Chapter Text
He hardly looked at her, and said even less. Byleth followed him down the dismal tower like a stray kitten. Begrudgingly, he allowed it.
Where else was she to go? According to him, she had no one left, no one at all.
Originally, the man was surprised to see her stand by his side after witnessing the aftermath of his brutality splayed across the stairs. He said it would be better if she just left, found someone else to follow.
She really didn't want to do that. Inescapable strands of divine will and a curious mind, insisted she'd much rather stay.
Knowing he knew her from the time before , planted the seed of comfort, even if he refused to tell her his name, or the details of her time as his professor. She was sure with patience, the seed would take root and they'd learn to grow as partners.
The blond, one-eyed man couldn't have been much older than her, yet he towered high above, leaving the top of her head about chest level. It was hard to imagine her as his teacher. What did she teach? Fishing?
“This bloody path is not for the faint of heart,” he warned. “There are no guarantees of survival at any point. I have no tolerance for weakness.“
He said she could travel with him as long as she was of use to him, and followed by his rules, which roughly equated to “don't get in my way”.
Easy, she could be very useful, she adhered to directions to the letter, and emotions had yet to cloud her judgement. The man didn't doubt her, but he did make it clear that she was merely another weapon to be used in his arsenal, and nothing more. If she became dead weight, he'd discard her, and make use of her remains— should they have any.
Byleth was partly convinced he was bluffing to sound dramatic, and then proceeded to ponder all of the practical uses a corpse could have to be useful. There were a lot more than she expected.
Crossing the great stone bridge, the man paused, peering outward towards the murky horizon. The air carried a thick fetor of iron from bodies devoid of their warmth, rigid having yet to succumb to decay. Imperial soldiers, slaughtered beyond recognition, just like the rest. Whatever their crimes, the man was determined to be the grim hand of punishment. Byleth trusted he had good reason.
“What do you see?“
“Flames,” he said low.
Byleth squinted her eyes but could not make out any fires. For only having one eye, he had pretty good eyesight.
“They set ablaze the path before me. The dead must have their tribute.“ His fist clenched tight to the ledge, nearly enough to crack the old stone. “Imperial soldiers are compliant with that woman's wishes, their heads shall be cleaved from their shoulders.“
Woman? He must mean the Emperor, she knew who that was at least.
“You follow an instinct?“
He snorted, “Something like that.“
Couldn't be more bizarre than waking up with green hair and a sword of malefic, organic design. Her instincts guided her to this man, and that turned out just fine. Who was to say his were any less trustworthy than hers?
“You thought I was one of them, disguised,” Byleth said while rubbing her shoulder, having just realized there weren't actually flames to look for and it was simply a sort of metaphorical philosophy he adhered to. Flatly she added, “If someone walked up pretending to be Jeralt, I'd kill them too. Easily.“
The man's body moved to glance back at her, ceasing halfway as if he'd decided against it. An air of hesitation belied his hardened outer demeanor. “So you see why we must kill them all.“
Following his heavy footfalls, she hummed in agreement, “Every last one of them.“
From their current location, the center of Fódlan, their path would take them south, and if this man were to follow his 'instincts', the quickest route to Enbarr on foot would take at least… three months. She could work with that, it wasn't as if she had anything better to do.
“Rats,” the man abruptly snarled, his nose to the air like a wolf seeking prey.
“What do rats have to do with Enbarr?“ she asked, curious if she was missing something from their hastily made itinerary.
“They don't. Thieves, looters and their ilk seek to infest the monastery. Pillaging the land to their hearts content and slaughtering those who cannot defend themselves. I cannot allow any of them to leave with their heads attached. Is that a problem?“
No reason why it would be, she shook her head. “Lead the way.“
His grin turned sick with glee. “Care to go rat hunting?“
Leaving the main grounds to the outer ruins, they found their invaders; a sorry excuse for a band of looters led by a peculiar merchant. Those “rats” didn't last long.
Weapons drawn, the duo mercilessly swept in to make quick work of them. The man's finesse was nothing short of exceptional. It was no wonder those soldiers keeled over so easily to his tempest. His skill with a lance was dreamlike, entrancing in a way that was nearly distracting. Solo, he could dodge most of their crude attacks and carve a clear path with ease against such an unpolished foe, but together— their movements synced as if they'd done this baleful dance ten thousand times, as innate as breathing.
Her sword —he informed her along the way, was a sacred relic called the “Sword of the Creator”. In only her hands could its power be unleashed, unhinging at eerily organic intervals, where each serrated link connected and unbound at her will to form a whip she could control with a wholly abnormal proficiency.
Although he didn't have a fancy weapon, he was quite familiar with hers. It was difficult to believe she was not someone very important to him as they seamlessly cleaved through the necks of their prey. He was fairly well trained for someone so young, a bit reckless, but made up for it in raw strength, speed, and dexterity.
“Where are the rest of them?“ he demanded, voice lowered to a snarl, a wild beast without pride. The sniveling merchant turned looter whimpered beneath his grasp.
“I don't know, I'm— I'm just your common variety merchant searching for antiques! I'm not a threat, I didn't think anyone would be here, I swear!“
Unsatisfied with his answer the man shot back, “Does a non-threat point their sword in the direction of strangers?“ The man in black wedged the tip of his steel slowly between the merchant’s gambeson, his wrist giving a small twist while its wearer howled out in pain. “Or is an assault just a common variety merchant's greeting?“
Under the hold of the man in black, the merchant kicked and weakly flailed to no avail. He already attempted a poor glamour to flee, only to be caught by the lick of Byleth's whip sword and snatched up by her new partner. She was going to greatly enjoy the range on her new weapon.
In the distance, a faint flap of wings and the scuff of hooves from knights on horseback were approaching. Her father warned her about the Church of Seiros and their Knights. The monastery was practically their old home, it made sense that they'd return. Heeding her father's warnings, she'd prefer to stay far away from them if possible, and stick close to her obviously non-affiliated crabby blond man.
This pointless interrogation was going nowhere. After she'd finished looting the bodies, she discovered poisons, drugs, and missives containing seedy dealings. Imperial or not, this merchant was a liar. She knew better, he'd take his secrets to the grave, their loyalties were to one, money .
“I'll pack my things and leave, just let me— nggh…” His head jerked, the rest of him gracelessly hung limp.
The blue star-marked man shot a scathing look her way as her sword retracted from the merchant's corpse with a slick squelch. “What do you think you're doing! Are you daft?“ he fumed, dropping the merchant's body from his hand with a weighty thud.
The dour ruins of the outer monastery grounds spanned a considerable length. The Knights were coming, and if he was in such a hurry to deliver justice and get to Enbarr, he wasn't doing a very good job interrogating a brick wall.
“I checked the bodies, he had nothing of importance he'd be willing to offer us.“
That didn't seem to matter a wink to the snarling man. “So you sought to grant him mercy after all he had done? He deserved far worse and your soft heart let him off easy!“
Byleth didn't flinch, using the dead merchant's cape to sweep the grit off the edge of her weapon. “You can't threaten his kind into talking unless you have the coin, which we don't,“ she replied with her usual, even calm. “There are others who require our unique attention. He was wasting your time, so I ended him, but not because I cared.“
The man stared at her momentarily vexed until his lone eye changed focus. She craned her head around to see what he was looking at to find there was nothing of significance, only dead air.
Byleth looked back, the man's attention still glued to that elusive nothingness as if it was through her and into the realm beyond. Almost obediently, he gave a quick nod, his glossed eye blinking twice. Rolling his shoulders, he straightened himself, cleared his throat, and gathered the rest of his composure, as if nothing remotely strange happened at all.
“Let us be on our way,” he said, pressing forward past the ruined rubble into the woods.
Humming in agreement, Byleth sheathed her sword, meeting him at his side. Those Knights could handle the clean up while the two of them did the dirty work.
Under his breath she could hear him mutter, “Indeed, they call her the Ashen Demon for a reason…”
Staring at the billowy ruffle in the furs of his cloak, Byleth bit her cheek. She wasn't sure why that note had particularly a bitter undertone. Killing the seedy merchant and moving on would be a more efficient use of their time, wasn't that what he wanted?
She never really understood the reason they called her the “Ashen Demon”, her father admonished, but accepted it. Now that the man in black had said it that way, the moniker felt far more foul.
Three men guarded the main merchant caravan posted on the outskirts. Likely parked for convenience to make an easy getaway. They were armed to the teeth, armored in light vests and thick breeches, just a common variety merchant, huh?
Weapons of iron, steel, and silver along with an assortment of bucklers, and shields all had the distinct crimson embellishment, the mark of the Imperial army. So the Empire employed anyone these days?
The man's short fuse was difficult to reign in at the sight of their target, feverish for the slaughter. In hushes, Byleth hastened to remind him that recon was just as important as the kill, and it would be for naught if their deaths bore no fruit. To put it in terms he would find agreeable, she explained it was a game of give and take. Their prey gives their weaknesses, their information, while they take their lives and their ability to cause harm to others. Insight was key, and that required a patience the man was stubborn to use.
On her mark, Byleth and the impatient man darted in. Despite his outward defiance, he took direction well, trusted her judgement, and was keen on learning from her know-how.
The lance of the vengeance driven man spiked upward through the first guard, tearing through the mail of his armor. Finishing the job, the man stowed his weapon, fingers burying into the back of the guard's helmet to be crushed against the caravan with a force that seemed near impossible for a man as lean as he to achieve. sh*t, even a man double his size wouldn't be able to subject their victim to blunt trauma of that caliber with their hand .
Men could be so excessive sometimes.
Byleth's sword unbound at her will, seizing the opportunity to swipe the whiplike blade horizontal, splitting open the other two guards who had graciously lined up for her to take down in one swift motion.
A buffet of warm crimson sprayed across her face. She made no effort to wipe off the chunky bits, it would only smear.
The two guards slumped over in a puddle of each other's fluids by her feet. Byleth rummaged through their haul while the very strong man in black swapped his old lance out for a better one.
Pallardó the stained missive stated. Hmm, that guy was probably spread across the gravel by now.
“If there are merchants, there are buyers.“
The man grunted in acknowledgement. “An Imperial outpost must be near.“
Byleth rolled her neck with a satisfying pop. “Doesn't that distract from your mission?“
Holding his head high with an indignant look, he replied, “Imperial scum willingly carry out the Empire's atrocities. If we find them, we wipe them out.“
He seemed hellbent on literally killing them all. It would take a lot more than three months to make it to Enbarr if they deviated from their path too much. She chewed her lip, if those were his wishes, who was she to deny him?
The guards had given them little intelligence but made up for it in equipment upgrades. Taking only what little they could carry on their person, the two left the caravan as it was, a gruesome scene for someone else to care about. Probably those Knights.
Inexplicably, where he went, she trailed in his footfalls. Not too unlike being a mercenary, he pointed the finger, her blade would cut them down. This was the only life she had known, and she was damn good at it. Good enough to earn her a well-known nickname she no longer liked hearing, not when it fell from that man's lips. Vexed as to why, he had a very pleasant voice to listen to even when grouchy.
Daybreak was upon them, and after mulling over what they gained from their rat hunt, they kept the three eyes between them peeled for more unworthy of walking amongst the living.
The forest was rich with its bounty, even as the throes of winter approached. Every so often he'd look back at her, but say nothing. Probably checking to see if she was still following along. If this man claimed to know so much about her, he'd know she didn't need babysitting. It remained entirely a mystery as to why her former self would rescind the solitary life she knew for a cozy job as a professor. As the man had said: she was a weapon and should be used as such —part of her didn't think he entirely meant that.
Minute glimpses of this so-called “dead man” he referred to in ministrations he'd failed to keep in check spoke in volumes. This thread of fascination pulled her in, small, but intriguing enough to want to unravel it slowly. Very slowly.
Idle conversation was typically met with harsh grunts or sneers. The most she heard him converse wasn't even with her.
Under a false sense of privacy, he would fall under this near hypnotic, fugue state. Faintly, she'd hear him speaking to some otherworldly beings she couldn't see. She didn't know exactly what they spoke of, in an effort to allow him the space he required, only that he came out of it in a hollow desperation to fulfill their shadowy request. The man refused to elaborate, so she did not press.
The subject matter itself held an air of grief and pain he was not willing to revisit.
She was no stranger to invisible voices. Although, this felt far more malicious than Sothis, and it seemed there was more than one.
It started out feeling lonely without a partner in her head, but Byleth was the practical sort, she could get by without the voice of the Goddess chirping in her ear. She still held the power of time in her grasp as a last resort. This strange bout of amnesia would not hold her back. Byleth didn't need to pick up where she(the professor) had left off, she only needed to move forward, and now she wasn't so alone.
Under grey skies, they journeyed south. Days went by, and she was no closer to learning anything about her missing past, the nature of her father's death, or the mysterious man she was far too keen to stay close to.
The cynical man was quiet, he wasn't very nice, and he didn't do much except hunt, kill, and brood.
Be it a wolf, or bear, the man had no sense of self preservation, throwing himself in front of danger with reckless abandon unless explicitly told otherwise. They could fight seamlessly in unison, even when words went unspoken, and yet he'd readily take the damage in Byleth's stead.
In her mercenary group, she'd come across plenty of masoch*st before, men who got off at the sight of a fresh new wound to add to their collection of scars like a badge of merit. Some just enjoyed the thrill.
This was not a case of masochism. It was something else entirely. Instead of adrenaline, or 'feeling like a badass', he got something out of his intentional inflictions that made little sense in Byleth's practical mind.
More questions he would never answer.
At night, he hardly slept, laying awake, arms behind his head, gazing skyward. If he knew sleep would elude him, he insisted she just rest. There was no reason for the two of them to be awake.
When exhaustion caught up to him, or after his watch was over, he anxiously allowed his mind to drift off, settling into nightmares. Often, they'd frighten him awake, or cruelly trap him within. She wasn't sure which was worse.
Rarely, he'd talk in his sleep. She didn't mean to pry, but he repeated it so often she unintentionally learned he was a victim of a horrible massacre. What other horrors had befallen him?
He flinched at the flare of sudden flame, but while they camped, he'd stare at it for hours, mastering a fear he longed to drown.
Flames, they guided his every move, and haunted his nettled dreams. An inescapable horror he was unwillingly shackled to, would fulfilling his mission set him free? If so, she'd do whatever it took. His freedom might convince him to open up more.
Typically, Byleth was the silent one. The strange girl who didn't show emotion and was usually avoided. The poorly rested man saw her as otherwise, he didn't treat her like she was weird at all. In his long bout of isolation it was understandable he was not keen to trust readily, at the very least, he treated her as someone at his side he could rely on. Someone he didn't have to worry wouldn't be able to keep up where it mattered.
Someone of use, she liked that.
Whatever type of friendship they had before greatly swayed his opinion of her, though she couldn't see how when the two hardly spoke. He likely would not have allowed her to tag along at all if it wasn’t for their mysterious history, she was beginning to think she wasn't his fishing instructor.
Despite his claims that she was merely a weapon used at his disposal, it was nice that he didn't mind her presence as they traveled side-by-side in pensive solitude. As they camped at the foot of a tree, surrounded by the balm of morning dew, the aroma of wild honey, Byleth knew this was home, not a gaudy teaching position filled with incessant chatter. Thickets teeming with wildlife, crystal bubbling streams, the crunch under their heels, provided all the ambiance they could want.
