"So," Sylvain said aloud in a matter-of-fact manner while sitting at the edge of his bed, his fingers laced in between his legs as he mulled over the news Mimir had delivered to him. "I guess my older brother finally went off the deep end, huh?"

Across from him, Mimir's head sat at the edge of his desk where Kratos had left him so that the two could talk privately, and the Norse god let out a reluctant sigh. "It would seem so, lad. I am sorry to have been the bearer of bad news. I was hoping that we would already be past this after what had happened with young Ashe and Lonato. You and he obviously deserve better than this."

Sylvain couldn't help but chuckle at his last statement. "Oh, don't misunderstand, Professor. Miklan has always been a piece of garbage. I just never thought he'd go so far as to steal the Relic."

Mimir hummed. "So, I take it you've no problem joining the rest of us on this mission then?"

Sylvain leaned back slightly, arms resting on his knees as he shook his head. "Nope, no problem at all, Professor." A smirk crept across his face. "In fact, I'm kind of looking forward to seeing the look on Miklan's face when he realizes I'm part of the group sent to take him down." Despite the cheeky grin, Mimir could see Sylvain's eyes betraying him with a look of bitterness.

"Tell me, lad." The head spoke after a brief pause. "What led your brother down such a path? I know the history of House Gautier well enough, but I'd like to hear it from you. Clearly, there is more to this than just a stolen relic or a bad apple in the family."

The redhead's smirk faded. Clearly, he wasn't expecting the professor to ask about his past relationship with his brother directly, and he found himself reluctantly answering the question as he clenched his hands tighter together. "Well, what is there to say? He didn't have a Crest, but I did. And despite being the eldest, everything under the Gautier name was to be mine instead of his, and he's resented me for that ever since."

"Aye, but surely that kind of animosity towards him doesn't just bloom overnight, right?" Mimir told his student. "Cutting ties and burning bridges with family is one thing. But to be so openly accepting of putting your own kin down is... well, that speaks to something much deeper, lad."

Upon realizing that he'd given away more than he had intended, Sylvain gave an uncharacteristic scowl, standing abruptly from his bed. He turned his back to Mimir, placing a hand on his hip, staring at the floor. The room fell into an uncomfortable silence as Mimir waited patiently, giving the young heir time to gather his thoughts. After what felt like an eternity, Sylvain finally let out a deep, resigned sigh and said in a low voice.

"How could I possibly respect him? How could I ever feel anything but hatred for someone who made every second of my life a living hell?" He shook his head frustratingly. "Ever since I was old enough to become aware of what was happening, I was subject to all kinds of abuse from him; all while my father sat back and let it happen. Or at least, until he realized Miklan left me on the side of a mountain during the winter for two days before he finally did something about it."

Sylvain turned back to face Mimir, his expression softer now but filled with a weary sadness. "And yet, despite all of that," he began, "I don't resent him. Not really. I used to, but… I realize now that if our positions had been reversed, I could've ended up just like him. Hating everything, feeling like I was cheated out of what should've been mine." He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze dropping to the floor. "If there's anyone I could blame for all of this, it would be my father. But whatever I feel about all of that, it doesn't change what's happening now. Miklan made his choices, and now he's going to face the consequences. When I face him in battle, I will not harbor a single ounce of pity towards him because he deserves nothing more than what's coming."

From atop his desk, Mimir seemed pleased with his answer. "Aye, that he probably does. Though, I am curious. How does your old man treat you? Given what I understand about the Gautier territory bordering the lands of Sreng, I'd have presumed someone like him would've been harder on you, knowing what kind of threats lie just beyond those deserts. It also makes me wonder why he never disowned Miklan much sooner if his eldest son was leaving such a bad impression on him."

"Oh, boy, where to begin." Sylvain scoffed. "So, first of all, you're aware that Miklan and I are half-brothers, right?"

"Aye, I do." Mimir said solemnly. "Quite the tragedy, too, to lose a wife and unborn child to such savagery. I can imagine what a man like your da would go through before he tried again with someone else."

"Yeah, but by the time I came around, he was already about as cold as one could get when it came to 'fatherly' love. Miklan was already bitter towards me before my Crest even presented itself, and by the time it did, it had only gotten worse from there. I think the only reason our father hadn't done anything about it sooner is because Miklan was the only remaining child of his first wife, but after I came within hours of being at death's door, he realized he couldn't ignore it any longer."

Mimir was shocked by what his student had told him. "That's…" His brows furrowed. "That is irresponsibility of the highest order. I am sorry that you had to go through all that."

Sylvain shrugged. "It is what it is. I guess you get used to it after a while. Besides, there's no point in dwelling on it now. What's done is done, and honestly? I'm just glad I survived long enough to get out of that mess. Well, for now, anyway."

The Norse god pondered for a moment. "And let me ask you this, wee Gautier. What exactly do you intend to do once the inheritance of your House is left in your care, Relic and all?"

Sylvain paused for a moment, clearly giving Mimir's question some serious thought. Then, with a resigned sigh, he answered, "Honestly? The first thing I'd do is let the Gautier bloodline die out. Along with the existence of my Crest."

Mimir's eyes widened, clearly taken aback. "Let the bloodline die out? Well, I certainly didn't expect that answer. And here I thought all your skirt-chasing was just for a bit of good sport." And then silently to himself, Bloody hell, he's more like meself than I originally thought.

The redhead let out a genuine laugh at that, but there was no mistaking the bitterness in it. "Oh, believe me, Professor, I'm absolutely dead serious. I despise having a Crest. And almost every girl I had ever talked to has always had this underlying expectation that they would one day gain my inheritance and the titles along with it. It's all the same, but it's also not particularly their fault. That's just how it is when you possess this so-called 'blessing.' If I had my way, I'd make sure that it ends with me."

"And what about the influence you'll inherit along with it? Titles, power, land… Surely there's more to it than just letting the bloodline die. What do you intend to do with all of that before it's gone?"

"That's the tricky part, isn't it?" Sylvain rubbed the back of his neck, his expression thoughtful. "To be honest, I'm not entirely sure yet. For now, I still answer to my father, and Crest or not, I've got the responsibility of protecting our territory and Faerghus from Sreng raids. That doesn't just go away." He sighed. "But hopefully by the time I graduate with the rest of my friends, I'll have figured out a clear goal for what comes after. I'd like to do something good with it all… if I can."

"And I've no doubt that you will do just that." Mimir told him, offering an encouraging smile. "Also, lad, one last thing. If on the off-chance that you decide to- eh, not die alone of old age- I'm always open to helping you out on your little, shall we say, scavenger hunt in terms of courtship, aye? How's that sound?"

Sylvain couldn't help but snort. "You know what, Professor Mimir? I might just actually take you up on that offer."

x-x-x

Thick gray clouds hung over the plateau right outside the Monastery, where Professor Byleth stood alone in the middle of the field. Several targets were set up a few meters in front of her, but her attention wasn't on them. Instead, she blankly stared down at the Sword of the Creator, the legendary weapon resting loosely in her hand.

Without much thought, she let the tethered sections of the blade flop to the ground, watching as they dangled limply. With a simple flex of her will, the segments snapped back into place, the sword returning to its original form with a metallic click. She repeated the motion several more times, the sword extending and retracting in a repetitive cycle.

After a few moments of this, Sothis appeared as she floated into her peripheral vision and said irritably, "How much longer are you going to keep doing that? Stop playing with it like a child's toy and start learning how to use it properly."

"I am trying to see how it responds to me." The former mercenary stated simply. "I can get it to do basic things such as this, but I am unsure how it will respond when I actually use it."

Sothis scoffed impatiently. "Well, as far as we are aware, you are the only person alive who's ever used it, so it's not like there's anybody around that can teach you to wield it. The only way you're going to get familiar with it is through trial and error."

Byleth, whose expression remained unchanged, conceded. "Fine. But any self-inflicted injury I get out of this is going to be compensated by you, if you don't mind."

The young girl rolled her eyes. "Like I said, my power isn't limitless, so if you want to go and waste it because you don't know how to properly use a Relic, then that's on you. Just don't come crying to me if something were to happen and you can't do anything to change it in the near future."

She doesn't receive an answer as Byleth focuses her attention on the dummies in front of her. Byleth allowed the segments of the blade to fall to the ground like a whip, her eyes narrowing as she sized up the nearest target. She had used a whip before, but the weight and design of the Sword of the Creator made it feel clunky in her hand. She gripped the hilt tightly, focusing on the motion she intended to use.

With a sharp flick of her wrist, she swung the sword in a wide arc, the tethered segments awkwardly lashing out toward the nearest target. The blow was imprecise, the blade whipping erratically and missing its mark by a wide margin. The segments then quickly clanged together as they retracted back into the hilt.

Sothis watched, unimpressed. "That was dreadful. You're treating it like any old weapon. It's clearly not made for that."

"And have you any advice of your own to offer?" Byleth asked her, who was also now becoming annoyed. "Because otherwise, unless you have something useful to add, I'll continue doing it my way."

Sothis crossed her arms. She opened her mouth to speak, but was beaten to it when a deep and gruff voice spoke behind her. "You are fighting against the weapon. It is not meant to be forced. The weight of the blade will carry the swing for you."

Both individuals whirled around to see Kratos approaching them. Though he was unaware of Sothis presence, the smaller girl couldn't help but instinctively shrink back and moved subtly behind Byleth. Immediately, the mercenary was concerned about whether or not the tall ashen man had been listening in on her seemingly one-sided conversation, yet the Ghost of Sparta gave no indication that he had noticed anything out of the ordinary as his eyes remained focused solely on the sword in her hand. Unfortunately, this did not put her any more at ease as she remembered Sothis' warning from before, now that she was alone with the brigand.

Yet she remained stoic and mostly expressionless as she too looked back down at the sword and asked him, "I suppose you have an idea as to how this works?"

Kratos stopped at her side, with Sothis maneuvering to keep Byleth between them as he added. "You need to maintain the flow of the sword's movement. Breaking the momentum could reduce its effectiveness and will leave you vulnerable. When you swing, redirect its path if you must, but never stop its flow."

At first, Byleth waited patiently for the other professor to provide more helpful advice such as stance, grip, and bodily movement, but once she realized it was all he had to say, she said, "Is that all?"

The Spartan nodded again. "Trust your instincts."

From behind her, the woman heard Sothis say incredulously to her, "Are you still open to taking my advice instead?"

Kratos continued to gaze expectantly at the shorter professor for some kind of answer as Byleth weighed up her options. After a brief moment of mulling it over, she decided that she was going to take the man's advice- for whatever it was worth- and prepared herself to have another go at the dummy she'd missed earlier. Without a word, Byleth adjusted her grip on the Sword of the Creator.

Letting the blade extend, Byleth swung it back to build momentum. This time, however, she allowed the chain to move freely, without interference. In a single, fluid arc, the sword came down, and the dummy exploded in a burst of straw as it was cleaved in two from top to bottom.

Byleth retracted the blade, though whether or not she was satisfied with the result, Kratos was unsure, as her continued blank expression left little to read out of it. "Thank you," She simply stated.

"You learned quickly." Kratos responded, crossing his arms.

She glanced down at the Sword of the Creator, running her fingers along the hilt. "How did you know?" she asked, her voice still even, but with a hint of curiosity. "About how to use it?"

Kratos remained still, eyes narrowing slightly as he considered her question. "I have fought with many weapons."

"He's dodging the question!" Sothis accused him, even though he couldn't hear what she was saying. "Ask him again!"

The mercenary hesitated for a moment, then met Kratos' gaze again. "But this one... it's different. You knew how to handle it. Are there other Relics like this that you have used?"

The man was silent for what felt much too long for Sothis' liking, and eventually Kratos uncrossed his arms and took a moment to inspect the straw target that the sword had obliterated. "I have seen many weapons in my lifetime. Some blessed by the divine, others forged for a sole purpose of death and destruction. Yours, however…" He steals a glance at the Sword of the Creator, and Byleth couldn't help but hold the blade tighter and close to her. Noticing this, he finishes, "...I do not know what to make of it."

Another pregnant pause of silence envelopes the space around them. Kratos knew that what he was going to say next would be crucial, as he was still on the fence of whether or not he would interfere with what had been set in motion. He knew what the sword was. He knew the true implications behind the myths he had heard from Mimir, Seteth, and Rhea. The only question for him now was what kind of impression he would leave on the unassuming woman next to him about the power and responsibility she now possessed in her arsenal.

"...When I was a young man," The Spartan finally spoke, "I had led countless men to war. We were warriors trained to know nothing but victory. With the belief of having the gods on our side, I led my soldiers into many battles, convinced nothing could stop us." He paused, his eyes narrowing as he remembered. "Until one day, the hoards of our enemy were too great. My men and I were nearly wiped out, and in that moment, I realized that my strength alone was not enough."

There was another pause. "...And what happened?" Byleth had asked him.

Kratos closed his eyes, his jaw tightening as he breathed heavily through his nose. Slowly, he turned to face her, his expression grim. "I made a choice that led to the destruction of my homeland."

Sothis, who'd originally been listening intently to his story, scoffed. "Oh, please. Who does this man think he is, anyway?" She floated over to one side of Byleth's shoulder, her arms crossed in annoyance. "You'd think he was some tragic hero with all his cryptic warnings. He talks like someone who's seen the worst of it all but-"

Unbeknownst to her, Byleth's eyes had subtly shifted toward where Sothis was hovering behind her. Kratos had noticed the change in her focus and instinctively glanced over her shoulder, his gaze following what he assumed she was looking at. This resulted in him unknowingly staring directly at Sothis.

The young, ethereal girl froze mid-sentence, her eyes widening as his hardened gaze pierced straight through her, or so it seemed. For a moment, it felt as though the brigand could see her, and the force of his stare rendered her speechless. She floated to the other side of Byleth's shoulder, the bravado in her voice vanishing. "U-um, he can't actually see me, can't he-?"

Once again, Byleth's eyes subtly followed Sothis' movement, this time to her right. Naturally, Kratos noticed as well, and was once again looking directly in Sothis' direction. But this time, something was different. Instead of looking through her, Kratos' eyes seemed to lock directly with Sothis' and fear began to take hold of her.

Suddenly, his vision blurred. The world around him began to dissolve into a deep blue shadow, as if reality itself were slipping away. From Kratos' perspective, he could see a swirl of visions of a world he'd only started to become familiar with, flying through the air as fire rained down from above onto unsuspecting masses of people below. He saw, as though somebody else's own eyes, the utter chaos of a large body mass thrashing around and attacking everyone in sight as the world around them was lit into a great bonfire. Then, there was darkness. A calm, soothing darkness as though the eyes he was seeing through were enjoying a pleasant slumber. However, that peaceful sensation was uprooted when the visage changed to a large, muscular man standing over the unseen individual, a large sword held in both hands as he prepared to plunge the tip of the blade downward.

Then, just as quickly as it came, the blue shadow dissipated. Kratos found himself once again standing in the middle of the plateau. Byleth was still staring at him, her expression unchanged, completely unaware of the vision that had unfolded before him. From her perspective, it seemed as though nothing had happened. However, Sothis snapped out of her daze with a sharp gasp, her ethereal form shaking. Before Byleth could ask what had just transpired, Sothis spoke, her voice low and trembling, carrying a fear that Byleth had never heard from her before.

"Get out," Sothis whispered, terrified.

"What?" Byleth couldn't help but ask aloud.

"Get out. Getoutgetougetouget, get. OUT!"

Sothis' voice grew frantic, nearly screaming by the time she finished. Byleth, utterly bewildered, froze, unsure how to respond to the girl's sudden, panicked outburst. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of it. She glances at Kratos, his expression unchanged, as though he was still completely unaware of what was going on with the ethereal girl behind her.

Forcing herself to focus on the present, Byleth turned to Kratos, her voice calm despite the urgency from Sothis. "Please excuse me, Kratos. I must be going now." Without waiting for his response, she hurriedly walked away, leaving the Spartan warrior standing there, watching her retreat as he tried to process exactly what had just happened.