I live! Be sure to let me know how the chapter turned out. I have a lot planned, but a lot of things are still left up in the air. So, I don't mind any suggestions or feedback. Enjoy!

The sun ushered in the new day and was what ultimately roused Byleth from his slumber. There were no complaints with the accommodations, but a twenty-five-year slumber certainly did not make a normal sleep schedule easy. While he was disoriented, it was not hard to navigate his surroundings. He stole a glance from the archbishop's balcony. The sprawling courtyards and majestic halls were all the same. The familiarity brought him peace of mind, enough to hold him from slinking back into the dark thoughts. The monastery's serenity harkened back to the days before the Flame Emperor's ultimate betrayal.

He lingered for only a short time. The service was likely soon. It sounded ideal to pick up some morsels from the mess hall before the event. He did not have the opportunity to think about how famished he was the previous day. It was one revelation after another. He descended the stairs and mused over opting to take a detour. His father's office was only a short walk away. The sting of losing him was still fresh.

Byleth thought against making such a visit and descended another flight. He could consult with Cyril after he was properly fed. Despite his looming fears, the reception hall was just as lively as ever. A flurry of school uniforms made him forget that there was not a familiar face present. His class was either claimed by the tragedy or far too grown up to be prancing around in such attire.

Or so he thought. As he gawked at an odd turn of events, an individual bumped into him and nearly sent the professor to the ground. His mint-eyes glanced back to the transgressor, only to pale at the person he saw. He was, for lack of a better word, a mountain. His height and build made him impossible not to notice. His curly blonde hair and sun-kissed skin too were noted almost immediately. Though, this fellow had a better fitting top. The stress on the buttons was far less obvious than with the person he knew, "Raphael?" Byleth asked with disbelief. Perhaps, he had dreamed up the idea that he slept for two and a half decades. Well... He was almost sure that was not the case.

"Hey! That's my old man's name. Don't think I've seen you around before," The tone and smile gave credence to boy's words. The resemblance was uncanny. There were differences, notably his brown eyes and less boxy face. Yet, the details were not enough to distinguish the two from each other. Byleth could not help but recognize the other as his former student.

The green-haired man soon realized that he was just staring, "I'm, uh... sorry. You two look a lot alike." It was not like he could broach the topic of his students without fearing the worst. The prospect of outright asking the boy his father's status had him stumbling over his words.

"No worries, I've heard it a lot!" The enthusiasm was reassuring somewhat. It reminded him that perhaps the future was not all bad, "Do you know my pops? Maybe you are a protégé of his? Oh, oh! Were you one of the mercenaries that he worked with?" The questions were overwhelming, but they did not dishearten the professor. It kept him thinking about better times.

Byleth gave a polite chuckle, able to emote enough to convince the other that he was not put off by the boy's loud nature. Outside of his students, most did not fully understand his inability to properly express his emotions. "I had met him some time ago," He lied. His relation to his student was not easy to explain in his current position.

"Oh good! You two should catch up sometime! He's usually at the training grounds or mess hall. Probably the mess hall," The words were like a divine melody, a hymn by Lady Rhea herself. Byleth was relieved to hear that the man was in good health, and was not too far away either. His eyes honed in on the mess hall. It was his original plan to go eat. Sharing a meal with an old friend would not be so bad. However, such a concept too had him afraid.

It was not only a matter of learning dark truths, but there were bound to be accusations against him. Cyril admitted that he thought the professor had run off after his fall. Worst yet, maybe Raphael would think lowly of him for causing him to assume his professor perished. Possibly, his students would not wish to be in his company.

The fear gripped him and caused him to rethink the invitation, "I will probably get food after mass. Thank you for the offer," The pained look on his face appeared to be noticed by his present company.

"I'll see you around then!" His warm grin was brimming with reassurance. He did not know if the other was truly trying to cheer him up. They had only just met, but the gesture helped.

"I'll see you around," Byleth repeated. He was sure that they were bound to cross paths again. There was no reason for the professor to leave the monastery any time soon. He watched as the other disappeared off in the direction of the other room.

The interaction had raised his spirits somewhat. It did not quell his hunger, but it gave him hope that he could make amends with one of the children he left behind. He was less afraid of what came next. Yet, it was hardly enough to make his legs from freezing up. There was no skip in his step, not when so much was being left unsaid. He had a considerable amount of reason to turn back, to just run away from the harsh reality.

As such thoughts stewed in his mind, his body moved on its own toward the cathedral. He was no coward. His emotions were fragile, but he was not about to back down. His father would not have wanted him to turn his back on those that he cared for. Byleth's resolve hardened. He was not about to betray the man he once was. His mint-eyes wandered from side to side, taking in the faces around him. None matched the faces he knew. Nobody batted an eye to his presence either. Upon arriving at the bridge, he was greeted with a sizable church-going crowd. Many of the people were just common folk, likely there to mourn a family member lost.

It was somewhat tricky to get through the crowd. Byleth was under the assumption Cyril may be near the front. The congregation was not an exuberant number, but the mourners were not few either and all clustered together to get the closest seats possible to the front. The professor opted to take a small detour through the left overlook.

It was impossible not to be mesmerized by the view. The view of the forest at the base of the hill was a serene sight. The Goddess Tower in the distance too added to the splendor of the area. A fond memory returned to him as he looked on at the architecture.

His attention soon was hooked on a person in the distance. It was fairly easy to the olive-skinned man. There were few Almyrans present on the church grounds. Cyril looked to be caught up in a conversation with another person. Part of Byleth felt inclined to wait for the other to finish his talk before approaching. That idea evaporated as the brown-haired man spotted him and waved him over. "Where's your escort? I thought I sent someone to collect you. I was almost afraid you would not show up, not that I would blame you."

Byleth realized that it may have been bad form to run off on his own without telling the other, "I was thinking about eating before. I ended up discarding the thought."

"Not to worry, I will make sure you have a sizable lunch prepared for you." The man's fiery eyes glanced at the other person present.

The professor's gaze followed the older man's gaze to the woman. Her attire was reminiscent of a nun's. Though, her uniform was not what held his attention. It was her expression that had him caught in a trance. Her indigo eyes looked at him like he was a ghost. She knew him. "You were alive after all. I am so happy to see you again, professor." Her features gave her identity away rather quickly. Even if the lady was over twice the man's age, the softness of her voice was distinct. It was a trait that he only attributed to a single person.

Byleth felt confident in his assumption. "Mercedes, it hasn't been long since I've seen you, but I'm surprised you still remember me."

Her face lit up at his words. The man relaxed easily upon seeing her glee. "You may not have been my professor, but those days have always been fresh in my memories. I, and many others, cling to those peaceful days. They are what guide our prayers today."

"Peaceful days... How long had the war truly gone on for?" The question had been bothering him since Cyril made mention of the service. They referred to the fighting like an open wound.

There was a pause by all present. "You never told him?" Mercedes glanced at Cyril, surprised by the question. Much like the man yesterday, the woman seemed sheepish to talk about the matter.

The Almyran readily averted his gaze. "It was late last night when he arrived. I was not exactly ready to tell him all that happened." His justification was reasonable to the professor, but the woman still looked bothered by the answer.

Her indigo eyes returned to the man. "Goddess, it's hard to say this. Byleth, the War of Unification was only the prelude to so much suffering. It was the beginning of a terrible era. Fifteen years of battle after battle," Her words weighed heavy. She looked unable to continue her thought. Her expression reflected a myriad of emotions. None of them were pleasant.

The news was not easy to swallow. He had only seen a small fraction of the carnage. His memory of the battle was only the corner piece to a great puzzle. His composure was only maintained by sheer ignorance. He did not question where everyone was at that time. "Was it really that terrible? Both of you seem to be dancing around the topic." The accusation was motivated by a desire to end the suspense then and there.

Cyril and Mercedes shared a glance before the man cleared his throat. "You will see for yourself in a few minutes."

It was apparent that his answers would come sooner than later. As much as he wanted to weather the worst of it soon, a short reprieve sounded pleasant. "I trust you both. I am only anxious for what comes next."

"Byleth," Mercedes murmured meekly, "I pray the Goddess gives you the strength to listen to the whole way through."

"Thank you," His gratitude was all he said before turning back to the cathedral. His conversation, unfortunately, relegated him to the back of the temple. In retrospect, it appeared to be a mercy for him. It meant that nobody would see him break down.

His eyes wandered to the person beside him. He could see the elderly lady on the verge of tears. The stranger's eyes were closed shut. Instead of silence, she continued to spout out apologies. Even in white robes, there was no doubt that she lost someone. Someone very dear to her from the looks of it.

"Oh my sweet Albert," The lady wept openly.

Such a cry was not the only one he heard. There were many reciting a list of names. Some did not stop at three. A few present were unable to finish their mutterings before the service started. Everyone present had lost someone. This crowd all had at least one name to chant.

Byleth almost jumped when he heard a voice circulate the entire cathedral. His eyes shot in every direction, but soon they returned to the front. Cyril stood back as two women led the service. Firstly, there was Mercedes. Her sorrowful expression from earlier only looked to worsen. She hid the worst emotions by a warm smile, but her eyes told everyone present where her heart lied. "I am thankful to see everyone gathered today in the spirit of remembrance. Today is not only a day devoted to a prayer for peace, but it is also a time for recollection. We remember all those lost. Lives lost in the War of Unification, the Adrestian Civil War, the Second War of Heroes, the Sreng Conflicts, the Brigid Intervention, and the Almyran Invasion. All those lost are now in the Goddess' kingdom. They know only peace and tranquility in her presence."

Once the blonde ceased her sermon, another lady stepped forward. Unlike Mercedes, the realization clicked in the first second of seeing her. Her sky blue hair, her weary expression, and her dull brown eyes all put together the thought instantaneously. "We ask for a moment of silence. Time for everyone to reflect. Our minds return to the endless cemeteries, those that stretch all across the countryside. Goddess looks over them and grants them salvation." Her words were followed by a quiet. An inexorable quiet.

The air was stale, difficult to breathe in without choking. The hush lasted an entire two minutes. The two women at the front both clasped their hands together and kept their gaze to the ground.

Once it ended, the blue-haired woman continued her thoughts, "Although they are gone, they are not lost. The immeasurable loss of life will be in our thoughts and hearts. From the tragedies of Duscur to Gloucester, the souls of the innocent involved are guided by our prayers. It is our right to grieve and remember them. It is our duty as the survivors to ensure that the fallen died unjustly." The words did not stir Byleth in the same way as his peers, but he knew that this was only the beginning. The assured tone of his peers made him confident in that.

"We as survivors will fulfill the Goddess' mortal duties. We will ensure her peaceful world comes to pass," Mercedes continued from the other's words. "We uphold the principles of peace and sanctity. We all have lost someone dear. Friends, parents, siblings, spouses, and those of our flock. They were taken far too soon. We live to remember. We will always remember."

Once again, the sermon switched speakers, "In accordance with the obligation, we devote this time now to our personal losses. Those that remain on the tip of our tongues and just outside of our reach. I..." The blue-haired trailed off momentarily, "I have told this memory countless times. And, I continue to recite it because it stings all the same. At the fall of Derdriu, I saw two bright lights put out by an unfeeling conquest. I was not present for the event, but the news... hurt all the same. Even in death, their wisdom keeps me firm, and their loss holds me to my path toward peace."

Nobody in the cathedral spoke. All that could be heard was their voices from all directions. It was hypnotic, to put it mildly. Byleth did not know how to react. The news veered too close to intimate territory. He stopped himself before accursed thoughts gripped him. Instead, he allowed himself to be lost in the words.

The blue-haired woman continued from there. "They are stars within the sky now. I can see them and always know they are there, but I cannot touch them. I cannot speak to them. I cannot hear them. I can only find solace that they still shine with the Goddess."

Byleth shook his head, not wishing to think more on the matter. He could not entertain those thoughts. To his dismay, there was to be no reprieve. Mercedes had her turn once again. "I think back on my friends. Those claimed by the horrors of the past. They would've loved to experience the peace we've attained. To see an ending to the aggression, it would have made them glad. They fought for justice and their homes. They did not want this war. They fought to stop the war, to end the cycle of violence." She too started to break down with each word.

It was a moment before she recollected herself. The fresh tears in her eyes were not hard to miss, even at the back of the temple. Byleth was a witness to both women's struggle with their losses. Guilt sweltered in him. It was unable to be suppressed. He should have been there. "We stand for the living and dead. Both guided by the Goddess and her infinite wisdom," The blue-haired woman continued from there. "We allow you this time now to consider all those alive. Those spared from wrath's clutches. We live on to carry the wills of the dearly departed. So long as we do so, their hopes for our world will be fulfilled. Their vision will continue to come to pass." Her words were uplifting, but not a single soul found solace. Their grief continued to well in that holy sanctuary.

"However, it is not our place to force smiles and pretend that these peaceful days are all that matter," Her voice was shaken by her sadness but strengthened by her assurance. "We have suffered, living each day without them. They may be with the goddess, but they are not with us. We no longer have their company. Their warm smiles are no longer a part of our days. We have achieved a decade long peace, but it is clouded by our losses." Those words admittedly had Byleth pause. It was what explained why being thrust into better days felt so bitter. He knew not who was gone, but their presence was felt.

Both women traded glance before Mercedes took the lead once more. "We must pray for peace to ensure our children never suffer the safe fate we had. It is difficult to overcome the casualties. We find solace in the Goddess' warm embrace, but very few can truly live on without nightmares or wretched thoughts. Our congregation only seeks to remember and promise. We are here to promise that the children of the Goddess know nothing of our pain. They will live free of war. They will be free to smile and play, free of war's tragic influence." With that said, she became quiet and stepped back. Her place was right at Cyril's side.

"It is for that reason that we give our prayers. We remember our fallen as both our way of showing respect and our way of reaffirming that the same tragedy will not happen again," The blue-haired woman added to the thought. At this point, Byleth was not sure how to feel. Guilt continued to stack as he did not know just who was gone. All he knew was that his hopes were not high.

Everything he gleaned so far painted a bleak picture. Their words likely touched the hearts of all those present, but he had yet to start mourning. He was rudderless in an oncoming sea of emotions. He found comfort in hearing her voice. Her message was not made for him, but it was truly a melody to his ears.

The speaker gave a pause for everyone to breathe and think of their thoughts, "To the millions claimed by this senseless carnage, we offer to you our prayers. We will not forget you. Our memories will live on." It was those words that truly caused Byleth grief. Any remaining stoicism he carried was shattered. His lips formed a frown.

Who was he to remember? Who had he lost? Who was he supposed to give his prayers to? The goddess. The goddess was all so often mentioned. He knew where she was. They were not with her. He was supposed to be their salvation. And yet, he was gone. His hand slowly gripped a fist. There was no way of playing the fool for any longer.

He could only take so much. The sermons continued. The women said their peace. Cyril took some time to recount the words of the saints. Their words were drowned out by his inner darkness. He stared at the speakers. Millions died. Six wars fought. The symphony of orphans and widows were the cries he heard. All this suffering, and yet... where was the Goddess? Where was Sothis?

As much as people could say she had a plan or she had abandoned them, he knew better. She was him. He was her. Their will was one. By extension, it was his responsibility to be the savior.

It was the Goddess that their prayers of peace were for. What was he to do with these prayers? The man who turned his back on the world. The burdens of the deity weighed too heavy for someone as simple as he. He was a mercenary. He was a teacher. He was no archbishop or general. Byleth had to deal with both being unable to mourn and unable to accept his absence.

Moisture formed in his eyes. The last time he cried it was over his father's body. He had not visited the grave in twenty-five years... The thought added to his grief. All of it culminated in tears trickling down his cheeks. The trails left behind were a testament to his pain.

When the service came to an end, Byleth had yet to find the urge to leave his seat. The masses disappeared in all directions. He did not know if they were moving elsewhere or if the gathering was dispelled. All that he was able to do was try to come to terms with his mistake. Had he heeded Rhea's words that day, maybe he could have been there.

He could have saved those lost. His sobs kept him from speaking. His cries kept him from hearing. His tears kept him from seeing. When his senses returned to him, the cathedral was almost empty. He was the only one left sitting, but he was not alone. Mercedes and Cyril had left, likely with the rest of the congregation. The blue-haired woman stood before him, patiently waiting for him to regain his composure. "Hello, professor. It brings me great relief to see you alive."

"I... must look pathetic right now," Byleth muttered.

The woman shook her head. "It is alright to cry. I do not know... anything, but just seeing you here means the world to me."

Her words were pleasant, but they did shake his disgust with himself. He abandoned her. "I don't think I deserve such kindness." Even if it was out of his control, it was grotesque to allow the continent to suffer so.

The blue-haired woman hummed and curtly shook her head. "You are starting to sound like how I once was. I don't know completely why, but I can lend you an ear and help you come to terms with what ails you. Let us grab some tea. Like old times," There was a warmth to her smile. It was a sublime sight, but he did not feel like he earned it. If what she was implying was true, then where was he to get her to open up? He never got the chance to understand the extent of her burdens.

His meek expression warned against the thought. "I don't think I helped you," The professor voiced his concern.

To that, the blue-haired woman shook her head. "Your words assisted me in coming to terms with my heritage. I am grateful that you've returned so that I can tell you that much. It's as if the Goddess herself performed a miracle." The words caused the same terrible feeling in Byleth. Though, her words were not far off from the truth. He was the only one saved by the divine's hand.

"Marianne, I... Maybe we should have tea first." There were a lot of questions he needed to answer. With Cyril away, it was not like he could turn to him. With Marianne present, he could ask for her forgiveness too.

The woman nodded and motioned for him to follow her. The blue-haired woman retained her beauty from her earlier years. If there was any staunch difference, it was her poise. She carried herself in a far better manner than she ever had before. There was an aura to her that befitted her role in the service.

There was both a command to her voice and her step. Her speech was still soft, but she did not trip over her words or shrink. Though, the woman often fell behind the younger man's pace as they walked to the courtyards. After passing the gazebo, they found an available table. A nearby student was more than willing to lend his kettle and blends.

Unlike countless times in the past, it was Marianne that offered him the tea. The taste was distinct. He was quick to identify the blend as Almyran Pine Needles. He hardly enjoyed the beverage until his time at the academy. The tea that stuck with him most was Claude's favorite. Whether or not Marianne still remembered that detail, he could not say, but the gesture appreciated all the same.

It soothed his nerves for the moment he took a sip. He thought back on all the conversations he had with the young lord over the beverage. Such cherished memories were fragile. His mind went back to Marianne's mention of Derdriu. "I should start by saying I know nothing of the past twenty-five years. I talked with Cyril, but I do not know much about the present."

Unlike with the Almyran, Marianne's surprise was short-lived. The woman stored the information without a pause. "You do not know who is gone, right?" She was quick to surmise.

Her answer was way too on the nose for Byleth's liking, but he gave a meek nod of affirmation. He was not about to close himself off to her. "I know Raphael is still around. He had a son too it seems," The idea of him as a parent baffled him admittedly. Granted, he only knew them for a year. Who was he to say what they were or were not capable of?

The mention of her classmate earned a giggle from the woman. "You will be surprised by how many children wander the halls. I too have been blessed with parenthood. A beautiful daughter," The confession again sent Byleth away from his darkness. The negativity eclipsed by shock. He was not surprised, but such good news was still an impressive development.

The man's mint eyes looked into the amber color of the tea, "It pleases me to know that. I would be happy to meet her."

"Have you met with Raphael yet?" Marianne asked.

The question had Byleth pale. His dread from earlier returned to him, "To tell you the truth, I am afraid."

"Afraid?" She sounded bewildered by the statement. "He still is as boisterous as ever, but he's no brigand. It's funny to think how little he's changed over the years." The reassurance did not tackle what the professor implied.

"I am afraid that he will hate me for being gone for so long," He clarified. "I thought you would too," He believed that they would scorn his neglect. It was not his choice to sleep for that long, but it was his error that sent him to his near-death.

Marianne promptly frowned to the notion, "That's not true. Your guidance would have been appreciated, but you would never have willingly left us behind. We all agreed that you either died or were healing your injuries. Many of us came to assume the former, but some clung to the latter until the bitter end." There was so much more than the clergywoman was unaware of, but her words drew him to a different thought. His mind returned to the woman's first question.

Byleth struggled to form his inquiry, intimidated by an ever-present dread. "Who is left of our class?" He did not have the heart to phrase it as the negative. If he had, it would have been like assuming only a minority lived. He wanted the hope to imagine they all lived through the ordeals.

It was that question that gave Marianne pause. Even with her confidence, the weight of the memories was far too heavy for anyone. She directed her gaze downward before she returned to keeping her gaze on his eyes, "Aside from myself and Raphael... it is only Leonie left." The revelation sent Byleth into a spiral. He thought he had shed all his tears moments prior. And yet, water clouded his gaze. There were only three left.

"Claude...?" His voice was choked by emotions, "Hilda? Lorenz? Lysithea? Ignatz?" Those five students were gone. They were killed because he failed them. His teachings could not save them.

The blue-haired woman prepared herself for what came next, needing a minute to collect her thoughts. "Claude was a casualty of the War of Unification. He and Hilda both perished at Derdriu. Ignatz died a month before defending the passage to the Alliance territories. Lorenz and Lysithea both survived the wars. Though, Lysithea never got to see the peace of today. Her health declined before the Empire collapsed. And... Lorenz," That name, in particular, gave her speech strain. "He was not the same after the wars." The vagueness in that answer warned Byleth well not to press her for more on the subject.

Her honesty was generous. He wished to thank her, but his voice was taken by the tea. The taste soured as his fond memory of chatting with Claude turned bitter. He was no longer there. He... never got to know that his professor returned. The solemn expression registered with his conversation partner thankfully.

She added a cube of sugar to her cup, "They never thought badly of you. They all held to hope that you would return and avenge them. And while you cannot avenge them, you can pay your respects and live for their sake." Her sentiments were agreeable with him. And contrary to that, he was unable to forgive himself for not being there for them.

He thought himself deplorable. "I wish they did," Byleth mumbled out.

A disapproving look was shot his way at the remark. "Please do not say such things. You gave us strength. We survived because of your sacrifice that day. You set an example to keep us going. A promised reunion went a long way, whether or not we knew your true fate." Their vow to all meet for the Millennium Festival came to mind immediately.

They likely believed he would uphold his promise. His gaze fell back to the half-empty teacup. "I abandoned you, Marianne." He reiterated his previous sentiment. There was no way of sugar-coating the fact. When she needed him most, he was gone.

"Enough!" The sternness in her voice had Byleth visibly wince. "Can't you see that you did not leave us? You returned late. For the sake of our current peace, you will play a role. The Goddess would not have brought you back if you did not have a place in her plan."

Her comment brought forth strong emotions. His glower was not easy to spot at a first glance, but it carried a burning sense of indignation. "Lady Rhea told me to keep an eye on young and old that fateful day. She told me that I was to watch over them, but... I could not even save my students." He failed the very archbishop of the faith Marianne spoke of. Ignoring the woman's fate in the war, Byleth honed in on his rash decision jeopardized everything. If he listened to her, then he would not have fallen.

Marianne added a cube of sugar to her cup. "All the more reason to stop sulking. I don't mean to be rude. You have every right to lash out and blame yourself. Heed my words, a path of self-hatred will only make you weak. It was only by my initiative that I freed myself from it." Her age showed in her stare. Her dull brown eyes told of a woman that went through so much.

"Tell me, how did you get through it?" Byleth conceded to her words.

The clergywoman took a sip of her beverage, likely wishing to savor a sweeter flavor. "After the war, I resolved to be better. Remembering your words and thinking back to my friends, I went off on a journey. Leonie, Raphael, and Lorenz all caught wind, however. We ventured into a monster-filled forest. Amongst the thousands of acres, a demonic beast awaited our arrival. By confronting it... him, I learned the true nature of my crest, and I learned to accept myself." The epic was not far-fetched, but imagining his student in that situation was almost inconceivable. Despite that, her intrepid present personality was evidence.

That story gave him pause. It was not exactly applicable to his situation, "Then, what do you propose I do?" It was not like he could slay some monster to make up for his absence. He had a hunch that the worst was gone.

"The answer was not obvious to me at first. You have time. I ask that you hold your head high until your opportunity comes," The optimism in her voice was hard to shake.

Byleth finished his cup of tea, stalling on an immediate answer. "Then how do I wait for the day?"

Her small smile told him she had an answer already, "Before I came to terms, I had you and many others to thank. All of you in the Golden Deer gave me cherished memories. Your friendships were what got me to accept that mission."

Her words were oddly satisfying. "I should rely on my bonds to give me strength, right?"

Her nod confirmed his paraphrase. Marianne returned the objects to the student in question. He and many others kept their gazes transfixed on her, all awestruck at her presence. "Precisely. You can look to us for support, or well... I do have my duties to look to. You can write me letters."

The collective gawking by the students matched with her confession brought forward a new question. "What is it that you do now?"

She giggled at the confusion in her professor's eyes. Eventually, she relented and ceased her amusement at his question. "It is funny. I forget just how little you know of the world. It appears reintroductions are in order. My name is Marianne von Edmund, Bishop of the Eastern Church." That mere title illuminated her reverence by so many. She was a religious leader, someone significant to the faith.

Byleth looked positively buggy-eyed at the news. "Really now?"

The woman's amusement made its return at the sight of his slack jaw. "Everyone that survived made lives for themselves. You must already know that Cyril is a delegate and Mercedes is head of the Western Church." He already knew and barely understood the man's position, but the former Lion's occupation was news to him. The highest positions within the Church were occupied by people he helped guide. He was oddly proud of the news.

"What does delegate mean?" He was meaning to confront Cyril on that point.

The woman scratched her chin. Her expression told that her pause was not out of sensitivity toward the subject matter. If anything, she looked to be contemplating what to say. "A delegate... Erm, the correct term is Representative to the Council of Delegates. He serves as the liaison between Garreg Mach and the UFF." Her explanation only raised more questions. What was the UFF? What does he even do?

"What is so important about a delegate?" He decided to find out what the significance of his position meant.

"The delegates provide a voice for each region of Fódlan. They all have a vote in politics. I'm guessing you know little of our current government too. Ten years ago, the Empire collapsed. Instead of falling into an era of warring states and warlords, the United Federation of Fódlan was established. It united all of the territories under a single banner and brought about a constitution to maintain the peace." Her explanation halted after that. Her eyes wandered elsewhere. Byleth followed her gaze and honed in on the very linchpin of the discussion, Cyril.

He gave an awkward wave. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

The bishop gave a polite wave and shook her head. "I was actually catching him up in the past."

Cyril's gaze likely spotted the puffiness in the other man's eyes. A solemn expression was flashed Byleth's way before returning to his pleasant approach. "I am thankful for your assistance, Marianne. I was meaning to discuss it with him myself, but I needed to talk with Mercedes first. Are you two still talking?" It was an obvious answer, but the woman again refuted the thought.

"We finished our tea. I would not wish to stop the professor from having a meal," Her courteous tone disarmed Cyril's worries.

"Now, Byleth, I promised you lunch didn't I? You're free to join us, Marianne." He extended the offer to the other. With a better understanding of their positions, it made sense to Byleth why they spoke on equal terms. They both represented the Church in a capacity.

The invitation was met with a shake of her head. "I am afraid that I must decline. I neglected my duties long enough," She confessed. The woman stood and returned her gaze to Byleth. "Professor, don't be a stranger." Her kind smile seemed to return to his earlier calm.

The guilt of the five hung over the younger man, but Marianne's words placated his emotions for the time being. A sense of fragility made him afraid of speaking. "I hope the food from the cafeteria is acceptable," Cyril chimed in. His offer was not bad by any means. If anything, it sounded divine at that moment. He was willing to think that food would soften him.

"I would not mind," His voice was faint. He was able to shake away his worst thoughts in favor of imagining what was to be offered that day. The assortment of dishes always appealed to at least a handful of his students.

The walk was brisk, uneventful. For a moment, Byleth allowed himself to sink back into the nostalgia. His mind conjured the image that he was making his rounds around the monastery once again. It was the Great Tree Moon again. There was no war. Edelgard and Hubert were still mere students. Everyone was working towards a better future for the continent.

That fantasy snapped when he looked to Cyril. The man's age showed. The students that occupied the mess hall were unfamiliar. None matched the faces he knew all too well. He took a seat as Cyril ordered for the both of them. His eyes wandered innocently to the request board. It was a relief to see only a few postings. It looked like Byleth was no longer the only errand boy at the monastery. The little detail was enough to earn a chuckle.

"Byleth," His eyes caught sight of the delegate with two trays, "I remember fish being a personal favorite of yours. I hope my memory hasn't started to fail me. I'm only forty years old." The humor only served as a reminder for how different Byleth. In that span of twenty-five years, he had not aged a day. Though, he preferred being in his twenties to forties.

"It is. Thank you," His response was devoid of emotion. Instead, he put his focus on the cuisine. His hunger caught up to him in the first bite. The meal was gone within minutes. It was to the point where the professor found himself actively licking the plate and swiping Cyril's bread roll.

The dish was enough to bring color back to Byleth's face. He regained his senses some. The pain of his losses was stayed only by the lingering taste in his mouth. "I am sure Marianne has told you what I couldn't. I don't blame you for thinking poorly of me for deflecting the duty onto her. We all lost someone during the war." His explanation was logical. And, Byleth had no room to judge anyone.

His sentiments on that matter were complicated by his desire to be ignorant. He lacked the courage to approach either Leonie or Raphael. "It is fine. I am unsure if you would have worded things as nicely as Marianne had."

"What did she tell you?" Cyril pried into the topic. Though, he realized too late that the subject matter was not a wise choice for the public.

Recounting the bishop's words was too much for Byleth. The words were lodged in his throat. He was told that essentially most of his closest friends were dead. They died before he had the chance to speak to them again. Claude. He would never get to chide house leader on his schemes again. Ignatz. He would never get to see a new painting from the boy. Lorenz. He would never lambast him for his incessant flirting. Lysithea. He would never get to share sweets with her. Hilda. They would never get to have a calm conversation over tea.

They were all gone. He did not have a chance to say goodbye. Sorrow wrapped its hands around his neck. Byleth looked to be choking on air. His pitiful gaze fell to the plate. "She told me... Leonie and Raphael are alive." He focused on the positive to the news. At least, a familiar face or two were still around.

Cyril nodded his head to the facts, nervousness flashed in his expression. "That they are. You know... Raphael is the acting captain of the Knights of Seiros. As for Leonie... She's actually taken your spot as the professor to the Golden Deers." The news was enough to bring Byleth back from the inexorable despair. It brought a meek smile forward. He was touched to know that the two were thriving. Even more than that, his influence played some role.

"Leonie teaches the students? What happened to her starting a mercenary company?" The idle conversation was ideal. He much preferred focusing on the better news. His emotional stability depended on the successes made by his students.

"She restarted the Blade Breakers in your father's honor. However, she seemed drawn to teaching after learning of a vacancy. She's been an esteemed teacher with us for a few years now," Cyril supplied Byleth. The information occupied the majority of Byleth's thoughts.

He stewed in the new knowledge. He imagined the plucky ginger replacing his position at the front of the classroom. A small chuckle left his lips. She likely had to experience the same headaches as he did. "I hope her students treat her well."

"Considering who is the house leader, I would sure hope so," Cyril responded with a chuckle. The man's amusement raised an eyebrow. "Oh right! There really is a lot more to say. I have a son. He's just as overactive as I was."

The image of a younger Cyril was quick to manifest in his mind. The boy's presence was always noticed around the monastery. "Perhaps things have not changed too much," Byleth mused aloud. The consistency was saving him from slipping through reality. He was an enigmatic specter in everyone's company. He was left behind, oblivious to the devastation wrought by war.

"They don't have to be that different," The other spoke up. "I promised to tell you so much more, but I confess that there is something else I wanted to talk to you about."

The idle chatter of the students around them did not obscure the words. The clicking of silverware against plates was neither a distraction either. Byleth's mint eyes stared intently at the other, unsure of what was brewing in his head. There was so much that could be said. He recognized that he disappeared on odd terms with the Church. "What is it?"

The look in Cyril's eyes told enough. The man was not about to mince his words or dance around what came next. His heart showed in his gaze. The intense moment was shrouded by the casual conversations amongst peers surrounding them. Not a single soul was aware of what was about to be uttered. "I would like to make mention of Rhea's last words to you. They were shared with Seteth moments before the battle and written out for the rest of the clergy to know. You are her successor." The gravity of his words only weighed on Byleth. While all enjoyed a peaceful day, he went from being emotionally drained to being offered a position beyond his scopes.

"What of Rhea? No... What of the current bishop?" Byleth was no fool. The woman's lack of presence immediately told of her fate. There was much to be said on that front, but his mind was on the current state of affairs for the faith.

"For these last twenty-five years, no one has assumed command. While the Church's influence has diminished some, it is still an important institution to the entirety of Fódlan. The role of Archbishop requires legitimacy. The cardinals and previous bishops lacked Rhea's approval. She insisted that you were to be her only successor to the Church." The explanation was ludicrous given Byleth's personal history. However, he thought back to Sothis and her words. He was her successor too.

The topic sent him back to where he was hours ago. He choked on his words and sent his gaze down. He failed the continent. He failed Rhea. He failed Sothis. He failed Claude. He failed Hilda. He failed everyone. Misery held him tightly in a vice. In his heart of hearts, he believed himself unworthy of the responsibility. His head shook with great fervor to the prospect. "No. Goddess no. I cannot."

His prompt and absolute answer earned a frown from Cyril. "Byleth, I don't know why you seem to despise the idea. I'm guessing you are still hung up on how you were asleep for our difficult years. But, you fought and nearly gave your life to everyone. You tried to save Lady Rhea. And, you lived. You performed a miracle."

"A miracle would have been to have returned twenty years ago and stopped the war before it took so many lives. I let them die by my mistake," Byleth stood by the fact. It consumed him wholly. It was his noose, tightening with each truth.

"Byleth-" Cyril tried to counter the thought.

Yet, Byleth was not about to wait his turn. He felt vindicated in his position. "What of the common man? Would they be willing to accept me?! If they knew the truth, they would scorn me."

The other's expression morphed into confusion. "The truth?"

"You found the documentation for my succession. Surely you also found the reason why. She must have included that fact for you to be asking me this so soon." Byleth had a considerable amount of time to think over who he was in the month leading up to the great showdown. Sothis chose him to be the savior. He was to act in her place and bring prosperity to Fódlan. And from his father's diary, he learned the one responsible for his bond with the Goddess. Rhea knew what he became after leaving the realm of darkness.

By Cyril's expression, his assumption was correct. The older man shrunk to the words and knitted his fingers. "She was vague. But, I trust her every word. You are the... Well, maybe not the best idea to say those words aloud here. But you are, aren't you?"

The question was not misplaced. If the situations were reversed, he would have wanted to know. He did not blame Cyril for his impatience and lack of tact. Just because he understood did not mean he was willing to do more than offer a meek nod of the head and a brief answer. "I am not her, but she chose me."

The revelation did not surprise Cyril, but it was still very significant. "Then, won't you consider-"

"I cannot," He shot down the idea hastily again, "how would people react to the news? I am not her. I failed them. I left them behind. All I have to my name is the expectations you place on me. At best, I am a competent teacher and a mercenary. Considering how I nearly died, maybe I am only just a teacher." Byleth did not understand what spurred him to talk at such length. This subject truly brought out a strong opinion on him. The hostility he showed toward a delegate started to collect attention from those around.

"It is possible that you are correct in that assumption. My offer will still stand. However, I have another proposition. From what it sounds like, you seek atonement, right?" It was only then that Byleth understood how much the once younger man changed. He was cunning and likely experienced in negotiation. It dawned on the professor that Cyril had years of experience in conversing with others. There was a lot he did not know about the continent's governance. What he could surmise was that Cyril did not inherit his position. The even manner he spoke told that he had another plan.

Byleth went along with it all the same. "I do. I wish to make amends."

His affirmation looked to be what the other sought. He wondered what the delegate was thinking. He was not about to make any agreements, not when he was still unsure of how Raphael or Leonie would react to his presence.

"How about this? To atone to Lady Rhea, why don't you fulfill your previous role? Why not be a professor at the academy? Of course, you won't be leading the houses. But, there is an opening for an adjutant professor." The chance to return to the very profession he had days before to him was tempting. He already surmised what Cyril might have wanted from the arrangement. He wanted Byleth to stay at the monastery most likely.

Considering his alternatives, Byleth had no room to refuse outright. He sighed and conceded to the possibility. "I will think about your offer."