Chapter Text
Byleth leans back against her bed’s headboard, knees drawn up under her chin, long-sleeved coat draped carelessly over her bare feet. She stares unseeingly at the wall.
Beyond the window at her back, the monastery sky is the color of a faded bruise. Byleth feels the sunset’s absence as an exhausting press on her already sour mood.
The lesson hadn’t gone well today. Not by any standards—least of all her own.
She had gotten carried away. Again. Byleth was used to doling out blunt corrections to hardened soldiers, not cradling, not supporting, definitely not consoling.
It happened when Annette called her over during independent study and jabbed a finger into her messy, doodle-filled notebook.
“This is right, isn’t it? I took what you said, Professor, about the differences between White and Dark magic—“ Annette quickly turned the journal 90 degrees, “—and I worked out two diagrams: one for each of the spell-casting symbols.”
Annette leaned closer as she rambled, voice trembling with excitement.
“Look, see all my labels? It was actually really simple to find differences once I worked out the basic shapes.”
Byleth was already scanning the drawings long before Annette finished speaking, silent with concentration. Then, after a moment, said, “You’re missing a major axis of regeneration from your White magic symbol.”
Byleth paused, eyes still on the page, and touched a section of scribbled text. “And here, your comparative label. You need to talk about the effect on the castor herself. Remember, even though magic is guided by rules, the emotion is what ultimately…”
She looked up at Annette. The orange-haired girl had her hands folded, her gaze cast toward the floor. All at once, Byleth remembered where she was.
“It’s a start, a good start,” Byleth added. The stammered words came out reflexively, drawn out by Annette’s crumpled expression. Realizing how insufficient the praise was, she added, “Very good! I’m eager to see more!” Byleth winced internally, but kept her face shrouded with a bright smile.
Too late. Byleth could feel the wall go up between them; she saw the hesitance in Annette’s slow, sad smile. “It’s okay, Professor. I shouldn’t have expected to get it right on my first try.”
As Byleth stood, clumsily retreating, the orange-haired girl let her face fall into the pile of open books.
From the row behind, Felix watched with his head leaned against his hand, dark hair spilling through his fingers, expression caught between sharp judgement and utter boredom. His book on sword maintenance dangled limply from the edge of the table, long since discarded.
The look in his eyes had been almost verbal: “Really? I’m supposed to be taught by the likes of you?”
Just awful.
Would you stop with your whole self-pity routine? I’m developing a terrible headache.
Sothis drifts from the edge of the bedroom, placing her small, pale hands on top of Byleth’s knees. She tucks her chin over her hands, green eyes burning brightly in the room’s half-darkness.
For a renowned mercenary, you certainly lack a certain degree of… mental resilience, Sothis says, voice filling Byleth’s head. You’ve never taught a class before, so what? There was a time when you’d never swung a sword before, too.
Byleth rolls her eyes, sitting up slightly.
“That an unfair analogy. For one, Jeralt would’ve never sent me out on the battlefield before I had the ability to succeed. Clearly, Lady Rhea doesn’t possess the same discretion.”
Sothis sighs. Are you so sure—
“ And furthermore ,” Byleth continues, “When I trained with Jeralt, I never had to worry about being liked—” She puts up a finger. “—or being kind.” She puts up another. “Two categories which I happen to absolutely fail in.” Byleth stick the two fingers in Sothis’s face.
Stop that. Sothis scrunches up her nose, floating back towards the wall again. I can’t believe I have to be the one to say this, but… it’s very clear that the students like you. Or at least, they are inclined to.
“ Felix?”
I should say, most are inclined. These “children” are scarcely three years younger than yourself. If you just tried to make a friend or two, I’m certain that these foolish doubts of yours would vanish.
Immediately, Byleth feels a knot of worry form in her stomach. “Friends?” Images of the encounter with Annette rip through her head.
Sothis clicks her tongue disapprovingly. Obviously, Annette won’t be an easy connection for you. Perhaps after you’ve had a bit more practice. No, you need someone much more hard-headed. Someone…
Another face appears in her mind, and Byleth isn’t sure if she or Sothis put it there.
Blue eyes narrowed with concentration, blond hair falling neatly yet carelessly across his face, training lance in hand. Fingers splayed over the face of the desk, eyebrows furrowed, gaze fixed on the board. Dimitri.
Yes, him.
“That’s not happening.”
On her first day in the classroom, Byleth had nearly run away. Eight students were staring, and the room was so damn hot. She clutched the edges of the podium with shuddering hands. Her mind was completely, utterly blank.
“Excuse me, Professor,” Dimitri had said, raising his hand neatly in the air. He was the only one whose name she remembered.
“Yes, Dimitri?”
“If you don’t yet know the proper procedure for lectures, I can tell you all that I know. If that’s… agreeable to you, of course.” His voice quieted near the end, becoming hesitant. She wasn’t sure whether to feel embarrassed or thankful.
“Yes, that would be very gracious,” Byleth said. “Thank you, Dimitri.”
He had nodded curtly, lowered his hand, and began to explain.
He was quite helpful to you, wasn’t he? Sothis asks. He almost reminds me of myself, if he wasn’t such a big oaf. Surely he wouldn’t be a bad friend to have around.
Byleth, feeling altogether uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, turns pointedly toward the wall.
In addition, I know you’ve been searching for a reason to watch him train. If you were friends, then there wouldn’t be a problem.
“Sothis!” Byleth whips toward her.
What? You were thinking about it just the other day.
“Yes, but— but, my intentions— It was in preparation for our upcoming lance unit!” Byleth says, frustration mixing up her words. “If you had been eavesdropping on my thoughts properly, you would’ve heard how it’s important to observe an experienced weapon wielder—“
A knock echoes through the bedroom, silencing Byleth’s outburst. Byleth looks over at Sothis with wide eyes. Sothis shrugs.
Another knock, firmer this time.
“Pardon me, Professor. I realize how utterly intrusive I’m being.”
The voice, undeniably belonging to a certain blond-haired prince, filters through the door. Byleth scrambles to her feet, alarm bells going off in her head.
“You see, my good friend Sylvain,” Dimitri‘s voice grows strained, “Insisted that dusk would be the hour when you would be most receptive to social invitations.”
Byleth snatches her coat off the bed, shoving her hands through the sleeves. She eyes her discarded boots. Was a professor expected to wear shoes in her own bedroom? Surely not. What was Dimitri saying about Sylvain?
“What I mean to say is… Tomorrow, I’m gathering our House members for a duel in the Training Grounds—after your instruction has concluded, of course.” Dimitri pauses, sighing. “Perhaps it would be beneficial… no, enjoyable for you to observe us?”
With that, Byleth finally yanks the door open. Dimitri, who had been leaning against the doorframe, immediately stiffens, only a few inches away, expression shifting from annoyance to surprise to embarrassment. He blinks slowly, once, twice.
“Ah, Professor. You’re… you’re actually here, I see.” He’s dressed in his usual royal armor, rich blue cape draped from his right shoulder, collar trimmed neatly with silver embroidery. He shifts backwards slightly as he speaks, putting space between them.
Byleth nods, face blank. Desperately, she tries to imagine what a good professor would say in this situation.
“Forgive me for asking yet again, but… can you attend?” Dimitri says. For a moment, Byleth hears a slight quaver in his voice, but it passes immediately, swallowed by his overwhelming firmness.
This is perfect! Sothis says cheerily. You must say yes! You must!
“Quiet,” Byleth hisses.
“Sorry, did you say something?” Dimitri asks, frowning.
“I said yes,” Byleth says. “Yes. I would be glad to watch the duel tomorrow.”
Dimitri visibly relaxes, shoulders lowering several inches.
“Good then. See you in class.” He inclines his head, hand folded formally over his chest, then turns away, walking briskly. Byleth watches him until he turns the corner and heads up to the dormitory’s second floor.
A strange feeling echoes in her chest, very faintly. Clearly some emotion from her link with Sothis. As she closes her door, Byleth looks across the way one last time, and swears she sees a flash of fiery red hair peering around the corner.