Thank you for trying the first chapter of Wake of Flames. I hope it is to your liking. If you have any comments or feedback, don't be shy about leaving a review! I will respond when I'm available. This will follow Golden Deer Route and diverges at the time-skip. Byleth's pairing is partially decided, but it is not set in stone.

"You... How long do you intend to sleep? Your body is awake. Your eyes must open now, and must find the strength to stand upon those legs of yours. There is never an end to strife. Chaos reigns even in times of peace. Yet, we were helpless. Despite what I... No, you could do for them, the tears of man nourish only salted fields."

"I'm still sleepy..."

"Get on your feet. Right now! I'll coddle you no more! You are just like a child, always needing me to hold your hand. I've already done far more than I should've..."

The ground was not firm. Upon attempting to stand, he faltered. His eyes groggily took in the setting. The glow of the moon was the only sufficient source of lighting present at the time. His body shivered as a cool breeze blew through him. His mint-eyes squinted to the shapes that surrounded him. At first, he assumed them to be peculiar rock formations. The realization hit him when his hand gripped the nearest one to keep him steady on his feet. The smoothness of the stone had him recoil. Moonlight illuminated the slate. His eyes tried to scan over the inscription, but it was not an easy task.

The effort was, however, wasted. Before his vision could become accustomed to the veil of darkness, he heard a cry from the surroundings. With his footing secured, his gaze honed in on a figure in the distance. The black silhouette was indiscernible. It was simply impossible to identify from this distance. His brain was still scrambled from the... fall? The man lurched in an attempt to use another stone as support. Though, the grim reality of where he had ended up kept him from resting his hand for too long. His staggering looked to alert the other in the distance.

When the shadow began to approach his position, the sickly man felt a surge of panic. A flashback of an inbound army had him stiffen and take to a defensive stance. Fear of the unknown was never much an issue for him... or at least that was what he recalled. Amnesia was a bold word choice, but it was apparent that he was not all there. A mere foot-soldier was a child's plaything for someone of his background. He did not earn countless monikers for his cowardice, but he was still mortal. The idea of being a mortal was a bit of a stretch considering his circumstances. If his shoddy memory was to be trusted, he survived a great drop. Usually, mortal men died by falling a great distance. With the exclusion of whole-body soreness and unshakable grogginess, he was mostly in good health.

Yet, his mortality was to be tested if the oncoming figure proved untrustworthy. His relic remained at his side. He was admittedly baffled by the pristine condition of the legendary sword. A question emerged in his mind about why the Sword of Creator's condition unnerved him so. The continuous stare at the weapon was rewarded with a tidbit of information. Partnered with his current panic, a memory returned to him. A battle. There was a battle. In the midst of the battle, he made that fateful fall down the cliff. The thought did not make it any easier to determine if the other was friend or foe.

The ambiguity around the other's intent in approach was not a mystery for long. "You there!" The figure shouted, "What are you doing at this hour?!" The tone was not friendly, but it was no threat. "I swear if you are one of those hooligans from the... Hang on, is that a sword? That's a sword!" The obvious was stated.

In all seriousness, the other likely had a better look at him than he did of the other. The sickly man only had a gravelly voice and blackened out shape to work with, unable to tell if the other had a weapon himself. Even then, being unarmed did rule out the possibility of magic. The presence of his relic had the other stop in his tracks, and then start to back up. His fears eased somewhat by the possibility that the loud fellow was no soldier. A new thought occurred to him. His setting was peculiar.

His eyes left the figure to squint at the sheer number of markings that were present. He had not awoken in a humble graveyard. It was a necropolis. Outside of the village in the man's direction, it was only tombstones for as far as he could see. It was not an impressive figure considering his limitations, but he could start to notice mausoleums' and statues' outlines. A large obelisk hundreds of yards away told that the expanses of the cemetery did not stop where his vision did. This scenery conjured no familiarity.

"Guards! Guards! Grave-robber!" His cry had the green-haired man wince. A suspicious individual lurking a gravesite in the dead of night did not paint a positive picture. While running was a wise option, lacking a direction and the stamina to commit to a stride did not make it a feasible option. The option to fight also came to mind, but it was discarded. Killing innocent people was not his métier. Alas, it may need to come down to it if they seek his capture for reasons other than questionable behavior.

"Wait. I mean no harm." He tried, but his throat was far too hoarse for his words to surpass the cries. All he could do was look on as two figures emerged from the village. Their run looked half-hearted at best. Though, that much changed when they were within a certain distance. The outlines did not suggest much of his possible pursuers. One of the men was portly and displayed the fact with his awkward run. The other was lanky and ill-prepared to face any viable threat. The manner in which the lanky man's helmet shook with each step suggested that he was not expecting the call.

It was he that commented first at the relic-wielder's presence, "Aw great, the old codger was right for once." His disappointment was accompanied by a nervous twitch.

"Enough of that, Piddler!" The rounder man took a serious tone.

The taller of the two winced at the comment and knitted his fingers, nearly dropping his lance in the process. "Sorry, Sapp. I just... I was kinda hoping to tell off ol' Rusty. He's been really throwing off my sleep schedule. Ma told me to keep an eye for my health." The sickly man was starting to forget why he was so on guard earlier.

Nevertheless, they were both armed. Yet, the fact diminished with each step they took, Sapp's lance was in less than stellar condition and Piddler straight up had a training lance. It would be laughable to call them armed. With the possibility of vast armies wandering these lands, such ill-prepared guards would be dismissed outright. "Your health comes second to the village. You won't have any health if you come complaining to the enemy!" Sapp exclaimed in a self-assured tone.

"You're right, you're right. Sheesh, should've listened to ma and took up carpentry. A lot of want for carpenters nowadays," Piddler grumbled in response.

Sapp rolled his eyes at the comment, "Enough about your ma! There's a perp before us. Say, Rusty, you can go back to your home." He motioned for the older man to go to the village.

The old man stomped his foot and shook his head fervently, "I ain't going nowhere! Not until I see this dastard answer to his depraved crime." That vitriol was declared behind the two guards' backs, a safe distance from any possible action.

The solitary figure was perplexed, to put it mildly. The odd banter and pitiful display of force was a far cry from the great confrontation of... days ago? Truthfully, his mind could not put together that thought. The fall likely had him in a state for some time. How he recovered what was likely grizzly wounds was another mystery, but it would need to wait. "Excuse me," His words caught the attention of Sapp and Piddler. "I apologize for the confusion, but I just woke up."

"A drunkard! Man, you had us worried there for a second!" Piddler spoke up before either Sapp or the old man The stranger was not oblivious to the disbelieving expression on the other two men.

Sapp looked about fuming once his initial disbelief passed, "A drunkard does not carry around a sword and sleeps in a cemetery. Well... no comment on the second one. Hehe, crazy earlier years." The man scratched his scruffy mustache sheepishly at first, but he was quick to return to his wariness. His lance aimed toward the suspicious man's position. "Now, did you have too much to drink or did my deputy assume wrongly again?"

The easy option would be to act drunk. The problem was that he could not recall a time where he ever drank the substance in large quantities. Not to mention, acting was never his strong suit. His resting poker face was a boon, but it did make him seem shadier. "I fell and landed there," He said as his hand gestured to the incline far behind him.

Honesty was his best bet. It meant that his head may not start pounding. His straight answer sadly did not swat those present, "And I'm a monkey's uncle! What in the Goddess' name are you saying, boy?" Sapp spat, unwilling to lower his lance.

"See, see, that's a drunk if I have ever heard one." Piddler cut into the conversation.

"Just get the brigand out of the graveyard before he starts digging up bodies!" Rusty interjected.

The conversation continued to go in circles. The green-haired man was lacking the patience to continue. His eyes lingered on the Oghma Mountains. He had not the time to devote more to this discussion. Even if there was no sign of billowing smoke or dead bodies... outside of those buried, the urgency to return was undeniable. The steep pass to the entrance was less than a day's walk away. He was not in the best shape for the journey, but his senses were returning to him. His legs felt numb, but that could be remedied by a quick stretch. Rest did sound appealing too. Though, he was sure that he had already rested for days.

The sheer number of tombstones too had him worried. He assumed that they already took to burying the fallen from the battle alongside the graves already present. The idea was a stretch, but he had little way of guessing the number of tombstones, "I was planning to leave actually. No offense, but I don't have time to waste." His words did not sway the lance to point down.

He noticed an even greater look of determination in Sapp's eyes. Of course, it was not about to be as easy as walk away. The suspicious man sighed as the man looked about ready to speak, "I'm afraid you'll have to come with us. Letting off a grave-robber means they'll just grave rob again. And if they grave rob again, ol' Rusty will get uppity again."

"Please, let me just go on my way." He pinched the bridge of his nose. His mind gave up on the arduous task of swaying the men. His hand soon moved to grip his sword. A show of power could be sufficient.

The small movement to his sword had both of the guards immediately standing upright. The bravado that Sapp displayed was still there, but the man's trembling was noted too. His lance was fixed on Byleth, but his shaking made it impossible for it to stay in place. Piddler was not doing any better. He looked about ready to flee at the first sign of trouble. The fear in his eyes was unquestionable. Ol' Rusty was disappointed in the display.

Nevertheless, Byleth willed himself to take action. Or at least he was. The idea of drawing on his sword's ability was risky in the site. A wide swing may dice through a number of the tombstones. His body was not completely cooperative, but he had little trouble drawing the sword from his sword. The Sword of the Creator was not a heavy blade, "What in the hell is that blade?" The lanky man spoke up with a chuckle.

While Sapp gave only a perplexed expression, Rusty was the one gawking. A gasp left the old man's mouth at the sight of the relic. It was apparent that he was the only present that at least knew enough of the legendary weapon, "Let's just take him in. That thing looks like it's just wood," The portly man added. It was rich hearing him say that when his partner's weapon was made of a flimsier material.

Upon the sword's recognizable glow, the old man pulled on the two guards to step back. Rusty shook his head at their conduct, "You fools! What good are you both if you don't even know what a relic is! Look, uh..." His attention was on Byleth, "We mean no harm. Just be on your way, sir." The elder looked far less agitated then he was moments prior.

"Thank you," The stranger responded. He placed the weapon back at his side. Even without it, his unarmed prowess could be sufficient in beating two undisciplined men.

"A relic..." Sapp murmured to himself.

"Psssh, relic? Then, that's no problem. Just some old sword." The fool had the audacity to strike with his lance at the man. His dulled senses and stiff movements were still sufficient enough to dodge the strike. He countered with a swift punch to the man's gut. His footwork easily closed the gap between them.

The lanky man fell to the ground soundly. Sapp stared incredulously at the scene. Recklessly, he too charged with his lance. His opponent's maneuvering allowed him to sway to the side and avoid the oncoming blow. Once the distance between them was no more, a similar blow barreled into his torso. He too was sent promptly to the ground.

"Oh Goddess, please forgive them, and me. Please forgive us, mainly me." The old man sputtered, unsure of what else to say for himself. "If I knew you possessed a relic, I... I would have been quiet."

The ancient weapons were revered, but the begging of the man was over the top. The suspicious person had expressed that he merely wished to be on his way, "I have no intention of hurting you. I just have to get to the monastery."

"I see, I see. That must explain the relic. Goddess, you must be a dignitary. We attacked a dignitary!" The man's panic was without end. A tired sigh was the other's first reaction.

The word "dignitary" confused him somewhat, but he let go of the concept to focus on the road ahead. "I am fairly sure I am not. It's just important that I get there soon."

His mint-eyes rested on Sapp and Piddler as they collected themselves from off the grass. The round one grunted, "Good luck getting through their checkpoint." The man did not look ready yet to give up emotionally, but physically he was essentially grounded.

He offered a shrug in response, "I am sure I will be fine." His neutral tone did well to hide his momentary confusion. He was quick to rationalize the precaution to stop the likes of Flame Emperor and her ilk. The cover of darkness would at least make sneaking in a simple task.

Thoughts emerged in his head about if the invading army truly conquered the monastery. The battle was concluded. The bodies were buried. Yet, it was not entirely clear yet just who was victorious. The trail ahead gave no telltale signs of what lied in wait for him. If anything, there were no signs of there being a battle. The foliage was not singed. The scars on the earth were hidden by flora. The thought of a peace accord tempted his mind, but he knew better than to pray for the best-case scenario. His background as a mercenary hardened him to the worst realities. The only hope he clung to was that his students would be awaiting his arrival. A small smile formed on his lips at the thought of his prized student, Claude, to greet him a smirk and snide remark.

The thought made the march bearable. Though, his imagination could only distract him for so long. He had trouble ignoring just how many stone markings he passed on the way to the slope. Being depleted on energy, a dizziness spell overtook the man as he started up the inclined plane. A surprise came as his foot stepped down on the path. His eyes shot down to spot a smoother surface than just flattened earth. Stairs. He did not recall any sort of infrastructure projects, but it was not like he ventured too far from the monastery proper for the previous three months.

The climb up the stairs was met with no reward. There was nobody else making the trek at the same hour. He soon understood why once he reached the summit before the walls. Much like he was warned, there was a "checkpoint." His expectations were for a gatekeeper and a few soldiers. That assumption appeared to be an underestimation. He gawked on the two guard towers. It made sense that there would be a greater presence following the battle, either Adrestian or Church. However, the fortifications were far too... distinct. Building such armaments generally took months. Unlike the stairs, they were not easy to miss either.

A pit formed in the man's stomach as he worried over just how long he could have been gone. It was difficult to say when his slumber felt like it was only hours. Regardless, he still felt the urge to return to his home, "Halt!" A voice called out. "Protocol dictates that all visitors come between the hours of six in the morning to seven in the evening."

"I'm not a visitor," He spoke up in response.

"I see... No envoys were expected to arrive this early either," The gatekeeper added.

"I'm not an envoy," His tone was perplexed. His features generally made him easy amongst the residents and soldiers. This gatekeeper was unfamiliar to him. The man was likely a new appointment.

There was a momentary pause, "Huh, a resident? No residents are documented to arrive tonight." The green-haired man watched as the gatekeeper glanced through a book. "What is your name and identification number?"

"Byleth Eisner," The man answered without any doubt. His mind was not all put together, but his name was not lost to him. Though, the other part of the question was lost on him.

The gatekeeper glanced through his book once again and took to scratching his chin, "Look, pal. Even if you were in the registry, which you are not, by the way, you would need your number memorized. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Byleth tilted his head, unsure of what to say for himself. "I'm a professor at the Officer's Academy. I would like to return to my room."

"Yeh, well, I'm a knight of Seiros. Give up, buddy. You can't just make up an excuse to get in. Don't know if you're some zealot or looking to protest the upcoming summit, but I don't care. I would not want to use force." The guard's snark and doubt did not make the lingering headache any better. Impatience urged Byleth to act. Igniting his sword could sufficiently prove his identity. Yet... he did not know if he was even dealing with an employee of the Church.

It only made sense to pose the question before he gave himself away... Well, he had already told his name. He blamed the throbbing in his head to that slip-up. He also said he was a professor... He could not help that he was mostly motivated by the idea of seeing a familiar face. A conversation with Lorenz on his constant flirting was appreciated at this point. Sapp and Piddler had him needing a friendly chat with a student or a colleague. Though, he first needed to establish if someone was waiting for him, "May I ask, is Alois present?" The question lacked subtly, but it was sufficient for what he needed to know. He was sure the acting Knight-Captain could sort matters out if the Church won. If Adrestia won, which... was a strong possibility, then they may laugh at the question.

Rather than a chuckle, a confused expression replaced the gatekeeper's tiredness, "What are you on about? Alois? Some guard friend of yours? Please just turn back. You're not getting in."

The man's ignorance still gave credence to the idea of the Empire's victory. It sounded as though turning back was necessary for his sake too. Perhaps, he may need to venture into Alliance territory instead. These thoughts of departure were interrupted by an arrow landing at his feet. His mint-eyes shot to where it came from. The strangest looking bow was aimed his way. It was some sort of mechanism that held the string back. The cover of the night did not make it easy to tell, but the mystic glow of the moon told that it was no weapon he was familiar with.

"Derrick, what was that for!" The gatekeeper shouted to the man in the tower.

"Did you really forget that we can't just let suspicious folks go? UFF Guard Regulation, article two, section three. Do I have to tell you how to do your job?" Byleth could tell that the archer was not exactly liked by his peers.

The gatekeeper groaned, "Should we need to bring in any zealot that comes knocking in the middle of the night?"

"Every person with a weapon," It was then that Byleth's sword was noticed by all present. More of the strange bows aimed at him... or at least he assumed that much. The arrowheads were on an angle to rain down on him at least. The gatekeeper too fixed his steel lance. Other lancers readied to strike at the order's notice.

There was a nervous silence at first. They acted as though it was strange to see someone with a weapon, "Drop your weapon and come with us!" The awkward tone did not portray the sentries as all that competent.

When his hand moved to grip the pommel, a bolt from one of the bows flew toward him. Quick thinking and time manipulation made Byleth easily intercept the projectile with his blade. The weapon glowed as it extended out then returned to its original shape. Much like with Sapp, there was a collective confusion at what they just witnessed. That pause lasted only a few seconds. A volley of arrows was what came next.

This time around, Byleth had the sense to evade and use the blunt end of his blade to send the lancers to their rears. "A relic!" Next thing Byleth knew, a loud sound drowned out everything else. A horn? It was by far louder, enough to push him away from the source of the noise.

If the five or so archers and seven lancers were something to be feared, Byleth watched as the number doubled, then tripled. Soon enough, it was ten archers prepared to fire on him and thirty lancers ready to skewer him. The sheer number gave Byleth the chance to take in their uniforms better. They all generally wore the same standard plate mail, but there was a more discernible emblem on each uniform. An eagle, a lion, and a deer. In addition to the odd emblem, a flag-bearer joined the company. It was no double-headed eagle. It was a tricolor of red, blue, and yellow.

Byleth was well and truly confused at this point, but his befuddlement was not enough for him to lower his guard. "What the hell is a relic user doing here?!" Shouted a man amongst the sea of guards.

No one made a move on either side. Byleth was most certainly not about to earn the ire of this... mysterious faction. The sight of the deer placated him from acting aggressively. It was enough for him to lower his sword. Surrender was a better bet at any rate. The growing numbers were not ideal to fight alone. The Sword of Creator was forfeited to the ground between him and the platoon.

A sheepish guard stepped forward to collect the relic. One other man stepped forward and gently took to Byleth's wrists. With only a click, the professor stared at the metal binding. The shackles were unlike the kind he had seen before, but the fact was pretty irrelevant. His mind honed in on the relief that spread throughout the encampment. They all looked like they had won some sort of great battle. The enthusiasm was excessive to put it mildly.

If his hunch was wrong, then they were imperial celebrating the capture of someone of high positioning in the church. Yet, none of the murmurs made mention of his name. They were all bragging about defeating a relic-wielder. His identity was not well-spread maybe.

The entire mood changed as an older paladin joined the gathering. His dull chestnut brown eyes gave a lingering glance to Byleth before his attention shifted to the legendary blade. Recognition registered on his face immediately. The older man was downright gawking, "What is going on?"

He traded glances with the other guards before honing in on Byleth. There was no malice or smugness in his gaze. There was nothing that hinted at him disapproving of the unarmed person. If anything, Byleth almost thought he saw hope in the tired gaze of the older man, "Sir, we have successfully detained a dangerous element. Private Joannes was going to bring him into an available holding cell."

Along with the hope, there was a wariness too for the paladin. And yet, he shook his head to the idea, "Hold that order. Tell me, did the man use the sword?"

"He deflected my arrow with it," One of the archers supplied. "The sword suddenly turned into a whip."

The old man took the sword from one of the lancers. He glanced it over before he looked back to the professor, "Relinquish him of the handcuffs. He is a resident. He merely lost his papers."

"But, sir, we cannot just-" Derrick tried to argue.

He was silenced by the paladin's interjection, "He will also need a guide. Someone must take him to the reception hall. Under my orders as guard captain, I will stake my position on him. And, said escort will need to inform the delegate's residence." His resounding tone matched with his unyielding gaze had even Byleth flinch. The horse gave him some height overall present, but it was by no means what gave him the authority. His hardened stare was undeniable, but it softened when it fell back on Byleth. "Well, who wants to volunteer?!"

"I will, sir..." The guard looked positively baffled at the recent development. For his participation, he received a small token from the paladin.

"Go on now, Joannes. No time to dawdle. And, do treat him like you would a guest." The sternness from the superior had the soldier shaking his head fervently. The younger man was positively quaking in his boots.

He gave one more nod before he went about unlocking the shackles on Byleth's wrists with a key, "Yes, sir!"

The captain did not stop at just that. He offered the Sword of the Creator back to Byleth. Mid-way through the transfer, the older man cleared his throat, "Greetings, professor. There is... a lot to report." Those words rang in his ears, but they did not make any sense. There was one individual that he attributed those words too, but the other was far from what his memory knew of that individual. Perhaps, those words ran in the family or position.

Either way, Byleth had little time to think over what he was just told. The distance between him and the older man grew with each second. His escort was very set on completing the task. The thought occurred to him that the other had known him. There was no chance to ask who he was, but Byleth made a mental note to seek out the other.

Such idle thoughts did not last long. His surroundings soon took his attention. He was expecting the damage from the battle to be obvious. The Immaculate One's breath made short work of surroundings builds. However, none of the edifices showed sign of damage. If anything, they looked to be better in condition than ever before. Byleth was almost convinced that the grand battle between the Empire and the Church was a dream. Rhea did turn into a dragon. A literal dragon. He was willing to chalk up his memories to a dream. A nightmare maybe. Had he just drank too much and ended up falling off the cliff?

That thought was discarded after he noticed more of his surroundings. One unexplainable detail was pillars that lined the streets. They emitted a bright glow. It was no fire, their blue glow confirmed that much. It was likely magic, but it did not explain how so many adorned the street. Had he been in a coma after his fall? There was no easy explanation for what was coursing his head. The sheer magnificence of the buildings and their numbers told that something was amiss.

Byleth wanted to think that this was all some sort of ruse by the Empire. Admittedly, it was so much easier to believe he was being lulled into a trap. He wanted to believe that the Church staff and the students would be waiting for him. Though, there was almost nothing they could say to convince him that all is right. The man nearly doubled over when he saw a golem around the corner. It stood about twice the height as the professor. His attention once again turned forward once his escort came to a halt, "Requesting permission to access monastery grounds." The soldier called out to the inner gatekeeper.

Garreg Mach Monastery was built between two segments. There was first the outer town... the outer city and the monastery proper. The monastery proper consisted of a marketplace, Officer's Academy, cathedral, and residence of the clergy. A gatekeeper was kept at both entrances. And much like the first checkpoint, it was not just one man to keep an eye of the mouth of the monastery. A dozen soldiers manifested at the call, "At this hour? You can't be serious. Is this an urgent matter?"

The scrutiny by the other men had Joannes back to his quivering self, "I received orders from the Senior Guard Captain to bring him to the reception hall and to alert the delegate." He flashed the token he was provided. It looked to be some sort of seal.

It was evident that the men were not wholly convinced, but they offered a shrug. "Can we at least see his identification papers? We can't exactly let him meet with the delegate without proper procedure."

"I said nothing about letting them meet... I mean, I'm just meant to pass on the information that 'Byleth Eisner' is present." The name looked to earn an interesting look from one of the men.

The specific man looked on the cusp of remembering something, but the thought seemed to evade. He offered a shrug, "A familiar name. Eh, whatever. It's your job on the line anyways. So, about those papers?"

"Well... He was not carrying any of the sorts on his person." Joannes sheepishly admitted, unsure of what else to say on that matter. "I only have the captain's seal."

"His job on the line too. Heh, maybe I'll be promoted if things go sour." The grim joke went unappreciated by his peers. A bit embarrassed with his comment, the guard brought the heavy gate up. As soon as he did so, Byleth was hit with a wave of nostalgia. It felt like he had not been home for so long. His blame for that likely lied on the tiresome interactions with the guards.

The escort was silent for the rest trip. He ran off as soon as they arrived at the building. If there was anything that raised no alarms in Byleth's head, it was seeing the monastery at night. With the exception of a scared Lysithea, there was nothing different about his setting. The consistency had him far more relaxed than he had been since he awoke. He sat himself down at one of the tables, tempted to fall back to his slumber. The prospect of being compared to the likes of Linhardt did not bother him when the silence soothed him into respite.

The serene atmosphere was shattered mere minutes after Byleth closed his eyes. They shot open to the sound of running. He was not bothered by noise until he heard the footsteps near him. His gaze moved to the source of the racket, locking in on the nearby corridor. He had expected the likes of Seteth, Rhea, Flayn, Claude, and possibly one of the other professors. Delegate seemed like such a vague term to Byleth. He knew of the word, but it was treated with a level of dignity with how the soldiers described it.

The dignified man that came to greet him was dressed in his sleepwear. Byleth glanced over his features as he approached. To start, the man had short, chocolate hair. While he did not boast any gray hairs, the man was about the same age as Alois. It was also quick to discern that he was of Almyran descent, his skin tone matching that of an ally. Then there were his eyes, similar to that of a raging fire in both color and intensity. His gaze was much akin to the old captain's from earlier, "Goddess... It really is you." He spoke in almost a whisper.

Byleth was unsure of what to say for himself, merely cocking his head to the side and thinking over his observations. "You know me?" It was strange how his reaction compared to the others. Ignoring the professor's usual stoicism, there was mostly apathy in his tone. He was hung up on how nobody he knew came to greet him.

The older man nodded weakly to the words, "You haven't changed at all." His attention was not all there. He was looking at Byleth, but he was not looking at him. The stare transcended the man, "You haven't aged a day."

"I apologize, but I am not sure who you are." Byleth fessed up, wishing to be candid about his thoughts. The other took such a familiar tone with him. It was pleasant, but hearing all that from a stranger lessened the feeling. He much preferred being blunt on the subject over dance around the fact.

The olive-skinned man caught on quick to the confusion, "It seems you have not been keeping tabs... You know, I at first thought that you abandoned us after the Battle of Garreg Mach, but then it became clear that you had truly perished. Until today I mean," The confession was a welcomed one. It meant that he was not crazy about imagining some grand confrontation. Though, that meant that Rhea was possibly a dragon too. He may not be able to rule out that fact after all.

Byleth still did not remember the delegate, "You were there?" The hint told so little.

"Yes! I mean, I was there. I just expected you to remember. Say, Byleth, what is the last thing you remember before you came here?" The intent in the man's stare was palpable. There was no reason to think ill of him for asking, so the professor relented.

His last memory was fairly easy to recall. Even if he was dead tired and wishing to know the truth, the vivid thought was ever-present in his memory, "I fell down a cliff after assisting Rhea against demonic beasts."

It was like a glass shattered. The other adorned a disbelieving look as thoughts came together in his mind. He looked at Byleth if he told a twisted joke. Any good feeling in the room was snuffed out like a candle. The only sound to be heard was the sound of the cicadas in the distance. Eventually, the other returned to his senses and scanned the professor over, "Well... That explains your appearance. I think. It explains why you're here now. Byleth, what year do you think about it?" The implications had the green-haired man going. His hunch around being asleep for months seemed all the more plausible by those words alone.

"If I had to guess, it would be eleven ninety-six." The great battle was what ended the year. Judging by the colder temperatures, he might have been gone until the Red Wolf Moon. It was a stretch, but being awoken by that familiar voice had him willing to believe that his slumber was more like hibernation.

The older man placed a hand to his mouth at the information, "Byleth, you're... a bit off. I have no reason to doubt you, but this, this is a lot to take in. And, I have been through a lot." The man took a seat promptly, needing the time to inhale and exhale.

Byleth looked perplexed, to say the least, "Eleven ninety-seven?" He posed, wishing to see if he was truly gone for two years.

Yet, the shake of the older man's head shot the idea down swiftly. Three years? Maybe four? It could not be possible to be asleep for that long, "Brace yourself for this one. Goddess, my do-gooder ways have caught up to me." Byleth was not afraid, but he would be lying to say that he was not perturbed by the other's words. He hid it well behind his stoic expression, "It has been twenty-five years since our defeat here."

"Twenty-five...?" He was genuinely hoping for five years. It would have been far more ideal to wake up for the Millennium Festival. "Has it really been that long?" The revelation did answer many of his questions, but the shock on Byleth's face was obvious. This fact alone sent him into a spin. Worse yet, it did not fully sink in.

His change to his expression caused the other to blink, "I'm afraid so. I'm sure you have questions. A lot has happened since your disappearance. I'm no historian, but I can say I'm literate now. Anyways, I still haven't told you my name yet."

The clue that so much time had passed excused the man's age. There was very fair that fit the other's general description. Though, it was not hard when he considered just how familiar he was with him. He was afraid to say the name, in fear that twenty-five years truly passed. This was not the kind of reunion he imagined on his climb up to the monastery, "Cyril. That's your name, right?"

"We were not exactly that close professor, but you still remembered my name. Well, to you it has only been hours or days. To me, you were always stuck in my mind with how close you were to Lady Rhea." There was a somberness to his tone. His presence told Byleth the unspoken reason for the other's melancholy. Cyril's nervous smile was failing him.

It would have been wise to drop the subject and just simply caught up. However, Byleth did not have the luxury. He had Claude to blame for his inquisitiveness. Ever since he knew the young lord, the world was a great epic. With twenty-five years gone by, there was a lot to learn. Why was it Cyril that greeted him? "The war... What happened?"

The question had the man pale. Cyril shrunk to the attention, "I am sure you are tired. I am too. Though, it would be cruel to leave you in the dark. We will continue this discussion later, but I will tell you enough for one night. To start, the fighting did not end after the monastery. If anything, it was only the beginning." There was so much left unsaid. There was so much that Cyril looked to stop himself from saying. The older man's emotions were on his sleeve. Byleth knew better than to press the issue. He feared what else could be said. He was a mercenary, but he abhorred war. The war likely included far too many familiar faces.

His silence was short-lived. There were matters he needed to know, "Did... anyone die?" It was a foolish question. He saw the sprawling necropolis that sat at the base of the mountain. There were far too many graves for a mere battle. The thousands of stones told of something far greater.

A wretched expression showed on Cyril's face. Tears pricked his eyes, causing him to close them. Though Byleth did not think lowly of the man's show of emotion, "I think... that explanation can wait till morning. In the morning, there will be a service. The Ethereal Moon is meant to be a month of peace. Between the anniversary monastery's creation and Saint Cichol Day, we spend a day mourning and praying to the goddess to keep the peace." It was a relief to know that the war ended. However, the idea of seeing that necropolis in the day frightened Byleth. There were bound to be names he knew.

"I see... I will hold you to that then." Byleth could only say that much. His daze from his awakening was gone. In its place, there was terror. The loss of his father still weighed heavily on him. Months were not enough to heal the wounds he suffered by the assassin. To lose one of his friends, it shook him to his core. He was not emotionless. He was hard to break through to. His class, his friends, and his colleagues all got past his troublesome personality.

The thought of losing them over his blunder a quarter of a century ago had him remorseful, "I'm glad. For now, let me arrange some sleeping quarters for you. Your room is not exactly available anymore, but you can stay in Lady Rhea's. I had after the fact, but she entrusted you with everyone that final day. I'm willing to respect her wish." The olive-skin man gestured for the other to follow him. After a moment spent brewing in his thoughts, Byleth obliged the task.