Chapter Text
Byleth missed the hot water of Garreg Mach's bathhouse. Rinsing off the dirt of the road in a frigid stream was a lot harder to endure when you'd gotten accustomed to the luxury of indoor plumbing. Jeralt would probably say she'd gone soft.
But in her defense, camping was supposed to be something you did only when you had no roof to sleep under. Even Jeralt, despite all his tough talk, would have gladly accepted a cozy room with a feather mattress and fireplace if offered the chance. Byleth and her noble students had nice warm beds waiting back at the monastery, yet they were out here sleeping in tents for fun .
If she had told her mercenaries that their rough lifestyle served as ‘team building,’ she would have been laughed right out of the company, or worse.
But that was then (it felt like a lifetime ago now), before she realized what it meant to have friends, to be part of a larger whole. She might not fully understand the purpose of this exercise, but she would go anywhere and do anything for her beloved students– even sacrifice a warm, comfy night's sleep.
The Byleth of a year ago would never have believed she could come to care so much about anyone besides Jeralt, and she’d be downright shocked to learn that they cared about her in return.
Despite the significant gap in social status between her and the noble students of the academy, they respected her as their professor and accepted her as a person. Byleth became more attached to them over the school year than she ever thought possible. But the Academy was only a year-long program, and a bittersweet nostalgia had begun to seep into her heart. As graduation neared, every moment with her students became increasingly precious.
[I'm going to miss the little ones, too,] sighed Sothis from the back of her mind, the goddess's ghostly form hovering nearby.
Byleth surveyed the camp that her three students had arranged, and her melancholy thoughts gave way to pride in their growth. Someone had started a fire, the tents were assembled correctly, and the food was stored away from the campsite and tied high in a tree. It brought the young professor some comfort to know that they'll at least be able to survive in the wilderness after they leave her.
Though that would likely be the least of the hardships they face.
The Officer's Academy prepared their students for all the facets of war, not just the battles. Now, at the end of their yearlong training, they could devise tactics, perform reconnaissance, and survive a long march, all of which would prove critical in the event that the Empire found some defenseless countries to conquer on other continents.
There were certainly none left on this one.
Until recently, Fodlan had been a tapestry of three major countries-- neighbored by the Duscur and Sreng peninsulas to the north, the Brigid archipelago off the western coast, and the central land surrounding Garreg Mach belonging to the church. Now, it was all the Adrestian Empire, an unbroken swath of red from Brigid to Almyra.
A mercenary wasn't often required to consider politics at such a grand scale. She had always kept informed enough to move about in the world safely– which areas the violence of the war was concentrated in, which crooked lords were known for stiffing mercs, which territories the company's foreign members were likely to get hassled. Her chief concern had always been living to see tomorrow, the state of Fodlan a remote topic for other people to worry about.
But now that she had spent so much time with the nobility, she realized that politics had a bigger effect on the average person than she thought. For her students that would soon be returning home to govern their territories, it could mean the difference between life and death. And Byleth concerned herself with everything that threatened the safety or happiness of her beloved students.
Right. Her students. Her thoughts were wandering again.
"To me!" Byleth shouted, clapping her hands.
In a flutter of red, the three house leaders assembled before her, the gold, silver, and bronze embroidered onto their respective uniforms shimmering in the evening sun.
"Report," Byleth said.
It seemed silly to be so businesslike for a so-called bonding trip, but they were still future officers in training. Not to mention, the professor didn't really know any other way to be . Reliability had always earned her loyalty from her mercenaries, not likability. She was skilled, thorough, and professional. Most importantly, she kept her people alive. Byleth's stoic doll-like face might have been unnerving to strangers, but her fighters knew they could always depend on her in battle, and that was more than enough to foster trust, if not friendship.
"Campsite cleared and assembled," Petra, the Eagles leader declared. "I can be hunting for more food if we will be needing it."
Byleth declined the offer with a shake of her head. They were only out here for the night, so there was no need to find more food. Still, the kind offer and the familiar cadence of Petra’s accented speech brought a smile to Byleth's face.
As a professor, she tried to remain impartial, of course. But the extra time spent with the three class leaders made them especially dear to her. Over the school year, all three young women had impressed Byleth with their tenacity and diligence. And despite her strangeness, they had accepted her without question or hesitation.
Petra was a perfect example of that kindness. Despite being a princess of Brigid, Petra was always ready to lend a hand to her peers. She was passionate about both her studies and improving her training, so Byleth was surprised when Petra confided that she wasn't at the Officer’s Academy by choice. In truth, she had been a political hostage in Fodlan since childhood. Apparently, her presence in the heart of the Empire kept her grandfather, the king of Brigid, from getting any ideas about further rebellions. And yet, Petra showed no animosity toward the Fodlan natives she spent all her time with.
Brigid was a vassal to the Empire before the war, which is why Petra was assigned to the Eagles. Even though Fodlan was united now, the Academy still arranged the classes based on region of origin– the Eagles hailed from what used to be the bounds of the Empire, the Hawks from the former Kingdom of Faerghus, and the Falcons from what used to be the Leicester Alliance.
Byleth wondered if this anachronistic class structure was a small act of rebellion by the monastery, insisting that the old borders still mattered. Of course, she didn't involve herself in the political aspirations of the church– Rhea's hospitality had saved her at her lowest point, but that didn't mean Byleth really felt like a part of the church. Besides, she had more than enough on her plate between teaching and her dealings with the more clandestine enemies that lurked within the Empire.
She turned to the Hawks leader, Ingrid. As always, the would-be knight stood and spoke with military precision. "Rations secured, Professor."
Coming from war-ravaged Faerghus, Ingrid understood better than most the importance of protecting their food source. Her territory, Galatea, had struggled with poor crops and famine even before the war, and things had gotten even more dire under the Empire’s rule.
When she returned home, her father planned to arrange a favorable marriage to save the destitute people of Galatea. It was a terrible waste of talent, as far as Byleth was concerned. Ingrid was excellent with a lance and the best rider at the Academy that year. She should have been a knight in her own right, not some noble’s trophy wife. In times past, she could have been, but women rarely got opportunities like that anymore. Never one to complain, though, Ingrid shouldered her duty with a quiet dignity.
(The thought of marriage made Byleth's insides twist, but there was no time to be distracted by those worries. She still had a responsibility to her students, after all. Her own social prospects could wait until after graduation.)
Byleth often worried about what would become of Ingrid and the other Hawks students after graduation, when they went back to the former Kingdom. As if famine and arranged marriages weren't enough for them to deal with, Lady Rhea had recently informed them that the Steward of Faerghus was found brutally murdered in his home.
Grand Duke Rufus of Itha hadn't been a particularly good steward, but he was the last remaining member of the old royal family, lending some credibility to his position and preventing further unrest in the area. Hopefully whoever the emperor replaced him with wasn't too cruel or corrupt. Her poor students had suffered more than enough already.
A shrill voice interrupted Byleth's increasingly melancholy thoughts.
"I started the fire," huffed Lysithea, the Falcons leader, without waiting to be called upon. She followed up with a grumble. "At least give me something remotely challenging next time."
Byleth wisely suppressed a chuckle at the girl's nagging. There was never any real malice behind her sharp words. Lysithea just insisted on pushing herself to excel in every area of life– and expected the same of everyone else.
It was incredible how much determination and drive was packed into such a tiny young woman– the youngest student at the Academy, in fact. Her dedication was clear from the first day of class, when she passed three certification tests, all with perfect marks. Lysithea may not have had much physical strength to speak of, but she was a brilliant tactician and an unrivaled medic.
The youngest student's independent attitude typified the Leicester region she hailed from. Before the war, the Alliance had been a loose federation of nobles with no king to rule over them. Lysithea was appointed as the house leader mere days before the school year started, when the original house leader unexpectedly had to take up his mantle as Duke Riegan following his grandfather's death.
The Falcons class was always consumed with gossip about the young Duke Riegan, who had quite literally come out of nowhere to be named heir to the most powerful title in Leicester. Questions about his parentage notwithstanding, it seemed he was mostly regarded as a competent leader.
Lysithea, though, was never concerned with politics or the nobility. She had a singular goal and did not hesitate to share it– she wanted to secure a safe future for her parents and then relinquish her noble title. Her territory of Ordelia had been manipulated and abused by the Empire for generations, and the girl simply wanted to end the cycle so her family could finally carve their own path.
Byleth could sympathize. Her time on the road had given her such complete freedom that even Archbishop Rhea's benevolent authority felt stifling at times. As much as she had come to love teaching, she had only ended up at the monastery because she had nowhere else to go. After getting to know her students and their various dreams, Byleth realized that she, too, wanted to take the reins of her own life, no longer living like a boulder rolling down whatever hill she was led to.
But again, she was getting ahead of herself. There was still the rest of the school year to get through before she could put that plan into action.
"Oh, Professor!" called Lysithea brightly. "Look at the beautiful butterfly behind you!"
Byleth's students often pointed out interesting insects to her, knowing how their odd professor held a special affection for the creatures most people considered pests. A strange hobby, perhaps, but Jeralt had encouraged it, since it was so rare to see her excited about anything. Byleth liked to think that you could tell a lot about a person from how they treated lesser living things like bugs– it revealed who they would be if they had the power to do whatever they wanted.
"A moth, actually," she corrected. "A Luna moth."
"I hate the creepy crawly bugs,” Lysithea's face scrunched up to show her distaste, “but this one I can appreciate. It's so pretty!"
Ingrid rarely noticed the insects Byleth did. She wasn't one to look down at the ground, always keeping her head high and gaze firmly ahead. But even she smiled at the moth. "I have to admit, it's quite beautiful."
"They don't have mouths," Byleth said. Her students looked back in confusion, so she explained. "They eat their fill as caterpillars. After their metamorphosis, their lifespans aren't long enough to require any further nourishment. They mate, lay eggs, and die, all within a week."
Lysithea's expression was horrified. "They don't live long enough to eat ? Not even just to enjoy a treat? What kind of life is that ?" The young woman had been caught more than once stuffing her mouth with so much candy that she couldn't even speak. A life without treats must have seemed a horrible existence indeed.
Ingrid nodded in agreement, looking somber. Food was one of her biggest joys in life, too. Even Petra regarded the ethereal green creature with pity.
Byleth admitted she could use some improvement in the mentoring side of teaching. Her father had always appreciated the way she shared her unfiltered thoughts, but she wondered now if that had been a parent's bias. The harsh truth was, she was just… weird . Relating to others was a struggle, even as an adult.
Still, she did her best. "It might not seem like much to us, but they've accomplished everything they set out to in life. To the Emperor, a simple farmer's life might look meaningless, but I doubt the farmer would see it that way."
The students didn't seem wholly convinced– if anything, Lysithea appeared even more disturbed– so Byleth rushed to gloss over the awkward moment by getting back to business. With the camp checklist finished, she assigned the watch schedule.
"Ingrid, first watch," the professor said. "Then Petra, then myself."
"I can keep watch!" cried Lysithea. "I'm not some useless child!"
Byleth resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the girl's familiar protest. The first time Lysithea raised this complaint, Byleth's blunt response (“you’re only 15, you are a child”) had resulted in a tirade so fervent that the student had to be taken to the infirmary for high blood pressure. Luckily, Byleth had learned to handle the situation with more grace as the school year progressed, and by now she had it down to a science.
"Of course you can , Miss Ordelia, but a trained medic is much more valuable than one more person on watch. If you go down to the first attack, we're all dead. Resting is the best way to help your comrades."
That defused the healer's explosive temper, and she agreed to do her part and get some sleep.
Honestly, the young girl just looked so tired all the time. Byleth had found her in the library at all hours of the night, studying like her life depended on it. If Lysithea could get some sleep out here, the professor would consider the trip a success. It's not as if they were likely to see any action tonight.
Famous last words , as they say.
During the second watch, Petra crept into Byleth's tent. Her voice was low but urgent.
"Professor, I am hearing movement in the forest."
They took careful steps outside to listen again. It was lucky Petra had been on watch, her hearing honed by years of hunting. The other students might have missed the slight disturbance, but Byleth knew what she was hearing.
Someone was trying to surround them.
"Wake the others. Keep it quiet. We may still be able to surprise them."
Who would attack such a small party? Had bandits seen them and thought a group of women would be an easy robbery, maybe with a bit of pleasure as a bonus? They were in for quite a surprise, then, as their targets were no swooning ladies.
A much more worrying scenario was that the assailants knew their identities. Though Byleth saw the three women only as students, they were high-ranking members of the nobility, even royalty in Petra's case. Killing or kidnapping them could net someone a lucrative payday.
If that were the case, the danger was greater than a raid by ordinary rogues. A coordinated kidnapping attempt would employ more skilled fighters than a loose pack of bandits, and they wouldn't be taken off guard when the campers fought back.
And she didn't want to even think about the possibility that she herself was the target. If those people were lurking in the forest, her students didn't stand a chance.
The house leaders shook off their fatigue and took up their positions with practiced efficiency. Byleth and Petra prepared their bows, while Lysithea huddled in the middle with her medical supplies and some of her strange concoctions that exploded into a fireball on impact. Ingrid protected their backs and was ready to take out anyone who managed to evade the archers’ long-range attacks. It wasn't a perfect plan– not knowing how many they were dealing with was a major disadvantage– but Byleth had faith in her students’ skills.
[And an insurance plan, with my powers,] Sothis added.
That power came at a great cost, though, so Byleth would rather not use it, especially if they were just dealing with some thieves in the woods.
Having been a mercenary, Byleth was more than familiar with bandits. At their core, they were opportunists. If their victims fought back with any skill, they were smart enough to retreat rather than lose their lives. There would always be someone else to rob, so it wasn't worth taking the risk. What use was gold to a dead man?
To her dismay, these enemies were not retreating, no matter how many of their dead comrades they had to climb over in order to attack. She was increasingly worried that they were fighting a hopeless battle.
Stay focused , she reminded herself. Panicking was the most foolish move a person could make on the battlefield– she had repeated that very lesson to her students dozens of times.
Time marched on, measured only in slashes and stabs. It might have been minutes, or it might have been hours. But before Byleth knew it, the grassy clearing of their campsite was littered with bodies, either groaning from their injuries or deathly silent.
But still more kept coming, and their circle was closing in ever tighter, dangerously close to becoming a noose to choke them. Just how many brigands were out there? At this rate, running out of arrows was a real possibility, and they were getting close enough that Byleth had been forced to draw her sword more than once.
Her students seemed to be tiring as well. A nimble assassin ducked under Ingrid's lance and got in close– too close. He was going for the medic, since she was the easiest target and would put them at a greater disadvantage. Byleth pivoted while reaching for her dagger, but just as she was about to make a risky lunge for his throat, a javelin to the gut rent the assassin nearly in two.
Following the trajectory of the weapon, her eyes fell upon a lance-wielding man with fine clothing but a wild savagery in his eyes. He rushed in from the shadows, taking a defensive stance in front of Lysithea. It was unpredictable to fight alongside a stranger, but Byleth was in no position to complain, as long as he was on their side.
He fought like a tempest, precise but brutal, oblivious to the unruly golden locks that fell across his face. Another man, wielding an axe that most people would struggle even to pick up, rushed to the stranger's side with a speed that belied his size. A few quick words passed between them in a language she didn't understand.
The newcomer, a mountain of a man with a face nearly as stony as Byleth's, took up a post on the stranger's left. They had clearly fought together before, and the axe-man seamlessly covered the blond's blind spot, the result of a patch covering one eye.
Having fresh fighters protecting Lysithea allowed the medic to staunch the worst of everyone's wounds and the archers to refill their quivers. The attackers had no chance now, despite their superior numbers, and they knew it. Finally, they were convinced to cut their losses. In moments, the fight was over, any remaining foes fleeing for their lives.
"Thanks," Byleth said simply when she caught her breath.
"Think nothing of it," the blond stranger said. "Is anyone hurt? My companion is quite skilled in the use of healing herbs."
He gestured to the other man, who had the dark skin and snow-white hair characteristic of a Duscur native. Byleth hadn't seen a Duscurian in years– so few survived the country's destruction at the hands of Faerghus after the Tragedy.
"We have a medic, obviously ," Lysithea snapped, gesturing to her supplies.
"Of course, my apologies. I only meant that he might assist you, if needed,” he said smoothly, placating the annoyed girl. He turned to Byleth, inferring that she was the leader of their small group. “Your party was well prepared for danger, if you don't mind me saying."
"They're my students at the Officer's Academy," Byleth explained. "This was supposed to be a camping trip to celebrate their upcoming graduation."
"You're their professor?" he asked. When she nodded, he added, "An impressive accomplishment for one so young! You must be quite exceptional indeed."
The praise was a touch over-the-top, but his smile and voice seemed sincere. Not sure how to react, Byleth turned the conversation back towards the newcomers.
"Where did you come from?" she asked, hoping her blunt questioning didn't sound too accusatory.
"We heard the commotion from our camp. I'm glad we made it in time. You all fought commendably, but you seemed to be tiring, as anyone would after such a feat."
More praise. Was his amiability because of good manners, or was he trying to ingratiate himself with their group? Byleth was always inclined to be suspicious of strangers, given her dangerous lifestyle. Then again, the more she observed him, the more she thought he looked and sounded like a noble, and they were prone to flattery and formality.
"Yes, we'd been at it a while when you two showed up," she said. Again, she pushed for more information. "So who are you, anyway?"
"Oh! Where are my manners?" he said, bowing deeply to her. "This is Dedue, and I am Dimitri Dygwr Dialedd, recently arrived to Fodlan from Albinea.”
"Sorry, what ?"
He chuckled. "Yes, I am learning that the Albinean tongue does not fit comfortably in Fodlan mouths. Forget the middle name, it only confuses matters. Dimitri Die-uh-leth," he over-enunciated, but the final sound of his last name was still hard to pronounce, even with his instructions. It reminded her of the names of ancient kings in the old Faerghan stories Jeralt used to tell her.
"Dia-leth," she tried.
“Ah, close, but not quite. Dia-le th, " he corrected.
"That's what I said."
"No, you said th, not th." He waved his hands to dismiss the topic. "Anyway, it doesn't signify. Please, call me Dimitri."
"Why is someone dressed so fine camping in the woods, Dimitri?"
Even though he had just asked to be called by his first name, it still seemed to offend Dimitri's companion.
“The correct form of address is–," the man interjected in a deep voice, the first words he had spoken this far. But Dimitri interrupted him.
"Come now, Dedue! Such things do not matter among comrades!" he said good-naturedly. "To answer your question, we are making a pilgrimage to Garreg Mach to begin our time in Fodlan. However, we were quite rudely turned away at the local inn."
"Do you not have money?" Byleth asked, and in her head, Sothis cursed her poor etiquette.
[You don't just ask someone if they're broke, you dolt!]
“No, nothing like that,” Dimitri answered, looking uncomfortable.
He seemed hesitant to continue, but Dedue finished for him. "They feared hosting a man of Duscur would drive other clients away. We have a reputation for thievery."
“ Fools, all of them ,” Dimitri hissed, but quickly forced down his anger and schooled his expression back to neutrality.
So it was a simple matter of small-minded prejudice, then. Such ignorance ran rampant in the aftermath of the war, as the Empire tried to stamp out any differences and assimilate the entire continent into a single homogenous mass. Byleth was impressed that Dimitri had camped out in the woods with his friend rather than stay by himself at the more comfortable inn. Perhaps Albineans were more open-minded than those in Fodlan.
"This inn is being very ignorant," Petra said with a frown, more than familiar with the widespread prejudice toward foreigners.
Byleth nodded. "Yes. I'm sorry they treated you that way."
She heard Ingrid shift uncomfortably behind the group. Having grown up in what used to be Faerghus, the aspiring knight was told nightmarish tales of Duscur and its supposedly evil people. The tragedy that occurred there had set into motion a devastating chain of events that would end with her homeland being conquered.
Her time at the Academy challenged those prejudices, making her much more open-minded. She occasionally still felt awkward around the natives of other countries, due to both guilt and fear of saying the wrong thing, but she was never one to shy away from difficult topics.
"If only the royal family were still alive," Ingrid said. Such a statement would have merited discipline if an imperial had heard it, but no one present disagreed with the sentiment. "They were friendly toward Duscur and would never have let such injustice stand."
Dimitri beamed at them for their support of his friend. These two men were an odd pair. Dedue behaved as if he was a mere servant, but Dimitri treated him like a cherished friend.
"Please forgive the intrusion," Dimitri said, "but I think it would be safer for all of us if we camped together for the rest of the night. More of those dastards may still lurk in the forest."
"I think that is wise," said Byleth. "I will bunk with my students if you two don't mind sharing my tent."
"Nonsense! You are far too generous. We are content to bed down outside. I do not wish to inconvenience you."
Byleth pinched the bridge of her nose in annoyance. Further evidence that this man was a noble. Commoners never engaged in these silly battles of who could be more polite. The nobility's constant charade of gallantry grated on her nerves. Not to mention, she was tired from having her sleep interrupted and fighting off dozens of bandits. She wasn't going to waste precious time convincing strangers to take her hospitality.
"We have enough tents to house everyone comfortably. My students and I will be in these two,” she said. “If you want to leave the other one empty and sleep in the dirt, be my guest."
Rather than take offense, Dimitri chuckled. "A compelling argument, Professor. Good night, then."
Exhaustion had the two parties moving slowly the next morning. Since they were both headed to the monastery, it made sense to travel the short distance together.
"I am here to find a wife," Dimitri said when Ingrid asked him what brought him to Fodlan.
"What's wrong with the women in Albinea?" Byleth asked.
"Nothing at all, of course! But the Emperor has recently honored me with a small holding in Fodlan. A marriage here will further my connections to secure more trade partners," he said, and grimaced. "It must sound terribly unromantic."
Byleth shrugged. It seemed practical enough to her. There were few people on the frozen rock that was Albinea, and even fewer of any social consequence, so making connections elsewhere was probably necessary for a businessman.
"Ah, Professor," he said, following the students' example of using her title. "In the chaos last night, we neglected your half of the introductions. You know my name, but I fear I do not know yours."
"Byleth."
"Byleth..." he prompted.
"Just Byleth. The Goddess is my one true family, and so on and so forth." She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. She hadn't quite gotten used to life at the monastery, and it felt disingenuous to present herself as pious. Of course, she believed in the goddess, but not in the way the church preached.
When you carried a deity around in your head, they didn't seem so lofty anymore.
[All the statues and stained glass windows of me are a bit embarrassing,] agreed Sothis inside her mind.
"Ah," he said, his wide smile faltering slightly. "Are you a nun, then?"
She snorted. " No . I'm a ward of the archbishop.”
"An orphan?" he asked with interest. "As am I. Dedue and I were found at the Albinean docks as children, knowing our given names and nothing else."
That got Byleth's attention. He had certainly come far from being a homeless, foreign orphan, so his life story must have been interesting indeed. "What happened?"
"Well, we begged until we were old enough to work, then took whatever jobs we could at the docks. I traded my services to the merchants in exchange for lessons in business and finance. We lived a spartan existence in order to earn enough to purchase our own boat and begin trading. Years later, I earned enough for my own estate and was knighted by the King of Albinea."
"That's incredible!" Ingrid interjected from behind them.
Petra, too, was impressed. "You have been achieving impossible things. I have great respect for your strength."
Dimitri scratched the nape of his neck, self-conscious in the face of everyone's flattery. "There was a good deal of luck involved as well. And without Dedue's help and encouragement, I would still be begging down on those docks."
"He exaggerates," said Dedue with a hint of annoyance in his deep voice. Byleth got the impression that this was a debate they had often.
Byleth wanted to ask how Dimitri had ended up with an invitation from the Emperor herself, but the impressive silhouette of Garreg Mach came into view as they crested a hill.
It wasn't home, exactly– living on the road still felt more natural to her, but she couldn't complain about life here. Rhea was kind enough and gave Byleth her space. The archbishop hadn't pushed her to assimilate into the church, instead offering her the opportunity to teach.
Byleth had lived here for a short time as a child, but she remembered very little of it. The memories she had of that time weren't the kind she wanted to relive.
[I shudder to think of it too.]
If Byleth wanted to know more about her childhood, there weren't many sources she could consult. She had been isolated from other members of the church, so even longtime residents of Garreg Mach hadn't known her back then. Asking Jeralt had never been an option, since thinking of her mother always sent him into a depression.
Rhea, too, could only reminisce fondly about Sitri, leaving Byleth to feel like an unwanted afterthought compared to her sainted mother. Sitri apparently had a strong will but a weak constitution, and she died in her husband's arms after giving birth to Byleth.
She didn't stay long at the monastery. An Agarthan agent had infiltrated the church and nearly killed her as a child. After that, Jeralt convinced Rhea that a more anonymous lifestyle on the road would be safer for Byleth. According to official church records, Jeralt Eisner died in a fire along with his unnamed child.
And so their life as traveling mercenaries began. As far as the rest of the world knew, she was a mercenary in Jeralt's crew that never socialized with the others. Any connection she had to Garreg Mach or the goddess was completely obscured. Their relationship as father and daughter was never revealed to anyone, either.
For an extra layer of anonymity, Byleth changed her appearance often. She would cut her hair short and dress to conceal her womanly body, then change it all again a month later. Her mysteriously shifting appearance and the unnervingly detached way she killed earned her the moniker that would follow her for the rest of her life– the Ashen Demon.
Of course, all that fell apart when Jeralt died. Byleth crawled back to the monastery with a broken heart and countless deaths on her conscience. She reinvented her identity once again, this time posing as an orphan ward of the Rhea's.
It wasn't a complete fabrication. Both her parents were dead, making her an orphan even if she was too old to be taken as a ward. Adoption into the church required a pledge of devotion, renouncing all past attachments– I have no family but the goddess, no name but Byleth . It was all too accurate in Byleth's case. Given the circumstances of her father's death, she no longer deserved to call herself an Eisner.
Don't think about that, she told herself . It never ends well.
As their weary group approached the monastery, the archbishop hurried to meet them at the gates. "I expected you hours ago!" she exclaimed.
"Bandits," Byleth said. Lady Rhea's face was stricken. "Don't worry. We're fine."
It may have sounded like a cold response to anyone else, but Rhea was used to Byleth's blunt nature. Coming from her, 'Don't worry' was a heartfelt apology for causing distress.
"I am grateful beyond words that the goddess was watching over you, my dear children," Rhea said to all of them, but her eyes were on the professor alone.
Byleth gestured to the two men, who had stood silently through the exchange. "We were lucky to have help. Without the assistance of these two, we would have been overrun."
Dimitri deflected the credit. "You do yourself and your students a disservice, Lady Byleth. But I am glad to have helped in what small way I could.” He turned to the archbishop and bowed deeply. “Lady Rhea, it is an honor to meet you. I am Dimitri Dygwr Dialedd, Grand Duke of Itha and Steward of Faerghus, at your service."
Byleth's jaw hung open, a rare show of emotion. " Grand Duke of Itha ?" Her students' dumbfounded expressions matched the shock she felt.
His Grace, the fucking duke , apparently, gave a sheepish chuckle.
"Ah. I may have neglected to mention which holding I was granted."
Here she thought she had been traveling with a rube from Albinea, a big fish in a small, frozen pond, an upstart baronet clawing his way up the social ladder. But to be granted such a prestigious title– Dimitri had clearly undersold how successful his businesses were.
She should probably stop calling him by his first name.
[Quite intriguing, isn't he?] Sothis said with a bit too much eagerness in her voice.
I guess , Byleth agreed warily. The girl had a teasing smirk, like she knew something Byleth didn't.
She forced her attention back to the people that actually had corporeal forms, to see Rhea bowing to Dimitri– to His Grace .
"You have my most heartfelt gratitude, Your Grace," said the archbishop with a hand over her heart. "We would be honored to offer you our hospitality. I will send someone to help you get cleaned up and settled. Please get some rest after such a dreadful ordeal.” She turned to Byleth. “In the morning, I'd like to see both of you in the audience chamber. I want to know exactly what transpired out there."
Her father's body was lying in the mud, the insistent drizzle making it impossible to distinguish raindrops from her tears splashing down onto his face. His strange wound seemed to be spreading, its putrid purple venom consuming any flesh in its inexorable path. The light she had conjured was fading as her power waned.
“It’s not working!” Byleth said in a pitiful whimper.
"I know," he said. "And it's not gonna. This old alley cat has used up his nine lives."
"No. There has to be a way." She needed him. Without him, she would be truly alone in the world.
"It's all right, kid. I'm ready to be with your mother again."
Sometimes when he spoke of his wife, it seemed like he wished he would have joined her long ago. That staying on this earth– with only his monstrous daughter as company– was a punishment. If it had been up to him, would he have let his child die so his wife could live? Probably.
No, that's not right. She knew he cared– he showed his love every day in a hundred little ways. But he had been alive for a very long time, so long he claimed to have lost count of the years. Life is a burden– one we're willing to carry because of the frightening alternative, but a burden nonetheless.
And she knew the rules, of course, knew all too keenly the limits of the goddess's power. But a life without her father? That was a burden that would inevitably crush her.
"Please, don’t leave me behind. I want to come with you.”
“None of that. You’ll be okay. But listen to me, Byleth. You know what you need to do, don’t you?"
Even as he lay dying, even as he assigned her the most heinous mission of her life, his voice was calm and firm. Her port in the storm.
Still, she couldn't accept his words. "No, I won't do it."
He used the last of his breath to console her, to apologize for putting her in this position, but also to reinforce that her unpleasant task must be completed, no matter what.
“Fine, I’ll do it,” she said, as if she could bargain her way out of fate. “Just don’t go!”
Even as she begged, she knew it was too late. He was gone. She cursed her selfishness. Her last words to him were wasted arguing about the inevitable. She should have been comforting him as he bled out into the dirt, not the other way around.
What a truly worthless daughter she was. She should have told him...
[Do not worry yourself, little one. He knew you loved him.]
His hand fell limp to the ground, and his chest stilled. She'd seen death hundreds of times. Hell, she was often the killer. But this death, this man... Her unwavering composure finally broke, and the silent rolling tears grew into body-wracking sobs.
The wicked ones responsible for this and the other horrors around her were celebrating, reveling in the destruction they'd caused. But their cheers turned to terrified cries at the sound of her unsheathing her sword, the gleaming edge of the blade near blinding when lightning struck nearby.
She was covered in so much mud and blood, there was no telling what her hair or skin color was, or if she was even human at all. They had called her the Ashen Demon for years, a damning judgment of her spine-chilling composure in the face of death. But today, she would earn that moniker. Today she would reveal what she truly was– an undying, cursed beast, a demon descended from the stars above to enact vengeance. No one would be spared from her blade and her rage.
A green aura enveloped Byleth, and her eyes glowed from within. Her voice was sonorous and inhuman, like she was sending a warning not just to these foes, but anyone across all space and time who dared oppose her.
“That was a deed most foul. One you will pay for with your lives!"