Chapter Text
“Hey, time to wake up.”
Roused by the calm voice of her father, Byleth Eisner’s eyes fluttered open. Before her simple room had even swum fully into view, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood. A practiced, mechanical motion.
The tall, broad-chested form of her father, Jeralt Eisner, loomed before her as her sight cleared. The sky outside Byleth’s window had only barely begun to lighten, but still she bade him, “Good morning, Father.”
“You were sleeping like a log, were you having that dream again?” he asked, his tone lifting with curiosity.
“The girl,” said the young mercenary.
“You've described her to me before, but I don't think I've ever met anyone like that,” Jeralt said, brow furrowed.
No… A young girl, clad in robes, with hair as long as she was tall - not to mention twice as wide - was neither forgettable, nor somebody a mercenary was likely to ever meet. Not even the nobles dressed and carried themselves in such a way. This strange girl inexplicably haunted Byleth’s dreams, always sleeping. Or so she had been...
“But it was different this time,” she said. “She woke up.” Her stomach lurched as the words escaped her lips. Somehow, she felt this had to mean something. But what? She wasn't sure - and she disliked the uncertainty.
“In any case, just put that out of your mind for now,” her father said firmly and deliberately, as if reading his daughter’s trepidation. “The battlefield is no place for idle thoughts.”
Byleth nodded. Strange dreams needed to be the furthest thing from her mind. She’d deal with the girl the next time she slept.
“Well, grab your things,” her father said. “Like I mentioned last night, our next job is in the Kingdom. We’ve got a long way to go, so we’ve gotta leave before dawn.”
“Of course,” said Byleth. She’d have plenty of time on the road to get her thoughts in order. Remire Village, the small community in the central Adrestian Empire where the mercenaries were lodging, was a few days’ hike from the Kingdom border. She’d slept in her clothes, so all she needed was to pack for the trip. Her sword, personal first aid, and a light bed roll. Just enough to keep her on the road.
“Oh, good grief,” Jeralt muttered as Byleth finished rolling up her meager bedding. He was looking out of the window, eyes narrowed and one hand on his hip. “Everyone’s already waiting for us outside… What’s got them in such a hurry…”
“Did you oversleep?” asked Byleth. It wouldn’t have been the first time he overindulged the night before a mission and came up short in the morning.
But before Jeralt had a chance to reply, the door to Byleth’s quarters flew open, and a member of the mercenary troop came running in. “Jeralt! Sir! Beg pardon, but please come with me,” he said.
“What's wrong?” demanded Jeralt.
“Strangers seeking help.”
Byleth immediately let her bed roll fall to the floor, just as her father darted from the window where he had been standing. Byleth and her father sprinted out of her room and out of the hall the mercenary company had been given for lodging.The chill of the early spring morning bit at Byleth as she stepped outside, and she bundled up beneath her long coat to ward off the cold. She was used to worse. She strained for any sight or sound of something out of place: guests seeking help in the very early morning could only mean bandits or beasts nearby. Doubtless merchants or travelers waylaid while on the road, or so the swordswoman expected. To her surprise, Byleth and her father were brought before a trio of finely-dressed youths. All three wore black uniforms with gold or silver trim, with capes draped over their left shoulders to complete their respective looks. Yellow, blue, red.
The youth wearing the blue cape sunk into a low bow before Jeralt and Byleth had even finished walking up to him. Without hesitation, he said, “Our sincerest apologies for the intrusion!”
“What do a bunch of kids like you want at this hour?” demanded Jeralt. Byleth remained silent at his. Speaking with employers was... more his area of expertise.
“We’re being pursued by a group of bandits,” the blue-dressed youth continued, “Please, lend us your support.”
Byleth stared at him. His tone was light and earnest, almost as though he were looking for a place to sleep rather than asking for help in the face of mortal peril. Surely, he could afford to be more direct.
But her father simply asked, “Bandits? Here?” It seemed the youth’s behavior didn’t shake him. Maybe Byleth was over-analyzing the rather polite man.
“It’s true,” the young woman wearing the red cape said, her voice clear and calm, “they attacked us while we were making camp.”
Byleth got a good look at her, and was struck by the way her white hair stood out in stark contrast against her cherry-red cape and leggings. The axe belted at her hip contrasted her short, slender frame. The woman in red briefly turned her head and caught Byleth’s eye, and they locked glances. The swordswoman felt… exposed under the woman’s glance, like she was being pierced right through by the smaller her gaze. She tore her eyes away quickly.
The last one, the one with the yellow cape, shook his head. “We’ve been separated from our companions and we’re outnumbered. They’re after our lives,” a pause, and then he added, “not to mention our gold. The look in his eyes showed no sign of fear. If anything, the situation was only an inconvenience to him.
One uncannily earnest, another focused, and the third exasperated. How had such a strange trio come together on the same night?
“You’re staying rather calm despite all that’s going on,” said Jeralt.
Privately, Byleth agreed. It wouldn’t be a surprise for others in the same place to be in a panic. There was no way these three were unfamiliar with danger. Natural bravery only went so far if never put to the test.
“Wait... That uniform…” Jeralt murmured, seemingly more to himself than anybody else.
Their clothes were distinctive, and definitely some kind of military uniform, but Byleth wondered why her father recognized it. She opened her mouth to voice to her curiosity, when another member of the company ran up to join the impromptu meeting.
“Bandits spotted just outside the village!” he cried. Catching his breath, he uttered a noise of disgust and then went on, “There are a lot of them.”
“So, they followed you,” said Jeralt, his voice falling in resignation. Turning to his gathered company, he said, “Forget the kids, everyone, we’re protecting the village!” To his daughter, he added, “Come on, let’s move. Hope you’re ready.”
Byleth nodded, her fingers straying to the sword belted at her hip, her mind racing. What would be the best move for the mercenaries? Without a clear estimation of the fighting strength of their enemy, and without any chance to dictate the terms of the battlefield, it wouldn’t be easy to fight while simultaneously protecting Remire Village. Maybe an ambush using the foliage that lined the road? They would have to split the company nearly in half, which presented a risk of its own.
“You kids better find somewhere safe in the village,” said Jeralt, “we don’t need a bunch of brats getting in the way.” They were dressed like military and armed, but they were outsiders. Byleth privately agreed with her father; it was better to not take risks with untested allies.
“Actually, it would be my honor to assist,” said the earnest one in blue. “I’m handy with a lance, I’ll have you know.”
“I’m a pretty good shot,” the one in yellow said with a wry grin.
The woman in red scoffed and threw her hair back. “I won’t be the only one left behind.”
Hearing their confidence, something fell into place for Byleth. If these three could fight, then they were all she needed. She had no idea what experience they had, but they were willing and unafraid. That was enough for a start, and it was a far better indicator of battlefield merit than the uniforms they wore. “Father,” she said.
“Got an idea?” Jeralt asked over his shoulder.
“Take the company and wait in the brush to the east,” she said. “I’ll stay here with these three. We’ll lure the bandits out, and you can attack from behind.”
Her father cast the guests a glance. “You sure about that?”
“I think they can handle it.”
“Well there’s no time to argue,” Jeralt said as he motioned for one of the company to bring him his war horse. Silver lance in hand, he saddled up and turned to his daughter. “Just be careful. Remember what I taught you.”
“Of course.”
With a kick of his heels, Jeralt set his horse off at a canter, quickly overtaking his men on their way into position. Now alone and with little time to spare, Byleth turned to her new allies. “I’ll take the lead,” she said instantly. Then, she turned to the one in blue - the lancer. “I want you at my side. Bandits aren’t used to targets that fight back, they’ll focus just on me. I can only kill one bandit at once, and we don’t know how many will come. You have the widest reach, take anybody I miss and keep crowds busy.”
The lancer nodded, his polearm held ready. “I’ll cut through,” he affirmed.
“You with the bow,” she continued, next turning to the youth in yellow - the archer.
“Ready and willing,” the archer said, an arrow in hand.
“Behind me. Shoot past me at the next bandit in my way. Keep watch for my openings.”
“I can live with that arrangement,” said the archer.
“And me?” asked the woman.
“Cover me,” said Byleth. “Hold off any attackers that come my way.”
With a cocky grin, the woman spun her axe around as if it weighed not even half as much as it looked. “I will prevail.”
“Stay focused,” Byleth added as a final warning to all three.
Mere seconds later, she heard the sounds of hurried footfalls from the northeast. There was much more Byleth would have liked to do with time to prepare but she’d simply have to trust in the instincts of her allies. And in her own sword arm, of course. The battlefield was a simple field north of the village gate, framed on either side by shrubbery and sparse trees. Only the village watchtower in the center of the field stood out, and it was around that watchtower that a quartet of bandits ran into view. Catching sight of Byleth and her companions, the bandit in the middle turned and roared over his shoulder, “Found ‘em, Chief!”
“Will any of you recognize the bandit leader?” asked Byleth.
“I believe I saw him,” said the axe-wielder. "He was a large, loud man, dressed in furs and chains.”
“Sounds about right, it’s usually the one with the biggest mouth,” said the archer. “Guess we’ll have to draw him out.”
“That won’t be a problem,” said Byleth.
The bandit who had spotted them charged well ahead of his fellows. Sword propped over her shoulder, Byleth ran to meet him. Three sets of feet behind her, two heavy, one rather light. The lighter footfalls came to a sudden stop as Byleth neared her target, followed by the taut pull of a bow. She took the slightest of sidesteps without slowing her charge, and an arrow rang true through the gap she’d left behind. The archer had good instincts. The brief surge of pain as the bandit was struck in the shoulder was all Byleth needed. In a single swift motion, she brought her blade down in an arc across the bandit’s chest, and the man crumpled. Byleth moved onward before the bandit fully hit the floor.
Next was the trio of bandits that Byleth’s most recent victim had left behind. They had a better idea what they were up against, but they fared little better. As Byleth and the archer took the center bandit, the lancer charged another. The lancer battered aside the bandit’s sword with all the apparent ease of snapping a twig and slashed the man from shoulder to hip. Byleth allowed her eyes to wander toward the lancer’s face for just a moment, and she saw a strange, feverish look in his eye. She blinked, but it was already gone. Had she been seeing things? This one was strong and had no hesitation. And the archer picked up on small cues very well. The axewoman was as lethal as her companions as she swung her weapon, her axe twirling with an easy grace that made her opponant's swings appear positively clumsy. A parry flowed into a swift and lethal chop, and the third bandit fell. Could axes really be used with such grace?
“Watch it!”
The whistling of an arrow and a groan brought Byleth back to reality. The archer in yellow had just shot a bandit - one that Byleth realized had been coming for her. She stared at the dead man, almost not believing her own eyes. Where’d he come from? Had she really missed him?
“Now’s no time to admire the scenery, Stranger,” the archer said with a wink.
“Right,” Byleth said quietly, her insides still a little uneasy. Letting the mind wander on the battlefield was death. She needed to be more careful.
“I must say, you lead well,” said the lancer. “It’s almost as if you know what actions these bandits would take before they did!”
“Years of training,” said Byleth.
“More are coming,” the woman said sharply.
“Oh yeah, I hear them too,” said the archer.
So could Byleth: the heavy footfalls of approaching bandits... and somebody complaining very loudly. “-Mercenaries are here!?”
“Yeah, Chief, they took out Randoch and his guys!”
Byleth heard a loud growl and something unintelligible, but very, very angry. “Guess we’ll have to deal with them too,” the louder man grumbled as his growling subsided.
And around the watchtower a new group of bandits came, about a dozen strong. As her eyes fell upon the man in the lead, Byleth recognized him immediately from the description the woman with the axe had given.
“Furs and chains?” she said to the axe-wielder.
“Yes, that’s him. His underlings said his name was Kostas.”
“This must be their main force,” said the lancer. “We only need to take them here.”
“Yeah, well, there’s a lot of them,” said the archer. “Might be time to call in our backup.”
“He’ll make it,” said Byleth. Her father would read the battlefield the same way she did. She had no doubt of that. But for now, she had to wait and give him his opportunity to strike.
Kostas chuckled as he laid eyes on the small group standing before him, his grip on his axe tightening. “Just four? I’m gonna kill you all where you stand!”
Byleth remained where she was, sword ready. The last part of the plan came when this Kostas believed he’d already won. And as he began to charge, Jeralt and the rest of the company burst out from the foliage behind him. The front half of the group of bandits continued on without realizing their peril, but those lingering in the back turned in confusion, which quickly turned to fear. The thunderous gallop of Jeralt’s war horse showed no sign of slowing. The first bandit went under the proud beast’s trampling hooves - the next was cut down by the horse’s master. Axe handle, lance shaft, or blade - the Blade Breaker cleaved all weapons alike. Hearing the tumult behind him, Kostas slowed to a stop with still half the distance yet before him. His face twisting in confusion, he turned and looked over his shoulder, and leaped back. “J-Jeralt the Blade Breaker!? Crap, what’s he doing here!?”
“Chief, let’s get outta here!” cried one of his minions.
Kostas turned slowly, his wits dulled by fear. “Y-yeah, right!” Axe high, he and two of his men resumed their charge. The rest were already scattering across the field in different directions.
“Father and the others will chase those men down; stop their leader from escaping!” cried Byleth.
“He will face justice!” the lancer cried, his voice thick with emotion.
Byleth whirled to look at her blue-wearing ally, but his face was already out of sight. Had that look returned while she wasn’t watching?
His weapon raised, the lancer sprinted ahead of his allies, and one of the bandits diverted to meet him. But then the anger drained from the rogue’s face, and instead he turned to flee. The lancer pursued.
“Dimitri!” cried the young woman in red.
“I’ll save him, Princess!” the archer cried as he darted after his ally.
“Claude, you -”
“Don’t worry about them, we can handle this!” said Byleth. She and her white-haired companion ran ahead, directly toward Kostas and his remaining rogue.
Kostas’ hand tensed on his axe, and he cried “Outta my way, Blank Stare!” as he came within a few yards of Byleth.
He began to swing his axe, and Byleth stopped in her tracks and lunged in that same moment. The tip of her sword buried into Kostas’ leather tunic. the bandit leader was knocked clear off his feet and onto the dirt. The mercenary held her sword ready for a moment, watching for any sign of movement from her foe, but he was motionless. Letting out a breath and releasing her tension, Byleth turned to the young woman in red. Her axe was lodged into the chest of the other rogue, and she was turned toward Byleth.
“You have this strange aura about you,” the woman in red said, the back of her hand resting against her hip. “You say you’re a mercenary, but you have the skills to lead a small army.”
“Thank you,” Byleth said automatically. “You handled yourself very well.”
The woman nodded. She was giving Byleth a soft, curious smile, her face otherwise unreadable. After all the killing and the mortal peril, her calm was unshaken. She knew death, but that wasn’t all. her eyes were piercing, searching for something. She shook her head and turned aside. “I need to help my father round up-”
Kostas roared and leaped to his feet. Byleth immediately leveled her sword against him again. But he was charging down the woman in red, whose axe was still stuck in his dead underling. She drew a small dagger from her hip. With such a small weapon she was at a severe disadvantage - and then Byleth was pushing the young woman over, her back to Kostas. Her eyes widened, her body shaking from head to toe - what was she doing!?
“You’ll die!” Kostas screamed.
No time to turn, no time to protect herself - why had her body acted on its own like that!? A loud sound like a beat thumped in Byleth’s ears, and the world around her shattered and darkened. She waited for Kostas’ axe to rip into her body… But it never did. Realizing that something strange had happened, she opened her eyes slowly. A black void and the green stone throne - a sight she’d seen in her dreams. And yet, she wasn’t dreaming. And the robed girl was there too, slouching against the armrest of the stone throne, glaring down at Byleth.
“Honestly! Are you trying to get me killed, you fool!?”
“I-I don’t know,” Byleth said. Her arms and legs shook violently, and she could barely breathe. She’d never lost control of herself so thoroughly before, and it had gotten her killed! “I don’t know what happened!”
The robed girl heaved a great sigh. “One tongue-lashing and you fall to pieces? Thoughtless and sensitive, a poor combination.” Chuckling to herself, she leaped off the throne and clapped her hands together. “Well, then. I guess I’ll just have to hold your hand from now on. A person like you needs someone to guide them!”
A guide? Byleth nodded, and struggled back onto her feet. Anything to stop her from losing control of herself again. She’d take any help at that point - even help that existed only in her mind.
“My name is Sothis,” said the girl. “But I’m also called, ‘The Beginning’.”
“Sothis,” Byleth repeated. Gulping down a breath to calm herself, she looked the small girl in the eye. “Can you save us?”