I… actually don't remember much about it." I pretended to be glum. "I guess it's a coping mechanism to not relive what I lost."

"You don't seem all that sad about it." Shoot.

"Grief comes in many shapes and forms," I ad libbed. "Some people fall into listlessness and despair. Some people take up the sword. Some people idolize those that helped them get out of their situation. Others work."

"You work?"

"Exactly. Everyone I help, everyone I form positive connections with… they ground me in Fodra. Give me the momentum I need to face what I've lost… and smile in spite of it."

"Would you go back?"

"Would you go back to Almyra?"

"No," Cyril replied immediately. "I'm happy here, serving Lady Rhea. I reckon I'm happier here than I ever was over there."

"Exactly. I feel the same way, but instead of just serving the archbishop, I strive to help everyone. A devotion that is broader than yours, but not as deep."

Cyril looked me over with a newfound understanding. "I think I get it."

What time is it, Katáktisi said. It was not a question. Strange. Normally, it didn't comment on such monotonous things as the time of day.

Eleven fifty, if I had to wager, I replied. I'll know for sure once we get to the top of the tower and I can see where the sun is. Hopefully, we'll be able to bang this out relatively quick–

We reached the open air, the grand church bell hanging over us. We were at the top of the belltower, rising high over the landscape like a parasitic worm exiting its host. But the first thing I noticed was the shadows on the ground. I realized with a muted horror that the exact time was eleven hours, fifty-nine minutes, and forty-nine seconds. How had I been so far off? In eleven short moments, the clock would strike noon, and the bell would toll!

And let there be no mistake– it would toll for me.

Eleven.

"Cyril."

Ten.

"Yeah?"

Nine.

Eight.

"Just to give you a heads up," Seven. "I'm going to have a panic attack in the next…" Six. "Six seconds."

Five.

"Wait–"

Four.

"What do you–"

Three.

"Mean by–"

Two.

"Panic attack?"

One.

Zero.

Negative one?

Da-dong… Da-dong…

I lost all sensation in my knees as I collapsed. My eyes burned as memory assailed me. It was as if the moon was still in the sky, about to slam into the Clock Tower at the stroke of the dawn.

Automatically, I had my ocarina in hand, the Song of Time echoing from its holes. But impossibly, the notes had no effect. Horror surged. I was supposed to fall into the white void, push myself back to the start of the cycle, lose what I had gained but earn another chance. But there was no appeal now. All that was left to do was wait for the moon to come.

Eventually, after my thoughts were no longer being drowned out by the cacophony above, I came to feel the warm stone I was lying on. Somehow, I had collapsed and all but shoved Cyril into a nearby support column. He had disentangled himself, pushing me to the ground, and was now standing over me. All in all, not my best look.

"You alright?"

"I– I am now," I stammered, still embarrassed. "It's just–" I grimaced. "It's nothing."

"Do you want me to get Professor Manuela?"

"No, that's fine." The bell wouldn't ring for another hour. Thanks for the heads-up, Katáktisi.

But of course.

When Katáktisi had met Seteth, it had been shocked and furious. When Katáktisi had met Rhea, it had been paranoid and hateful.

But now, when confronted with Flayn, Katáktisi was just confused.

It is Cethleann's brat, the mask confirmed. There is no doubt in my mind. And she claims to be Cichol's whelp's sister? It is a lie!

She has Cethleann's Crest? But I thought Cethleann was Cichol's daughter?

Aye.

Well, the same person can't normally have multiple Crests. I don't think. Whichever Crest is stronger wins out… if I understand it correctly. Somehow. But if that's true, then they can't be related. That being said… There's definitely some familial resemblance between the two of them. Even discounting their shared Nabateanness.

It is a conundrum, the mask agreed. But it is impossible for them to truly be bound in blood… unless…

Unless Cichol and Cethleann's children… got married… to each other?

What? No! Katáktisi sounded repulsed. That was a first. There are some boundaries that even their kind would not cross. I was suggesting that they are literally Cichol and Cethleann.

We were both silent. Then, Nah, we said in unison.

Unless...

It was nearing the end of the Lone Moon, and as if to rain on my celebration for existing in Fodra for almost a full calendar year, the 'goddess' added another Nabatean to the pile. I didn't let my dour mood show, of course. Flayn was easily excited, gawking with no lack of wonder and awe at the now-mundane opulence of Garreg Mach Monastery. And she talked. Oh, she talked so much. Every instant, she was asking me about what I did here, what this and that room was for, how her 'brother' had been doing, and telling me all about how she was so excited to be here and interact with people 'her own age'. It was getting irritating, but I kept that bottled up. I would have to weather her boundless enthusiasm.

On the bright side, she wasn't taller than me. For once, somebody existed that I didn't have to look up to to meet their eyes. I had to stay positive while I could.

I led her to Seteth's office as quickly as I could, retracing the steps Cyril had once shown me nearly six months ago. I got to the second floor of the monastery, was made incredibly jealous when the older brother and younger sister— if that were to be believed– were reunited, and then dismissed myself. I had to confirm something.

I walked downstairs, out of the officer's floor and into the grand cathedral themselves. I ignored the worshipers and slunk towards a more isolated place, greeting the artisan as I passed by. I had only ever come back here in the past once or twice, to clean the statues of the Four Saints– Cethleann, Cichol, Maciul, and Indech. But if my growing suspicion was correct…

I read the placard. 'A statue of Saint Cethleann, one of the Four Saints. It is said that she was a beautiful and kind soul who was beloved by all for her empathy and her ability to heal severe wounds. She is the daughter of Saint Cichol.' I couldn't directly tie that to Flayn– I had barely interacted with her– but the physical resemblance was fairly striking. Her hair was long and flowed down her back. Her facial structure was very similar, true, but I couldn't make out many other distinct similarities.

There was certainly one other way to confirm it. I strolled to the other side, and focused on the statue of Saint Cichol. According to the placard, it was said that he 'was a compassionate yet stern figure whose faith was so true he was able to perform miracles'. That certainly checked out with the Seteth I knew. In addition, his statue looked a lot like him, physically. His hair was obscured by a hat, but I felt fairly confident that this was, indeed, Seteth if I really focused.

Kill them, Katáktisi ordered.

No.

A maddening bloodlust scrabbled for purchase in my mind, but I stood firm. I let it wash over me, through me, and fall away. Katáktisi would not claim me. Not today.

I am your champion, Katáktisi, I replied. Not your host. My will is my own– I will never make it soft for you.

They. Are. Nabatean, the mask seethed. They are the tumor feasting on Fodra.

I will make that judgement for myself, thank you. And so far, Seteth and Rhea seem to be genuinely kind people.

Is it so difficult to believe that–

–That I have been deceived? It's possible, but I am an excellent judge of character, Katáktisi. If I wasn't, I would be nothing more than a bag of flesh to be puppeteered by you.

Katáktisi was silent. I want to protect you, my champion, from their influence. Already their corruption slithers into your every pore. I fear it will not be long before you are lost completely, and I will have to strike you down.

From what you have said, the Nabateans sound horrible. I walked out of the room, ignoring the stone visages of the Saints, returning to my room. I didn't want to be caught woolgathering there– it would raise several questions that would be difficult to answer. They destroyed the old pantheon of gods and installed Sothis.

Exactly. So–

And that may be true. But Rhea and Seteth seem to be trying to make up for that mistake. You have to give them a second chance. Like I gave you a second chance. You told me yourself that you would have consumed me– drained me of my strength to bolster your own. But clearly there was some change of heart… because here I am… still me.

Katáktisi said nothing. The Nabateans still must die. But–

Why? Who told you that the Nabateans had to die?

Those who created me. Those who gave me my glorious purpose. That is a topic for another time. I will abate… for now. And I will not take action against Cichol, Cethleann, or Seiros. But the time will come, when you realize your folly. It will come sooner than you think.

Katáktisi said no more. And I had a lot to think about.

Winter had finally ended.

Yay.

It was nearing midnight, and I was seated at the top of one of the monastery's many towers– the bells didn't ring at night, so I was alright on that front. I was playing my ocarina, weaving Saria's Song from its holes, which was something I did every now and again whenever I wanted to chat with an old friend. Almost everyone else was downstairs, celebrating the dawn of the new imperial year of 1180. Those who weren't were in the cathedral, praying to realize their potential this year as though that would make a difference.

I didn't feel like partying. Those huge throngs of people reminded me of Castle Town when I was still ten. It just made me feel more like an outsider than ever.

My feet dangled over the edge of the parapet, kicking lightly in the air as I prepared myself. But just as I started getting into the meat and potatoes of the tune, I heard the creak of the trapdoor opening and closing. Who had come up here?

"It has been a long time, hasn't it?"

A wide grin broke out on my features. I hadn't heard that voice in a long time, but that did not make it any less welcome.

"Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd," I greeted, picking myself up from the edge and facing the crown prince. "It's been way too long! Oh, and hi to you too, Dedue."

It was only reasonable to assume that the Duscurian would be with his liege, and I was– of course– correct. I received a curt nod in response. They both looked very sharp in their newfangled Officer's Academy outfits– all blacks and golds, although Dimitri had a stylish blue cape and sash. That was probably to distinguish him as crown prince and leader of the Blue Lion House. They also looked fairly different, the two of them having changed hairstyles somewhat over the course of the last couple of months. Some things hadn't changed– Dedue was still a mountain of a man, and the crown prince himself certainly hadn't shifted his personality.

"I agree. I tried to write letters, but I'm afraid I have been exceedingly busy. Have you enjoyed life at the monastery?"

"It was a bit of a change of pace, but I got the hang of it," I assured. "And don't worry about not writing. I probably could have written too. We'll just have to make up for lost time while we're here."

"I suppose we will."

There was an amiable silence.

"What brought you up here?"

"I wanted some fresh air, and then I followed your music. It's… very catchy."

I snorted. "It was written by a friend of mine from home. I think about her a lot when I play her song, specifically. She was… someone I was very close to."

"I see. What was she like?"

I sighed. "She was about my age– physically, anyway. In the forest where I really grew up, the inhabitants– the Kokiri– stayed kids forever. I have no idea how old she really was, or how old anyone was, now that I think about it. But I digress. She was smart, and funny, and really, really nice." It was almost as nice to be able to talk about my past without hiding behind the lie we had forged. "I'm surprised I haven't told you about her before. We talked a couple of times while I was in Fhirdiad."

"You spoke with this person?" Dedue interjected. "You were alone when you came to Fódlan."

"I was," I confirmed. "The song is laced with magic from my world. It's a lot less… how do I say this? Organized? Yeah, it was less organized than the magics here in Fodra. It allows us to tap into the forest spirits and talk to each other regardless of distance. I was surprised when I learned it worked across worlds. Now we communicate every couple of weeks.

"But that's enough about me. What have you been up to?"

"More of the usual. Dodging assassins, preparing for my studies, sparring… although, I'll admit, I was still caught off-guard when I saw Cassandra, even knowing that she was here."

I was going to pretend like I knew who he was referring to. Idly, a thought crossed my mind, and I decided to give it voice. "Hey, Dimitri. Do you have anyone besides Dedue that fills the same role as Saria?"

"'Saria'? Oh, you must mean your music friend." The crown prince gave it a moment of thought. "Well, I think Dedue is the closest candidate. Rodrigue and Gustave are mentors and father figures, so I don't think they count for what you're saying. There's Felix, who you met last year, and also Sylvain and Ingrid. All three of them are members of the Blue Lions this year. And…"

Something silvery glinted in the night, and I put a hand towards where a sword would be sheathed before and after I realized what it was. The object in Dimitri's hands was clearly a dagger. "About six years ago now– I was about your age, actually– I spent some time with a girl from the Empire. She taught me how to dance, among other things. But, something drove her back to Enbarr. The day before she left, I gave her a dagger much like this. To cut a path towards a future worth fighting for."

That was sweet, in a very Dimitri way. "Have you kept in touch?"

"Admittedly not. But I believe she'll also be coming to the Officer's Academy as part of the Black Eagle house. I would not mind rekindling our friendship if she asked."

We stood atop the tower for a long time, talking as though no time had passed at all. It was as though my entire life was falling into place. And I think I was closer to happiness than I had ever been before.

I idly hummed Epona's Song to myself as the mop slid across the floor. Dimitri had left the monastery a couple of hours ago– apparently Edelgard, the leader of the Black Eagles, had commissioned him and the Golden Deer leader to come with her to pick up the professor. I had seen a letter from the old professor– a short, portly scholar from the Leicester Alliance– on Seteth's desk a couple of days ago. It had explained that he was retiring and wouldn't be coming back for the academic year of 1180. Garreg Mach had fortunately found another professor from the Adrestian Empire. The house leaders were to pick him up from somewhere near the Oghma Mountains.

When the Knights had heard about that, they were pretty mad. I guess nobody had told them that the lords were all going? Alois, the captain of the Knights of Seiros– I think– moved out with a whole contingent to intercept them. That was probably for the best. Better safe than sorry, especially with the future of Fodra.

I kept mopping the floor. It was just another duty to fulfill. iI had plenty of those, but keeping the floor clean wasn't too big of an issue. Times like four o'clock in the morning were best for it too, as nobody would walk around and get their feet wet. With the staff's residential floor done, I picked up the bucket of water I was using and made my way down the flight of stairs. The cathedral wasn't going to clean itself.

Dedue was still at the monastery. Come to think of it, I hadn't ever seen Dimitri without him before. I wondered how he was holding up. I would have to check up on him. Actually, that was a bad idea– he was probably hanging out with Felix… Silver and Ingrate? That sounded close to what their names actually were. I didn't want to distract them.

I set the pail down, liquid sloshing slightly. I took a step forward–

And immediately fell down the stairs that I had just finished descending.

It was only a couple of steps left, so I suffered little more damage than a couple of bruises and a bloodied nose. I was more shocked than anything. I had just gone down the stairs. How did I end up back on it again? My stomach was doing somersaults and my head was pounding. Something was horribly, horribly wrong.

You… tripped? Katáktisi snorted. No, that is not quite it. You are not so unsteady on your feet.

I got my legs underneath me. I was at the bottom of the stairs, and then I… I think we went back in time. The suggestion filled me with an unspeakable, terminal dread, even if it had originated from myself. That's– that's impossible. I never played the Ocarina of Time!

You did not. If it is truly so, then ancient magicks are at play. Act natural– someone approaches.

"My goodness! Are you alright?"

I could hear the soft tapping of shoes on the ground as someone ran up to me. I got my bearings as quickly as possible and appraised the person who was currently proffering a hand to help me up. If I were to describe them in one word, it would be… soft. She had long, beige hair tied off into a long braid. She was wearing the uniform of the Officer's Academy underneath some sort of brown and blue shawl thing. I didn't quite know how to describe it. She was staring at me, with clear concern etched into her features. I quickly decided she wasn't a threat.

"Yeah, I'm– I'm fine," I managed to get out, my mind still reeling with abject confusion. "I was cleaning the floors on the second story, and I guess I didn't realize how slippery it had gotten…"

"Here– let me use some healing magic on you," the girl offered, her hand still extended. Limply, I reached out and up to make contact, realizing with chagrin that I must have gotten soap water all over myself in the tumble. No wonder I was so cold all of a sudden.

Healing spells in this world sure as heck felt better than downing a Red Potion tasted. It felt like a nice, warm embrace. Not a Cremia-tier hug, of course, but the thought was there. "Thanks," I said. "What's your name?"

"I'm Mercedes von Martritz," the newly-christened Mercedes introduced. She must have been a noble of the Empire or something– they all shared the middle name 'von', if I recalled correctly. "What's your name?"

"Link. Link Harkinian."

Does she have a Crest? I inquired.

Lamine, Katáktisi replied. So she was a noble… but I had thought that the Adrestian Empire only had the Crests of Seiros and the Four Saints. There must have been a story behind that, but I didn't care enough to delve further. Crests, schmests.

Thanks.

"It's very nice to meet you! Do you live at the monastery?"

"Yeah, I do. I have for about five months now. It's a bit awkward since I don't know anything about the teachings of the Church– I'm not native to Fodra, you see. But they give me room and board in exchange for upkeep in the monastery."

"I understand! I was actually praying to the goddess just now– I like to pray as soon as I wake up, because it's a lot quieter. If you have any questions about religion, you can ask me! I'd be happy to help!"

Huh. That wasn't a terrible idea. "Thank you, Mer–" Shoot, what was her name? Mercy? Maribelle?

Mercedes, Katáktisi supplied.

Right. Mercedes von Martritz.

I had thought it was Mercedes von Marbenz.

Why would you think that?

I don't entirely know.

"-cedes. And thank you for patching me up. I hate to cut this short, but the chapel floor isn't going to clean itself. Don't let me distract you from your prayers."

Mercedes said something back, but I wasn't listening. I was altogether focused on the mop as it danced across the floor. My mind was still racing. Another closed timeloop… If the moon had grown a face again and begun its descent, I was going to be furious.

I checked outside. No face.

Phew.

It seemed that the only topic anyone was interested in blabbing about was some guy named Jeralt. Jeralt this, Jeralt that. Apparently, he was the old Captain of the Knights of Seiros who disappeared twenty-odd years ago during some fire. Frankly, I didn't really care all that much. If he was really so important, I would have heard about this 'blade breaker' and his 'ashen demon' earlier than today.

I heard from one of the Golden Deer students that apparently, Jeralt's mercenaries defended Dimitri and the other two lords from a bunch of marauders. What had mercenaries and bandits been doing in Remire Village? And so close to Garreg Mach, too. It certainly wasn't a good look, although the continent wasn't exactly doing a wonderful job on that front anywhere. It didn't make it any better, but still.

Regardless of the circumstances, the bandits had succeeded on one front– the teacher they had initially hired supposedly ran off at the first sight of trouble. That left the Officer's Academy without a third instructor. Who would fill that void? My first thought was Tomas, the friendly librarian who was always patient with my incessant questions. I liked him. Then I thought of Jeritza, who clearly had the skill to teach anyone the blade. I respected him, but I would have preferred if I could just get my mitts on his darn mask. It was a nice mask and I wanted one like it. I collected a couple of masks while I was in Fhirdiad. They lacked the powers of the Terminian veneers I had once owned, and my smorgasbord of false faces was much smaller, but it brought me a small level of happiness. Masks in Faerghus, and Fodra in general, didn't have any inherent cultural meaning like they did in Termina, so I got a couple of weird looks from older folks, but I was twelve years old. I was largely exempt from such judgements.

Thank the Three.

"Have you no intention of changing your mind, Rhea?" Seteth was demanding. "Appointing a stranger– a child, no less!- as a professor of our esteemed academy is–"

"I have made my decision, Seteth," the archbishop interrupted. I wasn't trying to eavesdrop, but… when a clandestine conversation was being had between two Nabateans, I couldn't help but feel that I had to know what was going on. In addition, this raised further questions– neither Tomas nor Jeritza were going to supplant the role of professor? Was the new professor going to be this 'Jeralt' character? I had had the impression that he wasn't 'a child' by any stretch of the imagination. How very odd. "I know worrying comes naturally to you, but there is truly no need. That 'stranger' is Jeralt's flesh and blood, after all." Oh, so it wasn't Jeralt, but rather his progeny. Given that I had never met either of them, that seemed hardly helpful.

"I can't say that's all too comforting. How trustworthy is this Jeralt character? Is he not the man who went missing after the great fire twenty-one years ago?" I had to agree with Seteth– appointing some person you had never met before to be a professor on a moment's notice seemed hardly a good idea, regardless of their parentage. "I would remind you that Flayn is now here with us as well." His tone shifted. "I beg of you… please consider whether this is an unnecessary risk."

"Seteth," Rhea placated. "They have my trust. Let that be enough for you as well. More importantly, I have received a report from Shamir. I am increasingly concerned about a matter regarding our suspicious individual. We cannot ignore those who harbor ill will towards the church, especially if they are frequenting Garreg Mach." I felt slightly targeted by that statement.

"Rhea… For now, I will have faith that you are placing your trust with the utmost care. I pray that nothing occurs to shake that confidence," Seteth stated calmly, before turning away. I quickly made myself scarce. I didn't want to be caught listening in.

Hoo boy, is Link going to be angry when he realizes Byleth is the one causing the time travel… Short chapter, I know. I'm going to have much longer chapters once we really get into the thick of it.

Review please!

CuddlyManaki (AO3): At this point in the story, the relationship between Link and Katáktisi can basically be summed up by that vine that goes "Yo, what do you want to eat?" The souls of the innocent! "A bagel." No! "Two bagels."

Rubber Chicken With A Keyboard (AO3): Seteth is my favorite FE3H character and nobody can change my mind. Link's issues are definitely a slow burn, but he won't be in misery forever. (That's called foreshadowing.)

Backpack Bandit (FF): Good things come to those who wait.

AXCN (AO3): You're very welcome!

DarthFlores (FF): Something that I tried to do while writing is to capture the feel of Three Houses by sort of expressing its gameplay loop through the story. Ingame, the calendar system mediates combat time with support-building and training time. In CC, I tried to emulate that feeling by balancing out action scenes with Link's various interactions, whether that be with Katáktisi or with a FE character. To answer your question regarding Byleth, I couldn't decide whether to use male or female, so I flipped a coin and got tails. Girlleth it is.

Quarantine0 (FF): I'm glad you liked it!

HiIExist (FF): Thank you! And don't worry– when Demonic Beats start showing up, Link is going to be extra-prepared.