AUTHOR'S NOTE: I do not own Fire Emblem. It belongs to Intelligent System. This story is a work of fiction. All relations to places, events or characters, living or dead, are coincidental.

Ashen Wolves

Part I: White Clouds
Prologue: Skirmish at Dawn

It was the same dream as before.

The skies were cloudy and booming as thunder cackled above what looked to be the site of a massive battle well underway. On one side were men clad in armor, spears and blades raised together with a banner showing a silver dragon. The other bore wicked instruments of war and were haphazardly dressed, looking akin to savages. One group fought defensively and struck with grace, whereas the other side was ruthless in its assault and just as brutal.

Each time a blade was swung, blood was spilled. Every time it fell upon a person, a corpse was made. He had seen for himself what battles looked like, having been in a great many since the day he learned how to pick up a sword. None of what he experienced compared to what he was witnessing.

And yet, in spite of the madness erupting all over the battlefield, a single woman stood stock still as if patiently waiting for someone or something to appear. Even as one of the barbarians rushed toward her and jumped in the air, blade poised to cut her down, she moved not an inch. One of her soldiers darted in front of her and locked blades with her attacker, easily forcing them back. As he did, another soldier fell to the ground in a bloody, motionless heap.

"L-Lady…Seiros…" the soldier breathed his last, hand outstretched to the woman before falling limp.

She did not even spare the fallen man a glance, eyes solely focused on the battle in front of her.

As the battle progressed and began to grow more intense, red lights began to shine from various places among the battlefield. One such light descended and fell to the earth like a star, obliterating anyone beneath it in a fiery blaze. The "star" was a sword, made of neither wood or metal but seemingly forged of stone. Its owner was not far behind as he landed beside it, his form massive and muscles thick, amber eyes menacing among the roaring flames.

He pulled the blade from the ground and stepped out from the crater he forged, waltzing forward. Several soldiers saw his approach and moved to cut him down. He spared them only a single glance before he reared the sword over his shoulder and swung. The sword glowed and separated into pieces, held together by a thread. The blade lashed out and tore apart the ground as it slaughtered anyone foolish enough to stand against it.

In seconds, the men who challenged him were killed.

The man grunted and continued to walk forward, aiming to cut the head of the army off from its body before he paused. The woman approached him, sword and shield in hand with an expression of absolute fury. His eyes narrowed, finally finding his target as he readied his sword.

A moment passed. Then the two clashed. Each time their blades kissed, sparks were sent flying. The woman struck with killing intent, eyes murderous and full of wrath at the man standing before her. The man saw only a threat and intended to cut her down to demoralize the army. Their blades continued to meet as each time they struck one another.

The man gained the upper hand as he parried an incoming strike, knocking the woman away from him. She grounded her feet into the mud, stopping her retreat in time to raise her blade in defense as the man brought his sword down upon her once again. She deflected and spun in place, heel kicking his sword arm away. The man took advantage of the momentum and swung his sword in a circle.

The unusual weapon grinded against her shield as it was the only thing standing between victory and death. She dug her feet as far as she could into the earth, the disgusting mix of water and earth sloshing at her toes before she mustered the strength to push the blade away from her.

An opportunity to deliver a blow came and she took it without hesitant. However, the man was just as fast and regained his balance. His sword once again met hers and once again locked in stalemate once again. Their faces were inches apart and lay bare before them. The man was smiling, but not because he was certain he could win. Instead, it was the ferocity of the battle before him that lit his heart aflame. He enjoyed the thrill of battle, and here and now, he had found someone who lit a fire in his heart. In contrast, there was nothing but a cold fury in the woman's eyes. She cared nothing of the battle or the lives that were being lost around her. Only that she wanted the man in front of her dead.

All things must eventually end.

The man rammed his knee into her body, kicking her away and readying his sword. Once more, it glowed ominously in red before the blade separated into pieces, lashing out like a whip. The woman gasped as she saw danger approach, the tip of the blade launching toward her like a scorpion's tail aiming to end a life. She narrowly avoided it by stepping to the side, the blade making only a shallow cut in the side of her waist. The blade retreated but remained elongated as the man struck again, this time in an arc.

The woman rolled underneath the swing, her white clothes becoming stained with mud. Her eyes trailed the sword's movements carefully while weighing her options. As the man prepared for a third swing, she made her decision and raised her own blade as if to match it. Instead of colliding, the sword wrapped around her steel like a snake.

The man's eyes widened when the woman pulled and threw their weapons aside, yanking it out of his hands and charging toward him. She jumped at him and slammed her knee into his jaw, disorientating him before delivering a kick to his chest and knocking him into the ground. His body laid there in the mud, dazed for a moment before she pinned him down with her knee, a dagger clasped firmly in her hand.

Their eyes met once more. The man saw her fury and unbridled rage.

"Tell me, Nemesis. Do you recall the Red Canyon?"

The man's eyes widened in recognition before they turned into resignation. He did nothing to stop her, not even as she brought the dagger down and buried it hilt-deep in his chest. She screamed as she plunged the blade into him, again and again until only crimson coated the dagger.

"You took everything I loved! You'll die for that! Die! Die!"

After six stabs, all aimed for his heart, the woman stopped and gasped for breath. Her chest rose and fell while staring at the face of the man who took her family away from her. To her disappointment, she saw no fear in his face. Only the look of a man who had realized his past had come to haunt him and welcomed it.

It made her sick.

The sun rose and brought light to the battlefield. With their leader dead at her hands, the barbarians that surrounded her laid down their arms. If they attempted to resist, they would be cut down and routed easily. They understood well that, without their leader, they were powerless against them.

She raised her head and saw the soldiers that gathered under her banner cheering at her. They raised their arms in celebration, whether because she had won or because the man was dead she knew naught.

The woman removed herself from the corpse, leaving the dagger buried in his chest and instead approached his fallen weapon. It sat there in the mud, once again whole. She winced when she saw the blood that covered its edge or the cracks that ran across its surface. Gently, as if cradling a child, she removed the sword from the mud and stared at it longingly. In her hands, she could feel its warmth. How it pulsated at her touch.

"It's done." she murmured as she pressed the sword against her cheek. "He's gone now, mother…"

The world faded away into darkness. The dream that he had witnessed so many times and still knew so little off receded into the shadows, swallowed up and becoming part of the darkness of his dreams. And just like before, a new dream began.

Unlike before, when he was but a spectator, he saw himself standing amid the void and in front of the steps leading to a throne. On top of that throne was a little girl, head nestled in her arms as she laid asleep on the throne's arm before stirring away, whether because her body willed it or because she sensed his presence. A yawn escaped her lips as she spread her arms out, straightening her body out before she took notice of his being.

"Oh my… What could have brought you here?"

The dream reached its end as the girl once again fell into a slumber after he had been interrogated and questioned about his presence there. He stirred awake, dark eyes fluttering open to find a ceiling made of straw and wood above him. His body was stiff and full of cricks as he rose from the bed, rolling his neck to rid himself of the nuisance.

Byleth, twenty years of age, was a young man with dark green hair and dark pastel-blue eyes. His form was slender and physically fit, enough so to engage in several battles of life and death as required of someone of his work. Though he had retired for the night, he was still clad in his cold gray armor and his sword, forged in iron and well worn from years of use, laid up against the wall beside his cot.

From outside the windows the torches still burned and the world outside was still dark, meaning it was still night. In spite of that, Byleth could feel it. A sense of danger was tingling in the back of his neck, yet he could not fathom why.

He was not the only one wide-awake, however. The door leading to his room opened without as much as a knock.

"Ah, you're awake."

A bear of a man entered the room, his burly form struggling to remain inside his tunic. An aged scar sat on the left side of his cheek, face rugged and eyes fierce. Strapped to his back was a greatsword as big as he was, held in place by a leather strap connected to the metal pauldron on his shoulder.

This was Jeralt, Byleth's father. Others better knew the man as the Blade Breaker, leader of the famous mercenary band known as the Sword Bearers. For as long as he could remember, Byleth was raised under the care of this man and those under his loyal command for as long as he could remember. Such memories were so far away, yet he could still vividly remember the time his father panicked when he saw the then-young boy sporting a scar on his knee or the time he first held a blade. He did not remember when he decided to follow in Jeralt's footsteps, only that he felt comfortable holding a sword and taking to the battlefield.

As strange as it was to say, the battlefield was a calming place. There was little reason to think about trivial things such as what to buy with what little gold you had or what you would fix for yourself. The only thing you had to think about was how you would succeed in defeating your opponent or how you would survive the battle. Those thoughts came to him easily, as was the deaths in front of him.

To Byleth, death was easy to accept. It happened every day and he did not bat an eyelash when it happened, even when the reaper had come to claim the lives of his comrades or someone he had become acquainted with while on the job. Yet such an indifference to death, as well as the lack of expression he seemed to wear in the heat of battle, had become off-putting to others. One of Jeralt's men had once told him that they weren't sure if he actually felt anything.

The truth of it was, Byleth didn't. He accepted whatever came at him. The hatred of an enemy regardless of the reasons why his enemy hated him. The loss of someone he knew. The death of a comrade.

It was not just the soldiers who saw this cold indifference. Others, including villagers who had been privy to witness him in action, saw how coldly he seemed. Before long, he too received a colorful nickname.

"The Ashen Demon." The merciless shadow of the Blade Breaker.

Though he didn't outwardly show it, Byleth hated that name and hated the fact that he could never honestly express himself in the way others seemed to. Only Jeralt ever really noticed what really lay behind his eyes.

The Blade Breaker noticed it now as well. All it took was a quick look at his son's face and immediately knew something was troubling him.

"Did you have that dream again?"

Byelth nodded and recounted the dream to him, just as he had several times.

"A battle of a grand scale, almost like a war, and a little girl on a throne. I honestly can't recall ever meeting someone like that, and there hasn't been a battle like that in Fódlan for centuries." Jeralt rubbed his beard, deep in thought. "You've been having these dreams for a while now… I don't think they're anything bad, but I hope they aren't a sign of things to come. At any rate, I came to tell you that we're preparing to leave. Our messenger returned with news."

"Where are we headed?" Byleth inquired.

If the messenger returned, it always meant they had a new task. Given the fame the Sword Bearers had, it was only natural people would call for their services. Even when he was still in his early teens, Byleth and the others swore their services to countless nobles and village chiefs, asking for their assistances for one matter or another. In all of those travels, Byleth had come to familiarize himself with the countries their jobs took them.

The Adrestian Empire, the largest of the three countries inhabiting Fódlan, was ruled by Emperor Ionius IX, though whispers and gossip in the taverns another story. An uprising known as the Insurrection of the Seven had led to the Emperor losing most of his political power, effectively becoming little more than a figurehead. The true rulers of the Empire were the nobles, all of whom were mired in corruption. Tellingly, the Sword Bearers received more requests from village chiefs and merchants in the Empire than they did the nobility, and most of the time the enemies they faced were the noble's own forces.

The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, home to chivalry and the bitter cold. Its ruler, King Lambert, was tragically killed four years ago in the Tragedy of Duscur. Admittedly, Byleth knew little of what transpired in that incident, only that the people of Duscur were treated horribly as they were thought to be the culprits behind the deaths of the King and many other Kingdom citizens. Since then, the ruling power lied within the Regent and court mage, Cornelia.

The Leicester Alliance, ruled only by nobles and prominent merchant families, was the country in which the Sword Bearers often received work. Despite the fact that the Alliance supposedly was a group of like-minded individuals, the jobs they took on told another story. The nobles were constantly bickering and fighting amongst one another, always vying for more political power in the Round Table Conferences and territory. Whispers in villages implied that the worst offender in this regard was someone they called the Weathervane, though who that may have been, Byleth did not know.

Regardless of his thoughts and feelings on the countries, a job was a job and they were expected to complete it without fail, so long as the client was trustworthy. As long as Jeralt believed the client was of good character and thought the job was reasonable, all Byleth would ask is where they were going and what they would be doing.

"The Kingdom." Jeralt answered with a thin smile. "Lord Fraldarius has requested us again. Apparently, there's been some bandit troubles near his and Lord Gautier's territories. It would be easy for them to deal with it since they're intruding on both their territories, but Lord Gautier is preoccupied with another matter involving his eldest son. What, I have no idea. Regardless, I've decided to accept. Make sure you have everything before-"

Jeralt was silenced mid-sentence when one of his men barreled his way inside. "Beg your pardon, Captain, but we have a situation."

"Oh, for… What's wrong?"

"There's a group of kids asking for you."

Jeralt narrowed his eyes. "Kids?" He shared a look with Byleth. The latter shrugged, having no idea what this was about.

The three left Byleth's lodgings and returned to the world within Remire Village, the community that graciously accepted them for the time being. It did not take long to find the kids the mercenary mentioned as they were standing in the middle of the village plaza. There were four in all, all dressed in similar clothing and bearing capes, but all were of different colors.

"I sincerely apologize for disturbing you at such a late hour." One of the kids saw Jeralt approach and bowed his head graciously. His hair was blonde and eyes striking blue, the cape on his shoulder colored royal blue. On his back was a spear, the edges chipped and caked in fresh blood, implying that it had been in battle not too long ago. "We wouldn't have come were it not urgent."

Jeralt frowned heavily. "What seems to be the problem?"

"Bandits, I'm afraid. They attacked our camp, and we ended up being separated from our instructor. I fear they're still pursuing us as we speak. I dearly hope we have your support, sir."

"Bandits? Here?" Jeralt sounded incredulous. Byleth didn't blame him. Remire was a peaceful village with little to offer. And the people in front of him didn't look like they had much to offer in way of gold, so the likeliest case was that they were important somehow.

The girl in the red cape nodded. "Yes. They appeared without any warning. It is very odd, though. No one aside from the knights and the instructors were supposed to know we were there."

"And to top it all off, we got separated from our companions and hopelessly outmatched." The boy with the yellow cape sighed while his hand ran through his scalp. His features were slightly different from his fellows, and his skin was darker. "And chances are, they're after our lives and probably our gold."

Jeralt hummed. "I'm surprised you're able to remain calm in a situation like this. Who are you kids, anyway?" He paused suddenly and stared at them. "Wait, that uniform… Are you all from the Officer's Academy?"

The last of the four, a feminine-looking boy with a white cape on his shoulder and a rapier at his hip, nodded. "That's correct. Is there a problem?"

"No, just…old memories is all."

Byleth stared at his father. That response was rather odd, as was the sudden tense look in his eyes. Something about them unnerved him, enough that his shoulders were square and his hands were in fists. Also, what was this "Officer's Academy" they were talking about? Some kind of school for soldiers or something?

Before he could ask them questions or Jeralt's orders, a mercenary ran up to Jeralt. "Sir, we've got trouble! We've spotted bandits outside! There's a lot of them, too!"

The Blade Breaker sighed. "Guess there's no backing out now, then." He turned to Byleth. "By, you're with me. We're going straight for the leader."

"Mind if we tag along?" the boy in the yellow cape asked.

"Can you fight?"

The lone girl of the group patted the ax that rested atop her hip. "Quite. This is hardly the first battle we've been in, and it will surely not be the last."

Jeralt nodded. "Alright, then. You'll be following Byleth. Don't get cocky out there, understand?"

"Of course, sir!" the boy with the blue cape bowed graciously. "Thank you for helping us!"

Without further ado, the mercenary band and the strange group began preparing for their counterattack. On Jeralt's orders, most of them were to secure the village and ensure none of the bandits managed to sneak around them or attempt to attack the village from behind. Another group had splintered off and intended on attacking the bandits from the rear. Meanwhile, Byleth, his father and the kids would be attacking them head-on. With any luck, they would be able to eliminate the bandit leader with ease.

While preparing, the kids struck up a conversation with him, much to his chagrin.

"So, what's your story?"

The boy in the blue cape sighed. "Claude, is now really the time? We're about to go into battle."

"Ah, come on, Dimitri. You can't tell me you aren't the least bit curious about our new friend here."

Byleth stared at the boy, now identified as Claude. "We are not friends."

"Don't say that!" Claude smiled playfully. "I'm sure you'll warm up to us once you get to know us."

"Pay him no mind." the girl told Byleth. "Claude has a knack for riling people up. I do admit I am curious about you, but for now, let us focus on the battle. Byleth, was it? My name is Edelgard. These three are my fellows."

Claude raised a hand. "Yo."

"A pleasure." Dimitri smiled politely.

The last of the unnamed group nodded his head, a smile not dissimilar to the one Claude wore present. "The name's Yuri. Let's have a nice chat if we somehow make it out of this, yeah?"

Byleth nodded.

Weapons readied, the five set out and made their way towards the battlefield.

None were aware of what this fateful meeting would bring, nor that Byleth's fate had become intertwined with one of them…

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Special thanks go to Starlight's Poet, who is my co-writer and fellow planner for this story.

Short chapter, rehashing some of the prologue scene, but overall I'm laying the groundwork. I will not be covering the battle against Kostas as I'm re-enacting canon enough as it is. Instead, the next chapter will focus on Byleth's interaction with the Ashen Wolves.

Speaking of, I finished the DLC in under 10 hours. Chapter 4 was such bullshit. I sprouted less gray hairs dealing with the final boss in Cindered Shadows than that damned map. Also, without spoiling anything for those who have not played the DLC themselves, it was such a missed opportunity not to have Jeralt involved.

Definitely going to have to change that.

This will be my last update for the month, as I will be returning to work and my schooling for the time being. That, and I'm studying for my learner's permit since my trusted two-wheeled steed has finally broken down beyond repair.

Fairwell, Rusty. You shall be missed.

One last thing. There is a poll on my profile page. As the Ashen Wolves only have four students, and because I will not create OC's for this story unless absolutely necessary, I want to know who you guys want to see transfer to the Ashen Wolves. Please choose only one character from each house.