Hey folks, it's been a while. Life has caught up with me and I was busy with study and work but finally, I have the time to finish this chapter. Originally, this chapter was planned to be longer and resolve the conflict between Byleth and Bylass. However, I decided to split it in two since it would flow better. Additionally, we are getting into the main arc so I want to give our main couple a moment of peace before the storm finally hits. And be prepared- the story is going to get more intense from now on with more twists awaiting.
Until next time!
Bylass stood at the edge of a ruined landscape, her senses overwhelmed by the hazy, unnatural feel of a dream. The world around her was distorted and twisted as if it were made of smoke and mirrors. She knew, even as her feet crunched on the broken stone beneath her, that she was not truly in this place—just another night of seeing him. The man with silver hair. Every dream had been the same until now: a bloody battlefield, filled with carnage and death, where blades clashed, and bodies fell at his hands. But tonight, the air was different, thick with a strange, oppressive silence that seemed to hang like a heavy fog over the scene.
The once bustling field was now eerily still, with no screams of soldiers or war cries to be heard. The heavy clouds above pressed down on the land, suffocating it with their thick weight and casting everything in a dull, cold light. Before she stretched the remnants of a grand city, but now it lay in ruins with shattered pillars and crumbled stone arches. The twisted vines that snaked through the wreckage seemed to suck the life from the earth like veins choking a body. It was a haunting sight, a somber reminder of what once stood tall and proud.
Through the devastation and rubble, he stood resolute. The silver-haired man was a lone figure in the midst of chaos. He stood stock-still, not raising a hand or brandishing a weapon as he often would in battle. His usually wild hair now hung listlessly over his broad shoulders. His head was tilted downwards, revealing a hint of defeat in his stance. His hands dangled softly at his sides, devoid of their usual strength and purpose. And there, partially buried into the ground beside him, lay his once prized sword - now forgotten and discarded. But it was his eyes that spoke volumes. Hollow and vacant, they held no trace of the fierce determination that used to burn within them. All that remained was an emptiness as if he had lost everything that gave him purpose.
A sudden burst of emerald light shattered the darkness, illuminating a tall woman with flowing green hair and a billowing blue dress. Despite her ethereal beauty, there was an unmistakable air of sorrow about her as she stepped forward. Her feet barely made a sound against the rubble-covered ground as she closed in on him, her movements deliberate and cautious. But it was her voice that truly conveyed the depths of her despair - broken and filled with sorrow, it pierced through the silence like a dagger through the glass.
"I never meant to make you suffer like this." Her voice was low and pleading. "If I had known how it would end, I would never have put you through ever again. I thought... it would bring you the peace you've always been searching for."
The silver-haired man remained still, his voice cold and distant. "Peace?" He gestured towards the barren landscape, punctuated by jagged glaciers and an endless, cloudy sky. "Does this look like peace to you?"
"This is not what I wanted." The woman's voice trembled. "Those children, you missed them, didn't you? I thought if I gave you the chance to see them again, to relive those moments, even if they were fleeting, you might be happy again."
The silver-haired man's lips twitched, a faint flicker of emotion that quickly died. His eyes were cold and distant as he spoke, his voice devoid of any feeling. "Happy?" he repeated, the word almost a mockery.
He paused, his eyes drifting over the desolate landscape "What is happiness, anyway? It's just another illusion—another fleeting moment that slips through your fingers, like sand. It never lasts. It never means anything."
"…."
His eyes drifted toward the woman, staring at her accusingly. "But what truly disgusts me," he raised his voice despite its hollowness "is that you're no better than your daughter."
"I didn't mean…."
"Didn't mean to?" He cut her off, taking a slow, deliberate step toward her, though there was no real menace in his movements—just the cold, mechanical actions of a puppet following an unseen script. "You, who claimed to have given me another chance, when all you did was trap me in a nightmare I couldn't escape. And your daughter… she was no different. A treacherous snake hiding behind a mask of false benevolence, spreading nothing but deceit and lies to this world that she swore to protect."
The woman faltered, her mouth opening, but no words came as if the shame had already eaten her up as she avoided his eyes.
"Like mother, like daughter," he said, his tone as flat as ever, devoid of the venom his words once held. "All those lives, all that bloodshed... it was just another part of your game, wasn't it?" He stared at her blankly, as if looking through her. "But I suppose … that doesn't matter anymore."
"I didn't ask her to do that," The woman said pleadingly. "I didn't know. If I had known earlier, I would have stopped her..."
"Would you?" His question hung in the air, void of any warmth or inflection. "It doesn't matter anymore. All of it. This eternal conflict. This eternal suffering." His words were as devoid of life as his eyes, a monotonous drone that echoed the emptiness within him. "It keeps screaming at me, saying that there's nothing worth protecting in this meaningless world anymore. Am I correct, Sothis?"
Bylass's mouth fell open as the words tumbled out of his lips, a waterfall of emotion pouring forth. But before she could even begin to process what was happening, "Sothis" gasped, her eyes widening with a profound sense of sorrow.
"That's not true," Sothis choked out, her hands clutching at the fabric over her heart, fingers quivering. "I didn't... I didn't ask for any of this. Didn't want you to hurt like this..." She blinked back tears, her voice wavering with raw emotion. "And I know it might be hard for you to believe me right now, but when I told you that I wanted you to carve your own way in life... I really meant it."
"Suffer?" The silver-haired man remained still, his piercing gaze locked onto her, unrelenting. "You have no idea what suffering is. Not after you took them from me."
"I only did what I had to." She looked away in shame and spoke weakly. "But you must understand that they were never meant to exist. For it is the will of fate- one we cannot fight against no matter how unfair it sounds."
A strange stillness settled over the silver-haired man like a heavy blanket, weighing down any trace of emotion on his unreadable face. For a long moment, not even a breath escaped from him. The silence was palpable and suffocating. Then, finally, his lips parted, and his voice emerged, barely audible above a whisper.
"Never meant to exist? You're telling me my family was some kind of cosmic mistake that had to be set right? That their existences didn't matter because they weren't part of your precious order?"
"You've got it all wrong!" Sothis cried out, her voice choking on the words. The salty tears raced down her cheeks, each one a testament to her heartache. "I never wished for this outcome. Nor did I try to take them away from you." She paused; her gaze distant as though she were looking at something far beyond the physical realm. "But this world...this intricate tapestry of destiny...it demands balance." Her voice was barely a whisper now, heavy with the weight of her divine responsibility. "And as the Progenitor God...it's my solemn duty to maintain that peace."
A long, heavy silence filled the space between them. The silver-haired man's eyes narrowed, and his lips pursed as he processed her words, as though they were a bitter pill to swallow. Suddenly, without warning, he took a bold step toward her. His previously vacant, hollow gaze now held a flicker of something dark and intense, like a distant flame caught in a gust of wind. But just as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared, leaving behind the same cold, emotionless mask that had been there before. A chill crept down her spine as she realized the depth of this man's inner turmoil and the power that lay beneath his stoic exterior.
"Balance?" he asked flatly there was something else laced behind it. "You speak of balance... as if that word makes all of this justifiable. As if it explains away every loss, everything that was ripped from me." His voice remained eerily calm, though his eyes still held the faintest glimmer of anger, barely restrained. "You took them from me. Not because it was the will of fate. But because… it was your decision alone."
"I didn't have a choice" She shouted desperately. "Everything I did was to keep you safe, to give you a chance to live, even if it was just a fragment of what you lost."
"Safe?" The silver-haired man's gaze remained unblinking, and for a moment, something like a crack appeared in his voice, though it quickly faded. Do you think I'm safe? That this... is living?" He paused as if even the effort of speaking had become too much. "Everything I cared about... was taken. Everything I believed in... turned to ash. And all the choices I made... were never mine."
His eyes darkened for a moment, and his voice dipped, turning colder. "And the man you knew?" he continued, his tone lowering into something closer to a whisper. "He's gone. For he was nothing but a puppet—dancing on strings pulled by his so-called masters." His gaze sharpened, just for an instant, before it fell back into its detached emptiness. "But now... I see it. The truth. The one you've kept hidden from me."
Sothis's breath caught in her throat, her eyes wide with shock, as if she knew what was coming.
"No…"
"Yes," he continued, his tone low but filled with a terrifying certainty. "Every battle. Every loss. Every step I took. They all led me to this moment. Just as it's always meant to be."
"At what cost? All these destructions. All these bloodsheds. Is it not enough for you?"
"No," he said softly, his voice almost lost to the wind that stirred his hair. His gaze seemed distant, as though he were looking at something far beyond her, something she could not see. "It's never enough."
He paused again, his expression vacant, but there was a flicker—so brief it was barely perceptible. Something beneath the surface. "There is something else... beyond this meaningless war," he murmured; his voice flat but carrying an unsettling weight. "A truth you can't understand. And it has called to me. As it has always been."
His eyes flicked to Sothis, but there was no recognition in them—only the faintest hint of something far darker, like a shadow waiting in the depths of his hollow gaze. "That I was chosen," he continued, his tone devoid of emotion, yet the words seemed to echo with meaning. "Everything I did... everything I lost... was for this moment. To reclaim what was rightfully mine from the beginning."
"And when it comes," the silver-haired man whispered, his voice barely above a breath, "there will be no need for balance… or destiny."
He turned his gaze back to the ruined landscape, his expression as lifeless as ever, but something dark lingered beneath his words. "In the end, everything is bounded to Him."
He raised his head slightly, just enough for Sothis to catch a glimpse of his eyes—eyes that were once sharp and filled with life. Now, they were empty, and cold, reflecting nothing but the desolation around him.
"And this world…. They'll all come to know it soon enough."
A sudden gust of wind whipped through the air as a large, black wing materialized behind him. Feathers drifted down from the sky like delicate snowflakes. Fire erupted from his blade, casting an intense glow that illuminated his determined expression. Slowly, he raised the sword, the flames dancing and swaying with each movement. As he spoke, his voice sent shivers down Bylass' spine, every word dripping with a haunting power that would stay with her forever.
"For death is not the end. It is only the beginning."
27th of Great Tree Moon, 1180
Bylass jolted awake, her chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. The soft, pale light of dawn bathed the room in a hazy glow, but her heart continued to race as if she were still standing amongst the ruins of that city. She pressed a trembling hand to her forehead, feeling the sticky dampness of sweat against her skin as the storm raged within her.
"It was him again." She thought, running a hand through her tangled hair. Bylass sat up in bed, heart pounding, as the dream replayed in her mind. This time, his voice seemed to echo off the walls, and she could almost feel his presence beside her. She couldn't shake off the last words he had said, they lingered in her mind like a haunting melody.
"Death is not the end. It's only the beginning!"
"You're wrong!" She muttered, feeling surprised at herself but the Professor quickly brushed it off and tried to regain her focus despite the turmoil inside her.
"You saw it too, didn't you?" Bylass asked aloud as Sothis appeared next to her.
"I did!" Sothis nodded and answered with a troubled expression. "That dream… It was quite unexpected."
"Unexpected would be an understatement," Bylass replied bluntly as she looked at Sothis. "The cloudy sky. The desolate land. And the city… It was destroyed. A place I've never seen and yet it feels familiar."
Bylass leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "And the man wasn't even fighting this time. He just seemed so shattered and... miserable. Especially when he looked at you."
Sothis fell silent for a moment before she continued hesitantly. "He spoke of betrayal. Of lies and treachery that destroyed his life. And there was a deep anger in him, a bitterness that ran deeper than anything I've ever seen. But no matter how hard I try, I can't recall any of this."
"He clearly knew you, didn't he?" Bylass pointed out. "And I heard your name as well. Does it ring a bell to you?"
"It should but it doesn't." Her voice held an edge of desperation. "It's as though something—no, someone—has taken those memories from me, erased them from my mind. But why? And how? I don't understand any of this."
"He seemed to believe you wronged him somehow," Bylass said thoughtfully. "But you don't remember any of this? Not even the slightest?"
"I don't. But the way he spoke was as if we had a history as if we were connected in some way. Yet, it's completely missing from my memory. " She shook her head, frustration flickering in her eyes. "And I had a daughter too? Argh, my head is exploding now."
Bylass sighed, knowing this would lead to nowhere. "Whatever it is, these dreams must have some meaning behind them as if they are trying to tell us something. Though I doubt the library would provide us any lead about that desolate land, it is still better than nothing."
"Speaking of the library, have you not looked around yet?"
Bylass widened her eyes and looked around as realizations began to kick in. She was back to her room now. The Professor could feel a slight throbbing in her temples as she massaged them, trying to make sense of what had happened. As she looked around the room, her gaze fell upon a small table near the window. On it sat a steaming bowl of stew and a crinkled piece of parchment. Her curiosity was piqued, and Bylass walked over and picked up the note, feeling the worn texture of the paper under her fingertips. She unfolded it and immediately recognized the neat handwriting.
"There is food on the table. I made sure to not add too much spice so don't worry. And try not to get yourself exhausted next time.
Also… I'm sorry. For all the things that I said. I never meant to hurt you. Not once.
I don't know if you'll ever forgive me, and maybe I don't deserve it. But I need to say what I should've said before. I want to walk this path with you. Together.
Byleth."
Bylass stared at the note, her eyes scanning the words again as if she were being possessed. She knew he was not one to mince words, but this? This was different. The deep sense of apology, the raw honesty in his words, and the gentle touch of his care... It made something flicker inside her, something she couldn't quite name.
So honest.
Her mouth curved upward as she watched the note fondly.
And so clueless too.
A small, content smile curved her lips as she carefully folded the note and placed it back in her pocket. Her hand then reached for the steaming bowl of stew, the tantalizing aroma of herbs and spices filling her senses. As the warm liquid slid down her throat, she felt a comforting familiarity, the same warmth that had engulfed her ever since she first met him. With each mouthful, she could feel something stirring within her- a sense of peace and belonging. But as she finished the last bite, her mind drifted back to his words and a tight knot slowly formed in her chest.
It is I who does not deserve your kindness.
She had always known how he struggled with the weight of his past and the burdens placed on him. And yet, despite that knowledge…
I should not have pushed you back then. Not like that.
Her chest tightened with a sudden pang of guilt. Why had she not seen this sooner? On the first day coming to this Monastery. The day when he saw his Crest. And the expression of pain when he remembered his mother's death. He wasn't ready for it and yet she kept pushing him, thinking it would help him but all she did was to make everything worse for him. Bylass shook her head in frustration, her grip on the edge of the table tightening as she stood. She searched her mind for answers, desperate to find a way to make things right. But one thing was clear.
She wanted to apologize to him.
And she would do anything to earn his trust again.
Her eyes flickered toward the door, a sense of resolve settling over her. She needed to find a way to express what words couldn't, something that would show her sincerity too. Her mind began to turn as an idea hit her mind. A gift. Without another thought, the former mercenary stepped out of her room, the cool hallway air brushing against her as she walked with quiet determination. Bylass didn't know exactly what she would find but at least it was a start.
And hopefully, he would like it, even if he never accepted her apology.
The soft golden light bathed the monastery courtyard, washing over the quiet stone paths and casting gentle shadows beneath the trees. Voices drifted through the air, laughter, and conversation rising and falling like distant waves, painting a scene of peace and calm. Yet, on a lone bench, Byleth sat, unmoved by the liveliness around him. The world seemed to hum with life, yet he remained apart as if sealed in silence only he could feel.
In his hands rested a well-worn journal, its leather cover polished smooth with age, each crease and mark familiar to his touch. His fingers traced its edges absently, over and over, as if the texture could give him the words he so needed. This small, unassuming object felt impossibly heavy in his hands, filled with the weight of things he had yet to say. The memories, regrets, and promises bound within pressed against him, urging him forward even as he held himself back.
A faint breeze rustled the leaves above, their soft whispers a gentle encouragement to rise and to act. But he stayed seated, his gaze fixed on the journal, his fingers tracing lines and indentations he'd long since memorized. How many times had he told himself he would find her, speak to her? The words had formed so clearly in his mind, a resolve he thought unbreakable. Yet now, faced with the simplicity of action, it felt fragile, brittle under the weight of his hesitation.
What am I even doing here?
The question lingered in his mind, a quiet, unrelenting weight pressing down on his chest. His fingers tightened around the journal, knuckles pale against the worn leather, as if gripping it alone could steady him. He sat motionless, staring at the closed pages, as though they held answers he couldn't find within himself. Each breath felt heavier than the last, a subtle resistance against the vulnerability waiting just beyond his hesitation.
He looked down at the journal again, the soft sunlight casting faint shadows on its worn surface. He had prepared this a long time ago—a collection of thoughts, moments, and memories. Each page was a piece of himself, written down when he couldn't bring himself to imagine what would be left of him when he lost those precious memories again. Especially the ones that they created together.
Why can't I bring myself to do this?
It should have been simple or so he thought. An apology and a gift to represent his sincerity. The words were simple, but they sat heavy in his throat. He wanted to meet her, to say those words before their friendship could not be salvaged. And yet, something held him back telling him that it would never be enough for all the pain he caused her. I'm sorry. The words were simple, but they sat heavy in his throat. He wanted to say them, needed to say them, but something held him back. What if she doesn't accept it? What if this journal, this apology, wasn't enough to bridge the distance he had created?
"I am a coward." He muttered weakly and held the journal tightly.
"Professor… I mean, Instructor." A voice cut through the stillness, revealing a brown hair girl with a hat. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine." The Assistant replied calmly and put the journal away. "Do you need anything from me, Dorothea?"
"No, I just want to ask if you are fine. Though I can't tell if you are angry or tired, I can see that something is troubling you."
"…" He looked at her with a stoic expression as Dorothea began slowly.
"Mind if I sit here?" Byleth didn't look at her directly but nodded, still glancing aimlessly ahead.
She took a seat beside him but kept a respectful distance which surprised him. Despite being here recently, he had heard many things about her. Dorothea Arnault. The legendary songstress. The treasure of the Empire. And the siren of the Monastery.
Just like someone he knew a long time ago.
"So, what is troubling you, Instructor?" She said with a small smile. "I know it's not my business, but I've noticed you've seemed distracted lately. And well, I guess you could say I also went through something similar. Maybe you could use a bit of advice?"
Byleth blinked, slightly taken aback. He stared at her incredulously while the former songstress tried to remain composed, unsure if she crossed a line. However, the Assistant seemed to be less guarding and distrustful and sighed as he spoke with his usual calm demeanor.
"I've been meaning to speak with someone." He stopped before continuing. "But I'm not sure how to approach it."
Her eyebrows lifted slightly. "Ah, I see. You're talking about Professor Eisner, aren't you?"
"…" He said nothing and simply nodded as Dorothea continued.
"I may not know her well, or you, but I've seen the way you both look out for each other. And you seem like the type to keep things to yourself but maybe it's alright to share a little with her. You are both here for a reason, after all."
"I know." Byleth nodded and spoke hesitantly. "There is something I need to tell her. And yet, I can't seem to find the courage when it should have been simple."
Dorothea folded her arms thoughtfully. "Oh, I see. You really care about her, don't you?"
Byleth nodded as his eyes softened. "More than anything." He paused before continuing with a soft voice. "I want her to be by my side. I want us to face whatever comes next together. But even so…"
"You know, sometimes the hardest part isn't making the decision… it's saying what you truly want to tell. And that can be… a little terrifying, right?"
"Yes." He hummed quietly. "It feels like that I've been lying to myself all these times. That I need her. And I'm not used to that."
"Instructor, there is nothing wrong with needing someone in your life." Dorothea replied with a smile. ". In fact, I think it's one of the bravest things a person can admit. To let someone else in, to show them that you're not as strong as everyone thinks. It's beautiful, right?"
He looked at her as his stoic expression softened. "I've told myself this so many times, that it's okay to let her in. But when it's the time to face her, I don't have that same determination anymore."
Dorothea chuckled softly. "Welcome to the reality of life, Instructor. None of us are as perfect as we try to be. And if you ask me, I'm not perfect despite the praises people give me." She glanced down and spoke with a strained voice. "They see me as the legendary diva. The treasure of the Empire. The one who has it all together. But if I'm being honest, sometimes I feel like I'm just playing a role, doing what everyone expects of me. The truth is, I've had my share of doubts, and fears too."
"You seem so certain though." A flicker of surprise in his eyes. "Like you know what you want and how to get it."
"I suppose I've learned how to make it look that way. But inside, it's not always so clear. Just like you, I sometimes hesitate, even when I know what I want. And with the people who mean the most to us. Well, it's often hardest to tell them what we truly feel, isn't it?" Byleth nodded slowly as she continued.
"With people we care about... there's this fear that they'll see parts of us we'd rather keep hidden. But, Instructor, maybe that's what makes those connections real. When you show those pieces of yourself, it's a way of telling them you trust them. And that trust? It's more valuable than any mask you could wear."
"You might be right," he said, his voice softer than before. "I've spent so long lying to myself, to escape the truth that I am nothing but a coward."
"Coward? I don't think so. If anything, I think you are brave, Instructor. Judging by how honest you've been ever since we talked. If Professor Eisner means as much to you as I think she does, then being honest with her might be the best way to honor that."
He fell silent as if weighing her words until a faint, genuine smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Thank you, Dorothea. For your advice."
Dorothea chuckled, a playful glint in her eyes. "Happy to be of service, Instructor. Sometimes even a young songstress like me can offer a bit of insight." She paused and looked at him with curiosity. "You know, this sounds strange, but have we met before?"
Byleth blinked and looked at her incredulously. "I was about to ask you the same thing," he replied slowly. "You remind me of someone I knew… a long time ago."
Dorothea raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Do tell, Professor …. sorry, Instructor. Was she, perhaps, another songstress?"
"No, but she was charming, like you." His voice grew distant. "She often talked about her plans to marry a rich noble, someone kind and refined. "But in the end, she ended up with someone completely different from what she'd imagined-a grumpy, sharp-tongued swordsman who never minced his words to anyone."
Dorothea laughed. "A grumpy swordsman, you say? Doesn't sound like the charming prince she dreamed of. But maybe… that's just how life goes, isn't it? Sometimes we find what we need in the most unexpected places."
Byleth nodded, a flicker of a smile on his lips. "Yes. And despite her talk of marrying a noble, she found someone who saw her for who she was, past her dreams and expectations. In a way, she was happier than she would've been with anyone else."
Dorothea looked at him thoughtfully. "Well Instructor, maybe in the end, that girl found her happiness wherever she is. And perhaps, you may find yours soon. If only you are not so clueless."
"What was that?" He asked with the same monotone, causing her to giggle.
"It's nothing. But good luck and I hope you will find the courage to meet her. Just don't keep her waiting too long, alright?"
"I'll keep that in mind. It was nice talking to you. I will see you around then." The Black Eagle bowed and quickly departed, leaving Byleth alone with his thoughts until he finally stood up and left the yard with determination in his eyes.
There was no room for running anymore. For he was done lying to himself.
And hopefully, she would accept the apology even if he did not deserve it.