"Lift your arm up like this…" Manuela said, inspecting Sylvain's shoulder as the red haired boy did as he was instructed. "Good, now, press down against my hand." He obeyed wordlessly, and Manuela frowned slightly but continued checking the muscles and joints where the worst of his injuries had been.

On the other side of the room, Mercedes and Annette sat next to one another as they watched the Black Eagle's professor conduct her examination on their shirtless classmate. From their perspective, they could see that he hardly reacted at all without so much as a glance or word in return.

Everyone had noticed the change in Sylvain's behavior the moment he awoke from his deep slumber. He had stirred slowly, wincing at the aches in his body, confusion written across his face as he tried to piece together what had happened. When they'd finally sat him down behind closed doors to explain everything, he didn't react the way anyone expected. No laughter, no denial, no accusations of a tasteless prank.

He just sat there, listening. By the time they'd finished, he attempted to put on a genuine smile and reassure everyone including their professors that he was ready to head back to the monastery to prepare for the next mission.

Instead, however, over the past three days, he'd proven to be either unable or unwilling to display anything more than just pure apathy.

Professor Mimir had tried to speak with him more than once during the return trip, but Sylvain never opened up. Each conversation ended the same way. Vague responses, vacant expressions, and a polite excuse to walk away.

Now, with the Black Eagles having just returned from delivering Miklan and the recovered Relic to Margrave Matthias, Manuela insisted on performing one last medical checkup before the boy could be formally cleared; and still, Sylvain couldn't seem to bring himself to indulge in his usual flirtatious behavior despite ample opportunity to do so.

"Now then, how does your hand feel?" The songstress asked him as she gestured for him to flex palm where Marianne's ice had pierced him in his Black Beast form.

Sylvain looked down at his hand, slowly curling his fingers into a fist before relaxing them again. "It's fine," he said flatly.

Manuela watched his hand, then his expression. "Any numbness? Tingling?"

"No."

Annette shifted slightly in her seat, her brows drawn. Mercedes kept her gaze on Sylvain's face, quietly noting the way he avoided looking at any of them directly as he'd always done in recent days.

Manuela let out a slow breath through her nose, stepping back. "Well, physically, you're healing just fine." She gave a half-hearted smile, clearly trying to lift the mood. "And with a body like yours, you shouldn't have any trouble getting every woman here at the Monastery to line up for you- especially after all that rigorous training your professor puts you through." She finished with a wink.

Sylvain didn't even crack a smile and said nothing in return.

As if on cue, from the corner of her eye, Mercedes noticed movement near the entrance. She turned her head and looked up to see a tall figure of their professor standing at the door.

Unbeknownst to them, Kratos had just left Mimir behind with Rhea so they could continue their private conversation alone and his presence immediately drew the attention of everyone in the room.

Kratos stepped in, his voice low but noticeably softer than usual. "How are you feeling?" He asked Sylvain.

He gave a small shrug. "I feel fine."

The Spartan's eyes lingered on him for a moment longer before turning to Manuela. "Has he been cleared?"

Manuela gave a short nod. "Medically, yes. Everything's healing as expected."

Annette stood up from her seat, trying her best to put on a cheerful smile. "Hey, Sylvain… since you're cleared, how about joining me and Mercedes at the dining hall? We were thinking of grabbing something to eat. You know? As a way to… celebrate?"

Sylvain shook his head gently. "Thanks, Annette… but I'm not hungry." He then turned to Kratos, his gaze more focused. "Sir Kratos… could we talk for a minute? Just the two of us?"

Kratos gave a small nod, saying nothing.

Manuela picked up on the implication immediately. "Well, that wraps up the examination." She moved toward the door and gave a look to Mercedes and Annette. "Come on, girls. Let's give them some space."

Annette hesitated, eyes still on Sylvain, but Mercedes gently took her by the arm, and together, they followed Manuela out of the infirmary without another word. The shirtless student remained sitting on the cot as he watched the three women pass by the Ghost of Sparta, with Annette being the last to leave and giving one last concerned look at Sylvain before closing the door behind her.

The professor turned his head slightly at the sound of the door clicking shut. His eyes settled on Sylvain, who sat motionless on the cot, his gaze cast downward, arms resting limply over his legs, and the silence lingered for a moment.

Without a word, Kratos stepped toward the boy and he lowered himself slowly onto the cot beside him, his eyes fixed straight forward.

Kratos drew in a slow, heavy breath through his nose. "Do you wish to speak of what happened?"

Sylvain didn't respond at first. His expression remained empty, eyes still fixed on the floor. The silence dragged on until slowly, something shifted. His brows drew together, and for the first time in days, a deep scowl took shape across his face. His fingers curled slightly as his jaw tightened and Sylvain finally lifted his gaze from the floor, staring straight ahead.

"…Have you ever known someone you truly despised," he asked quietly, "but couldn't help feeling sorry for what they became?"

His professor remained still as he considered the question. He drew in another slow breath. "No." He'd finally admitted. "There was not." He then added, "However, there was someone who had once felt that way… towards me."

Sylvain turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he looked at the man beside him. "Who was it?"

At first, Kratos' initial response was to say it does not matter, but then his thoughts lingered on the conversation that he and Mimir had had after their encounter with Lonato's rebellion before answering in a low voice, "My brother."

The young man's brow furrowed, caught off guard by the simplicity of the answer. "What happened between you two?"

Kratos was quiet for a moment, his gaze still fixed ahead as though he were recalling distant memories.

"We were born in a land called Sparta. A world where you either became a warrior… or you perished." He paused, then continued. "We both aspired to be great protectors of our land. But Deimos was too kind, and too softhearted. And yet, as boys, I did everything I could to shape him into someone who could survive in such a world."

Sylvain remained silent, watching him closely.

"Then, one day, our village was attacked. I did everything I could to protect my brother, but it was not enough. All I could do was watch as he was being taken away before my very eyes." Kratos exhaled slowly through his nose. "And ever since that day, I had always presumed him to be dead. But it wasn't until many years later that I learned the truth… that he had lived." His gaze hardened slightly. "However, the boy I had known was gone. In his place was someone shaped by bitterness and pain. Hatred had been the only thing keeping him alive, and when I finally found him, he tried to kill me."

There was a brief silence.

"It wasn't until he was clinging to life by his fingertips that he finally called out to me, like he had when we were boys. At that moment, we found peace. But it was too late; and by the end, he had sacrificed his life to save mine."

Sylvain continued to sit in silence as he absorbed everything the Spartan had told him. After a long pause, he finally spoke. "Was it… the right thing? Saving Miklan, I mean."

Kratos turned his head slightly, looking at him. "Do you still care for your brother?"

He set his jaw. "Right now? I still see him as the same piece of shit who put us in this mess in the first place." He exhaled sharply through his nose. "But… in that moment, when I thought that was the end for both of us… I just kept thinking about how our father would hear about it. That neither of his sons were coming home alive."

Kratos gave no response, letting the silence stretch until he asked quietly, "Then why were you so insistent that you be the one to settle things between the two of you?"

The heir to House Gautier didn't answer right away. When he did, his voice was low and reluctant. "I guess… I was hoping that maybe, before the end, I could get even a single iota of regret out of him for everything he's done to me. But he never gave me that. And now, as far as I'm aware, Father is going to continue protecting him in the hopes that he might change his ways, and I can't help but take him for the absolute fool that he is."

"Then you believe your brother is beyond redemption?" Kratos asked.

"Yeah, I do." Sylvain said with a dry exhale. "He's shown no desire to change his entire life. Not once. Not when we were boys. Not when he got cast out, and presumably not after what'd happened in Conand Tower."

"Presumably?"

"Yes. Especially since he's-" He stops him after a thought to mind, and he turns fully towards his professor. "What about you, Sir Kratos?" He asked with the kind of boldness none of the other students had confronting the Spartan. "Do you think that my brother can be redeemed?"

"That is not for me to say."

"I'm not asking you whether or not he should be," The redhead persisted. "I'm asking you whether or not you think he can be. I mean, you've fought in countless wars, haven't you? That has to mean you've seen the worst of what mankind has to offer. And if that's the case, do you truly believe that someone like Miklan was worth saving?"

Kratos let out a low grunt, his jaw tightening as he looked away, eyes narrowing slightly. "Yes," he said plainly. "I do."

Sylvain stared at him, caught off guard by the bluntness of the answer.

"You assumed that I have seen the worst of what man has to offer. I have. But not in the same way you might expect." The Ghost of Sparta then shifted on the cot so that his body was mostly facing towards his students, and Sylvain now bore witness to the kind of expression he'd never seen in his teacher before. A blend of sympathy, sorrow, firmness, and even contentment filled the man's bearded face as he lowered himself down low enough so that he was now eye-level with the younger man.

"Humanity is capable of enabling great acts of evil. Yet, at the same time, we have the power to find hope when all else is lost. It is easy to become cruel, bitter, and arrogant; especially when the world gives you every reason to. But there must be something left within us that refuses to become the very things that we hate.

"As to whether or not your brother was worth saving and deserves redemption… no one can decide that for him, much like how I could not choose for Deimos to forgive me. But the moment we stop believing that even the worst of us can change, we begin to lose whatever good remains in ourselves. You may never get the regret you wanted from your brother, and he may never ask for forgiveness. But if there is still something in you that hopes for him to be more than what he is… then you are not lost. And neither is he." He then finished with finality, "Not yet."

Sylvain didn't seem to be entirely satisfied with Kratos' answer, as evidenced by the small frown he wore by the end. Instead, with a sigh, he stood up from his cot and grabbed the white shirt hanging off the back of a chair and began putting it back on. Once that was finished, he began making his way towards the door to leave before suddenly stopping in his tracks as though Kratos had ordered him to stop.

However, Kratos hadn't said a word ever after having finished his speech, and the Spartan continued to remain seated as he watched his student go in silence. He perked up a little upon seeing Sylvain come to a sudden halt, and the redhead turned around to reveal a look of deep uncertainty.

"Sir Kratos…" He said quietly, as though unsure of what to say. "There is… one more thing I wanted to ask you about."

His professor stood up attentively. "What is it?"

"During my transformation…" Sylvain began. "I remember being vaguely aware of what was going on, but at the same time…" He paused and then shook his head, his voice breaking. "I heard a voice in my head, and I felt this overwhelming urge to let out every drop of anger I was feeling in the moment, as though someone came in and hijacked my consciousness and replaced it with their own."

Kratos stopped and considered this for a moment. "And what did the voice say?"

Sylvain's fists tightened as he recalled the memory, his expression twisted. "It kept saying the same thing over and over again… 'Kill them. Kill them all.'" He hesitated before continuing shakily. "Then, all of the sudden, I could feel the voice being ripped away from me, like something just tore it out of my mind. Then everything went black and then… nothing. And everything became so quiet, I thought I was…"

"Enough." Kratos said firmly as he made his way over to the boy, placing a reassuring hand over his shoulder and looking him straight in the eye. "It is over now. I know not what it was you've endured during those moments, but I will not allow any harm to come to any of you so long I am around. Of that, I swear to you by my brother's name. But moving forward, you must promise me in return that you will hide any of this from me no longer."

Sylvain met his professor's eyes, surprised by the rare force of reassurance in his voice. "You are my student. Come to me. Come to any who will listen. Do not allow this thing to fester in silence. Will you promise me that?"

The boy was silent for a moment, eyes locked with his professor's. Then, after a brief moment's hesitation, he hardened himself and stood up straight before replying, "Alright… I promise."

The Spartan gave a faint nod. "Good." He said, gesturing to the door. "Now go. Rest. You have done enough for now."

Sylvain exhaled, some of the tension finally leaving his posture. "Thank you… Professor." Without another word, he turned and made his way to the door. This time, Kratos watched him disappear out of sight before allowing himself a satisfied grunt, and followed suit.

x-x-x

Felix was pissed.

Even with the kind of healing that Faith magic had available, it could only do so much for a broken fibula before any practical medical treatment had to be utilized. His leg throbbed with every minor shift in position, and the brace wrapped around it, which had been hastily applied by one of the church healers at Conall, was barely holding together. The wrapping was uneven, too tight in some places, too loose in others.

To make matters worse, he'd already burned through his supply of vulnerary the night before, and with no spares left in his room to help make the pain go away. He knew he could just get more from the infirmary, but that would require that he 1., hobble his way across half the monastery with a splint biting into his skin, and 2., endure the looks from every gawking student and staff too polite to ask what happened.

None of those options really appealed to him.

Felix let out a quiet, frustrated breath as he lay on his bed, glaring at the ceiling like it was to blame. The idea of asking someone else to help never even entered his mind, because it wasn't an option. But at the same time, the throbbing in his leg refused to let up. The brace itched, the wrapping pinched, and every breath only reminded him how sore everything still was.

After a long, silent moment of glaring upward, he gritted his teeth. Screw it.

He pushed himself upright with a grunt, swinging his good leg over the side of the bed, grimacing as the broken one soon followed, and carefully stood up before hobbling towards the door.

He made it halfway to the door when a knock came from the other side.

Felix froze, scowling. "Now what…" he closed the remaining distance, placed his hand on the handle, and cracked it open just enough to see who it was.

Standing on the other side was Dorothea, smiling casually, and it only grew as she turned back around to look back at him through the crack. "Hello, my hero~" She said lovingly with a wink.

"What do you want?" Felix asked her dismissively.

Her smile didn't falter. In fact, it widened. "Just checking in on the man who saved my life. Thought I'd see how the ferocious Fraldarius is recovering from his mighty duel with the Big Bad Lizard to save his damsel in distress." The mage then asked casually, "So… you mind if I come in?"

Felix snorted. "No, not at all." Dorothea immediately moved to open the door wider for her to step in before her savior added, "Do you mind if I leave?"

Dorothea paused, then crossed her arms indignantly. "Really? After I came all this way just to check on you?"

"You'll recover."

She gave an exaggerated huff, then uncrossed one arm just enough to hold up the bottle between her fingers. "Well, I suppose I could leave… but it'd be a shame to waste this perfectly good vulnerary."

Felix eyed the vulnerary, his scowl twitching as another throb pulsed through his leg. "...Tch. You just happened to have that on you?"

"I had a feeling you wouldn't go asking for help," she replied with a shrug. "So, I figured I'd come prepared."

He started to reach for the bottle, but Dorothea smoothly pulled it back out of reach. "Ah ah ah. If you want it, you'll have to humor me first."

Felix narrowed his eyes. "You do know that boys and girls aren't allowed in each other's dorms, right?"

Dorothea leaned forward slightly, smirking. "Relax. We're both grown and responsible adults, remember? I'm just here to help."

He stared at her for a moment longer before letting out a sharp breath through his nose. "…Fine. Get in."

She stepped past him with a satisfied smile, shutting the door behind her as Felix hobbled back toward the bed.

"And since I'm already here…" The girl said as she pulled his desk chair up to the bed and sat on it. "How about you let me take a look at that horrid brace of yours, and the two of us can have a friendly chat in the meantime?"

Felix lowered himself back onto the bed with a wince. He glanced over at Dorothea, then down at his leg. "Fine. It couldn't possibly get any worse than it already is."

"Oh, we'll see about that." She teased, handing him the vulnerary and then proceeded to place his broken leg carefully on her lap.

The room fell into a brief, comfortable quiet as she unwrapped, adjusted, and began re-aligning the brace. Then, in a quieter voice, she spoke.

"What happened at Conand Tower… I still can't stop thinking about it."

Felix didn't answer, but his eyes shifted toward her slightly.

Dorothea continued, her tone sincere now. "You didn't have to protect me the way you did. I know you probably see it as just doing your job, but… I've seen enough to know when someone steps in because they mean it. So… thank you, Felix."

He stared at her for a moment before looking away, voice low. "I didn't do it for thanks."

"I know." She smiled gently, still adjusting the straps on his brace. "That's why I mean it."

More silence.

"And by the way," Dorothea said incredulously with a sideways glance. "Early before our attack on the tower, I couldn't help notice your little conversation with that Edmund girl back in the camp."

"What of it?"

"Well, I didn't hear what was being said, but I did see the look on her face while you were talking to her. And believe me- when a girl's that anxious, it doesn't take words to figure out something's going on."

Felix didn't respond right away.

"I mean, I've seen Bernadetta get less rattled after being dragged into a crowd," Dorothea went on. "So, I figured I'd ask: what exactly was going on between you two?"

"It's none of your business."

In response, Dorothea gave a particularly firm tug on one of the straps, jerking it tighter than necessary. Felix's jaw locked, a growl rumbling in his throat as his fists clenched and he bit down hard to keep from shouting.

"Let's be clear," Dorothea said sweetly, her hands still adjusting the brace. "This conversation can go as pain-free, or as pain-full as you want it to be. But it all depends on whether you start answering my questions."

Felix shot her a sharp glare. "You know, eventually, the vulnerary you just gave me is going to kick in."

Dorothea smirked. "Oh, I'm sure it will. But by the time I'm done here, it'll wear off just in time for you to limp all the way to the infirmary with twice the pain you started with." She gave another light tug, not enough to hurt—but just enough to remind him she had the upper hand.

"Now then," she said, glancing up at him. "About you and Marianne…"

The boy let out a frustrated groan. "What about us? Could you be a little more specific?"

"Oh, I just wanted to know exactly what it is you two were discussing, that's all."

Felix stared at her, jaw tightening as the realization sank in. He'd let himself get cornered- like a damned amateur.

With a scoff, he fell back onto the bed, arms crossed on top of his chest.

"Tch. Fine. I was warning her about the Boar."

The mage blinked. "'The Boar?'"

"Dimitri. I told her not to go anywhere near him. He's unstable."

Dorothea tilted her head in curiosity. "That's… quite the accusation."

"The hell do you mean, accusation?" The swordsman snapped, pushing himself upright with a wince. "I'm stating a fact."

Dorothea kept her tone even, unfazed by his reaction. "All I'm saying is, you make it sound like he's dangerous. Has he done anything to hurt her?"

Felix scoffed. "No. Not yet, anyways."

"So then, what's the issue?"

The boy stared at her. "You know, for someone who enjoys a tortured gossip session, I'm surprised you haven't even heard the rumors."

"Ah, so those rumors are true, are they not?" Dorothea paused her work on the brace to look him in the eye. "Is the prince of Faerghus as dangerous as the stories make him out to be?"

Felix held her gaze, his expression hard. "Yes."

Dorothea didn't flinch. "That's a serious thing to say."

"It's not said lightly," he replied. "You weren't there during the Western Rebellion. I've seen what he turns into when the leash comes off."

She studied his face carefully. "And you think Marianne being around him is going to set him off?"

"No. I think he will set her off."

Dorothea crossed her arms and shook her head. "I don't understand."

Felix narrowed his eyes. "I've seen that look in her eyes. The same one he had before the rebellion occurred. She's quiet, withdrawn, and always second-guessing herself. But underneath all of that is something that's just waiting to break loose once under enough pressure." He leaned back slightly, his voice lowering. "If she gets caught up in the kind of bloodbath that the Boar had found himself in… then pretty soon, we're going to have two mad animals on our hands. And believe me- he is more than capable of creating that kind of scenario for her."

"That's…" The young woman said in disbelief. "...a hell of a thing to say about someone who just risked her life to save others." She paused. "You… didn't actually say that to her, did you?"

"Of course not, what kind of man do you take me for?"

Dorothea gave him a flat look. "One who just compared her to a 'mad animal.'"

"I'm not saying she's like that now. I'm saying I've seen where that road leads. And if no one stops it, if no one keeps her away from people like him, then that's where she'll end up."

"You say that like she has no will of her own. Like she's just going to snap because of who she stands next to."

Eventually, she stops working on his brace entirely. A part of her wanted to simply walk out after having heard enough from the boy who saved her life, but since she'd agreed to properly fix it, she decided to move the conversation elsewhere.

"But since we're on the topic of 'mad animals,'" she said, forcing her tone to stay even as she resumed adjusting the brace, "I'd like to ask you what you saw in that Beast's head when we rescued Sylvain."

Felix snorted. "I would presume that you saw the exact same thing I did."

Dorothea didn't look up. "Maybe. But I didn't get the opportunity to look inside his mind for the same amount of time as you did. From my perspective, all I saw was unfiltered rage and the instinct to tear everything apart. But also…" The mage pursed her lips as she said in a quiet voice. "There was so much… I don't know, anguish, behind all of that fury. Like a soul who'd been trapped and all alone for so long…"

Felix didn't respond at first. His expression didn't shift, but his gaze lowered slightly. "…Yeah," he said after a long pause. "That's what made it worse."

Dorothea looked up at him.

"That thing wasn't just angry," Felix continued. "It was suffering. Lashing out because it didn't know anything else. Like pain was the only thing it had left to feel." He clenched his jaw. "And knowing it was him in there the entire time…" He shook his head. "To be honest, I'd rather not think about it."

Dorothea gently secured the final strap. "You know…" she said softly, her tone shifting as she carefully lifted his leg and lowered it to the floor. "You might not have the best choice of words when talking about other women," she said with a small smile, "but I can at least take solace in knowing you still care about your friends… even if you go out of your way to hide it."

Felix looked at her briefly, the corners of his mouth twitching in a way that wasn't quite a frown, but also wasn't a smile either before he turned away from her. "…Don't go spreading that around."

The mage chuckled lightly. "Don't worry. I wouldn't dream of ruining your cold and brooding reputation."

She stood up, brushing her hands together. "Well, your brace is fixed, your pain should ease up soon, and I've gotten my fair share of conversation out of you for the day. I'd say that's a win on all sides."

The blunette gave a quiet grunt, "You done now?"

"For now," she replied with a wink as she moved toward the door. "But I reserve the right to check in on my hero whenever I please~" He didn't respond, but he didn't object either as Dorothea opened the door and glanced back at him one last time. "Take care of yourself, Felix."

"…Yeah," he muttered. "Whatever."

With that, she stepped out, closing the door gently behind her.