I'll apologize in advance, as a lot of the regular readers know, it's been a LONG time since I've updated. But I'm determined not to let this fic die. In the time that's passed, my writing style has changed, and I've fretted over trying to capture the same spirit, the same tone of this fic. It may take a few for me to get into the swing of things again.
So feel free to let loose your criticisms and insults!
It has now been two imperial years since the Catastrophe of Garreg Mach; however, I can confidently state the only catastrophe was the loss of Byleth Eisner and the annoyance of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus.
Though I am unaccustomed to using first names as an address, I feel as if he deserves to have his full name be transcribed to forever live on in Imperial history tomes. His… influence still lives on to today and shows no signs of waning any time soon.
The barren Holy Tomb did not cause the disappointment I thought it would, although I have to admit I found myself quite surprised to find it… empty.
Ms. Nevrand has created a scouting party, taking Her Majesty's literal words to heart.
"We'll search until the dirt and water are no more," Her Majesty was certain in her resolve.
Ms. Nevrand had chosen a select few from the pool of Empire soldiers to travel to ungodly distances, searching for any trace of Mr. Eisner. Of course, Emperor Edelgard would await her arrival as a widow upon a widow's peak, only to have them meet gazes upon Ms. Nevrand's return. It always ends the same: Ms. Nevrand would solemnly shake her head at Her Majesty, take a few days to prepare the next scouting party, and off she would go once again.
One particular instance surfaces in my memory that occurred but only a few new moons ago. Ms. Nevrand had returned with the news that she had encountered not only kingdom forces; but also a contingent of the Knights of Seiros on the outskirts of Goneril. Though I found it foolish that she ventured out of empire territory, I find it intriguing that King Dimitri and Rhea felt emboldened to do the same into the Leicester Alliance.
It was in an old, run-down pub she came face-to-face with her former friend and Knight of Seiros, Thunder Catherine. Apparently, some words had been exchanged, neither willing to cross blades just yet, but what was even more curious, she had let slip that they also searched for our former professor.
Is this why Rhea has stayed silent this whole time? She hopes to find the Enlightened One before us… perhaps she aims to make an example of him… or believes she can still coerce him to her side. I still lack enough intelligence to form an asserted guess at Rhea's intentions.
All the while, King Dimitri has inched onto our lands, enveloping what used to be the Western Church as well as Arundel. I try to understand Her Majesty's division of attention, but it has fallen to Duke Aegir Prime Minister, or more informally, Ferdinand to coordinate our counter-attacks as well as the mass refugee campaign.
The displaced empire citizens have taken to fleeing en-mass to Garreg Mach, being the closest imperial structure to their former homes. They come in droves daily, and we are left to witness the brutality of this war. It was not, but the other day that I was forced to step over a severed leg to make my way through the reception hall. Professor Manuela has been trying her best, but the more time she spends attempting to save one life, she loses two more. Yet the former opera singer takes each loss personally, often turning to the bottle to numb the events of the day.
After they are deemed ready and safe to travel, Duke Aegir Prime Minister has them transferred to Enbarr, where shelter has become scarce, and the streets are now lined with displaced refugees. Of course, the rebellions have begun. Some minor lords and peasants alike scream from the streets of Enbarr, Bergliez, Hevring, Nuvelle (the entire list would span across several pieces of parchment) as they voice their disgust with the piles of homeless while others protest Emperor Edelgard's mere existence.
King Dimitri has been quite the annoyance, and I've no doubt he has Rhea whispering in his ear with every attack they launch. Of course, neither seem to be concerned by the Agarthans' rapid movement and ability to hide or even what they might be plotting next. They only seem concerned with hanging Emperor Edelgard's head within their trophy room, perhaps as another tale to regale over a glass of wine.
As I reread my transcriptions thus far, I realize an overarching theme of silence. To date, Rhea has kept tight-lipped and most likely supported Dimitri from behind the curtain. And concerning the Leicester Alliance, they've yet to reply to any of our notices requesting his stance.
What game could they be playing? I find myself intrigued and terrified at the same time. As much as we all wish our professor could be here with his guiding voice and firm hand, I'm afraid it has become nothing but a fantasy at this point. The closer Dimitri grows, the more risk to Her Majesty's life as the frontline of the battle is but a stone's throw from Remire Village.
Speaking of Remire Village, Caspar von Bergliez, along with his cousins and father, have created a formidable barrier in an effort to cease Dimitri's advance. Lady Galatea, Lady Ordelia, Ms. Pinelli and Sir Rangeld (informally called Alois) often make round trips to and from the frontlines. I have to admire their courage and unflinching resolve as they re-enter the monastery on their steeds, bloodied and bruised with a thousand-meter stare in their eyes.
While I quietly wish I could join my compatriots and yearn for the days of our assigned teams, I know my place is beside Emperor Edelgard. I know it won't be long now, with as many refugees we allow into the monastery, that there will be an attempt on her life. I am fortunate that Ms. Arnault has taken it upon herself to increase her keenness and make herself more vigilant. We often take turns consuming the first bite from Her Majesty's plate, without her knowledge, to ensure her meals are appropriately prepared.
Besides Mr. Eisner, I had never known another soul besides my own that would risk their life for Her Majesty. Yet, with every bite, Ms. Arnault knows there's a very real chance that it might be her last, much to the dismay of Princess Mcneary. Though she does not approve of Ms. Arnault's risk-taking, she too, understands the direness of the situation.
It wasn't but half an imperial year ago that Her Majesty signed the official declaration of independence acknowledgment for all of Brigid. It has taken time to withdraw our own soldiers from their land, but I see the wisdom in this choice. It was a momentous decision, to say the least, as it could lead to our very demise.
Princess Mcneary has requested leave to return to her homeland in an attempt to rally more support for the empire, though I fear her energy may be wasted. They may very well hold so much disdain concerning their vassalage to the empire that a cohesive alliance may be out of our reach. If this were to be the case, we've lost valuable territory and able-bodied soldiers.
Through all of this chaos, it is almost as if I can feel eyes upon my being. No matter how many times I search my immediate area, I am unable to find the culprit. It has led to many sleepless nights as a dark shadow descends upon me. I know in my heart that the Agarthans are watching Fodlan tear itself apart in a civil war we never asked for. It feels as if we are mere pawns upon their board game, and I detest the thought.
I feel… useless regarding these faceless shadows as they always remain just out of sight. It feels as if no matter where I go, all I must do is reach my hand out to feel the cold, dark wisp of death-
No, I mustn't let my mind wander. Nothing shall break my resolve, and none shall make my courage waiver.
One grateful update I have from my first transcription: I have determined the note I found within the dining hall to be nothing but the ramblings of a lonely girl. Within the tightly folded parchment was a poem of sorts. Using the handwriting samples I obtained during my time at the Officers' Academy, it was easily matched to Lady Varley.
Her descriptions were vague at best, and in an effort to fill my mind with something besides the crushing feeling of helplessness, I studied her descriptions of the person she had created the ode for, and I have discovered only two could fit her vivid longing, and one is no longer with us.
Of course, Lady Varley must have written it before he had… merged with the being inside of him in order for the dark, almost blue hair characterization to fit. The other would be Ms. Nevrand. Neither are well-versed in vocalizing their innermost thoughts, and both struggle to show emotion upon their faces.
I cannot explain why I find Lady Varley's scripture… fascinating. I suppose it was merely a more pleasant mystery to unravel versus the darkness I currently find myself enveloped in.
I long for our school days, I find the passing imperial years have led to my own personality changing. Just before the last ethereal moon I had decided to sever my hair, lest a single purple braid.
I've never been one for fashion, but Ingrid had convinced me of the practicalities of having less for the enemy to grasp. Of course it was Petra that intertwined the cloth and beads into my single braid, she said it made me as fierce as a Brigid warrior.
Yeah, right.
The cowardly Bernie can barely go for patrols, the cowardly Bernie holes up in her room and chooses to wield a quill instead of her bow. The cowardly Bernie couldn't even muster the courage to meet Petra at the gates upon her return from Brigid.
I had to hear it from the plethora of refugee gossip that she brought no less than a thousand willing warriors with her.
What's happened to me?
I… used to feel braver than this. I used to be able to fill my quiver and follow the Black Eagles to any battlefront the church deployed us to. Of course, every encounter enshrouded my heart and shook my nerves, but I could nock my bow and eye the battlefield with a single mission: protect my comrades.
My comrades. Of course, that was it.
The professor was more than a mere teacher, he was my comrade… or rather, ours. His voice would soothe my shaken nerves. His mere presence would ensure the accuracy of any arrow I released from my grip. I recoil at the thought of him seeing me in this state. I would be a disgrace.
"Bernie…" I could hear his voice and picture him towering over me. "You're better than this."
Somehow, the disapproval of my professor stung more than any words my father would hurl at me. My father is a mere fading shadow, especially after the events of the Holy Tomb.
I can't believe how small the world was back then… before the academy. I thought the only thing that mattered was to be worthy of marriage, to bear crest-born children… to bring honor to my family and finally earn praise from the small, frail man that would call himself my father. But I would gladly toss the man aside if only to see our professor's smile again. His praise never came at a cost, he offered it freely as long as we did the best we could.
It's not only me that is stuck beneath the weight of his ghost. Lady Shamir is but a shell of herself in the nearly four imperial years that have passed. There was a time I believed her hard exterior to be cracking. If I close my eyes hard enough, I can remember the days I could see a coy smile begin to form or a dry attempt at a jest. Of course, that was also back when the world was right. When the professor would stand next to her and egg her on.
But her cracks have sealed. More than that, she's layered additional sealants over them, more than likely in an attempt to never let her soft exterior show again. I have to admit, it's a contagious feeling, as I also long to never feel pain again.
However, I'd have to be even stupider than my father believed if I thought hiding from the world would deflect any pain, any sorrow.
Yet here I am, once again at my desk scribbling away as if my words will somehow right the world again.
A loud knock on the door.
I don't even need to throw a guess to know who stands on the other side.
"Bernie?" Leonie's voice called through the thick wood that separated them. "The sun is setting and we need to get to the cafeteria."
I can't help but let a soft smile form from my lips as I hear the door open. It's been a daily ritual as of late. Caspar and Leonie come to my quarters at dusk to ensure I eat my only meal of the day. But before that, they are insistent to inform me of their contributions to my tome, which is now not a single volume, but a trilogy, and I suspect it will continue growing.
"We've pushed the Kingdom back to Gideon," Caspar ran his gloved fingers through his pale blue hair, pushing it to the side, "it wasn't easy."
"Ground is ground," Leonie took a deep breath. I couldn't help but admire her long, orange hair. Though she never fussed over it, she tied the ends and kept it wrapped around her neck. "It'll just be nice to have some breathing room."
"D-do you guys…" My words choked in my throat as I abruptly stopped. It was a stupid question.
Leonie and Caspar remained silent for several agonizing moments, they even exchanged a glance or two.
"Do we what?" Caspar finally prodded as he furrowed his brows in what appeared to be concern.
It was hard. Every time I think about my question, it burns a hole in my heart… no, more than that, it tears apart my very being. Almost as if I were reaching for a distant star in the sky, no matter how much I elongate my arm, I will never reach it. I will never be able to bring that star back down to Fodlan to hold it close to my chest. I will never feel its warmth.
"Bernie?" Leonie leaned over to bring her face closer to mine. "What is it?"
She had a way of pulling words out of me, they all did, all of her classmates.
Well, former classmates.
"Do y-you guys ever wish…" I swallow the lump in my throat and try to press on, "that t-things could just be… s-simple again?"
Simple. It was such a gross under justification of the word. What she truly wanted to know is if her friends felt the same as she, if they longed for the days of no war, no crying oneself to sleep only to allow the pillow to dry during the day.
"Ha!"
The unexpected loud laugh started me, I could feel myself recoil into my chair.
"Of course I do," Leonie's grin widened from ear to ear. "I miss the days of whacking each other with sticks just to steal pebbles." Her eyes dropped to the ground as she carefully contemplated her next words, "but we had to trade in our wood for steel and our pebbles for resources."
It seemed I didn't need to provide any more explanation, her friends knew exactly what she had meant.
"W-we've… grown, haven't we?" I winced at my words. I would be naive to think that time could stop, only our professor was capable of manipulating such events. But the thought of my friends not being… who they were, well, it frightens me.
"Yeah," Leonie's tone was low and defeated. "Unfortunately, we had to in light of what happened. Except for Caspar though, he's the exception."
"And whaddya mean by that?" Caspar planted his hands on both his hips as he stared at Leonie accusingly.
"Well, you're about the same height as you were," Leonie lifted her flattened hand to Caspar's head as if she were estimating his height. "And seriously, you only push your hair to the side now instead of spiking it up. You'd think after four imperial years you'd be a little more creative than that. At least I grew my hair out."
Caspar couldn't help but to shoot her a sly, mischievous grin, "you call… that growing your hair out?" He waved his hand in her direction, focusing particularly around her head. "If I didn't know any better I'd have thought you cut a horse's tail to tie to your armor."
I knew better than to interject into their conversation. It already descended into what everyone's been calling "flanter." I have to admit, I've never heard the word before Dorothea coined the term and I wouldn't dare try to define it by my own conclusions, but I know when their "flanter" has started.
"Sorry if I don't keep up with my appearance," Leonie swiveled her body to face him more broadly, "it's a little hard when you're trying to free all of Fodlan. Besides, there's no orange horses around here."
This may go on for hours, as Dorothea once put it: "perhaps their exchanges are a poor substitution for the pent up emotion." I'm still not sure what she meant by it, but by the sounds of their rising voices, they had a LOT of pent up emotion.
However, Leonie and Caspar's exchange only proved my point. The jovial days of our youth are over. In each of us resides a darkness, a shadow that we cannot escape. Even in their insults that they hurl at each other, there appears to be no intensity as there once was.
The same could be said for the rest of her friends.
Except Emperor Edelgard.
The Adrestrian Emperor was filled with intensity. So much so that I've seen her collapse on the floors of the Great Hall and I don't think there's a soul in Garreg Mach that hasn't witnessed the same. Usually it was Lady Shamir that would grab her by her bicep and not-so-gingerly pick her up. I was never able to make out the words the former knight would share with the Emperor, but it usually resulted in Edelgard dusting herself off and carrying on as if nothing happened.
I can't imagine what it must be like for her. The Holy Tomb has long since been cleared of the rubble, yet the search continued. The search for him. I am no doctor, but even I would imagine that had our professor… fallen, there would be some evidence of his body.
Emperor Edelgard made perfectly clear several ethereal moons ago that the search would continue, and not a single former classmate objected.
Lady Shamir still mounts her horse dutifully every few days to lead a combination of Adrestrian Knights and Brigid Warriors to their next location. Whether or not she has done much in regards to the war with the Holy Kingdom remains an enigma for me, as each time she returns her attire is free from blood, her skin free from wounds. The only thing in common from her trips is her solemn look and the to and fro shaking of her head to the Emperor upon galloping within the gates.
Caspar had said the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus had fallen back to Gideon, more than likely due to the Duke Aegir Prime Minister Ferdinand that the war hadn't consumed us all as Emperor Edelgard's thoughts clearly lay in the past.
"Bernie?"
A soft voice interrupted my thoughts like a whistling sword slicing through the air.
"Did you hear me?" Leonie narrowed her eyes as she stared at me expectantly.
"U-um," I feel my cheeks redden. I had been so enveloped in my thoughts that once again, I pushed out the world. "No, I-I'm sorry."
"We don't want to be left with scraps," Leonie gave her a nod. "C'mon, let's get some grub."
I knew better than to argue. The more words that escape my mouth the better the chance that Leonie and Caspar would devolve into one of their… "flanters."
I only gave her a weak nod as I laid my quill on my desk.
Byleth instinctively raised his arm to shield his head. His eyes were shut so tightly an ache developed in the back of his head.
He waited several more seconds, expecting the impact that he knew was coming. The great stone ceiling that was meant to end his existence.
Nothing.
Wait… wasn't I on the throne? Byleth suddenly became aware that if he had enough time to think, the impact must have missed him. He finally mustered the courage to open his left eye, but was immediately blinded by a light.
Byleth opened his palm that had been clenched into a fist to block his eyes before attempting that again.
"The… sun?" His voice was coarse, as if he hadn't spoken for generations.
What happened to the columns… the ceiling? He decided against using his voice again, after all, he was unsure if any Knights or Agarthans remained in his immediate proximity.
El!
The thought struck him through the chest as any steel sword would and suddenly Byleth shot up. It was only then he realized he had been laying down.
Dirt… no sand. He quickly assessed his surroundings as he let his instincts swell and take control.
The land that surrounded him appeared devoid of life. Half stone walls stood silently as a strong breeze created a river of never ending sand, eroding the walls one molecule at a time. In the distance, he could make out beige silhouettes, motionless. They stared at him accusingly, even from their distance he could feel the statues' gazes passing judgment.
Byleth immediately knew where he was, it was familiar and oddly comforting.
Zanado.
It was never his home. He never had a home. But the time he had spent with his phantom twin had taught him that they were one in the same. If this was Sothis' home, then of course it would feel comforting to him.
"One in the same," a voice rang in his head. "Always."
If Byleth had a heartbeat, it would've stopped. The voice in his head was not his own… it was not a thought, it was…
"Did you think you could be rid of me so easily?"
Byleth's breaths quickened, he parted his lips to speak but was suddenly afraid it was all a hallucination of a dead man.
Yes, that was it. The ceiling had collapsed in the Holy Tomb and now this is what the afterlife deemed worthy of him.
"We are far from dead, young one," the girlish voice chuckled softly. There was a weak infliction to her tone, as if it came from someone who longed for sleep, for relief. "I swear, what would you do without me? Wander the sands pretending to be a ghost? Any passerbyers would surely take you for a madman!"
"We're… alive?" Byleth swallowed hard, his chest tightened around his lungs. He no longer cared if this was a delusion that ferried him to death, he could only smile at the voice he missed with his very being.
He was whole again.
"We are," Sothis replied, "and we're home."