Edelgard von Hresvelg's withdrawal from the Officer's Academy and subsequent departure occurred only days following the original announcement. Balen suspected the delay was only due to the necessity to organize a legitimate escort for the Imperial princess, otherwise, she'd have marched off at the moment she'd made the decision.

It was more of a somber affair than it was extravagant. Sure the Black Eagles tried to be cheerful and throw a kind of going away party, but the recent losses within their house had taken their toll.

They tried, but there was little heart in it.

Except for the girl he'd rescued alongside Flayn. Monica always seemed to be cheerful and bubbly, a trait of which had Hilda and Lysithea concerned.

The concern Balen had with it was how clearly irritating Hubert found her, what with her temperament and the way she clung to Edelgard.

Perhaps it was good they were withdrawing.

Blaise would probably plot with Hubert to destroy the girl should she have seen.

Balen hadn't spoken to Edelgard even though Claude had hinted it may be beneficial in better understanding what next step he should take. He was neither blind nor dense enough to not know Edelgard would be the one most likely to be aware of what Blaise had been doing in her spare time.

Still, Claude didn't know Blaise.

Didn't know how she kept things to herself. Didn't realize she had never been the most honest of people.

Sometimes Balen wondered if that was a side effect of her being mute. If she just naturally didn't try to explain when she perceived it would take more effort than it was worth to do so.

Sign and writing were means of communication, but they weren't like speaking.

Maybe she just learned to give the easiest response whether it was true or not.

As it was, Edelgard may have been the most likely candidate for Blaise to have been honest with, but the likelihood that she actually was? Balen thought minimal.

He thought all of this through and, yet, he found himself waiting to speak to Edelgard von Hresvelg for the first time since that morning outside Remire Village. He didn't think she realized it was him at first as she was walking down the steps that would take her to the front gate with her vassal taking in every word she was saying like she was the Goddess herself. When she did notice, it was because he didn't scurry out of her way like the rest of the crowd.

Edelgard had done a double-take, and he swore she'd smiled for just a moment before it disappeared and replaced it with that ever-scrutinizing gaze. "Professor Balen, is there something I can help you with?" she asked.

She was polite, unlike Hubert who was glaring at him as if he thought Balen should be bowing at her mere presence.

Balen didn't answer her, evenly holding Hubert's glare.

As a moment passed in the kind of stalemate, Edelgard huffed with annoyance and waved her hand. "Hubert, please ensure our preparations are complete."

Eyes of a poisonous green did not release Balen even as Hubert bowed in acknowledgement to Edelgard's order. "As you wish, Lady Edelgard." He straightened and held the glare for another moment before brushing by.

"Forgive Hubert. The suddenness of my father's decline and our withdrawal has put him on edge," Edelgard admitted.

Balen nodded and another moment of silence passed.

Edelgard's eyes narrowed, a hint of tension finding it's way into her shoulders. When she spoke again, she was still polite but her voice somewhat forced. "Actually, I am glad to cross paths with you. When Blaise returns, would you mind giving her something for me?" She was already pulling a carefully bound scroll of parchment from the one bag Hubert didn't take from her. Edelgard held it out to him. "It is an invitation to the palace of Enbarr, signed by me personally. Any guard will allow someone carrying it inside with the highest priority. If she is ever feeling up to it, I would enjoy Blaise's company, however temporary. Of course, you and Sir Jeralt would be welcome as well," she offered.

"You're inviting her to the palace?" Balen repeated. He crossed his arms at the unusual request.

A hint of a flush dusted Edelgard's cheeks, but then she was tossing her hair in a nonchalant kind of way. "I gave them to all of my friends and, of course, Professor Manuela."

That still didn't put him at ease. How many of her friends weren't nobles? The act of walking into the palace as a commoner was completely different. "She's a commoner. The guards at the palace threatened her for getting too close the last time we were in Enbarr," he stated.

To Edelgard's credit, her eyes darkened, forehead creasing. "I was unaware of that," Edelgard admitted slowly and to no surprise to Balen. It only reinforced what he knew about Blaise and her privacy. "However, I assure you they will know to treat any bearer of my personal invitation with the utmost respect," she promised.

Balen wasn't convinced, but, if he knew Blaise, she would dance around the thought for awhile but eventually end up outside the palace.

If they ever found her.

"I am afraid I must begin my travel back to Enbarr. Perhaps we shall meet again soon," Edelgard offered, bowing slightly before she stepped around him to follow after Hubert.

He'd have let her go except for a sudden thought of which grabbed his attention. His hand snapped out and caught the hem of Edelgard's cloak, making her pause.

She turned back to him with a sharp, stiff twist, ready to reprimand.

Balen spoke first. "You said 'when,'" he realized and Claude's guess reverberated in his head. It spilled from his mouth before he'd really thought into it. "Are you leaving to find her?"

Edelgard only cut off her reply, tilting her head as she regarded him. Her face told him nothing.

So he waited.

"Tell Claude he would do well to mind his own business."

With that, she spun around for the second time, leaving Balen contemplating the enigma of Edelgard von Hresvelg. He watched her, but she didn't look back.

~FE~

Edelgard's return to Enbarr must have had a deeper affect on his thoughts than he expected. He found himself thinking of Claude and his inevitable return to Derdriu.

The city of Derdriu, known as the Aquatic Capital, was the very territory Claude was set to inherit as the only remaining heir of the Riegan family.

That was Balen's first lesson in politics though Claude's familiarity made it easy to forget.

Balen rarely, if ever, thought about it.

Claude didn't exactly flaunt his station.

He hardly mentioned Derdriu at all except on the occasion he was needed for a brief meeting with the current Alliance leaders and had to take off for a few days. Claude had made the offhand comment of Balen joining him sometime to see the city.

Looking back, Balen hadn't understood the sentiment. He simply stated the fact he'd seen the city before.

It was only partially true.

He had traveled to the city with his father, Blaise, and the rest of their mercenary group for a job, but to say he'd seen the city was a stretch. He hadn't truly looked, and, by the nature of their status as common sellswords, they weren't exactly given free rein to wander all parts of the city. Certainly not the nicer parts where Claude would have access.

Balen did remember a cove, however. It wasn't exactly part of Derdriu so much as an extension of the territory outside the city. It had made a brilliant fishing spot with soft-flowing, clear waters that would eventually spill into the Aquatic Capital to the South.

He knew he was dreaming in this moment not only because he found himself in that cove, but, also, because Blaise sat across from him. Stretched out in the sun next to the water, her attention was focused solely on the fishing pole across her lap and her attempt to attach the hook.

Balen glanced down at his own to see it was already set with a wiggling earthworm.

When he looked back up, his sister had successfully completed her task and was watching him. She grinned, her baited hook swinging haphazardly in the open air in the space beside her knee.

I'm going to catch something before you.

She always Signed stuff like that. Friendly challenges.

The funny thing was she wasn't even that competitive. She couldn't care less whether she caught something before him or not. She rarely won so he'd never quite figured out why she would suggest it at all. She always smiled though so she must get something out of it.

Balen shifted to the edge of the water and cast his line, Blaise following suit next to him. They sat side by side in companionable silence, listening to the chirp of birds and trickles of water. He didn't know how long they stayed there. It could have been minutes or maybe hours.

Eventually, Blaise linked their arms, her head falling to rest on his shoulder while she continued to stare out over the expanse of water.

He didn't think she was watching her line any longer.

"Hey, Balen?"

Balen jumped at the voice. It was soft and contemplative. Full of faraway thoughts. Maybe a little lost.

So very Blaise.

He didn't know how he knew it to be hers nor why it was so familiar.

He forgot about his line, staring instead at his sister like she'd grown another head. It took him longer than it should have to realize he should respond. "Yeah?" he asked. By contrast, his voice, though soft as well, was rough and deep. Nothing more, nothing less to be discerned within despite his best attempts at conveying... something. Curiosity? Surprise?

"Don't leave, okay?"

Don't leave? Where would he go? Why did she sound so... sad?

"What are you thinking about?" Balen wondered.

Blaise shifted, her fingers digging into his arm just a smidge more than was casual. "We're never going to do this again..." she whispered.

His blood froze at the words, an occurrence that was becoming strangely common as of late. His first question was wondering why she would think that, but his thoughts shifted onward before he could voice it.

He supposed she had a point.

They were in different places and not just physically. Balen was happy to have found a place as a professor while Blaise had yet to find hers. He could tell she had yet to fully relinquish her mercenary roots, and maybe there was a reason for that. Maybe she wasn't supposed to.

So she was right.

They would never travel together again like they used to, never sit like this, just the two of them, with no other care in the world.

Time moved them along whether they wanted to go or not.

A choked sound startled him, Blaise shuddering into his shoulder as her nails pierced the fabric of his cloak.

Why was she crying?

Before he could ask, Blaise tilted her head, her eyes meeting his.

And he recoiled. His fishing pole fell forgotten upon the ground as he ripped his arm from his sister's hold and shoved himself several feet away. Clambering to his feet, he looked back, blinking furiously.

But it was the same.

Blaise's eyes had always been the same dark shade of blue as his, yet now they practically glowed a molten red. He'd seen the same in Chevalier that night in Zanado, the memory bringing a shudder through his body.

Or maybe it wasn't even the memory as he suddenly felt exhausted, drained.

Paralyzed.

Why couldn't he move anymore?

"What are you doing?" he managed to grind out.

Because Blaise had to be doing something. She was the only one here besides himself.

He didn't know if it was his imagination or if her hair really had drained of all color. His vision seemed to be failing him, blurring as if trying to see through water. He saw her stand. Her hand reached out to him, swirls of red twisting up and down her arm until he saw nothing but the red.

"Balen?"

Her whisper reverberated within his mind.

Broken. A plea. Like a scared child.

"...It's dark."

Balen snapped awake from the dream-turned-nightmare, wrenching up into a sitting position fast enough his head spun. Blaise's words echoed, but, as the room began to settle and he recognized the red glow in his room as the sunrise shining through his window, they faded and he relaxed.

Some.

Nervous energy pulsed through his veins, and he wasted no time in throwing himself out of bed.

It was a mistake as his vision faded to black and he ended up on his knees, hunched over the floor. The room was too warm or maybe he was feverish. His hair stuck uncomfortably against his head and he ran his fingers through the sweaty mess for some relief.

A groan to his left had him tilting his head just enough to see Sothis similarly limp in the chair meant for his desk.

What could have caused such dizziness?

"You feel it too?"

Yes, I… I am so sleepy and a bit… It is a struggle to merely stay conscious. Yet it feels familiar… as though pulled from a corner of my memory from a time long ago. I simply cannot fathom it.

Balen grit his teeth, grabbing onto the edge of his bed for support as he dragged himself to stand. He certainly had never felt this way before though he vaguely recalled times when Blaise or some of their mercenary companions had fallen sick. Sometimes they struggled to stand.

Was that what this was? Was he sick? Why now?

A half-hearted snort had him glancing back at Sothis. The girl had her head propped up on her arm. She struck him as disoriented and groggy except when their eyes met. They flashed with irritation.

No, this is most certainly your fault.

Just say what you mean, Sothis. His head was already hurting from the strain of forcing the room not to spin around him.

You have consistently ignored my advice, pushing yourself to the brink and beyond using my power. It has finally caught up to you. Yes, that is what this must be.

He recalled her annoyance after the altercation with the Flame Emperor and Chevalier. That's what it had been about…

"I just want to find Blaise."

What good was this power if it couldn't even bring his sister back to him?

Sothis blinked, her glare softening though her voice remained sharp.

Some things cannot be achieved through power alone, and there is not enough power in this world to force what is not meant to be.

So what? He should just forget about her? See what happens?

The thought made his fists clench the bedsheets.

I did not say give up. Only to consider the options and choose the best path. You are no good to anyone as it is.

Angry as he was, she had a point. He wasn't totally convinced feeling this way was his fault, but he couldn't argue that his inability to stand straight without support wasn't very helpful.

"Sorry," he apologized. He meant it this time.

Sothis blinked large green eyes at him before sighing, What am I to do with you? You really are quite troublesome.

A knock on his door interrupted their conversation. He frowned and glanced out the window at the barely risen sun. It was too early to be one of his students which meant something else must have happened.

Squaring his shoulders, Balen hoped he didn't appear as bad as he felt. At least the room had stopped spinning now that he'd accustomed to standing straight.

His father stood on the other side of the door, tension obvious in his stance. "Sorry to wake you up, Kid, but Shamir just returned from Remire with her report," he explained.

Right. Balen recalled there being some reports of odd going ons at the village. He had honestly thought it wouldn't be anything serious, but if Jeralt was grabbing him... He only grabbed the Sword of the Creator before nodding he was ready.

To his surprise, his father didn't take him to the audience chamber but passed it without a second glance. They continued on through the corridors until Jeralt took a hard left into the infirmary where Manuela was already speaking to Shamir.

"… There are no absolutes in medicine but the chances are extremely slim. Restless movements, fits of violence, becoming bedridden or even impossible to wake... With symptoms that varied, there are only a few possibilities. It's either a mixture of poisons or magic. And dark magic at that," Manuela explained.

"That's what we're dealing with in Remire?" Jeralt interrupted.

Balen half-expected Manuela to return his father's question with a flirtatious comment, but all she did was sigh as she glanced over her shoulder at him. "Based off Shamir's descriptions, it is my working theory."

"We scouted the area ourselves," Shamir stated. "Speak with the knights. Hear what they have to say if you're curious," she offered.

"My children and I owe the people of Remire village If there's something going on, we must help them."

Shamir gave the sharpest of nods. "You should be able to find the scouts in the Knight's Hall. If you'll excuse me, I must report to Rhea. Thank you again, Manuela."

Balen stepped out of her way to let her by though he looked to Manuela. "You said dark magic?" he asked.

"Why, yes. Such unnatural response from the human body... I've no question this is someone's doing," she admitted.

Balen didn't like the sound of that and was immediately reminded of another suspected attack by dark magic. "Like the kind who killed the messenger meant to invite Blaise to Rhea's meeting on Flayn's disappearance?" he pressed.

Manuela's eyes darkened. It was no secret she had taken said situation badly. Balen had heard she'd personally vowed to end the Death Knight herself and Rhea had expressly forbidden her from leaving the grounds while she healed. She'd argued, loudly, about her supposed right to search for Blaise, but hadn't been able to walk down the corridor much less a full patrol until quite recently.

"Why, Professor, if you are implying what I believe you are, perhaps the Black Eagles and the Golden Deer should join forces once more."

"Nice try, Manuela, but you are still on house arrest," Jeralt cut in.

She snorted, unamused. "Please, I have nearly returned to my full capabilities. Rhea will be hearing from me. Count on it," Manuela snapped. She huffed and pushed by them. "Right now, in fact."

Manuela was serious alright, and Balen couldn't say it wouldn't be beneficial to have the Black Eagles on the same mission. He doubted Rhea would see it that way, however. It wasn't necessarily beneficial for the direction she was leading them.

"I'll be in my office making preparations..."

His father's voice surprised him. Although he still stood right next to him, he sounded far away. Very far away. He tried to turn to face him only to feel that damning paralysis in his limbs, something deep within strung up with all the tension of a taut bowstring. The accompanying helplessness did little to ease his rising horror as a darkness began to creep from the edges of his sight.

"… Hey, what's wrong!"

Balen wasn't sure, but the world suddenly shifted beneath his feet.

Then there was nothing but shadows in his eyes and the hard floor of the infirmary beneath him. He was well aware of his father beside him, shifting with sharp movements, until quite suddenly the tension evaporated and Balen shot into a sitting position.

His vision returned to see his father's concerned expression, but it was negligible compared to his own concern. Free to move again, he flexed his arms, a dull ache in the muscles that reminded him of Raphael's arm wrestling challenge of which led to him besting his entire house in the timespan of one lesson. The only other time he'd felt something similar had been following his most recent sparring match with Blaise, and she'd shot a fully powered thoron spell through him.

Although, in hindsight, that had kind of paralyzed him too, if only for a heartbeat.

His dream swirled to the forefront of his mind.

Was his sister involved?

"Balen, what happened?" Jeralt's demand jerked Balen out of his stupor.

"... Dizzy."

Balen stood up, somewhat surprised by how steady he felt on his feet after that incident.

His father relaxed at the apparent recovery, but his frown didn't alleviate. "If anything feels off, go find Manuela. No need to grin and bear it, got it?"

Balen nodded, his father watching him for a heartbeat longer before he left for his office.

That left Balen to consider his best course of action which he supposed would be to prepare his students for the trip to Remire village. He wasn't concerned too much. Classes had resumed albeit in a somewhat limited capacity but his students were far enough along to keep up with their own studies without formal instruction all the time.

They wouldn't be rusty.

That said, he did need to run inventory by them and procure whatever supplies they were short of.

Claude was always his first check-in, and Balen turned his steps to the direction of the library where his house leader spent the majority of his free time. It had been a bit of a surprise when Balen had first ran into Claude in the library by pure coincidence. Claude hadn't struck him as particularly studious while forming his first impression.

Balen had been wrong all those months ago even if Claude had a tendency to study Fodlan's culture and inner workings more than the curriculum.

Not to be disappointed, he found Claude in his usual spot in the back corner of the library, no less than three textbooks open before him while a single sheet of parchment was in his hands. If Balen didn't know any better, he'd say he looked triumphant.

He fought the sudden a urge to look over Claude's shoulder.

He didn't need to anyway as Claude whirled on him with his easy grin. "I found out something interesting," he announced.

Interest piqued, Balen crossed his arms. "Something interesting?"

"I've been researching the Heroes' Relics and their connection with Crests and the demonic beasts. The Crest Stone of each Relic is carved with a specific Crest- the one that has the ability to wield it properly. The Crests are the keys. You need the right one to safely use a Hero's relic," he began before lounging back in his chair, arms clasped behind his head. "The only thing I can't figure out is why doesn't the Sword of the Creator have a Crest Stone bearing a Crest?"

From the look Claude was giving him, it was quite apparent he had an idea already. Balen answered anyway. "It had one in the past." How many times had he seen the dream of the Great Battle on the plains? The Sword of the Creator in it's entirety calling out to him for reasons he couldn't explain?

Claude's lips twitched upwards. "Precisely. At least that's my current guess. I believe the Crest Stones might be the source of the Relic's inhuman power. When Miklan transformed into a Black Beast, he was taken over by something that originated from the Crest Stone and the Crest Stone was on his body. It all seems to add up..." his words were flowing with excitement by the time he swept the paper in his hand out for Balen to see. "... Now look at this picture. That creature is called the Immaculate One, who was supposedly sent by the goddess to save the followers of Seiros. See the pattern on it's brow and the faint circular boundary? Isn't it possible that's a Crest Stone? If all this is true, the Crest Stones are what power the ability to assume massive forms like that of the Immaculate One and maybe the Heroes' Relics can harness that transformative power-"

"Oh, it's you…"

Balen was actually so entranced by the drawing of the Immaculate One, he jumped at Seteth's sudden arrival. Claude cut off, as well, his mouth pressing into a thin line.

Seteth showed no sign of noticing the sudden tension. "…Have either of you seen Tomas recently?"

"No such luck. I was hoping to speak with him myself, but he must be out on the town," Claude stated, his chair clapping back down on four legs, prior enthusiasm gone.

Seteth was irritated by that answer if the way he pinched the bridge of his nose said anything. "I see, well… where did you find that picture?!"

Balen tilted his head to see the advisor glaring at the drawing of the Immaculate One he still held.

His reaction had Claude raising an eyebrow as he leaned forward, his smile becoming more bared like that of a predator. "It was in the library. Why do you ask? Is it something my youthful eyes shouldn't be seeing?"

"No, of course not," Seteth scoffed. "However, that is not part of this library's collection. It must belong to Tomas. It would be problematic if it got mixed in with the other books," he explained. He reached out faster than Balen would have credited him and plucked the drawing from his hands. "I will take possession of it for now," Seteth decided.

A spark of irritation flashed in Claude's eyes. "Take it away where no one can see it, you mean..."

"What was that?"

"That's what Tomas said. He said records that the monastery doesn't approve of tend to disappear," Claude challenged.

"Tomas said that? Preposterous. I have far too much to accomplish to waste time with this foolishness," the advisor complained before transferring his glare to Balen. "Professor, if you find yourself lacking in work to complete, perhaps you can look into this..." Seteth held a file out to him which Balen reluctantly accepted. His tone made it clear it wasn't actually optional. "… I look forward to seeing your report on the matter..."

He left without another word.

Claude let out a long whistle. "He sure left in a hurry and with the drawing two," he complained. His hand tapped the wooden table several times before his grimace switched back to a smile and he shifted some texts around to reveal a thin, journal-like book. "Luckily, he didn't notice my greatest discovery. Check this out, Teach." Claude shoved the book toward him.

The journal held a bunch of handwritten notes in smudged ink upon wrinkled parchment that made it difficult to read at a glance.

"What part of it should I be looking at?" Balen inquired, flipping the journal over to check out the title.

A Scholar's Discussion of Fodlan's Ancient Civilizations as They Relate to Modern Territories

Did a title truly need to take up the entire cover?

"The journal is interesting in how it looks to dissect the ancient wars with Fodlan's boundary countries to explain the country's xenophobia. What I wasn't expecting was to find a reference to..." Claude trailed off to reopen the journal to the original page and point to a section.

Balen scanned the words then blinked and reread them. "Chevalier," he stated.

"The original bearer of your sister's Crest," Claude agreed with a sharp nod.

Balen flipped the book over a second time searching out a date. Why was Chevalier mentioned in some random journal on Fodlan's boundaries written... five hundred years ago? It hadn't occurred to him to wonder before but how was she even still around? "Chevalier is the only known member of the Ancient Nabatean whose origins can be traced outside its singular community," he read aloud. Balen frowned. "What's Nabatean?" he asked.

"A civilization from before the rise of the Empire's founding. From what I've gathered, their beliefs became the foundation for Fodlan's spirituality in the Goddess and Crests," Claude explained. His eyes sparkled as he leaned forward, palms down on the table. "I tried to search for Chevalier, but I've only found a mention of her once, a short blurb stating her as the Goddess' Greatest Defender. Wouldn't you expect the 'Goddess' Greatest Defender' to have more history to her?"

The Goddess' Greatest Defender, huh?

Balen struggled to connect the image he had of the woman in Zanado to a follower of the Goddess. He, however, had no doubt she was to be faced with caution. Silent as the night and swift as the wind, Chevalier moved like a warrior.

"It is odd," Balen agreed for Claude's benefit.

"Odd enough to believe she may have done something to entrench Fodlan's suspicion of foreigners so deeply it prevails today?" Claude pressed.

Balen raised an eyebrow at that.

It seemed dramatic and yet his brief run in with Chevalier did nothing to dispel Claude's suggestion. "That's a lot of assumptions," he argued anyways. Assuming that was where it started, how had such mentality not died off by now? Who would fuel it this long and with no concrete information?

"Yeah," Claude agreed, one hand snaking behind his head as he smiled. "But you know me, Teach. All into the theories and you can't deny the thought isn't intriguing."

He nodded.

Certainly enough to bring up to Sothis.

~FE~

The next several days passed with relative normalcy, the daily routine of classes and mission preparations forcing Balen into the flow whether he liked it or not. The only exception was a continuous dream of the Blaise/Chevalier hybrid and the off/on sensation of weakness and the room spinning.

Luckily, he managed to hide the worst of the effects… at least no one called him out on it except his father and Sothis.

The side mission Seteth had assigned him was disturbing in it's own right and he used his spare time between the end of class and dinner to compile what he knew and thought about the disappearing students. He assumed it was related to Blaise, Flayn, and Monica even though Jeritza was no longer on the grounds. He already had suspicions of another player in this game.

It was just too bad they weren't overly suspicious.

He needed another perspective.

He couldn't talk to Blaise since she wasn't here. He couldn't talk to Flayn lest Seteth believe he upset her.

So that left Monica.

Searching out the cheerful red-head was not difficult. She somehow managed to draw more attention to herself than Claude and Hilda combined.

As such, Balen found her in minutes among some students in the courtyards. Most of them were Black Eagles from classes other than the one Blaise had frequented, but there were a few of the other houses. Balen didn't know any of their names except the girl stomping off from the vicinity of the small gathering.

"Lysithea," he called.

His youngest student cut off her incoherent grumbling and jumped at the call, fixing him with sharp eyes. "Professor," she greeted. She stood still for a moment before apparently opting to approach him.

"You okay?" Balen asked. It wasn't uncommon for Lysithea to be agitated for one reason or another but he made it a point to always ask just in case it was due to something more serious than a friendly tease.

"Fine."

He waited.

"They just think I'm too young and stupid to realize what they're doing," Lysithea suddenly complained.

"What is it they're doing?" Balen inquired.

Lysithea huffed, reorienting the three books she held in her arms. "Well, I don't know exactly. They didn't say much, but just thought I would do what they said without asking questions. Whatever it is though, they're going to get in trouble. Mark my words, Professor."

Balen crossed his arms, considering the group. "I'll keep an eye on them," he assured her. In truth, he wasn't that concerned. Some students just had a habit of breaking rules for the sake of it. He would know since he had Claude as his House Leader...

Actually, for that matter, it wasn't even specific to students. Blaise was the same way.

He briefly wondered why she and Claude didn't hang out more.

Regardless, it was usually harmless, meant to only agitate Seteth and Rhea.

Lysithea hummed, shrugging her shoulders. "They wanted something from a cathedral. Good luck finding out which one," she offered before continuing on her way.

A cathedral, huh? Probably after some sacred piece of art...

He'd mention it to Rhea and Seteth later.

For now he'd wanted to speak to Monica about the events surrounding her kidnapping. Carefully, of course.

"Kid!"

Balen hadn't taken one step toward the group before his father called out for him out of seemingly nowhere. Jeralt was in front of him by the time he blinked.

"We've got to go now!"

Balen immediately tensed at his tone, adrenaline beginning to spread through him. His father's face was deadly serious and his thoughts flew to Remire "Okay," he agreed.

"The situation in Remire Village has changed drastically. We don't know much more than that. We are hearing reports the villagers are killing each other. Some say houses are burning. Regardless, we need to move," he explained.

He wouldn't be the one to argue and simply nodded. "I'll get my students."

~FE~

The reports were not wrong. In fact, they were decidedly accurate.

Yet words could not begin to describe what was happening in Remire Village when they arrived on the outskirts.

The air smelled of smoke. It vibrated with screams of death, and Balen noted the absence of clashing weapons.

There was no need for weapons when the villagers turned upon each other with their bare hands.

Balen felt something similar to a wince at the thought. The village had always been peaceful, the villagers downright friendly. Now they tore at each other in a way even barbarians wouldn't.

He found he could not look away as a cackle of pure pleasure carried to his ears followed by a child crying for help.

His hand clenched the pommel of his sword.

"What's going on here?" his father whispered so softly Balen wondered if he was meant to hear at all. His confusion was evident even still.

"This is unbelievable... There's no way to tell whose lost their mind from who's mad with fear," Claude stated. He sounded calm but his hand twirled an arrow belying his nervous energy.

"If we don't act quickly, things are just going to keep getting worse!" Hilda pointed out. "I really don't want to get involved here... but we can't leave these people on their own, right?"

It surprised him that she was the first to heft her weapon, ready to charge into the village.

"How about we hit them hard enough to knock them out but not hard enough to kill them?" Raphael suggested.

"That's too reckless," Ignatz argued, pausing to settle his glasses as he sighed. "But… I'll admit, I can't think of a better option," he admitted.

Marianne bowed her head, her words just barely carrying over the screams. "If some must die, just know it was by the will of the goddess..."

Balen was certain if his sword had been a more common weapon and not of legends the hilt would have snapped in his grip. Would the Goddess truly will this kind of horror? Against innocent villagers?

…

Was she even aware?

"Stop that, Marianne! We have to save all of them. There's no way this madness is by the will of the Goddess!" Leonie snapped so sharply her horse shifted at her outburst.

Lorenz nodded to Leonie's words. "Nobles are responsible for the safety of commoners. By the honor of House Gloucester, I swear that I will save them all!"

"Claude. There are some strange-looking people here," Lysithea interrupted the discussion in her expected no-nonsense manner.

Balen felt Claude shift beside him. "So you noticed too?" He sounded impressed before nodding to the Western edge of the village. "There's a suspicious group hiding amongst the villagers. Could they be the culprits? If so…"

They were.

Balen didn't know how he knew, but he did. The grating of his sword leaving its sheath was music to his ears. "They will not be forgiven." He spun on his students. "Golden Deer, apprehend them and rescue the villagers."

Claude smirked a humorless smile. "There you have it. Our objective is clear. Let's move," he ordered.

Balen was already walking towards the Western edge of Remire. As always, Claude was on his heels. He was vaguely aware of his other students scattering of their own accord towards the cries for help. Leonie charged by in the wake of his father, the two riders disappearing into billows of smoke ahead of the others. He was fine with that.

He was better at killing people and so he would end this... save people that way.

The first crazed villager they came across jumped upon them from a window and fell by a single arrow from Claude.

Balen recognized him as the baker.

Another two who appeared to have been merchants were brawling with each other, fists punching and nails clawing as they rolled among the smoldering street. They showed no sign of noticing them nor the fire burning their clothing and skin. Balen put them out of their misery with one swipe from the Sword of the Creator.

Claude fired several arrows in quick succession after two others ran by them, one screaming for help. The mad villager was struck and sent sprawling into the dust while the other disappeared toward Remire's surrounding forest.

He knew both of them as simple farmers, their produce what supported Remire through long winters.

"Teach …" Claude began before he apparently thought better of it and shook his head instead.

It pulled him from his reverie, Balen cutting a straight path down the street as his vision faded to nothing but red and black. Red from the Sword of the Creator, red from the fire, red from the blood spilled on the streets or flowing from wounded villagers who fled by him. His eyes burned from the black smoke, but it did not obscure the warrior in black who did not belong in this scene.

... Or maybe he did.

Balen swept his sword before him in a silent challenge. He paused only when Claude placed a steady hand on his arm, his House Leader twirling an arrow in his periphery. "Fancy seeing you here, Death Knight. Or is it Jeritza? Another name entirely?" he drawled.

The glowing red eyes from the Death Knight's helmet shifted over Balen's shoulder. "You are not the one I crave…"

"A shame. You see, rumor has it you took a friend of ours. Would it be asking too much to exchange information before we fight it out?"

The Death Knight offered no verbal response, instead charging his steed toward them. His scythe swung upon Balen with the utmost ferocity, deflected back by the Sword of the Creator at the last possible moment. Claude was not quite as lucky, the butt-end of the scythe striking him in the stomach and throwing him on his back several feet away.

"Do your best to kill me with that blade," the Death Knight hissed as he urged his horse back, preparing another strike upon Balen.

Balen was already moving around behind the Death Knight, and he felt the scythe cut the air where he had been. He pressed his attack then, engaging his opponent with equal ferocity. The village around him seemed to erupt into a cascade of metal on metal as they traded blows.

Hit, hit, move behind the masked enemy. Hit, hit, and move again.

He pushed himself to the limit, maintaining his one step ahead, but, even still, the Death Knight was clearly not only an expert warrior but also at fighting upon horseback. Somehow, he was perfectly capable of maneuvering his horse quick enough to meet Balen's sword no matter the direction he dodged.

Balen felt the scythe cut into his shoulder and nearly dropped the Sword of the Creator. He was certain he would have been done for in that moment, the Death Knight's scythe already falling upon him, except his opponent stopped it's descent with a pained grunt.

An arrow jutted from the miniscule space where his armored gauntlet ended. Another two arrows followed but bounced off armor with a chink. The Death Knight gripped the offending arrow and pulled it from his skin.

Recognizing the opportunity when he saw it, Balen twisted his sword around and aimed for the resulting wound. There was a satisfying crunch as the Sword of the Creator cleaved at armor and bone alike.

Still, not enough damage was done. The Death Knight actually laughed and switched his scythe to his other hand.

And he was somehow just as good.

Scythe and sword once again began their dance of strikes and parries, neither willing to give an inch. The occasional well-timed arrow shot past him in search of an opening either on the knight himself or his steed, but even the animal was decked in armor and seemed to exhibit no anxiety at the escalating battle. A single sweep of the scythe drove Balen back whatever he had gained and, so, they maintained some semblance of a stalemate.

"Teach, move!"

Balen didn't question the shout, immediately disengaging his blade from the curve of the scythe and diving into a roll that would put a little distance between himself and his opponent. It wasn't a moment too soon either as a gale of wind pulled the heat from the air around him and ice crystals solidified where he had been. They grew with unnatural fury, encasing the Death Knight in a sheen of thick frost.

The Knight's armor cracked at the joints as he sought to free himself of the troublesome magic. He was slowed down enough, a second spell of the same blizzard hit him dead on.

Balen was right behind that second spell, falling upon the half-frozen Death Knight in a maelstrom of red light. The Crest of Flames brightened the sky and the Sword of the Creator hammered upon his armor one hit after another until the scythe was dropped and his helmet knocked loose, both falling to the cobbled street below.

The Death Knight- Jeritza- lay hunched over the saddle of his armored mount, blood dripping from the blow that removed his helmet. And he laughed. Low but unrestrained. Gleeful despite his apparent loss.

It gave Balen pause, straining to pick up the words muffled between laughs.

"My blade craves their flesh … the weak will eventually die..." Jeritza's head snapped up, a bared smile directed at Balen. "We will meet again."

The implication was not lost on Balen, the mercenary-turned-professor extending the Sword of the Creator after his opponent.

A breath too late, the Death Knight was gone in a flash of light.

The Sword of the Creator shattered a window in the building behind before a flick of his wrist brought it back to Balen.

There was no moment to contemplate it.

A slow, steady clap to his right drew his attention. Wary, he did not shift out of his fighting stance despite the slight shock of recognizing the individual through the smoke.

Tomas.

"Tomas! What in the world are you doing here?" Claude demanded, confused but equally wary.

Balen chanced a glance to see Marianne behind him and Raphael and Ignatz running toward them from down the street. The sound of a horse and a glimpse of purple told him Lorenz was in the vicinity as well.

"I'm not Tomas. My name is Solon, the savior of all!" A sharp smile stretched his face in a way that appeared foreign on the older features of the hunched librarian. The skin warped then, draining of color to a ghostly white and veins bulging through the paper thin flesh. The man in place of Tomas- this Solon- was not much different in terms of size, but the resemblance stopped there. His hair receded further and also lacked what little pigment Tomas had retained in his age. One eye was too large and obviously false, as dark as the abyss. The other an unnerving yellow. "What's the matter? So shocked you can't even speak? You were so easily fooled by my disguise... I was hiding away in Garreg Mach to get the blood of that little girl called Flayn. With her blood, we'll be one step closer to realizing our goal."

"The Death Knight was just a distraction and you are our true enemy. Why have you done this to this village?" Claude pressed. He didn't even hide how he drew an arrow from his quiver.

Solon chuckled. "Heh, I could have conducted this experiment on any test subjects. Now that I have what I have came for, I must bid you farewell." He turned to Balen, his grin only growing. "This was a fine opportunity to witness your power, Fell Star."

He was gone even as the twang of several bows let loose a barrage of arrows.

With a final clang as no less than three penetrated the broken wood of the home behind where Solon had stood, Remire village fell silent at long last. Balen stared at the empty space where Solon had just been. Only a second longer… If they had only distracted him a second longer, he'd have become a pincushion.

Solon deserved worse.

The silence was shattered when Balen released the Sword of the Creator upon what he recognized to have once been the blacksmith's shop. Weakened by embers, the wood splintered easily, half the building falling into a pile of rubble at his feet.

It was still in better shape than the rest of the village.

He tore his gaze, spinning where he stood, to burn the surrounding devastation in his mind's eye. He could feel the heat of the dying flames scorching his skin. The weather of the Red Wolf Moon was cold, but sweat made his clothes stick upon him as surely as if it was the Blue Sea Moon. Remire village's inn was nothing but a pile of wood and stone, the tavern beside it would soon follow as fire ate upon whatever it came across, the stands from the few marketers were in pieces, their goods thrown along the main path. Everything was covered in a thick layer of ash so even someone as familiar as he was with the village would find it difficult to distinguish anything. A harsh breeze brought the bitter stench of burnt flesh and the bodies of the fallen littered the street.

But the silence.

The silence was worse than the screams.

There was nothing left to be done. Nothing to save.

The damage was done and the silence taunted him. He hadn't saved the village or it wouldn't be this quiet.

The flames had eaten upon the tavern as much as it could and there was a loud snap as the wood gave way and it crumpled into nothing.

Balen didn't move.

Some of his students had gathered around him but not one said a word. He saw them look between each other for direction. For comfort.

"It's over… All we can do now is focus on our next move..." Claude was the one to step up, his voice making more than one person flinch. Voices didn't belong in the silence.

Balen knew Claude was waiting on him to choose their next move. But he had nothing to give them so he did not try.

"…Let's have a look around the village. There may still be people who need our help," Claude suggested just before Balen's silence stretched too long.

Balen forced himself to nod to the idea in some semblance of awareness. It was more from acknowledgement and purpose than because he expected to find any more survivors. Still, he was glad to hear his students break up into pairs and leave.

All except Claude.

Claude hovered for a moment before blocking Balen's view of dying flames. He was covered in ash and blood and he bore a large burn on his shoulder where his armor had been insufficient, but he still found it in himself to smile as he gripped Balen's shoulder. "All you can do now, Teach, is to keep smiling. Keep marching. That's part of a leader's job. You can't give in to despair. Not just for me or for you, but for all of us in the Golden Deer House…" Claude's attention shifted upon where he could see Lorenz and Marianne in the distance. "…We have to keep smiling so the others can move forward too. As long as we don't show that we're disheartened, they'd know they can make it too. That's what matters."

That's what matters.

Balen felt the slightest surge in his strength. Enough that he could at least nod and straighten, rolling his shoulder to loosen Claude's grip. The breath that filled his lungs was too warm, too toxic, but steadying nevertheless.

A horse's steady pace against the path drew his attention then to see his father expertly maneuvering his steed through the devastation toward them. His face was set in stone, but his eyes betrayed his thoughts.

Simultaneously furious and broken.

Jeralt swung off his horse beside them with a clatter of armor. "It looks as if we somehow managed to sort things out and casualties were ... kept to a minimum. They said they weren't picky about their 'test subjects,'" he sighed.

"They got what they came for," Balen stated. He didn't know exactly what that was, but Solon had said it himself. Looking at the remains of Remire, Balen only saw slaughter.

"They might take this success and attempt something even bigger next time. I hate to even consider it, but if they can replicate this incident on an even larger scale... If we're not careful, we'll have a full-scale war on our hands," Claude warned.

Jeralt gave a terse nod. "We will take what we have learned to Lady Rhea," he decided before nodding to Balen. "Gather your students together. We'll need them to assist the survivors accompanying us to Garreg Mach," he ordered.

"Right," Balen agreed.

Any further remark was cut off as Balen took note of soft footsteps in the distance approaching them. He knew they didn't belong to any of his students. This person had been trained to walk quietly.

And they were coming up behind them.

His hand fell to the Sword of the Creator, Claude following his lead to draw a hidden arrow from the sleeve of his armor and setting it in his bow.

Jeralt was the first to turn and face them. "State your business. Are you friend or foe?" he called, both willing and challenging.

Balen heard no response beyond a slight pause in the person's tread before they continued their approach. He closed his fingers around the hilt of his sword, drawing it slowly from his sheath as he turned to see a figure whose details remained obscured by the haze of smoke and waning sun.

Claude raised his bow, aiming his arrow.

Balen snapped his hand out at the last minute, forcing Claude's bow down. His house leader shot him a look, but he hardly noticed. Eyes transfixed on the approaching form, Balen was certain he knew them.

Even in smoke and darkness with only the flickers of embers allowing any visuals, Balen recognized them.

All at once the haze seemed to dissipate.

Blaise paused her approach less than a hundred feet from them. Her hair was a tangled mess, ash darkening the natural blue, her skin as well was dotted with darker splotches, illuminated by flickers of flames. She held no weapon and an unfamiliar red cloak was draped over her shoulders.

But it was her.

The blade of his sword tilted downward as his hold on it slackened and his feet carried him forward.

Her eyes followed him, unusually hesitant and wary though she did not move to retreat. Her lips twitched upwards, if only slightly and with an air of nervousness, when he stopped before her.

He mirrored it but more genuine.

Out of the ashes of the desecrated village, she'd found her way back to him.

A/N:

Work is still horrid so expect delays until they get their act together. For reference, my previous goal was to write 1000 words a day but, right now, I'm lucky if I hit 500 words. Bright side, it's neither Writer's Block or burn out from the story itself. I'm still chugging along, just at about half the speed.

My not-really-related fun fact for the chapter was that I got horribly jealous on my first playthrough when Monica showed up and stole Edelgard's attention. I didn't totally know she was a bad guy yet but I blamed her anyway when Edelgard rejected my tea invitation. I was also jealous of Leonie hanging around my father for no apparent reason. :)

Next chapter we'll take a step back to see what Blaise has been doing and how she got to Remire before moving forward.

Thanks as always for reading!