Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Perfect.

It was the first word it heard. Its slightly pointed ears, new to the sounds of voices and machines, did not know the meaning. Its white skin, still glistening with wet from the incubation chamber, reacted in soft orange bursts to the touch of cold medical devices. Its purple eyes were brilliant through the bleary sheen of gel still clinging to its snowy lashes, and they blinked and squinted at what it did not know to be the shapes of faces. The large lights gleaming down at it made its pupils flex for the first time.

Just born and yet a child, this new creation was the culmination of all the failures, hard work, and religious-like fervor of his people. They had spent years, centuries, creating, shaping, molding the perfect specimen, a flawless home for a ruler long dead. It all had led to this moment.

They had finally borne a prince.

They cleaned it and clothed it, a white, silken robe that clung gently to its fresh skin. An attendant cleared its eyes with a swab, and her face was the first sight it found. It stared at her black eyes and black hair, even as she avoided doing the same. Finding no purchase in her gaze, it then at last was able to look at the world around it. Its piercing violet eyes scanned the room, touching and cataloging every object and sheen. It was a medical bay, called the Observatorium, though it did not know so. It sat on a metal bench, and its small feet could not yet touch the floor. Its gaze moved at last to a large, glass screen, showing lines and shapes it had no words for yet. Whatever these people were, they were watching it closely. So also was it watching them.

A silver door slides open with a whooshing sound, and it catches its attention. The person who enters seems pleased, looking it over with a twitching smile to their pale lips as he crosses the room. They come alarmingly close and grab its jaw and with a pinch of their fingers, prying open its mouth to look at its teeth. An unblemished white, symmetrical and all in their place, with pointed canines.

“Perfect. Simply perfect. General Thales will be pleased,” Myson hums before letting its face go. The creation simply stares, analytical and cold in its gaze. The face it meets is long and pale, with blue, neatly arranged hair and equally blue eyes. They peered over the silver rim of oval glasses that perched on his prominent nose. “He has passed with flying colors so far, everything we’ve tested… Yes, once his motor skills are proven, then we have much to teach him.”

“And you don’t think we removed it too early?” said the attendant. She does not look at it, but speaks only to Myson.

“Preposterous. He must be trained in our ways, our culture, our techniques. And when he comes into adulthood, he will be ready to lead.” Myson’s hand pushes back the short, white hair on the creation’s head to observe the face further, gripping his skull to turn it this way and that. The features of the creation are pointed and severe, even at this young age. The brows are straight and light, pointing downward into a permanent scowl. And the eyes… Yes, that is where Myson could see the child’s potential. His eyes held an age to them beyond their years. He was sure once he learned to speak, it would be his Lord’s voice. He bore such great resemblance already. “Have him ready for presentation by next week.”

“Yes, sir.”

Over the next few days, he learned of many sensations - hunger, thirst, urgency, pain… His stomach knotted and growled, and his first meal consisted of a bar called a ration, and a drink called a stock. It was that moment he started learning how to master his body - how to chew and swallow, picking up and using utensils under the watchful gaze of nurses and doctors alike.
His schedule was strict. Wake, eat, learn, walk, eat, learn, walk, sleep - repeat. New words, which felt like marbles in his mouth to say, held meaning and created connection between him and those around him. There were so many of them, and still so much to learn. He did so quickly and without issue. He was intelligent, and completed tasks almost with a sense of impatience.

Walking however, was no small task. The soft bottoms of his feet ached on the cold metal floors in the hallways of the facility. He was escorted by the same attendant he first met, who later he learned was called Hecuba, who barely spoke to him or looked at him. Instead, she monitored him with a smaller, handheld version of the same piece of glass as in the Observatorium. She occasionally tapped on it and mumbled to herself as they walked side by side, slowly, painfully. A few times, the creation fell, and her touch would be the one to pick him back up. It was firm, authoritative, but still warm against the clammy nature of the creation’s skin. The longer he stayed straight up, the more she seemed to acknowledge his presence. Something about that motivated his feet to steady.

“Good.” She turned to walk backward in front of the child, and pointed at his feet. “Don’t point them in like that, straighten them out.”

“Straighten out,” he echoed back, and straightened his spine, but still hobbled along with his feet pidgeoning in. Something about this reminded her of a baby duck. She couldn’t remember the last time she saw one. The idea amused her before she quickly wiped it away.

“No, stop, stop-” She halted, making him halt as well. She bent over and manually planted his ankles into the correct position before standing back up straight. “There. Come on.”

“Come on,” he parroted, before following her again. It was unsteady, but was an improvement over what came before. Perhaps she, too, could see his promise.

The week neared its end, and he was learning to dress himself. Nurses strapped him in black, and it was this sensation that awoke something new. He grunted and shoved their hands away, disliking the confinement. They tried to soothe him, but it did nothing but make him feel hot from the inside out.

Blood was hot, too. It was hot when first exiting a body, and then cooled as it sat on his skin. It was like being in a bath.

He enjoyed his baths.

“Three?” Myson screeched. Hecuba could not tell what Myson thought of the situation at that moment. She held the glass compad to her chest, and nodded, swallowing thickly.

“Three attendants. He…he’s so small still, I didn’t think he would do anything. Especially with being so agreeable so far, but…he broke the comonitor by throwing one of them, the glass-”

“One could say he possesses the strength of a grown man?” Myson turned, looking at a wall covered with holowriting that was unintelligible even to the most well-read of Agarthans. “Or more…?”

“...I suppose, sir, but this is heightened aggression. If we can’t work with him-”

“He is awakening. I know it,” Myson seems to whisper to himself. “My Lord…You show signs of Your coming so soon…” He turns and looks at Hecuba. “He is ready. You will dress him tomorrow. We show our progress to General Thales. This is the one, I can feel it.”

“But me? And what if he kills me?”

“Everyone knows he won’t kill you.”

She stared at him a moment, hiding the disbelief. It was clear the creation was unstable. He did not see the staff as people, and moreover his people. He did not understand that others felt pain, too. He progressed and learned quickly, too, but he was also learning that he was better than them. Stronger than them. Faster than them. And under the tutelage of Thales, which would shape his future…

He is only a…

“...Yes, sir.”

“You are being presented today,” she says to him, closing up the black bodysuit along his back. It was remade to be more flexible and consistent in sensation, so it did not agitate the creation’s nervous system.

“Presented?” he asked, staying still, for her. And only for her.

“Yes. And you will not see me again after that.”

“You will come with me.”

“No, child, I will not. It is my place to stay here.” She gently turns him, fastening on a brooch representative of who he was meant to become. The Eye of Agartha. The child’s face was furious, his cheeks reddened under his snowy skin, and she felt at that moment he would strangle her if he were not so fond of her.

“You hate me,” he says, as pure and straight as if it were fact. Something in her chest shattered at the accusation, and she busied herself by putting on his stockings and boots. She could not look up at him.

“No, I do not hate you.”

“Then why will you leave me?”

She sighed, her fingers pausing their repetitive motion, pulling and clicking the straps of his boots into place, before she started again on the other.

“One day, you will learn about something called duty. It comes above everything - kings, lords, gods, love. You and I both have a duty to our people, and the betterment of it. The way I fulfill my duty is to stay here, to work. The only way our perfect order stays in alignment is if everyone does their part.”

“Duty.”

“Yes.”

“What is my duty?”

“...General Thales will tell you that.”

A thick silence passes. She finishes dressing him, and stands to leave, turning toward the door.

“I hate duty,” he spits. She stops and turns to look at him. His purple eyes shoot daggers at her still. “I hate you.”

“Good.” She says, with a slight twinge of sorrow. “Then you won’t come back.”

”THE TIME HAS COME.”

A joyous roar sounds from the hundreds of thousands gathered at the foot of the Palace of Shambhala and its black, brutalist glory, currents of blazing cyan coursing through its veins. The creation had never even known so many people existed. He stands besides a commanding presence in a black cloak upon the top of tall, shallow stairs. The man’s arms are outstretched proudly to the crowd. The creation had passed his inspection just hours ago, whoever he was.

“NO LONGER WILL WE HIDE UNDER THE GROUND LIKE VERMIN.” The booming voice calls, ”NO LONGER DO WE WAIT FOR MIRACLES. WE HAVE CREATED OUR MIRACLE!”

An armored hand snatches his, and lifts it up. His shoulder aches in the strain. The armor is cold and sharp.

”OUR LORD, OUR KING, OUR SAVIOR, EPIMENIDES, STANDS BEFORE YOU NOW! A CHILD IN BODY, BUT SO MUCH MORE THAN THIS BENEATH!”

The crowd replies in thunderous praise, chanting -

LORD EPIMENIDES, LORD EPIMENIDES-

“I HEREBY NAME THIS VESSEL…CYBISTHON! LONG LIVE AGARTHA!”

Chapter Text

His boots skidded across the black stone floor, eyeing his opponent with blazing violet eyes. His pale lip quirked in a mischievous snarl as he tapped his spear against the ground, measuring his opponent with wicked enthusiasm.

He whirled toward the Titanus II with a quick swipe of his weapon, striking with precision.

The bot was only a measure taller and built to withstand the abuse only Cybisthon could deal. He had been paired with real partners time and time again, but if they were lucky enough to survive the session at all, they were still left too broken to keep. It was decided a machine should replace them all. In his younger days, he was lectured for such carelessness, but with words so often repeated, it showed he simply didn't care enough to listen. Thales had taken the young creation under his wing as soon as he was able to hold a weapon, and now at eighteen, he was a formidable warrior, specialized in every type of combat.

Yes, Thales thought, watching him from the balcony above the training grounds. He is just about ready for his next test.

Cybisthon weaved through and dodged the heavy, thunderous strikes of the bot. He rolls until - there. He steadies onto his knee and his spear sinks between two plates just under the arm, causing it to jolt.

If he stretched his imagination, the sound it makes is like a garbled choke…

He twisted the blade and the victim crumpled in a clank of metal. He stood, taking a deep breath with a satisfied expression written across his ivory face.

“Cybithson.” He feels his ear turn at the familiar voice above, but he spares a moment to step around the Titanus II. He tilted his head at it and lifted his spear just above its neck, and dropped it into the wires. He twisted, and the head went rolling across the floor. He stepped and gave it a kick for good measure, sending it against the black wall.

“Cybisthon.” The second time was firmer, more authoritative than calling. He turns to look up at him, a distance away.

“Sir?” The tone was not reverent in any way, but he knew what happened if he called him by name to his face.

“You know what day it is.”

“Been waiting for this for eighteen years, sir.”

“Mm. Come, they are waiting.” He watches Thales melt into the shadows above. Cybisthon didn’t need to be told where to go. His whole life thus far he had been barred from entering into the secrets below, and now just a man, he would be called deep into the belly of the palace. It was time to fulfill what he was born to do.

After showering and changing into a fresh set of clothes, trading athletic black for comfortable white, his feet took him where he needed to go. Two great doors made of dark Agarthum greeted him down steep, smooth steps, currents of cyanic code coursing through to keep the chamber closed. Three familiar figures were gathered there, and he knew only one of them had a key card.

“Cybisthon,” The eldest hissed with a voice that could be mistaken for no other. “By all means, do not let us inconvenience you.”

“Magister Solon,” he replied smoothly, giving a bow in respect of his elders, but only halfway as deeply as he should have gone. “I didn’t want to bring along the stink of oil with me to the event, that’s all. So forgive me my cleanliness.”

“Hmhm…” The wrinkled face seemed to crack with a tense smile. “I look forward to having your tongue replaced.”

“I’m sure you do...”

“Cybisthon,” Thales snaps at him, the white, endless eyes fixed firmly on the young man. “Defer to-”

“-your superiors. Yes, sir,” he finished along with Thales. He straightened up, and watched as Myson wordlessly took the keycard from Solon to unlock the Rebirth Vault Laboratory.

The chamber was deep, wide, expansive. Cybisthon followed the three, eyes roaming the space. It felt as large as the city itself. Flat, save for what looked like black, tall, rectangular boxes protruding from the ground, and the ever flowing blue currents and wires that seemed to connect them. Walking close by one, he could see blinking lights that were familiar - servers, each one of them, hundreds of them, stretching out into the darkness. He looked up and beheld another, but white, suspended and larger than the rest, with equally brilliant wires and tubes anchoring it to the ceiling and floor. Right below it rested a platform, lined with a series of comonitors and computing elements. Stepping down from that was a metal table with medical equipment. In that moment, Cybisthon wasn’t sure if it was laid out specifically for him or for others before him.

Regardless, he was disrobed from the waist up and laid on the cold table. They attached him to white cables, around his temples and upon his chest. Thales and Solon stood just a measure away while Myson went up to the comonitors, and Cybisthon…waited.

It was today that they would try to wake the dormant soul of Epimenides, a seed that was planted even before he was born. Cybisthon was a man now, and it was time for him to surrender whatever he had to another. This thought had frightened him at first as a boy, but as he grew, he understood it was his duty. His purpose. And without this, it would mean the death of his people and the extinction of Agartha - Thales said so. So he was instructed to listen, to obey, to create a perfect home for Lord Epimenides through rigorous exercise and a balanced diet. He had given over to that thought long ago. He welcomed it. He was not to be himself, and there was no greater honor.

But he could still taste the remnants of a nightmare -

Body twisting, lengthening, breaking, into that of a great, horrific creature, pale as fresh snow, white, jagged teeth bared as it roars-

“It would do well for you not to get distracted,” Myson calls from his perch, having noticed a spike in his neural activity. “Clear your mind, like we practiced.”

“Do you really think this will work?” Thales whispers to Solon. The elder doesn’t look at him, simply toward the young man, his hands threaded on the top of his cane.

“It had best,” he comments. “Otherwise, we will simply toss him on the burn pile with the others.”

“Eighteen years wasted then on this welp,” Thales snarls.

“Patience.”

Cybisthon closed his eyes and breathed smoothly, focusing his mind to the top of his head, moving his concentration through each and every muscle toward his feet. He took time to manually relax each part before moving to the next…

He felt something quickly zap across the back of his eyes, causing them to flit beneath his lids. Another zap, and his body shuddered, before another, stronger one pushed from behind his eyes, lighting up and traveling through the wrinkles of his brain and down his central nervous system with electrical fury. It caused every muscle in his body to buckle and his breath to push out of his lungs. He could hear the comonitor beeping rapidly with his heart rate. And that was when he saw it…

Floating ruins of long forgotten structures in an endless void, flickers of light passing through the thick nothingness like shooting stars… He could see his white hands resting on stone, then a figure just out of reach and vision, like some fluorescent angel hovering above him… It speaks, but as if through a thick cloud of wooly fog… His lips and tongue feel coated in foam, he tries to ask, “Who-”

Pain jerks him back into his body as the electricity is stripped from every nerve. He is able to breathe again, and the familiar, damp air fills his lungs once more. His eyes shoot open.
They surround him, looking down at him like some dissected creature. Something rests in Thales’s face that he doesn’t quite recognize.

“D…Did it work?” Cybisthon exhales, looking between them, especially at Myson, who adjusts his glasses at him carefully.

“Time will tell. Perhaps…perhaps these things take a moment to take hold.” He leans toward him, if not a little too eagerly. He looks for someone else in Cybisthon’s eyes. “Do you feel any different? More powerful?”

“How is hosting Lord Epimenides supposed to feel? How am I supposed to feel?”

“You will simply know. Do you feel your connection?” Solon questions. “Do you feel the power of Epimenides?”

Cybisthon sits up, looking at the old man. He wasn’t about to tell the truth, but he wasn’t about to lie, either. Not to him. He got a kick out of being Solon’s personal contrarian.

“I feel something, alright,” he replies confidently.

“Good, good.” Something sly lies behind his senior’s tone. He taps his cane and points it behind them, into a wide, open space. The staccato echo reverberates. “Bring it forth, then.”

“...It?”

“You heard me, boy.”

Cybisthon’s brow knits at him, shifting his jaw around as he stares at Solon. Solon wants him to fail, and he has since they met. He thought they allowed him to become too opinionated, too independent. Everything Cybisthon did was not enough, not fast enough, not smart enough, and definitely not magical enough. It was Thales instead that had taught him strategy, fighting, the art of war.

Show them? Oh, he’ll show them.

Once he figures out what exactly it is he’s supposed to show.

He slides off the table, pulling off the attachments, and heads to the open space, He stands, his back toward his audience. His lungs fill deeply, and he closes his eyes. What is it. What is it… If you know, then your body knows. So what was it his body just learned? He still felt like…himself. And something about that felt…incorrect, like taking a test he didn’t study for. Aillel Above, he wasn’t even sure he was attending the correct lesson. He reached into his mind, trying to find that…space again. It felt more like a dream now by the second, just as dreams do as they age into the morning. His fingers spread and extend, the muscles in his body bracing for…something. A few minutes passed, and Solon’s voice broke the silence.

“You can’t do it, can you?”

“I…I can, just-”

“No, “just,” boy. You have tested my patience for too many years, and now we see you as you really are. A failure,” he spits at him. “A leech. Just as I have said all along.”

Cybisthon turned to look to Thales for some sort of defense, but he found none. It was then he realized what he had seen on Thales’s face before.

Dread.

He knew, because now what he saw was relief.

“The Awakening was a failure then,” Thales was quick to agree. “Perhaps we should abandon our efforts to bring His Lordship back - He was too damaged when He went in. We should proceed as we always have.”

Myson quickly pushed himself around between them and Cybisthon, who was too stunned and angry to speak.

“No, no! We must try again, I know, I know we can conjure a success, we just need more time…”

“Myson, your ridiculous experiments have exhausted resources beyond where it should have stopped ages ago,” Thales declares. “We have pushed on for more than one thousand years without His Lordship, and we should do so now unhindered. We focus on the Titanus, we focus on strengthening our forces for the war ahead-”

“You and I both know we stand no chance without Him!” Myson exclaims, pointing firmly to the ceiling above. “When we face those beasts again, when they throw their breath at us hotter than plasma- Do you not remember what it was like? Do you not remember the Nabateans, with their scales and hide thicker than Agarthum itself? What do we have to defend against them?”

“The Javelins will do.”

“The Javelins did nothing!” Myson continues, working himself to a fevered pitch. “The Javelins destroyed us!”

“Then we make them stronger!” Thales’s voice booms across the walls of the Vault, his long stride closing the distance quickly between Myson and himself. “All the resources you have? Pouring and pouring endlessly into this project? You focus that into making the Javelins better. That is an order!” He leans back, lifting his chin to look down on the other man. “I wish for the days of old as much as you, but there is simply no reviving Him from the damages He sustained. We must move on.”

“Thales-”

“And what shall we do with the failure?” Solon looks to Cybisthon next, too calm and far too eager to dispose of him.

“I am no failure,” Cybisthon snarls. He imagined launching himself at the old man, pushing his thumbs into his eye sockets…

“Oh? No? Then what was that before, pray tell?” Solon jabs his cane accusingly at him. “You have no place here anymore, boy.”

“That may not be entirely true, Solon. There are still ways he can be useful.” Thales turns from Myson to the other two. “He may have failed in his divine duty, but he still has grown into a fine warrior. Just as you learned, Cybisthon, each and every Agarthan has their place, including you.”

“My duty,” he spits back.

“Yes, your duty.” His thin, dark mouth splits into that of a smile. “Meet me in the war room. I think I know what to do with you.”

If Cybisthon was calmer, he would scream. His stride thudded down the hallway to his quarters in the palace, the door sliding open with a touch of his keypad. He stood still in the tidy, white room until the door closed behind him. He snatched the nearest object and hurtled it at the wall, shattering it instantly. He could see nothing but red as he moved to punch the nearest wall until his knuckles flushed up into bright red bites along his white skin.

How could they say he was a failure. Him, of all people, of all of Agarthans, of all beings.

Perfect.

Once he was perfect. Why was he no longer? What changed? What was that..thing he saw, in that inky place, did that have anything to do with it?

“What?!” He blurted out loud, grabbing another object to throw. It was when he got it up to eye level he saw it was his communicator, and put it back down on the dresser. He catches his reflection in the mirror, and crosses over to it.

He was everything anyone could ask for - a handsome, pointed face, body of a medium build and height, with well defined, strong musculature. He was stronger, faster, smarter than anyone else. He was made that way. Who could look at this masterpiece of biology and label it imperfect, a failure? He had half a mind to make them all bleed. Cut out their tongues and have them eat them. He was Lord Epimenides, or would be soon, eventually…right? So they should be listening to him, not the other way around.

…But his duty, his call to obey until he had fulfilled his purpose… There was a twinge that lit up like an uncomfortable scald in the pit of his belly at the thought of going against Thales. He did not always listen, not directly, but he did always end up doing as he wished. Thales controlled him. Thales knew what was best.

’Even if you have no one, you have me, child,’ he had said, ’Doubt is a weakness, and you must never doubt in me.’

Thales had led their people with strength and pride for just over one thousand years, in the absence of Lord Epimenides. He had held the throne fast, a steward until their Lord returned. After all, if Solon had had it his way, Cybisthon would be on the execution block right now. It was Thales that defended him from such a fate. He shouldn’t just disregard it.

But Solon, he’d still like to see the man choke.

He finds his way to the war room, a large, long room inhabited by a long table with chairs all around it. And a digital map on a display embedded into the table, showing what the beasts called their home, Fodlan, the land above. He sees Thales at the head of the table as he enters. He watches him carefully as he approaches, and his mentor does not lift his head nor greet him. His eyes stay trained on the map, arms folded beneath his feathered cloak. Cybisthon comes to stand at his side before Thales says anything at all.

“I have a task for you,” he says, simply.

“And what would that be?” Cybisthon also looks to the map, seeing black pawns spread across it. Leicester Alliance, Adrestia, Faerghus… Names he had heard of in his history lessons. Names of countries that had thrived under the sun while they were driven to the darkness below.

“This is a fortunate year, Cybisthon,” Thales says. “We make our first steps to liberate our people. You will be a part of it, Epimenides or no Epimenides. You will be at my side while I take back what is rightfully ours.”

“You’re talking around the point, sir.” He crosses his arms and leans his weight back onto one leg.

“You have always had a talent for interrupting me.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so long winded-”

“Cybisthon.”

…His silence says enough.

“It is fortunate, because this year, the three heirs to the three kingdoms-” His arm appears from beneath his cloak, a silver baton in hand. He points to each. The Leicester Alliance, Adrestia, Faerghus. “-are attending the Officer’s Academy at Garreg Mach at the same time.” He points to the very center. A smaller area, but one Cybisthon knew about well.

“The stronghold of the beasts,” he acknowledges.

“That it is.”

“You want me to go there? Wipe them out?” He looked at his elder with eager, purple eyes.

“No. Solon has been in position there for some time. We keep eyes inside the walls. It is not time to take it just yet.”

“Then what?”

“Fortunate still, that the staff will be taking the students for a foolish excursion outside of its safety.” He leans, and retrieves a white pawn from a slot in the table. He turns it in his fingers, looking it over. “You will intercept them in Remire Village in six months time.” He places the pawn on the table and pushes it with the baton across Adrestian territory, to the foot of the Ogma Mountains, near the border of Faerghus.

“And kill them.” Cybisthon assumes.

“...I think that with time, your purpose will be made clear. My one condition is that you will not lay a finger on the Adrestian princess. She is of value.”

“What? Is she one of us?”

“She is of value,” Thales repeats. Cybisthon searches his face for any indications, but he only seems to have a sort of…smugness across his face. “Do not rush to your ends, and play for the upper hand. Always.”

“Mm….” Cybisthon pauses. He realizes something with a certain modicum of horror. “...Did you say…six months time?”

“Naturally, as you will be traveling on foot.” The baton taps Hrym and then again across the map to where the white pawn stood.

“How am I supposed to survive up there for six months? You expect me to eat beast food? Drink their water? They don’t even have indoor plumbing…”

“We will stock you with rations, just like any soldier. Just like home,” Thales explains. “Other than that, I suggest you find a mercenary company. With your skill of the blade, any of them would be willing to take you. Find one going your way, and-”

”You want me to live with them, too?” The thought of it makes him feel sick, and that fact is written all over his face.

“Find one going your way. It will make the journey less noticeable.” He firmly repeats. “And you’ll be taking a disguise, just like the rest of us. To better integrate into their ranks.”

“Uh, no? I’m not changing myself for anyone, especially for flea-bitten, disease-ridden, garbage-fucking filthy beasts.” He argues, “I don’t need a disguise to get the job done.”

“...If you want to compromise yourself, looking the way you do, then fine.”

“Six months of this shit…”

“Six months to give you the best training of your life, think of it that way.” Thales finally looks to Cybisthon. “This work is crucial to our mission. Much more than your comfortable, cushy life.”

…He doesn’t have a response. He supposes he would like to go out to the field at last, as a leader. He detested being called spoiled and green by those he went to basic training with. He isn’t sure if any of them survived to graduation after that.

“...I accept this mission.”

“Oh, I wasn’t offering,” Thales clarifies, gaze turning steely a moment before looking at the map again. “This is an order, Cybisthon. You leave tomorrow morning, pack in hand.”

“...Yes, sir.”

Chapter Text

All Cybisthon could do was tell himself he would come back. He had spent the previous night with the few others that chose to keep the prince company. Drinks, watching and playing sports, simulations, partners… He took every drop of the few pleasures they had in their society. He dressed in black, a long sleeved shirt and thick leggings, boots, and a multipurpose shawl for warmth on the road. It was more of an under armor for heavier units, but he needed something lowkey before he found his way into human clothes. And now, standing unceremoniously with his pack in the Great Lift, through the thick glass, he watched the currents of cyan light branch out like a spider’s web through the city. It was so beautiful from up here.

He will be back. He will. He’ll wake up Epimenides…somehow. And they’ll welcome him back as the God King he truly was.

The first thing that hits him as the platform reaches the grounds of Hrym and closes is the sun. He hisses immediately and covers his eyes, squinting and blinking against its piercing rays. It caused his skin to illuminate and radiate with heat. He fled to the nearest shade beneath a tree, feeling immediate relief from it.

Oh, he already doesn’t like this.

The second thing that hit him was the absolute chill that swept through his clothes and skin. He already needed his coat, apparently… He lifted his hand and brushed off the shavings of bark clinging to his skin, nose wrinkling in disgust. He then slung off his pack and opened it, taking out hand sanitizer and a pair of gloves. He applied the sanitizer and let it dry before slipping them on. He freed the brown, simple overcoat from its rolled confines and put it on, carefully buttoning it up. He supposed that a coat will help him blend in better at the same time, whenever he saw the beasts. It was designed for that sort of idea in mind, anyway.

Next, he took off his shawl and folded it carefully into a hood, wrapping it around his shoulders and up over his head. Hopefully it was enough to shield him from the blades of light that even now crept toward him through the branches of his shelter. They had nothing like this. They had artificial light, a fluorescent sun, but even then, colors were muted, limited. He looked around in this forest, and he could feel his pupils doing everything they could to adjust not only to the amount of light, but from the intense saturation of the world around him.

There was a blanket of snow draped across every surface. The tree branches were heavy with the burden of carrying such thick, white blankets, and the ground was almost laid like a plush carpet, waiting to be trod on. He looked down and pushed at the snow with his boot, watching it bunch together with a strange crumpling sound.

“Huh,” he said out loud, then looked back out to the forest. He supposes there’s no other better time than now. Besides, the sooner he got to walking, the sooner he would get to where he needed to go. He pulled out his communicator, sliding it open. He was amazed at how much better the signal seemed to be above ground to the Viscam all the way in Arianrhod. Cleobulus did a good job, after all, he mused. He tapped on it until he configured his map and compass, and then headed west toward Remire Village.

Some part of him wished he wouldn’t meet anyone on the road, finding the idea of working for a mercenary company as Thales suggested even worse. To work alongside the beasts? To make his journey easier? How did that make any sense?

He had been counting his rations, only eating two a day, and even then he had plenty left. It took quite a bit to find a stream for water, but other than that, it gave him a little dose of home. His block of soft, pinkish protein, his unit of fiber, his chewable portion of nutrients… And of course, his favorite, his cube of bullion, which he dropped into his water case and shook around until it was all dissolved. However, he saved those for once a day, since they were such a treat. Who was to say when he wouldn’t be able to get any more. He had filled more bottles for purification before he moved toward the mountains. He traveled as such for several days, being alone with his own thoughts and the sounds of his crunching footsteps, birds, small critters, and game alike. He often would fall into a meditative state as he walked, trying to find that snatching piece of whatever he had seen in the Vault, trying to awaken Lord Epimenides.

He remembers seeing it -

Floating ruins of long forgotten structures in an endless void, flickers of light passing through the thick nothingness like shooting stars… -

It was almost as if those crumbling stones were burned into the back of his eyelids. He tried to reach it, in sleep and in waking, but nothing had worked. Not even the correct sensation, nothing.
Maybe he needed to stimulate something from the Lord’s memory somehow?

He took time from his meal to sniff the food, thinking maybe since the realm of smell and memory are so close… No, he just looked stupid like some uncouth animal.

He practiced his dark magic, thinking maybe that would work, since his Lord was a dark mage… But as he watched the bright purple and pink stretch out and fade in an instant, he saw that it was futile.

“Well…if you’re in there, I guess you’ll find me when you’re ready.” Maybe it was as Myson said, perhaps it was simply a matter of time. You can’t cross a bridge that hasn't been built yet, after all.

He sucked on a sugar tab as he moved down around the base of the mountains, staying in Adrestian territory. He knew that if he somehow got into trouble with the law, he could at least be somewhat protected down here than anywhere else. Solon probably wouldn’t help him out, but he knew of Thales’s presence in Arundel. That, at least, was a blessing.

It was about then he could hear the sound of rushing water, and, as he got closer, the crash of metal and shouting voices.

His brow furrowed as he moved to the cover of nearby foliage, staying low to the ground as he slid toward it. Maybe he could steal some clothes, if there was some corpse…

That, and he’d not seen one of these beasts before.

He came around to a rock, and peered above it at a group of people in dirty clothes fighting and killing another group of people in dirty clothes. One last one kept up a fight before they finally fell with the rest.

“I think that’s the last of them,” A woman said, pulling out her sword from the body of one of their victims.

“Man, I love bandit gigs,” A man responds to her in a gruff voice, hoisting an axe onto his shoulder. “You show up, wipe ‘em out, get paid. Easy!”

“If it all goes the way it’s supposed to, anyway,” she replies, cleaning off her sword before stowing it.

Cybisthon felt a point against the back of his neck through the hood, and the hair resting there prickled ever so slightly. He stayed perfectly still.

“Well, well!” The woman’s voice behind him called to the others while they began to loot the bodies. “We have one more left! Come on, out of hiding with you.”

He stayed silent as he stood up and stepped around the brush into the open, the arrow pushing him from his hiding place. The group looked to the bright white young man almost immediately. Looking among them, with their tawney and multicolored hair and tanned skin, yeah, Thales was right…he does stick out.

“I’m not with them.” He told them, looking for a sympathetic face that might cut him some slack, and at the same time a path to cut through each of them until they joined their…what did they call them? Bandits?

“Oh, yeah? How can we figure that?” The woman behind him asked.

“I’m just a traveler.” He can’t think of any reason why he’d want to tell them why and where he was going.

“Oh, a traveler, sure.. As if we haven’t heard that one before.” The man says, coming closer, squinting his eyes at him.

“I’d suggest you not do anything stupid,” Cybisthon warned, “Because I will kill every single one of you if you try anything. Better to let me go on my way.”

“Oh? Big threats from someone not holding a bow,” She said from behind him, nudging him with the tip of her weapon. “That’s enough for me.”

He could feel the pressure lift ever so slightly from his skin which means he had to move. It was like time itself slowed down as he lowered his head and skidded on one foot toward her. He pulled the long knives from his boots and gave contact to the bow, slicing through it as he felt the arrow zip past his cheek, fluttering the white hair that hung over one eye. In a moment, he watched the bow fall in pieces and his other knife rested under her chin. She was a short woman, bearing a metal armored hat.

He thought it looked dumb.

Her eyes were lit up with enthusiasm at this quick burst of skill, and the fact that her, the great Captain Berling, was caught at knifepoint by some teenager. She could work with this. Cybisthon was considering the same, his eyes on the ground as he held her hostage. He eventually looked up into her eyes.

“Give me a spot in your company and I won’t kill you.”

“Haha!” She loudly laughed, not phased at all at how the edge of the knife scraped her skin ever so slightly. “That’s the kind of attitude I like to see!”

“But only as far as where I’m going. After that, I’m gone.”

“Well, if you work for me, you work for me. That’s just it.”

He frowns. Well, whatever terms she had, he can always weasel around it. Maybe poison them during a mealtime if she won't let it go. Stab them in their sleep. He'll find some way out, once they get close to where he's heading.

“Where are you going, anyway?” She interrupted his train of thought with the question. His violet eyes clicked back to her face.

“That's none of your business.”

“Well, fine, then a cardinal direction.”

“...West.”

“Say, we're heading that way ourselves to collect for this job! And we're doing some other jobs along the way. So, how about a compromise? We head west, you go visit whatever family it is you're heading to, and then you keep on working for us. Assuming you haven't, you know, died.”

“Pfft…” As if anyone had the kind of skills to kill him…

“So how does that sound? A compromise?”

….Yeah, he'll just kill them all. He does wonder what Thales meant by it being an easier journey in a group. He had a habit of listening to the man, even if he didn't want to. So he’ll stick around, stay with them until they reach the west, and then…

Well.

“You got a deal.” He retracts his knife from her throat, and sticks both blades back into the sheaths in his boots.

“That’s what I like to hear!” Her face immediately falls when she looks down, remembering her bow now split in half at her feet. “Just bought that…”

The arduous journey began.

It was during these next few months he would see and learn more about humans than he had in all his eighteen years prior. He’d only read about the past in digital books and files, and in that way learned about the diseases and filth they lived in up here. He found himself gagging at the smell of cooking meat, and he refused to eat with the rest of the company, sticking to his packets, cans, and bottled water. He also never socialized with them, trying as they might to be friendly to him. However, he worked diligently and deftly, enjoying the jobs that required bloodshed most, which was where he shined best. The nights Berling’s Mercenaries spent drinking, dancing, and making music around the campfire though, he was much more likely to lay in his tent with a pillow over his head to block out the beast’s racket. He collected the coins they called money, not knowing their use at all, but didn’t dare to ask.

A few weeks passed in Hrym territory like this until they officially started to head west, and it was the first time he had seen a Fodlandi village. He was shocked at how disgusting it looked, with its shabby wood and muddy streets. He was absolutely sure he would catch some disease here. Going into an inn for the first time, he was almost literally blown back by the sheer humanity of the smell. He followed the company in, and tried to stay clear of everyone else. Each were given a key.

“This is a key?” He scoffed.

“Aye, and you better not lose it.” Berling told him, looking at him sternly from under her hat.

They’re not even plastic… He wanted to say. They don’t have any copies?

He stood in front of his closed inn door. He looked down the hall at the other’s doors, but at that sort of distance, he wasn’t really sure what to do. He looked at the door handle.

Tap.

It made a metal clanking sound, and to his surprise, it didn’t open.

But it’s a key, right?

Tap. Tap tap.

“Oh, come on…” he growled..

“You need some help?”

He recognized Lazley’s voice before he turned to look at her, then back to the door. The tips of his ears turned a bit red in embarrassment and frustration.

“I’ve got it,” he snapped.

“Mm, I dunno… The doors in this inn can be kinda tricky. We’ve stopped here about every time when we go this way. They cut us a good deal, but it is cheap to start with.” She held out her hand to him for the key. “Mind if I try?”

“Go away.”

He could almost hear her frown.

“Suit yourself. Only trying to help, Mr. Snow.” She turned and walked down to her own door a couple down from him. He watched her from the corner of his eye as she took out the key and pushed it into the keyhole, turning it and going in.

Oh.

She gave him a little smile before she went into her room.

“Do you want that?”

Lazley had spotted him in the market, looking at trinkets. He was looking specifically at coins, too old to be currency. He was looking at one he had only seen drawings of, stamped with the archaic eye of Agartha. He glanced at her before putting it down.

“No. And I seem to recall telling you to go away.”

“And I did then. Doesn’t mean right now.” She picked it up. “Funny looking, huh? These ancient coins. And they’re so heavy…”

“Will you just leave me alone already?”

“How much is it?” She asked the shopkeeper.

“What, the coin, miss? Just 500.”

“Not bad. Do you have your coin purse?” She asked Cybisthon.

“And what? Leave it somewhere someone can steal it?”

“Then give the guy five 100 coins. Then this little thing is yours.”

His brows knit together, and he looked between Lazley and the shopkeeper. He hesitated before reaching into his pocket to grab his coin pouch, doing as she said. The shopkeeper grinned at him, and plopped the ancient coin into his hand.

“Pleasure doing business with you!” He said. Cybisthon turned the coin in his fingers, looking it over.

“Now it’s yours!” Lazley grinned at him. “Easy as that.”

“I know what money is.” He lied. They didn’t have systems like this in Agartha. Everything was provided by the government. How much food you got, your living quarters, your entertainment… It was all carefully controlled. There was no famine, no homelessness, no plagues. He didn’t see how this was better.

“I somehow…doubt that.” She confessed. He huffed at her and immediately turned away from her to walk back to the inn, shoving the pouch in his pocket. He heard her shuffle quickly toward him and slowed down to walk by his side.

“Where are you from, anyway?” She prodded.

“None of your fucking business.”

“We found you over in Hrym, so I’m gonna guess there? But we come through this area all the time. It’s not like someone like you exactly passes under the radar…”

“You talk a lot.”

“...So maybe you’re more from Leicester, came over the Bridge, or the mountains. But the mountains can be crazy dangerous in the winter. But maybe being as blistering white would put you at an advantage.”

“Advantage for what?”

“Wildlife, you know? Pumas and the like. Like a, uh…those hares up north, I heard they have a white winter coat and then change to brown in the warm seasons so they can camouflage better.”

“That sounds stupid.”

“Right? But it’s true!”

“How do you know it’s true if you haven’t seen it happen.”

“Well, I read about them.”

“You still haven’t seen one of these rabbits. The book could be lying.”

“Hares.” She corrected him. “And why would the author lie?”

“...I don’t know.”

“Well anyway, it makes me wonder if you’re gonna like…shed your skin and turn a different color.” She teases.

“Unlikely.”

“Oh, unlikely? So it could happen.”

“No, idiot, I mean it’s not going to happen. I’m not a rabbit.”

“Haha! No, I guess not.” She falls quiet, thinking for a second, “You know? I think there’s a fox that does that, too. Are you a fox?”

“Nope.”

“I think you are. You know, you have a weird name, too.”

“To me, you have a weird name.”

“You must be from far away. Not knowing what a door or money is,” she laughs. He stops at the door, giving her an icy grin, his canines poking into his bottom lip with the tension.

“I’d suggest you stop talking now.”

He went inside the inn, and immediately headed up toward the rooms. Her lips twisted sideways at the bottom of the stairs, watching him ascend.

He laid down in his bed, holding the coin up above him, turning it in his fingers. He felt a deep, twisting feeling in the very pit of his stomach.

He wanted to go home. This place was all too…much everything. Sights, smells, sensations, light, color… It was more than overwhelming. It was staggering. It hurt, sometimes, like there was a swell in his brain, and the only way to reduce it would be to drill a hole in his skull, or run away from it all. Being in this room is definitely a margin better than the stupid thin flaps of a tent, where even the comfort of sleep was interrupted by the stabbing gusts of wintry winds. Too much. The other way was to release it in the violence of his job, or the violence of exercise. Doing something with his body. All in efforts to keep his nerves from exploding from his body like untamed wiring.

All over the span of time, they slowly moved toward the west, and they passed beneath a mountain. In the far distance, he could see stone structures that appeared to be a fortress of some kind. He stared up at it, and it must have been noticeable enough for his captain to trot her horse beside him.

“Impressive, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“Up there.” She gestured with her hand up to the fortress. “That’s a monastery, nearly a thousand years old now. Garreg Mach.”

He could feel his heart almost skip a beat, knowing the name arguably more than any other in history. It filled him with rage, and he imagined a Javelin of Light coming down from the sky atop it, as it had so, so many years ago, only this time it worked. He could see the stones bursting apart and falling down, down into the river, the fire consuming it and bursting from distant windows. But alas, it remained in his vision, untouched all this time.

“Garreg Mach.”

“Yep. Pilgrims come from miles and miles every day just to see it, pray in the cathedral. It really is incredible. It houses the Officer’s Academy, basically a top of the line private school for the rich kids to learn how to inherit their family’s titles.” She sounded a bit bitter. “Tried to go there myself on recommendation back in the day, but…I couldn’t make the fees.”

“Sounds like the place could rot in Aillel.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” She amends. “It wasn’t my path. I think the place would’ve suffocated me, in the end. Some commoner kids go, who can afford it, and they get plenty of what they need there. But it isn’t for everyone.”

He doesn’t answer, but he finally can pull his eyes away from it. Solon was up there, too. If he had any say, he’d steer clear of the place any way he could.

Chapter Text

“...back to work already, yeah?”

Cybisthon leaned against the trunk of a tree, his black hood pulled up over his eyes, leaning his cheek against the curved, wing-like structure atop the iron pauldron on his left shoulder, arms crossed. He was sound asleep, and barely heard the words of Getz as he stepped through the wood to find him. It was late, and sleep had snuck over him as he waited for something to happen. Berling had them come out here for a job, not letting them set up camp just yet. She seemed paranoid. Afraid, yet excited. She gave brief instructions before leaving them all on watch. It was as if she had been vibrating for several days.

“Ugh, finally. C’mon, Cybis, up and at ‘em.” The voice had moved up closer to him. He wrinkled his nose, being roused out of a fading dream of home. Not yet, fucker, he wanted to say-

He felt a boot kick his.

“Hey! Get up already!” Getz said louder, and Cybisthon jerked his head up, his lip curled into a snarl.

“Back off, you sack of guts,” He growled, setting the hood back onto his shoulders and then rubbing his eye under the panel of white hair. “I’ll be up when I’m up.”

“Yeah, well, the battle’s on our doorstep, so you’re lucky I like ya enough to wake ya. You heard who we’re up against, yeah?”

“Jeralt’s…whoevers,” Cybisthon mutters, rolling his head to stretch his neck.

“Mercenaries.” Getz pauses, then sighs. “Gonna be one hell of a fight if true, especially if the Ashen Demon is here… Don’t like one smidge of what I’ve heard about that woman…”

“Demon or no demon, she won’t be a problem for much longer.” Cybisthon worked to stand up, giving himself another stretch, folding his arms, arching his back, to get things loose again. He, of course, hadn’t heard anything about an Ashen Demon. Maybe these guys have more to fear, but he didn’t. He had yet to meet a challenge from anyone they met, and he didn’t expect to do so in the last month and a half of travel he had left.

“Still. I know the client paid up front, but come on…” Getz groaned, leaning a little closer, in case he was heard.

“Well, at least one of you has some courage,” They heard Captain Berling a distance away, closing in on the pair. “But this battle is about more than just victory. Jeralt’s team has a sterling reputation.” There’s that vibration again, Cybisthon could see it tingling through her like an electrical current. “Rumor has it they’ve never blundered even a single job. But once we put them to rout, we’ll be the greatest mercenaries in all of Fodlan!”

Cybisthon closed his eyes to roll them. Who cared? All these people did was fight, day after day, just to get some coins to trade for living and food. There is always someone better than someone else. Aillel, they were looking right at the best of the best, and he wasn’t even one of these beasts.

And after all, if Jeralt’s Mercenaries don’t wipe them out, then he will. They didn’t have much longer. True to his training, he didn’t care about a single one of them, not even after all this time. Attachment is weakness, after all.

“Looks like we’ll be fighting by moonlight,” Berling was looking up at the stars through the branches of the trees before she returned her attention back to the two of them. “Mind you don’t kill each other in the dark.” She looks at them seriously before turning and going back to the center of their star formation in a small clearing.

“Better watch out, Getz-” Cybisthon grins maliciously at the other mercenary.

“Hey, me? More like you!” He quips back, grinning lopsidedly. Cybisthon found it amusing that Getz thought he was joking. It wasn’t much longer before their heads turned toward the sound of a whistle being blown.

“Wasn’t expecting a fight so soon, but I guess there’s nothing for it.” Getz looked back to Cybisthon. “You ready?”

“Let’s just get this over with,” He headed toward the center of the star where Berling should be waiting for them.

“You sure are a cocky ass.” Getz huffed in amusement. “But yeah, all right - let’s do this.” He trails behind.

“Hold the offensive!” Cybisthon called to whoever was left. They were dropping like flies. Captain Berling had gone to cut the head off the snake, Getz had run south to secure what was coming behind them…

They were outmanned, and outskilled.

Cybis tore through ranks as quickly as he could with his two short swords of deep Agarthum grey, scarlet blood flinging from their sharp edges. He took as many down as he possibly could, as he always did - the only good beast was a dead beast. Less to fight when the conquest began from below. He did not grow weary, his body made for such long and arduous combat. He was a flurry of deadly motion, and no weapon met his that could slow him down.

He only paused when he heard the familiar blow of a whistle to the northeast - Captain Berling was in trouble. Lazley ran past him and in their captain’s direction while he cut her pursuants off. He engaged them with the swift slices of his Agarthan fighting style - severe and flashing. It wasn’t long until he heard Lazley scream, and he laid out the last of the group before dashing as fast as his feet could carry to where inevitably his captain and Lazley were slain. He wasn’t sure what he would or could bargain for when reaching his destination, but he was sure he could make an end of this unscathed.

What were some demon and her captain, after all?

He skidded to a stop near the stronghold, and his eyes narrowed at the smaller shape of a woman with a sword clenched in her bloody hand. Her eyes lifted from Lazley’s corpse and fixed coldly onto his.

“Stand down, or die,” she stated plainly, and stepped over the body toward him. He found his stance shift backward just for a blip in time as she started to slowly close in on him.

It was a face he did not know, but something about the Ashen Demon pulled all of his focus like looking through a funnel that poured directly into her. Nothing else in the world existed in those moments, and everything before fell away into a blistering present.

He knew what he wanted.

He wanted to kill her.

He launched forward with a warrior’s growl, and their swords met. Sparks flew with the sheer force they threw at one another, hacking and spinning as if locked into a dance. It was as if she knew his movements before he did, and they dived for openings that closed themselves just as quickly as they appeared. He felt his blood begin to boil, staring into the blank face of his opponent. Her long, dark teal hair loose and spinning about gracefully as she halted and dodged him at every turn. He began to feel it then, his feet gradually taking him back and hers driving her forward with an effortless, brutal force.

He was losing.

It was now he started to see it, feel it- what strikes should have landed suddenly miss their mark, and then he feels a snatch of pain rip across his cheek, and a distinct warmth begins to trickle down his cheek.

Blood.

He felt a thick lump catching in his throat and it choked him as he still tried to hold her off, but now she was practically stripping him of any remote successes he could have. His body started to shake with a mixture of rage and something he could not name. She was cheating, she had to be, he wasn’t sure how but there was no way she could move the way she was, blowing back what she was, landing what she was…

He felt a pain through his shoulder that caused him to catch his breath, and it was enough of a gap in his defenses that she twisted it as she removed it, and took another swing into the crevice of flesh open between his breastplate and pauldron. The next thing he felt was a hard blow into his face that caused him to reel, the edges of his vision blurring into stars. It was enough strength that it forced him to her good side, and she slid her leg out to cause him to trip. She struck true against his breastplate, pushing him backwards to skid across the dirt on his back. He looked toward her, beholding a dark shadow, a demon, haloed by the full moon. A fallen angel, a hateful goddess that held no light in her eyes. In desperation, he painfully rolled to his side and threw a sword at her, and it bounced pathetically to the ground as she deflected it without so much as a glance. It was as if time itself slowed - he heard the distinct thrum of a blade swiftly catching air as it swung over her head and toward his neck.

He had a name for the feeling now, a creature called fear wore his skin like a suit-

Was this it? Was the end of this road to be so shortly met? Is this what Thales wanted, for his greatest pupil and the future God King of their people to find his end up here, forgotten, to be eaten by scavengers and birds alike when the dust clears? Was he really nothing?

Perfect.

At one time he was perfect. No longer was it the case, beaten by one pathetic mercenary girl who didn’t know nor cared to know his name, who or what he was. He was just another mark, another stack of coins to her. There was no save, there was no start again, there was nothing but a black, empty end to all of this. He had left home, and for what?

Duty.

It was what came above all else, even happiness, even ties and Gods. Each Agarthan to their purpose, every single one to their task and meaning. And what was his? His was to be a vessel, and he couldn’t even do that. He couldn’t even stop the blade coming through the air like a falling star. He could do nothing about the tide of time flowing at him like a dark wave, which sought to push itself into his lungs and drown him, to pull him into the forgotten places, his own Zahras. That void that ate all life that entered, never a soul to return. He saw Hecuba’s face, hazy and distant from a time that could have been. He won’t even be documented. He will be scratched and scrubbed away like a stain on his people’s noble history, and he would simply exist no longer.

There was no place for him in Agartha’s future.

His duty was to die.

Thales sent him here…to die.

His throat shifted, as if his body leaned toward her blade. For the last honor he could give his people, if that was what they wanted, if that was what Agartha needed-

”...perish with you.”

A voice, from a distant mist as he watched the land around him fade into blackness. He felt his limbs go slack, gravity pulling his body and blood into the ground, losing every drop of their resistance. His neck was awash with liquid warmth that dribbled onto his cooling fingers, and he drew in what he knew would be his last breath. His lungs sat on the edge of its exhalation-

“The cycle of this world… I will not allow it to perish with you!”

A blinding light burst before his eyes, feeling the heated paths of electricity blaze across his nerves and veins, like lightning and circuitry across his eyes. His white hair glowed and whipped in the frenzied tornado of gold and violet ribbons that swelled and swirled in pulses around him, lifting him to his feet. Gravity had no meaning, death had no power, and he felt connected to the past, present, future, times across the ages and dimensions folding and colliding into one singularity upon his body. His eyes snapped wide and beheld the world with a neon gaze, and they transfixed themselves upon his opponent. Power unlike anything he had known before pushed itself into every cell in his body, threading through his molecules like a string interlances a row of pearls, taught and exact. Each muscle held itself in perfect alignment as a bow ready to be snapped, his focus the arrow. His free arm outstretched, feeling particle movement in his veins as fragments collected into his hand and outward - a sword, fractured yet whole, made of a shale-colored material that had no name. It hummed against his skin, warm to the touch as if it were alive itself. It anchored itself in his palm.

One resounding fact rang as clear as the sound of a bell - he was no longer alone.

He launched at her.

Her eyes widened slightly as she watched him vanish and appear before her, only having a fraction of a second before she could block the swords clashing into hers. Cybisthon’s lips twisted into a snarling smile as he pushed upon her with no relent, his teeth and blades sharp. He disappeared and reappeared in blips and flashes, pulling her in every sort of direction as he continued to whip and drive into her. He appeared once more and his double blades locked to hers, bearing down on her with strength she could only barely match.

“Where did you get this power…?” She asked, bewildered but curious. He could still see in her eyes that she held no fear of him. He wanted to dash her face out for it.

“You think you can best me now, Demon?” he growled at her with all his teeth. “You’re done!”

Her breath caught in her lungs at the sight of her target, like staring directly into the white, glowing heart of a flame. She knew she could not stay here. This was not worth it.

He watched the stronghold doors swing wide behind her and toward them poured more mercenaries to support her. He watched as she pulled back into the crowd and several of them pushed forward to engage him. He flashed toward her but found himself caught in the others, and he swung wide to push them back. His body and weapons were one in the same as he cut through necks, torsos, and limbs as he pursued his enemy. The further he pressed, the more he felt this new power begin to fade, like climbing down from a high place. The tingling of mortality crept in from his bones, and he felt a deep tiredness start to move through him as a wave.

“That’s enough! We did what we came to do. Everyone, fall back!” A masculine voice called from near the stronghold gate, a blonde man on a horse. A captain, no one could mistake it. Cybisthon watched those around him fall back almost instantly.

“What? No!” He responded, stunned. The light glowing from the inside nearly went out, and he stood, staggered, swinging widely at anything he could catch with either blade. His breath became ragged. “Come back here…!”

“Why?” Asked the demon, standing beside her captain’s horse. “This fight is over. Your job was to stop us, and you failed. It is that simple.”

Cybisthon screamed at her, charging at her. A heeled boot swiftly caught him and pushed him onto his back across the dirt. Try as he might to stand again, his legs were too heavy to support him. He huffed and yelled at her and her captain, red colored spit dribbling down his chin as he attempted to crawl after them as they turned to go on their way. His surroundings were closing in, a fog emerging as his light began to go out. “I’ll kill you!! I’ll kill all of you! I’ll skin every last…one… I-”

Floating ruins of long forgotten structures in an endless void, flickers of light passing through the thick nothingness like shooting stars… He could see his white hands resting on stone, then a figure just out of reach and vision, like some fluorescent angel hovering above him…

“Oh, good, you’re awake!” It says, its white face coming into clearer vision as he stared at it from his place, crumpled on the ground. It smiled at him fondly, eyes squinting closed. “I am not sure I would have been able to sleep at night with your blood on my hands.”

Cybisthon stared at it, then moved to stand. He touched his neck, finding no blood there. He turned in a circle, looking at the curving, endless edges of reality as they revealed themselves and disappeared endlessly.

“Where am I?” He turned to look up at the creature levitating a pace away from him, with its ivory pale face marked with white, clothed in segmented, snowy garments. “And who are you?” It was then his eyes fell upon it.

Blazing red in the center of its chest - the ancient Eye of Agartha.

“Lord Epimenides!” He gasped. His very existence knew this fact, and he sank instantly onto his knee before his Lord, his head bowed low in reverence. He didn’t recall Epimenides being a boy king, but he knew his identity to be true regardless. Cybisthon was made in his image, and it was as if he were looking into a mirror and a turned back clock all at once, the future and past colliding into a moment. The young god prince hummed, puzzled at the name, and a white finger tapped against Cybisthon’s head to get his attention.

“Lord Epimenides, you say?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“I’m no Lord!” was the reply, exclaimed as if offended, “And I am certainly not this Epimenides! I am simply…” A beat, as in thought, “...Arval.”

“Lord Arval…” He breathed, his heart still sitting up high in his chest. He didn’t understand why his Lord was acting…like this. Perhaps a game?

“Just Arval!” They annoyedly exclaim. “Now, do stand. You make my knees hurt just watching you stay down there for so long.”

Of course… They are now connected, two have become one, how could he be so foolish as to let his body bear any brunt or damage... And, not his body….theirs. It was like breaking a rare porcelain vase before selling it away. Cybisthon did as they were told, but still could not bring themself to look at them.

“Forgive me, my L-” They swallowed the rest of the sentence. “...Arval.”

“There!” They beamed before their expression became something more grim. “Now, I must be honest with you. You are slated to die. Right now, I am the only thing holding your meager life together—and to be blunt, it is becoming most tiresome.”

“Forgive me, my Lord,” They are quick to apologize, fighting the urge to sink down to their knees once again. “I was careless with your vessel. It is only thanks to you that I’m still here to draw breath.”

“Oh! Gratitude!” Their hands fold together by the fingers, delighted by Cybisthon’s words. “That is the first time anyone has ever shown me gratitude - and I must say, I like it very much!” They pat Cybisthon’s head happily before clearing their throat. “Now… Hear me well! You are a crucial piece of this world’s cyclical…” They stare at the top of Cybisthon’s still head before their expression falls flat.

“Are you listening to me?” They ask. Cybisthon glances up at them, quicker than a moment.

“Of course, my Lord,” They reply reverently.

“You won’t drop that, will you?”

“....Eh, no, it isn’t likely, my Lord. My apologies.” It was their upbringing. To refer to Lord Epimenides as anything other than his title and his name would be as if Cybisthon cut off their own hand. It was hard enough to be told that their Lord…prefered a different name entirely? And not just a different name, but a different…identity altogether.

“Ugh. If you must, I suppose. Now, where was I…” Arval huffed, tapping their finger against their chin. “Oh! Yes. At any rate… I needn't tell you how you will get back on your feet - only simply that you will.”

“If I may, my Lord… I think I…am? Already?” Cybisthon looks up to Arval for a minute, before remembering to keep their head down.

“Ah, perhaps here you are, but not in reality where it counts. Your cluelessness is actually quite charming. I think you are starting to grow on me!” They float around Cybisthon like looking upon a new, cute pet. “No, the important thing is what you do after you wake.”

“What would you have me do, Lord Arval?”

“Recall, please, how this Ashen Demon bested you. She came within an inch of snuffing out your very life.” Arval’s white brows drew in as they came around to look at Cybisthon’s face. They weren’t sure how they felt about such resigned compliance. At least their ward was listening to them, instead of disregarding their perfect advice. They could afford to be pleased with that, at the least. “If you attempt the fight again the same way, you shall reach the same conclusion. This would force me to step in once more, which would be most annoying - and also rather counterproductive, if I am to be honest.”

“...But she’s just a mercenary. What does she have to do with anything?”

“You can stomach the idea of someone being better than you? Stronger than you?” Arval tilts their head at Cybisthon. “Especially just a mercenary?”

What Cybisthon couldn’t say was that they were afraid of her. They knew that word now. Fear. They kept seeing her silhouette against the moon, cut into their vision forever. Logically, no, they couldn’t stomach the thought that they were truly bested. In fact, it made them physically ill to consider how much of their own blood they smelled just moments before. They didn’t want to feel that way again. And the best way to do that, in their mind, was to avoid her at any cost. Avoid her, or…

“Kill her,” Arval finished for them. “I will help you overcome that fear to become stronger. I will guide you, and shape you further than you could ever imagine.”

“...We could become unstoppable.” Cybisthon lifts their head to look at Arval, determination turning up the corner of their lips into a small smile. their eyes hardened with assurance. They were not alone. She had no chance against them now. “We'll crush Jeralt's Mercenaries, and the Ashen Demon with them. Fodlan follows.”

“Oh, but I like your spirit!” Arval praised them. “I expected no less from my partner in destiny, even if you did need a little nudging.”

“...Partner in destiny, my Lord?” Cybisthon’s brows tightened, confused.

“You cannot deny that we are bound by fate.” They explain. The threads of their minds even now flowed and knotted together in patterns beyond comprehension. It was not something they could deny, as there was nothing they did not understand about it. “I feel it, as I know you do. I do not know the name you call me, this…Epimenides. But surely that, too, shall be achieved in time.” Their face wrinkles very slightly with a frown. “I feel as if I…have puzzle pieces in hand that do not yet make their picture clear.”

“Then I swear to help you put them together in return.” Cybisthon nods to them, devoting themselves to this task. It made sense, after all. True, this was Epimenides, but it was as if…he was a child again. Thales had said he was quite damaged when his consciousness was stored safely in the Rebirth Vault Laboratory to recover. It would take time, and apparently more time than Cybisthon has been alive, to restore Agartha’s true monarch to his full potential. Regardless, they were glad to see this Arval. It was proof before their eyes that they were no failure, after all. They were, truly, perfect. Or…as close as was possible at the current moment. “It is my sacred duty, my Lord.”

Arval smiled, and gave a bit of a chuckle.

“...You know, actually, I think I could get used to you calling me that!”

Chapter Text

It wasn’t long now.

Alone, Cybisthon traveled away from the aftermath of their first meeting with the Ashen Demon. In their dreams, they could see her eyes. Cold, stormy blue, like distant stars, her dark teal hair seeming to glow with the haloed moon behind her. Coming toward them, sword in hand, coming for their throat and their blood. And when they weren’t greeted with visions of her, they were met with Arval’s instead, or…that’s what it seemed like. Their dreams - snatches of trees and ancient birdsong, visions of times long since past. Cybisthon believed, no…knew they could reach Epimenides, if such visions were to ever prove true. It would only take time. Patience. A strength of bond that Arval seemed to crave regardless.

They certainly had a lot of…opinions.

“Watch your elbows!” Came their exacting demands, like a stream of thought Cybisthon could hear but couldn’t even remotely control. It always came up when they were training, exercising, getting used to the lightweight nature of their blood sword, in contrast to the heavier nature of their metal blade. Every time it broke their focus.

“My elbows are where they need to be, my Lord,” they huff, speaking out loud to the familiar voice. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Hmph! Shows what you know. You would do well to listen to my advice, regardless of how you feel about it. I have a good eye, and great knowledge of many things…”

“I don’t doubt it, my Lord,” Cybisthon straightens up, stretching their neck. “But I’d appreciate it if you kept the advice to yourself when I’m in the middle of training. With all due respect, you keep breaking my concentration.”

“Oh, so you’re telling me to shut up now?” Arval gasps, “The cheek! So, what? Would you rather me wait until you cross swords again with the Ashen Demon to advise you, hm? When you’ve sunk so far into your bad habits you fall even faster than you did before?”

“I’m not exactly used to having someone in my head talking to me other than me, you know!” Cybisthon hissed at them, flailing their swords about. They’re sure they look like a lunatic talking to air, but they don’t care right now, with no one around. “Cybisthon, do it this way, you’re doing that wrong, try the other way, shift your weight, keep your elbows up-! It’s like having a mini Thales in my head all the time but at least he knew what to look for! You’re a mage!”

“Some thanks I get for saving your life! You couldn’t even stand to be apprised as to how to prevent a repeat performance of your defeat?”

“Not by a mage!” Cybisthon snaps. It reminded them of both of Solon and Thales in equal measure. They had gone through the ringer before with a mage who thought he knew better than anyone else, and they bristled at the idea of going through it again. Cybisthon wasn’t nearly a strong enough mage to live up to Solon’s exacting standards, and the training stopped as soon as they learned basic dark spells. They did note however that, since Arval awoke, their magic had grown in strength. The shadow slide was completely new, for starters.

…They really shouldn’t treat Arval like a child, despite their appearance. They did save Cybisthon, they’re right.

They notice the silence from their partner, and exhale as they settle beneath a tree. They fold their knees up, putting the physical sword to the side as the blood sword fades into fractures.

“...My apologies, Lord Arval. I…shouldn’t disregard your guidance.” Cybisthon fiddled with their fingers, feeling a soft shame in their stomach.

“You are correct - you shouldn’t.” Arval answers sourly.

A pause moves between them both as Cybisthon winds down from their exercise. They tilt their head back and rest it against the tree, closing their eyes. A few minutes pass before they hear the voice again.

“...Who is Thales?” Arval asks, timidly.

“Hm?”

“Thales. You mentioned this person before, but the name is…unknown to me.”

“Ah, he’s my…” They pause, stopping a word from coming out of their mouth. One they have gotten into trouble for before. “...He’s my commander. Mentor.”

“The one who taught you to fight?”

“Yeah. Uh, yes. He’s been training me since I was a child. He wields a Ridill, can cast with it, too. Dark magic and swords, like me. Though, I’ve always preferred the agility of two blades, rather than one heavy one…”

“A Ridill?”

“Yeah. It’s made of an Agarthum alloy, fucking heavy. Does well with a strong sense of magic though, can cut through rows of enemies with just one swing-”

“Much like you can now.” Arval sounded a little smug. Cybisthon huffed in an amused fashion and nodded their head about in agreement.

“Pretty much. And an Athame is much lighter, so is the…blood sword.”

“I see…” Arval is silent a moment before they continue. “Why don’t you name it, like you’ve done for the other ones you’ve spoken about?”

“Well they’re not names, just…what they’re called. The type of blade.”

“ Still, anything would be better than “blood sword”, surely.”

They have a point. Cybisthon sits in silence for a bit, thinking. They trace back through their history lessons, before their language became what it was today… They landed on a word. It was simple, but got the point across.

“Ensis.” Cybisthon replies, looking into the palm of his black glove. They imagined the particles of it swirling in their veins, waiting for use.

“Ooh… What does it mean?” Arval could practically be felt leaning over Cybisthon’s shoulder in curiosity and awe, red eyes wide.

“Sword.”

They traveled ever westward, and Cybisthon’s eyes moved between the grass, trees, and their communicator, watching the directional arrow toward their destination - Remire Village. Cybisthon was having a hard time breathing, feeling a tightness in the front of their forehead and a tenderness on either side of their nose. They had to stop, their eyes screwing tightly shut.

“What’s wrong? Are you feeling alright?” Arval asked, paying attention to Cybisthon’s body as if it was their own.

“Hang on, I-”

“You don’t seem well, perhaps we-”

“ACHOO-!” Cybisthon’s sneeze echoed into the woods around them, startling some birds into flight, the power of it doubling them over, feeling like their face just exploded right off their skull.

The surface world was changing - the thick blankets of winter melting into spring, and their body responded to the new terrain. They didn’t have seasons down below. It remained one consistent season, cool and controlled, the only heat that of machines and the dense packing of the soldier citizens in the city of Shambhala. Certainly no trees, no plants, no constant assault of foliage anywhere to be seen. They had gotten used to the feeling of grass beneath them to sleep, only to be a new mountain to various insects. The greener this world became, the more Cybisthon longed for the consistency of home.

“I think I’m allergic…” Cybisthon mumbled miserably.

“To what?”

“To everything… Ugh.” They popped their communicator back in their pocket, shrugging off their pack to kneel and dig inside it, sniffling all the while. “Is any of this familiar to you, my Lord?”

“The scene? Ah, well, all I know is the realm in which we meet…”

“I haven’t dreamt of gardens and stuff before you came along, so I think there’s something…knocking around in that brain of yours.”

“Dreams, you say? Hm. That certainly is curious. I suppose there is something about…the way the sun filters through the leaves up there, that specific sort of green. Something about it fills me with…”

“Nostalgia?” Cybisthon could feel the emotion in Arval, even if the former couldn’t identify it. Cybisthon knew it, thinking about the simplicity and promise of their childhood. Moreso in recent times, with so much burden and failure looming over their shoulder.

“Is that what it is called? Then yes, nostalgia.”

Cybisthon dug out a bottle, fished out a white pill, and popped it into their mouth and down their throat with a swig of water.

“What was that?” Arval asked, intrigued in just about any gadget or trinket Cybisthon produced.

“An antihistamine. It calms down allergic reactions. I might need to start taking this every day…”

“Whatever makes you feel your best!”

“...Actually, my Lord,” Cybisthon follows a trail of thought, digging into their pack again. They pull out the ancient coin, looking at it and turning it in their fingers. “Does this remind you of anything?”

“Why, that looks similar to the symbol on my outfit!” Arval seemed proud of themself. “Why, then, would it be on a coin..?”

“This is the ancient symbol of Agartha. Its shape has been modified over thousands of years, but is largely the same. This coin was used as currency when our people lived under the sun.”

“Our people?”

“Yes, the Agarthans.” They flicked the coin into the air, and caught it. “You and I are of the same species.”

“Well, yes, as have any travelers we have met…”

“No,” Cybisthon is quick to retort. “They are descendants of beasts. Vermin. Their False God flushed us with a great flood, and gave our land to her children and her children’s children.”

“...I am sorry.”

“No, my Lord, don’t be sorry. Through it we found our strength.”

“Circling back to that, how you call me Lord… Was I…important?”

“Only you may answer that.” Cybisthon closed up their pack and stood back up, pulling out their communicator. “...Oh no.”

“What? What has happened?”

“My signal’s lost…” They smack the back of the thin piece of metal and lift it high into the air. “I can’t see where we’re going now…”

“We head west. Look, the sun.”

“What about it?” Their eyes lift up to the trees, seeing the filtering light through the leaves of evening.

“It will tell you which way to go!”

“It’s a fucking star, it can’t tell me anything-”

“No, idiot, see how it sets? It rises in the east, crosses the sky, and settles in the west at night. I would say that we are, what? A week at most from our destination? Then you may find a village, and ask for directions. And not to mention a soft, comfortable bed and something decent to eat…”

“We don’t need it. We have food, and we can sleep in the tent.”

“Why are you so opposed to-? Ah, right. The “beasts”, as you call them.”

“Exactly. I’d like to avoid them and their disgusting gruel as much as I can.”

“Mm…then we follow the sun. And if I need to possess you to ask for directions, then I will do so. We are partners after all, even if no one but you can see me.”

Cybisthon rolled their eyes.

“Helpful as ever, my Lord,” they reply.

The fresh green of spring warmed into summer, and Cybisthon found themself wishing they could get out of this Fodlan armor and into a tracksuit or something more suited to sweat.

“My Lord? Didn’t you say we were a week at most from our destination?” They ask, their steps slower under the bearing heat.

“Any time we came across a village, you made sure we took the long way around it to avoid it, if I recall. Shortcuts, you said. Just a temporary diversion from our trek westward. Now look where you have us.” Arval huffed. “Such time would have been better spent if we were not turned around so often by your carelessness.”

“My carelessness?” Cybisthon stops their trudging to stare angrily into the air in front of them. “How would you feel if I were to catch something actually serious? I don’t exactly have a portable hospital in my pack here!”

“Some help would not have been amiss! We are lost!”

“I’m following the fucking sun like you said! And it’s gone now anyway as it is!”

“Yes, you have gone west! And north, and south! Whichever way led you around anyone that could have actually set us on a correct path!”

“We don’t need anyone to help us! Trust me, I lived with them, all they care about is money and what to stuff into their gullet next. They have no pride, and will screw anybody over for their own skin! And the-”

“Dirt and diseases, yes! As you have said countless times! You don’t like the people on the surface, you’ve made that quite clear - to the point that you have gotten us pointlessly lost!”

Cybisthon was just opening their mouth to continue to argue with Arval when they felt their ear tug toward a noise made nearby, but not by bird or creature. They turn their head toward it, squinting into the brush. Something was moving.

“Ignoring me, hm? I will take that to mean I touched a nerve.” Arval continued on, unhindered. “At any rate, we all make a few mistakes along the way… And by "we," I mean you, and by “a few”-”

“My Lord, someone is coming.”

“Ah, finally! Some brains around here!”

Cybisthon ignores them and dives into the nearest brush, hand positioned carefully over their Athame in preparation. Three young people come into their sights - a girl and two boys. One boy bearing shimmering blonde locks, the other, a deep brunette muss of curls, and the girl, pale with long, white hair. Pale as she was, she was still a few steps more saturated than Cybisthon. Such was the nature of the Agarthan race, without the kiss of the sun.

“Stop plowing ahead, Claude. You're going to get us lost,” said the blonde, his eyes darting about the woods with a certain width and awareness.
“Lost, schmost,” replied the brunette, waving his hand carelessly toward the other. “We've got it on Imperial authority that this is the way to the village.”
“True, I said there was a village—but how could anyone know where it is in the thick of these mountains?” The girl stopped walking before the other two, assessing her surroundings.”I can't even say for certain where we are in all this gloom…”
The brunette slid around the other two in front of them, holding his hands up in the air.
“Ok, new plan:” He suggested, “I'll rely on my keen senses to navigate. Lucky for you, they're sharp as an arrow.”
The blonde’s eyes snapped almost directly to Cybisthon’s hiding place and whipped a lance from across his back. The Agarthan felt a freeze down their spine, their violet eyes widening slightly, drawing the Athame. They prepared to fight.
“Hold, both of you. Someone's here.” He spoke to his companions, causing the brunette to turn. “Another bandit, perhaps?”
“See, they are looking for a village, too! Lay down your weapon and talk to them!” Arval urged from the confinements of Cybisthon’s skull. The blade went back into its sheath as they sighed, standing up.
“I’m no backwater thief,” Cybisthon spat at them as he stood, coming slightly into view. “I’m a mercenary.”
“Oh, great stuff,” the brunette groaned.
“This is more the place for bandits than sellswords…” The white haired girl stepped forward, looking at Cybisthon with analytical, pinkish eyes. “What brings you here?”

“We haven’t the time for an interrogation.” The blonde speaks with authority beyond his years. Cybisthon already notices something hungry resting under those blue eyes. “The longer we stay here, the more our pursuers close in.”
“I’d be willing to help you for a fee.” Cybisthon spoke next, tilting their head at the three, thinking three teenagers would scoff at the idea and they would be free to go. At worst, they get to kill some humans and get some money for it - like old times. “Sounds like you need it.”

“Well, if you’re offering, we need the help chasing off these bandits on our tail,” the brunette was the first to snap up the offer. The snowy girl shot him a disapproving glance before it melted into acceptance.

“Don’t worry about payment. You will receive plenty of coin for this…” She then looked to Cybisthon. “If we survive, that is.”

The encounter led them ducking and weaving through the forest in the thick of the night. Cybisthon learned each of their names - the blonde was called Dimitri, the brunette Claude, and the white…Edelgard. It was a name they had heard, but never seen the princess to whom it originally belonged. They were sure, however, that this was not the actual Imperial princess. That would just be ridiculous.

Through the battle, they watched each of them cut down the bandits with precision and practice, but of course none outshined their new mercenary recruit. Cybisthon whirled and snapped through the thieves with the Athame and Ensis, and their eyes were occasionally caught by the manifestation of some kind of power which the three possessed. Superior strength, dexterity, and speed…

“Just who are these people, anyway?” Arval wondered, “All three of them have Crests!”

“How do you know about Crests?” Cybisthon only knew some about Crests, that was more a higher authority topic than their own clearance. All they knew is that Agartha did possess some of these Stones, and had worked tirelessly for the technology to transplant them from one person to another, the first of its kind done successfully nearly one thousand years ago in the body of Nemesis. They could thank Myson for such progress, and, loathe as they were to admit it, Solon as well. Cybisthon also knew that it was important research, all leading toward their glorious liberation. The greatest achievement was recent, in the body of the said Adrestian princess, who possessed not just one, but two Crest Stones. She was considered a rare tool for it, priceless but unstable, should the right conditions be met. Most of the Crest experiments were already unstable or broken as it was, and were no more useful than giant, murderous dogs. But the presence of such a living weapon gave the Agarthans much hope - they could have Nemesis again, but stronger, better, and more capable of taking down the False God than ever before.

And with Cybisthon, soon to be carrying the soul of Epimenides himself as a vessel, Agartha was not to be defeated again.

“Anyone who knows anything about the world you live in, above it or below it, knows of the Crests!” Arval replied. Cybisthon swung and lopped through the neck of another bandit before they saw white armor approaching from the wilds. Something about the color triggered deep inside him - not a shivering thing like fear, this was no Ashen Demon.

This was hatred. It lit up their neck, pulsing and dancing in their temples.

Her disciples.

The Knights of Seiros.

“Repent, foul bandits! The Knights of Seiros are here, and we'll cut you down for terrorizing our students!” The foremost knight declares, bearing the most ridiculous facial hair Cybisthon had ever seen. Before the group reaches the four of them, they part like an alabaster sea to deal with the other bandits. Something then clicked inside of Cybisthon.

This was now a competition.

They shadow slid through the ranks to close in on the bandit leader, cutting down any in their way. Like Aillel were the Knights of Seiros about to compromise his chance for decent pay now, not when they could get it so easily. They could hear it now - the Knights swooped in and saved the day, so there was no reason to compensate for their lost time. They were not about to have that.

They engaged with the enemy commander, if one could even call him that, watching him back up the longer they fought. A coward, Cybisthon smirked to themself, and doubled down with their speed and ferocity.

It wasn’t long before the bandit leader fell, and they heard the clamor of armor coming near. Clearly the Knights had the same idea, but, as always, Cybisthon was the winner of the bet. The leader stopped in his tracks, beholding the white figure standing over the corpse of their target.

“Aw, is it over already?” Cybisthon cracked, smirking at him. Alois stepped toward them, and they regarded each other with apprehension. Cybisthon tightened their grip on their blades, and feels their feet moving toward the company of knights. They could take the lot of them, imagine Thales’s face when they tell him they took out the Knights of Seiros singlehandedly… What a prize, what a grand forward movement for their cause…

“Friend!” Claude darts forward, leading the little group. They all stop near Cybisthon, and the mercenary relaxes their stance, phasing away Ensis and sheathing their other blade. They finally take their eyes from the Knights to look at them. The Knights then turned away, and went to clean up whatever was left of the bandit company.

“Thank you for coming to our aid when we needed it most,” Dimitri nods to Cybisthon.

“Yes, I believe introductions are in order by now,” Edelgard smiled slightly from beside the other two, and put her hand on her chest, bowing slightly, “I am Edelgard von Hresvelg, princess of the Adrestian Empire.”

So she was the Adrestian princess after all… It would explain her pallor.

“I am Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, crown prince of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus,” Dimitri says, also offering a proper, but stiff, bow.

The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, one of the many large and constant enemies of the Agarthans.

“And I'm Claude von Riegan, grandson of the leader of the Leicester Alliance,” Claude offers a wink.

The neighbors.

So this is who Thales sent them to find, earlier than intended, and not in the designated place, but fortune comes to those who seek it. They will do as instructed, and wait for whatever opportunity Thales foresaw. But they won’t bow to the heirs, and all they do is nod at the new information.

“What do we call you?” Edelgard asked Cybisthon. They take a moment to consider - their full name was taken by Berling’s Mercenaries, and it wouldn’t do them well to associate with them any longer. It was only a second or two before they responded.

“Cybis.”

“Any last name to go with that?” Claude asked, leaning toward them slightly.

“...Fox.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Cybis Fox!” Claude grinned. Cybis noted that this seemed like a very practiced reflex. “Bit of a miracle we ran into you out there, but hey, I'll take it.”

“Yes, things looked grim there for a moment. Thanks to you, we put those bandits to flight,” Dimitri voiced his gratitude, not moving from the spot where he chose to stand. Cybis noted a certain…restraint in his stature.

“And now you pay me, right?” Is Cybis’s simple reply, crossing their arms. “I’d say the amount just doubled, considering I saved not one, not just two, but three very important young people from certain death.”

“Uh…right!” Claude answered back.

“We had best get back to camp before it gets too terribly late,” Edelgard began to turn, “We won't find our two feet in all this dark.”

“Hello there, house leaders! Hello, brave mercenary!” Alois trotted up to the trio and their extra help, “We've mopped up what's left of those rascals, so what say we return to camp? And I insist you accompany us, good mercenary.”

Cybis’s eyes narrowed as they clicked back to the leader of the Knights.

“Why should I go with you?” Cybis interrogated, not feeling so much suspicious of the students as they were the herald of Seiros before them.

“We're a tiny bit short on pocket change at the moment,” Claude explains. “We'll wait out the night together and make for the village in the morning. It's a great plan.”

“And once your pay is settled, we have maps to help you get to wherever it is you are needing to go,” Dimitri offered further.

“This is clearly the wisest course of action - not to mention that I would enjoy conversing with you further.” Edelgard encourages. “But of course, the choice is yours.”

Cybis didn’t really feel like they had a choice, with the three of them so eager, the Knights of Seiros breathing down their neck, and the looming pressure of Thales over them. But this was their objective, they were sure of it, to find the three heirs to the three kingdoms, and they hadn’t died yet. In their mind, that wasn’t even a question. They would keep their options open, and search for the advantage - always.

“Fine, then,” They agree to go, folding in with the three heirs and the Knights.

Time would tell if this would all be worth it.

Chapter Text

The camp was further into the woods, but constructed in high quality, despite the temporary nature of the students’ stay. Cybis wondered if what Berling had said was true, certainly seemed to be. These kids were wanting for nothing in this camp.

“A top of the line private school for the rich kids to learn how to inherit their family’s titles,” she had said.

It made them think of their own education - basic training. They had spent some time with private tutors before being introduced to the rest of the children their age, to mixed success. The students were taught how to fight, what Agartha expected of them, and moreover what horrors the Nabateans inflicted on Aillel, how the Fell Star sent the Great Flood, and how she drove their people to near extinction. They were taught primarily how to hate, to never forgive, and never forget. Soft emotions like compassion and mercy were trained rigorously out of them. Their bodies were not for self expression, but for service. They were soldiers first, and people second.

Cybis remembered they were not particularly liked by the other children. They had often felt like a rabid dog biting at a leash, and were very often too rough with the others when training. They themself were not as big as some of their fellow students, but that didn’t stop them from trying to break a few bones or end lives. Especially those that teased and mocked the young prince, giving fuel to a fire already strong. They didn’t know who Cybis was - Cybis was just some peculiar, smaller child who kept winning despite their size. It was like they could smell blood in the water some days. Cybis preferred to take care of bullies by themself. And of course, personal training after schooling with Thales was a way to release and channel their anger. It was an outlet they always enjoyed.

Cybis wondered what it would’ve been like to attend Garreg Mach, in disguise, just as Solon has served as librarian as Tomas. Of course, they have no frame of reference except for their own lessons. They imagined waking up before the first bell, standing in a perfect line for inspection, running through obstacle courses, climbing walls, completing routines with different weapons, sparring until there was blood or a collapse, eating the same rations every day… And even then sometimes they would train for famine, especially around exams. It made them meaner, the sergeant had said. It produced results. A hungry army was a desperate army. Some that were resistant to the idea or stole food would go hungrier longer. Speaking up caused consequences. Cybis remembered one fellow student, locked into a box for 26 hours because she was caught with contraband.. An extra sugar tab, a pack of cards… She didn’t listen, she thought she knew better…

But basic training? Up above? With the sun, and all the greenery? No, thank you.

These students were spoiled. Somewhere rooted deep, they hated them even more for it.

Cybis looked around as they were largely left to themself at the camp. The first thing they did was look at the gate…and the knights surrounding it. Especially one they knew already - an Alois, a Knight of Seiros. Even if they wanted to, there was no way they were getting out until they were meant to do so.

That worked fine for them. Thales’s words rang in their head - “With time, your purpose will be made clear.” He had a talent for being cryptic at the worst times, the old man. Cybis’s purpose led them here, not to Remire Village.

“And don’t forget the mercenary,” Arval reminded them, cutting through their thoughts like a knife in a cube of protein. “Perhaps getting into better acquaintanceship with one of these nobles will bolster your next encounter with her?”

“Maybe. Alois did tell me that they all wanted to speak to me, anyway.” Cybis thought internally. It wasn’t as easy as talking out loud, with other threads of thought weaving around the metaphorical train, but at least it kept their conversations secret.

“I know, I was there, remember?” Arval huffed at them. “Anyway, perhaps they want to repay the debt of your saving their lives from those bandits? I would think it wise to-”

“-search for the advantage.” Cybis mumbled aloud. They could practically see Arval nodding.

“Precisely! Now, do not waste any time!” Arval urged them. “We have until sun up.”

Cybis inhaled and pressed their lips together, looking to where the Houses were camped. They could see the red banner of Adrestia and Edelgard from where they stood. They pondered for a while before moving toward her. She was a familiar name, and an admitted link to home. Perhaps the advantage lied with her. It would at least bring Cybis back into the fold of Thales’s tutelage, and there was a strange comfort in that. They could be guided, instead of having to fend for their own. Not to mention that she had explicitly asked them to come to speak to her first.

She turned to look at them as they approached, giving them a small smile. She was reserved, analytical, with an ambitious nature that sat behind her lavender-pink eyes that flickered like a bright candle.

“Ah, there you are,” She greeted Cybis. “Thank you for your assistance in the previous battle. I'd like to discuss your future, if you have a moment.”

“What sort of future did you have in mind, Your…Highness?” Cybis put their hands on their hips, tilting their head at her.

“One in which you are employed by the Empire,” she nods to them confidently. “I can promise you'll be handsomely paid, including the work you did today.”

“You’re moving rather quickly, aren’t you.”

“Yes, I am. I was hoping you would speak to me first, in case the others offer you the same sort of deal.” Edelgard turned to face them more forwardly. “Talent like yours is quite hard to come by.”

“Sounds like you have something brewing, Your Imperialness.”

She made a tight sound through her nose with a puff of air. It was difficult for them to tell whether it was a positive or negative sound with how her face sat, at a crossroads between amused and annoyed, with a certain tension around her small nose and lips. Cybis noted she didn’t reply to their assumption.

“By the by, have you spoken with the others here in camp?” She asked, her face relaxing into that pleasant yet detached expression. “If you'd like, I can tell you a little bit about the students in my own house, the Black Eagles.”

“No thanks,” Cybis replied nonchalantly. “Listen, I’ll think your offer over. But that’s the best I can do.”

“Very well, please do.” She gives them a nod. “Know you would be of great value to us.”

Cybis left her, and noted a tall, thin, young man with black hair watching them from the shadow of a tree. Cybis stopped to stare at him, eyes narrowing down and back straightening. The other simply gave a slight grin, and offered a slow, singular nod. Cybis’s nose wrinkled at him before they left the Black Eagle site.

They looked between the banners, one yellow, one blue. They dreaded talking to the Prince of Faerghus, not sure if they could hold their tongue against spitting into his face. But between him and the mishmash of lineage that was the Leicester Alliance, Cybis supposed that some information could at least be gleaned from there.

“Let me begin by first conveying my gratitude to you, Cybis.” Dimitri offered a small bow to them when they approached. “We are in your debt.”

“I would say so.”

“Ah, yes, your repayment.” Dimitri nodded solemnly. “I trust that Sir Alois has eased your mind further on the matter?”

“Not yet.”

“I see… Well, perhaps upon speaking with him, he will have more answers. Likely, he is consulting with the other Knights on what they can do.” Dimitri offered. “Twas quite the task, rescuing us from those bandits.”

“I agree.” Cybis nodded, folding their arms, their eyes not wavering from the young prince. He couldn’t be much younger, if not the same age. “Imagine what would’ve happened if I didn’t show up when I did.”

“I shudder to think it.” Dimitri tried to sound amused but it fell strangely short.

“All of Fodlan in disarray because the three heirs to the entire continent were slaughtered by some stupid thieves.” Cybis hummed. “As well as some assassins, I noted.”

“Assassins, you say?” Dimitri’s blonde brow furrowed at them. Cybis raised their own and nodded, feigning concern.

“Yes, about half and half, I’d say…” Cybis continued. “I don’t know, didn’t seem to me like you guys stumbled on some band of bandits. Seems like they were planted for you to find.” They cocked their head at him. “Weird, huh?”

“Yes…” Dimitri murmured, looking to the side and touching his chin in thought before his blue eyes moved back to the other. “Thank you for your insight.”

“Just makes me wonder who did it.” Cybis replied, looking around the camp with fake suspicion. “Had to be someone who knew where you guys were, right? Who knows, maybe the employer is right here in this camp.”

“But what motivation would there be to do so?” Dimitri asked, trying to counter their argument. “Our nations have lived in peace for quite some time now. To attempt such an assassination would…”

“Spark a war?” Cybis asked.

“That is the least of it, yes.” Dimitri replied.

“Best watch your back, then.”

“I assure you I always do.” The way Dimitri’s eyes settle on Cybis’s, the intensity of it, shows that he is not taking such words lightly. As he shouldn’t, Cybis thinks, returning the look before they turn to leave him.

The next would be Claude. Cybis didn’t think that the conversation would be very useful, but it wouldn’t hurt. They felt immediately drawn toward the Black Eagles, especially with the immediate offer of employment on the table in a country where they would be protected. They were surprised the Faerghan Prince didn’t put up the same offer, but judging by the looks Cybis received when going to their side of camp, especially by an individual easily twice their size, perhaps he had everything in that respect covered, not to mention the icy hostility that hung in the air like falling snow. Cybis wondered where that left Claude in all this.

“Hey, friend.” Claude called, lifting a hand to Cybis when they started making their way toward their side. He continued when Cybis neared further. “Appreciate what you did back there - we'd have been in a world of hurt without you.”

“Yeah, you would’ve. Pretty convenient, huh?”

“I’d have to agree with you there. Something about it doesn’t sit right with me, but here we are anyway.” Claude shrugged. “Alois told me not to pay you personally, otherwise, believe me, I would.”

“And here I could’ve had at the least two bags fat with coin by now,” Cybis huffed, “What’s he stalling me out for?”

“I’d be willing to guess they want to handle it as a church thing.” Claude replied. “Sorry about that. I’m sure it’s slowing you down.”

“Not so much slowing me down as making me suspicious something else is happening.” Cybis glances toward the gate, and in the distance they could see Alois talking in a group. “You sure I can trust this Alois guy?”

“I guess I shouldn't expect you to have faith in any random stranger who walks by, that’s fair.” Claude’s eyes followed into Cybis’s gaze, a hand on his hip. “Though, you did help us out, and everyone's extremely grateful for it. I don’t see any reason for them to toss out the idea of repayment.”

“You don’t think they’ll drag me out to the woods, slit my throat?” Cybis joked. That seemed to amuse the other, Claude giving a soft chuckle in response.

“Well, this was a pretty damaging event, all in all. Things could’ve gone really bad really quickly if you hadn’t shown up. The academy was responsible for our safety, and they failed. This could have some serious consequences if this got out.” Claude explained.

“I seem to remember it was you leading the others through the woods.” Cybis turned their gaze back toward Claude, “Or am I…misremembering things?” They added sarcastically.

“The Academy would still be held responsible for whatever happened by our elders. Besides, if I hadn’t gotten distance between us and them, we wouldn’t have been able to run into you at all.” Claude’s face became unreadable, then he flashed a dazzling smile. “But it doesn’t mean you couldn’t be misremembering things, as you said.”

There was more to Claude that met the eye. There was no doubt in Cybis’s mind that he viewed himself responsible, and knew the consequences of such things. It seemed to them that if anyone had to benefit from the other two being assassinated on the road, it would be this underdog. But…maybe this fledgling lord knew that, too. Knew that whatever was the truth, the finger would be pointed at him. Even more so that he was apparently the one to run from danger in the first place. It was too obvious, too dangerous to take that kind of gamble. The retreat he made in turn saved all their lives, and that meant someone’s plan didn’t go the way they intended. Which left Cybis between Dimitri and Edelgard. They knew some of what was paved ahead for Adrestia, with Thales’s claws sunk so deeply into Hresvelg flesh. Maybe that was their answer, if there was a question to begin with. They thought that this bandit plan was an infantile one, doomed to fail.

“Speaking of which, I can tell you a little bit about the students in my Golden Deer House,” Claude winked at them.

“Is this an offer of employment?” Cybis asked, their eyebrows drawing together.

“An offer of friendship, since I can’t give you an offer of coin.”

“Then why don’t you tell me about you?”

“Who, me?” Claude shrugged, his eyes unwavering from their position on Cybis’s ivory face. “I'm more curious about you, personally. Anyway, if you don't have anything better to do, I'd be glad to have you join us at Garreg Mach.”

“Attend your fancy little school?” Cybis scoffed. “Why would I do that?”

“Because it might be the only option you have,” Claude’s expression bent slightly in sympathy. “Better than being dragged off into the woods, right?”

“I guess you have a point there.” Something about Claude made him easy to talk to. Firstly, he didn’t have nearly the same sort of sticks the other two wellbred royals did, but there was something else. The way his smiles didn’t reach the eyes, the way his mind seemed to be in constant motion. He seemed to understand the world for what it was - dangerous, a place where the dog eats the dog and the strong conquer the weak. He was self aware of the pecking order and the state of the Alliance, but who could say what he envisioned for the future except only by his own mouth. Cybis had an instinct that he could use someone like them at his side, more than the other two, to stoke his flames of grandeur. They could see the advantage to that. “I’ll let you know.”

“Good luck,” Claude nodded to Cybis as they wandered away from the Deer.

Cybis was headed back to an unclaimed bench to get some shut eye, seeing the peeking of morning rays in the sky. It was enough to make them draw up their hood, and just as they did so, they saw Alois trotting toward them.

“Ah, Cybis! Have you spoken with the house leaders yet?” He asked, slowing to a stop near them. Cybis turned their head to him, a violet eye looking at him from around the hood.

“Yes, I have. I assume that gave you enough time to cough up my money?” Cybis sharply interrogated. Alois inhaled to say something, then quickly let it out before starting again.

“Actually, I was hoping I could ask something of you.” Alois began. “Would you hear me out?”

“What’s this about?”

“My sincere apologies for asking this of you.” Alois started. “No doubt we have slowed you down with this little…excursion… But…perhaps you might consider changing your mind and accompanying us to Garreg Mach Monastery instead?”

Cybis turned toward him completely, and took a step backward, eying the knight cautiously. So it was like Claude predicted.

“And why would I do that?” Cybis hissed. “Why are you holding out?”

“Because you've done us a great service and we don't have the means in camp to properly reward you.” Alois explained, lacing his fingers together tightly. “At the monastery, however, we can repay your kindness in full.”

“So you’re saying I’d be getting more than if I just collected from you and your students?”

“Well, between you and me, this evening's turn of events was quite the embarrassment for the church.” Alois offered further reasons. “We allowed students of the Officers Academy out of our sight - and house leaders of great political consequence, at that. And then they crossed swords with bandits! If word got out... Well, let's just say it would sit poorly with everyone. So you see why we must ensure you are well-compensated.” He paused. “Also, there may be some papers for you to sign. Perhaps in blood.”

Cybis was impressed that Claude saw this coming.

“Hush money,” Cybis provided the short answer.

“That's exactly what I told the fool knight who suggested it!” Alois unfolded his pointer fingers to shake them in affirmation at Cybis. “Me, I'd just as soon send you on your way, but I fear I am obligated to escort you back. Anyway, the whole thing will be much easier if you simply agree to come along. Just as a formality, of course.”

“I do believe there is an “or else” in there somewhere,” Arval mumbled. Cybis could feel the ends of their nerves twitching, eyes becoming hard on the knight. “I do understand how you feel - you do not like to be met with a challenge you cannot fulfill, but I feel the best way forward is to accept the offer, for now. Remember your ambitions.”

Cybis stared at Alois for a time, feeling cornered between a ‘you wanna bet?’ reply and the requests of their Lord.

“Fine,” They finally said.

“Bless you, my friend! What a noble soul you are!” Alois unfolded his fingers, pointing enthusiastically across their direction. “I'd say you saved my bacon, but that would be utterly hammy!”

Cybis stared at him, face unflinching. A thick pad of silence passed between them.

“I’ll get my pack ready to go now,” Cybis said.

Cybis went through their pack, counting and accounting each of their items, getting everything ready to go.

“Was it as we feared?” Claude said, hands in his pockets, sidling up toward the mercenary. Cybis glanced over their shoulder at him as they continued their task.

“Yep,” Cybis sighed. “I’m to accompany you all to the Monastery, under special escort by Sir Alois.” They closed up the pack, turning to look at him. “Basically that, or the business end of an axe, it sounded like.”

“Not willing to take that bet?”

“One thing I dislike more than having to throw a challenge is getting cheated out of a debt. I’ll take one for the other.”

“Sometimes we don’t have a choice in life,” Claude sympathized. “And listen, I know this one's on me - I'm the one who roped you into helping us, after all. I'll find a way to make it up to you, I promise.”

“You good for that kind of thing?” Cybis asked warily as they slung their pack onto their back. “I don’t know if I believe you.”

“Look, I get it, I look like a scoundrel, I’ve heard it all before.” Claude spread his arms slightly, palms open. “But what you can believe is that I’m a man of my word.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Cybis beheld Garreg Mach, the resting place of the False God and the home of the Seiros faith. The children of the Goddess lived here, they knew it for certain, in safety and comfort, while the Agarthans struggled in the darkness of Shambhala. Through their hatred and jealousy, they couldn’t help but admit to themself that it was beautiful, with its stone architecture, lofty views, and large, stained glass windows. As they entered the cathedral, following Alois down the long aisle, their eyes were cast onto the pillars of stone, how the sunlight filtering through the glass cast them in shades of colors the likes of which they had never seen before. Their eyes lifted to the vaulted ceilings, thinking to themself and to Arval.

“This was where our Javelins of Light struck,” Cybis told Arval in silence. “They were deflected, and destroyed our city of Aillel. It was the beginning of the end, well over a thousand years ago.”

“I see…” Arval took in what Cybis’s eyes saw. “Was I alive then?”

“You were, yes.” Cybis answered, hearing words from Alois, their eyes on the ground as they streamed thoughts to Arval instead of paying attention. “You led our people underground, and it was then and there you became a God.”

“A God…” Arval almost giggles, not believing their words, “I couldn’t imagine such a thing. Are you certain that your Lord Epimenides and I are the same person?”

“I am, My Lord.”

“-and with that, may I present the mercenary I spoke of.” Alois backed up a little from the steps of the Cathedral to press Cybis forward by the shoulder. It was then Cybis looked up, snapping to attention and his eyes saw her. Saw them.

The Nabateans.

Even with their pitiful disguises, there was no deceiving them. Archbishop Rhea was tall, towering over Cybis even as she stood on the steps. Her hair was a brilliant, minted green with eyes to match, which peer down at them with a soft, curious light. They looked to the side of her at another one, a male, with a darker green shade to him, then back to the archbishop. All they could envision was great white beasts as depicted in the history files, with massive, leatherhide wings and hard, alabaster scales, mouths full of sharp teeth large enough to swallow up fifty soldiers at once, and the beam…the great beam they could emit that could level a village in seconds. And this one…this one was Sothis’s direct daughter. Seiros, known to her people as a saint, and founder of the Seiros religion. Such ego. Such disgusting reverence when she claimed stolen ground, murdered the Agarthans and their one chance at survival, their one tool for taking back what was truly theirs.

The fact she has remained here in harmony, her fields watered and the beasts fed by their people’s blood, for nearly one thousand years soured the very air they occupied.

“Greetings. My name is Rhea, and I am the archbishop of the Church of Seiros.” She nodded delicately to Cybis, the tassels and beads of her headdress trembling softly with the movement. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart for rescuing our students.“

“I sense your anger… Do not let it take control of you.” Arval warned. Cybis inhaled, feeling strings of tension in their neck as they tried to come up with something nice to say. It was like a hot lump of coal in their throat - Heart? What heart? That black shriveled Crest-thing you keep in your chest, Seiros?

Cybis can do nothing but nod. One of Rhea’s brows flick in ever so slightly, and the other Nabatean, who now they recognize as Saint Cichol, stepped closer. It would make sense the pack of beasts stayed together.

“The reason we summoned you here was not simply to express our gratitude. We have a proposal for you - one made on behalf of the church itself.” Seteth said from his place beside the archbishop.

“You’re not going to pay me, are you?” Cybis accused.

“What we intend to offer has far more value than any amount of gold.” Seteth answered. “Someone told you of the Officers Academy here at the monastery, yes? We would have you join this academy as a student.”

“Have me join, huh?” Cybis looked between him and Rhea. “I don’t get a choice in it, do I?”

“As you are a mercenary, I understand you are not currently beholden to any one particular employer.” Rhea picked up the threads of this conversation. “Also, the students you rescued are close to your own age. Your life could be greatly enriched here.”

”I have no doubt she wants to keep you on a short leash in order to better understand your power, cornering you into agreement like this…” Arval fumed in their mind. Cybis’s eyes flicked to the side and back. They could fight them, the two Nabateans, the three teachers standing with them. It was their answer to just about anything…but the visions of humongous snapping jaws deterred their feet from moving.

“I’d not pay a coin to you or the academy?” they asked.

“Not a single copper piece,” Rhea assured them. “Meals, board, activities, and instruction are all included.”

“But we only offer this for one year, and not a day more,” Seteth amended his superior’s statement. “If you chose to stay, how you would afford it would be up to you and your loved ones.”

“I don’t want to stay around here longer than that, anyway,” Cybis frowned at Seteth. “The world has other plans for me. I’ll take your instruction to get stronger, but that’s it.”

“This environment will undoubtedly aid in your pursuits, in that case.” Seteth nodded stiffly. “The Knights of Seiros - as well as many other powerful warriors - pass daily through the gates of this hallowed monastery.”

“...Very well, then.” Cybis was certain they didn’t have a choice in the matter anyway, and the ever pressing thought of what Thales wanted them to do, whatever it was, sat in the base of their skull. They didn’t expect it would bring them here, but whatever machinations have done so, they would turn it into opportunity. “I accept your offer.”

“A wise decision.” Seteth did not smile, but his tone did. “We will do all we can to ensure you do not regret it.”
“I believe you will go far,” the archbishop encouraged them. It was then they noticed that her eyes had not moved from them this entire conversation, barely even blinked. They felt a bit too visible, but had no proof for what she might see. There was a searching expression in her eyes that betrayed her - she was trying to place exactly who or what they were. They knew it in their gut, and didn’t waver under her gaze once.

From there, they were brought to a table with three large booklets, registers for the Houses. They were allowed to choose one for themself.
Immediately, they pressed away the Blue Lions one without even looking at it. They knew from one conversation alone with Dimitri that finding a foothold in Faerghus would be beyond difficult. With their traditional senses and deep roots with the church, Cybis did not see a place for themself there. It would be like running headlong into the stone walls of Garreg Mach itself.
Now, the Black Eagles… There was a sense of comfort there. They opened the book, flipping through small portraits and written information about each student. No doubt it would be easy to settle in with an Adrestian class, by what they heard. Not to mention the position of Thales disguised as Lord Arundel, who had direct influences over the royal family and therefore the House Leader and princess, and therefore the entire House itself. It would be safe…but it could get crowded. They close the book but keep it near.
The Golden Deer. There was something unexpected there in Claude, and even moreso the promise he claimed just a few days before in the camp to repay them in one way or another. It was a small in with him, but an in nonetheless. The Leicester Alliance was democratic, and thus weak. The students were a mixed bag of nobles and self made commoners, so blending in would be far less an issue than in the other two Houses. Claude and Cybis seemed to understand each other even in those few minutes, and knew to keep the other at an arm’s length. There was something about that Cybis respected. They were similar creatures, and that could prove to be advantageous. Not to mention their home was practically in Leicester as it was, nestled deep below the territories of Hrym and Ordelia. Cybis sensed opportunity here, they just needed to find it, and then carve it out.
The turning of Agartha’s Liberation could be secured through them, and then Lord Epimenides would remember who he is, Cybis would become the vessel he was always meant to be, and Fodlan would be stamped with the Eye of Agartha once and for all…

They signed their name to the Golden Deer ledger -

Cybis Fox

Chapter Text

A morning bell, six chimes from the Cathedral.

Cybis’s white head lifts from their pillow with a start. They couldn’t remember the last time they slept on a proper, comfortable bed, and had fallen asleep that first night quicker and deeper than they expected. A deep inhale and a long stretch under the blanket, and they manage to will themself up and out of bed.

Their Surface armor lay cast on the floor, and a school uniform sits folded on a table nearby. It was then Cybis had the harsh realization that they wore practically the same outfit every day now since they purchased it while still working for the now deceased Captain Berling. They still wore a tight set of leggings and a long sleeved shirt to bed, as was customary in Agartha, but now that the weather was getting warmer, they were forgoing the shirt. Heat was not something they were used to, and they were increasingly becoming annoyed by it the further into the summer it was getting. Still, the uniform was required, as they understood it, and they set to putting it on. The buttons were tiring and a boring task, but eventually they figured it all out, standing in front of a mirror to tug the strange, puffy sleeves this way and that. Arval must have noticed their furrowed, unpleasant expression, and of course waited until then to say anything.

“Black is a suitable color for you, you look fine!” They offered. Cybis could see them hovering behind their shoulder, white complexion and hair matching their own. Their eyes squint, and their alabaster lashes press together, looking like snow dotting their pale, pinkish skin. “I do not think you look strange at all!”

“It’s the shape of it, and the texture, it just…doesn’t fit on me right…” Cybis spoke aloud, and gripped under the jacket to tug it down, adjusting the sash at the waist, trying to make it look more flattering to their eye. “And it’s hot, I’m already sweating just from putting the damn thing on.”

“What if you personalized it? There are different pieces you can use. I am sure not all the students dress exactly the same.” Arval suggested. “Maybe take the jacket off, if it is so warm?”

Cybis mumbled and settled their body in for the task of arduously undoing the buttons, and threw the jacket onto the bed.

“I’m not doing the shorts though, who knows the kind of damage the sun will do to my skin,” Cybis decides.

“I agree… I could not imagine doing so myself.” Arval floated lazily in a circle around them. “So wear your hood!”

“It won’t look stupid?” They pick it up from where it is slung over the chair, sliding it over their head and onto their shoulders. It was dark and cowl-like in shape, with buttons down the front, the length of it to their elbows. Often when wearing it with their armor, they would unbutton the bottom and push it behind the larger pauldron. However, with this uniform, they elected to button it up completely. When finished, they turned to look into the mirror again, Arval peeking from behind them in their reflection.

“I do not think you look stupid,” Arval nods. “I think you waste time thinking about how others might perceive you.”

“I don’t want to look like some pushover.”

“Why are you so nervous about your first day of school?”

“Because I’ve already been to school. There’s nothing more to learn.” Cybis explained, looking down at their wrist and messing with the buttons at their cuffs. Nothing more to learn about the nature of people especially, Agarthan or otherwise. Socialization is rarely something to look forward to. “Besides, I know they’re going to want to talk to me, and I don’t want to talk to them…”

“Not much of a diplomat, are you?” Arval mused. “You’ll need the practice if you are to reach your goals. How are you meant to be a leader if you cannot be charismatic, if you cannot be amicable?”

“I was taught that strength was the most important factor,” Cybis explained. “Everything else is secondary. This is…new territory for me. Maybe this is why Thales sent me here, to help me become a better leader in the future.”

But even then, Cybis did wonder. They remember, with haunting clarity, what it felt like to be on the brink of death. It had, in that moment, seemed like that was where Thales had wanted them. A failure, sent to the slaughter above. But they had survived, and they were more certain now, or at least had convinced themself so, that it was all a test. A test that they passed. Maybe not with flying colors, but they passed.

They wondered if Thales would be pleased or disappointed with that fact.

“If you say so…” Arval could be felt parsing through and digesting their feelings, and faded from view back into the recesses of Cybis’s mind. “But know that I am your Lord and your friend, before all others. We are partners in destiny, after all. I would not dream of sending you to die, especially when we have so much laid before us.”

“Thank you, my Lord.” They sigh. “I ask for your strength in dealing with these beasts for the school year.”

“You already have it,” They can feel Arval’s smile in their words. “You already have so much strength, and this will only serve to make you stronger. Now, go! You do not want to be late!”

“Hey, there’s the mercenary!” Claude greeted Cybis outside of the classroom, leaning up from his position on the wall to come toward the approaching figure. The door was shut, and it appeared to Cybis that Claude was waiting for them. “How did you sleep?”

“Fine.” Cybis answered. They eyed Claude suspiciously. “Why are you out here?”

“To welcome you to the Golden Deer proper, of course.” Claude smiled. “Since you didn’t take up my offer to get introduced to the class beforehand, I just want to run through it real quick with you. To, you know, get you more comfortable.”

“I can manage fine.” Cybis moved to go through the door, but a sidestep by Claude put him in the way.

“No, really, I think you need it,” Claude held up his hands some, fingers spread in a disarming gesture. “We have some characters, so it’s good to just have some bearings.”

“What, you think they’re going to eat me or something?”

“One might try to, if you don’t talk to her the way she wants,” Claude chuckles. “And even if you do, she might still try. So! Let me just give you the run down, yeah?”

“...Alright, fine.”

“I knew you’d get it.” Claude winked. “This’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Then be quick.”

“Alright.” Claude nods, “First one’s you’ll notice, Hilda and Lorenz. Pink, and purple hair respectively. Hilda is the only daughter of Duke Goneril, a bit spoiled, lets others do the lifting for her, if you get my meaning. Lorenz is the son of Count Gloucester, and the heir, too. He’s a persnickety type, but he’s also a massive flirt.”

“Ok…” They both sounded insufferable to Cybis so far, Hilda especially. They came from privilege themself, but they don’t think of themself as lazy in any respect of the word. Of course, they couldn’t imagine any Agarthan to be lazy. Their culture is deeply entrenched in usefulness and work - to be lazy is to be dead.

“Marianne, blue hair, sad, haunting beauty. She’s Margrave Edmund’s daughter, another Lord. She’s really shy, doesn’t say much. Don’t know about her other than that. Then the last noble is Lysithea, of House Ordelia.”

That catches their attention.

“Ordelia?”

“Yeah. She’s the one with…well, she kind of looks like you, now that I think about it.”

“What do you mean by that?” they bristle. If they knew an Agarthan by the name of Lysithea, they would know her. But besides that, the Ordelias were one of their people’s upstairs neighbors. Cybis recalls that work was being done in Ordelia specifically, but was not disclosed as to what.

“I just mean she’s got white hair and super duper pale skin like you do. But a little warning? Don’t treat her like a child, regardless of how she looks.” Claude fixes them with a pretty serious look, for him. “I don’t get it, she’s the youngest of the class and all, but she’s really sensitive about it. She just about ate me alive when I made that mistake.”

“Noted, then,” They make no promises, they think to themself. A baby is a baby. Of course, to them, treating someone like a child meant being harder on them than older generations. It was an impressionable time, ripe for learning important life lessons.

“Then we have the commoners - Ignatz, Raphael, and Leonie. Green, blonde, and orange.”

“Wealthy families, I take it.”

“Well, Ignatz and Raphael, yeah. Merchant families. Ignatz is an outdoorsy type, and a second son. Says he wants to be a knight, but I don’t really believe that. Raphael…well, he loves food and working out. Super nice guy, though. Probably going to warm up to you real quick, as he does with everybody.”

“No, thanks,” Cybis curled up a lip in a slight expression of disgust.

“You may not get a choice,” Claude laughs. “And then Leonie, she’s a mercenary, like you. Worked hard and saved up money to go here, so she’s pretty good at pinching her coins. I dunno, I think you and her would have a lot to talk about.”

“Why do you get that impression.”

“Well, as I said, you’re both mercenaries, and plus you’re both pretty straight forward people.”

“I’m straight forward, huh?” Cybis leans their head toward Claude, looking at him curiously with his violet eyes.

“Yeah, I’d say so,” Claude explains. “You say exactly what’s on your mind.”

“Hm…You’ve got a lot to learn, then,” Cybis responds. “You don’t even know me.”

“But I could get to know you. Right?” Claude smiles again and winks, his eyes studying the pale figure before him. Cybis could practically watch his gears turning, trying to figure them out. Claude’s mind was one in constant motion, analyzing every angle of something before settling into one place. It didn’t help the inquisitive mind that the thing in front of him looked like one shape from one angle, and a wildly different one from another.

“Don’t count on it,” Cybis crosses their arms. “We’ll have to see.” If you can be useful to me, that is, they think.

”You should consider opening yourself to the idea of friends,” Arval tells them. ”To reach our goals, allies are more useful than enemies, would you not agree?”

“Looking forward to it, then,” Claude moves and opens the door, motioning Cybis inside. They keep their eyes on him as they pass, and then into the classroom, where they see seven distinct colors of heads, as well as some tawny ones, which they assume were standard sorts of students. At the head of the classroom stands a tall, blonde figure they recognize from before - Professor Jeritza - who is busy scratching out a lesson with chalk on a board before they get started. Cybis thinks to themself, as they lower their hood, how…primitive it all looked. The wood, the dustiness of the professor’s script, the smell of old books lining the walls, paper and parchment. Long had their people abandoned pages for files and screens. It was a way to prevent decay and further loss of the slim past they already had. Many things - stories, histories, songs, poems - were destroyed or lost completely in the annihilation of Aillel and the Great Flood, never to be recovered. At least they had their elders to tell the tales they saw firsthand, so that it might be documented again. Though, Cybis thought, it was a way to not let the past hinder the future. At least, that is what Thales told them.

Claude filed close behind them, and eyes lift and heads turn to regard the new student. As Cybis passes desks, they note Marriane and Hilda sitting in the back right, Hilda in the outside bench, who gives them a little friendly wave. Marriane was the only one not looking at them, which checked, reminding themself of the word “shy.”

On the other side in the back sat Lorenz, whose eyes were moving up and down Cybis in a judgemental fashion. Sizing up competition, perhaps?

Ignatz and Raphael sat in front of Lorenz on the left, Raphael on the outside. The smaller waved, and Raphael let out a cheerful hello.

Before them sat Leonie, and across from her and another seat forward was the one known as Lysithea, both turned backward to look at Cybis. Leonie squinted and nodded to them with a welcoming air, but when Cybis looked at Lysithea, she quickly turned back around in her seat.

“I sit next to Leonie, but you can sit next to Lysithea. She doesn’t sit with anybody,” Claude broke the small silence from behind them. “Other than that? Make yourself at home.”

“Up front?” Cybis asked skeptically.

“Well, would you rather take your chances in the thick of it with the more talkative types?”

“...You have a point.”

“See? Figuring you out already.”

Cybis stops to give Claude a frown before making their way to their seat beside Lysithea. They lean back on the wooden bench with a creak, looking around a bit more. They can already see conversations starting with the others, and no doubt about them. It was peculiar for a new student to join in the middle of a year, not to mention just a commoner off the street as Cybis appeared. Lorenz seemed especially perturbed at their presence here. A pointed, small, inquisitive voice from beside them pulls their thoughts back to the present.

“The church must really like you if they're letting you join partway through,” Lysithea comments toward them. “You have to be pretty skilled to get that kind of treatment.”

“You could say that.” Since the contract they signed forbade them from talking about what happened in the forest, they leave it at that.

“What sort of weapons do you specialize in?” She asks, leaning forward neatly and folding her fingers together on her books. She was petite, far more petite than Cybis - they could see why she would be babied.

“Swords.”

“That makes you unique, then,” she nods. “We have students who do use swords, but I would not say it is their preferred weapon.”

“Look, little lady, I sat next to you not to have a conversation.”

“Little lady?!” She exclaimed, her cheeks blushing up a strong pink in anger. “I’ll have you know that I-”

“Attention.” A deep command from Jeritza fills the space and silence falls. “The lesson begins.”

The class moved in a group toward the training grounds after the technique lecture, which nearly put Cybis to sleep. They were far more accustomed to action rather than sitting and listening to a monotone voice tell them about proper form. However, it seemed like teaching in such a fashion wasn’t suited to their professor, and so he brought them all for demonstration and practice. According to Claude, this was typical.

“Choose your weapons,” Jeritza stands in the middle of the sand of the arena, holding a lance. “Fall into sparring partners or target practice. I will be watching.”

The students began to split up, and Cybis felt a bit like the odd man out, until a hand on their shoulder made them jump. They turned around, and looked into the face of the girl named Leonie.

“Hey! I was hoping I could catch you for a spar.” She smiled at them. “Whaddya say?”

“Why me?” Cybis frowned slightly.

“Well, how many people our age can cut it as a full-fledged mercenary? I want to see how you fight!” She trotted over to the weapons and selected a lance from against the wall, holding it in both hands as she turned to look at them again. “I heard you work with dual swords. Are you thinking assassin class? What’s your discipline?”

Well, they think, at least this was a kind of conversation they know they can carry. Combat was about the only thing they really cared about.

“Dual swords is sort of…new. For me..” Cybis explains. “Let’s just say my discipline is old.”

“Oh? Sounds cool, I’d love to read about it.”

“I don’t know what it’s called.” That’s a lie. Agarthans had their own way of fighting, one of the few things that survived their descent. Even if Cybis wanted to be honest with this stranger, they doubted there were books on the surface that held any of that information.

“Then I guess you can show me, in that case!” She gestured at them to follow her into the sands, and they grabbed a sword from the rack as they followed. She stood in front of them and positioned herself, stance wide and her lance slung behind her, in long form. Cybis simply settled in a triangular stand, staring at her, studying. They could already predict her movements based on her footing alone.

Sure enough, she slings at them wide, and they move backward in response. She keeps her swings wide and disallows their forward movement. A lance could be difficult to combat with a sword for this reason, but that was not a deterrent for them.

They resist using their abilities, as tempting as it is, instead ducking below the pole and closing the distance between them on the height of her next swing. They strike upward, but she is admittedly quick, and blocks it by gripping the lance in both hands, pushing their blow back. In a move she doesn’t expect, they grip the pole. Her eyes widen a moment before she’s pulled forward, her boots dragging, and they attempt to swing against her neck. She changes her grip to angle the lance to block the flat of the blade, and pushes the end of it in a quick snap to smack against their side. They’ve decided to rip it away from her now, moving their elbow over the length and kicking her away. That seems to do it,her grip coming loose, and she plops back against the ground. Almost lazily, they point the lance’s blade at her. She smiles, a competitive light to her amber eyes.

“That was pretty clever! You barely even used the actual sword to disarm me…” She notes, working herself back to her feet and dusting herself off. “Now that I kind of know what to expect, how about we go again?”

“How about you actually try to keep up with me this time?” Cybis taunted her, tossing her back the lance, which she caught midair. They were beyond confident that she wouldn’t be able to overcome them, and they doubted even further than anyone in this room, or even in this monastery, could.

Leonie chuckled, and put herself back into position.

“Oh, you mean don’t take it easy on you this time?”

Cybis noticed that her stance was different this time. Perhaps she actually meant it.

She came at them quickly, tapping into a wealth of training and technique that she perfected herself. As Cybis parried and blocked with her, trading flat blows, punches, kicks, something was familiar in the way she fought. She went for cheaper shots and worked to create openings and weaknesses, moves that were not of a specific thought process or technique. This was the fighting style of a survivor, and a strong one at that.

It was when she tried to trip them that it struck them like lightning… The Ashen Demon. It was like they were transported to the past in that moment, and in a flash, Ensis particled into their hand, meeting her with two blades in favor of one. Their spar had attracted attention now, and that of their professor in particular, who watched at a distance with a curious and shadowed gaze.

Time fell away and Cybis fought with instinct, perhaps too enthusiastically, the sharp edges of their blades coming for her now. If one fine blow struck, she could possibly lose her life right then and there. The realization seemed to dawn on her a bit too late, and one of Cybis’s swords swiftly slashed across her cheek, and she fell away immediately.

“Stop, stop!” She shouted at them, holding her bleeding cheek. It seemed to snap Cybis out of it, and they were pulled back to the present, breathing heavily and staring at her. She seemed, strangely, impressed, but shaken. It was then Cybis noticed the other eyes of the class on them.

”Now you’ve done it…” Was the remark from their Lord. ”We will lose our opportunity for growth before we truly began to seize it.”

“Cybis,” Jeritza called. “Such behavior is prohibited for sparring sessions in class.”

“Maybe she shouldn’t have come at me like she was going to kill me.” Cybis was quick to cast the blame, a bit too quick. Red hot embarrassment scalded their belly, making them feel sick. She fought like she knew the Demon, how could she have done that, what does she know about Jeralt’s Mercenaries…

“Hey, you told me not to hold back! It’s not my fault you can’t handle it,” she huffed. One of the students, one Cybis did not know, fetched her and led her out of the training area. “And even then, I wouldn’t have even dreamed of turning an edge on you like you did!”

“And I was just responding to the threat-” Cybis attempted to argue with her as she passed by, turning to watch the pair go through the door, but the air for it escaped their lungs too quickly.

“However. If you wish to train roughly, you will train with me.” Jeritza’s voice was closer than they expected, and turned to see the professor standing right behind them. Up this close, it was now viscerally impossible to ignore how tall he was, and how dead his eyes seemed, peering at them from behind his white mask.

“Like you’ll be much more of a problem than she was,” they sneer up at him, their whole body feeling warm, too warm, too ready to bite and kill whatever came at them next.

“Try me.”

Cybis blinked at the response. He was deadly serious. But at least this might present a challenge, at least this one might be the outlet they needed from this sense of anxious humiliation.

The other students gave the pair of them space, and they stood a measured distance apart. Cybis gripped both of their blades. Jeritza stood, relaxed, neutral, with the tip of his heavy lance resting in the sand.

“You boast of your strength,” Jeritza commented. “Prove it to me.”

Cybis narrowed their eyes, and flashed toward him, but was met expertly, deflected backwards with so much as a flick of their opponent’s lance. They pressed forward again, and each blow was met and discarded as if it were nothing. Shifting angles only caused Jeritza to take measured steps in certain directions, the steps of a man who knew his size and the space he occupied far too well. Every limb was in perfect tension and control, and comparatively, Cybis was feral. Their style was fluid but striking, like a snake, but Jeritza remained unmoved. Any strike the professor made against them was deliberate and brutal, smacking Cybis about. It only angered them more, they refused to lose against a beast, no matter their expertise. With every clang, swipe, and jab they became more and more desperate for an opening for their win, which began to make them fight sloppily. Jeritza made them pay for it, hitting every opening with precision, and a deft strike to Cybis’s hand sent their spare blade flying across the sand.

If only they could match it, if only they could mirror it..so they did. Quickly, they adapted techniques, staring at the tension of their opponent’s muscles to see where he would swing next, using their sword as if they were wielding a lance, putting their natural talent for mimicry as an Agarthan to work. A wide swing, a jab there, and they met blows again, but it was not enough to make Jeritza lose this spar.

Jeritza’s lance went high, and down it came with a blurring ferocity-

A shale-colored shaft caught it.

Cybis and Jeritza both looked at the weapon between them in confusion. It was the same color and quality as Ensis, but now, it took on the form of a completely different weapon - a lance.

”I didn’t know it could do that!” remarked Arval with wonder and excitement. Cybis’s eyes glanced up to Jeritza’s, and they pushed the larger man back. They took the lance in both hands and started swinging toward him, tapping into polearm training. Jeritza dodged the blows, and glanced it off when it came near. He allowed the cocky student to come nearer, before sweeping with his weapon to knock them off balance. It did indeed meet its mark, and just as they were about to fall, the professor’s hands reached out and snatched Cybis’s collar, and pointed the lance tip at them.

“You are finished,” Jeritza said, plainly as fact. “You lost your focus.”

Cybis looked up at him, indeed still a bit uneasy from learning about a new ability, and Jeritza let go of them, landing with a thud on the sand.

“Will you really not eat with the others?” Arval’s voice came from behind Cybis’s shoulder as they sat at their desk alone in their room, eating a ration pack. They were dressed in their Agarthan clothes, and fully intending on going to sleep after wolfing down their meal.

“After today? Absolutely fucking not.” They tossed a wrapper angrily across their desk, leaning on their elbows as they picked apart their protein block. “How am I supposed to lay low when everyone acts like they’re better than me?”

“I think that several of them were keen to be your friend, actually,” Arval responded, coming into view at their side.

“What? No, they weren’t. They’re just…looking for my holes. My buttons.”

“I think your expectations are ruining your experience here.”

“My expectations are the reality, my Lord,” they huff, refusing to look at them. “No one does something for nothing, no one just makes friends. All of them have an angle, even I have an angle. It’s naive to assume otherwise.”

“...Basic training was not good to you.” Arval ventured softly. “Was it?”

“What are you talking about? Basic training was fine, it’s always fine, it’s prepping you for the future. It wasn’t kind because life isn’t kind.”

“It just feels that…perhaps you expect what happened to you there to happen to you here.” Arval continues. “You fear being the odd one, you fear being singled out, so you are making sure they ostracize and fear you instead before they get to know you.”

“I don’t want them to get to know me,” Cybis snaps, whipping their head to glare at the other.

“I know. But…perhaps you should let them. If we are to defeat the Ashen Demon-”

“Ashen Demon, Ashen Demon, is that all you can think about?”

“Isn’t she all you can think about?”

Cybis’s mouth remains partly opened, before they swallow and fall silent. It was true. Even if they didn’t talk about her, she was always there. That woman, haloed by the full moon, sword gleaming like a wicked smile as it struck for them…

“I know you saw her when you fought Leonie. Something about her reminded you of her,” Arval reminded them. “You should investigate it.”

“I don’t want to t-”

“I am instructing you to do so.” Arval’s voice took on a commanding tone. Almost reflexively, Cybis felt themself submit to the order.

“...Yes, my Lord.”

A knock on their door caused Arval to vanish in a blink, and Cybis to look past the spot where their Lord had hovered to the entrance.

“What do you want.” Cybis called.

“It’s me, and…someone else.” Claude’s voice came from the other side. “Open up, would ya?”

“Who is the other person?”

“Hii, I’m Hilda, we haven’t met yet!” Came a feminine voice. “Claude said he was going to check on you since you didn’t come to dinner so I tagged along!”

Oh, great.

“Go away,” Cybis replied loudly.

“Yeah, can’t do that, friend,” Claude responded. “See, I’m the house leader, so I need to make sure that you’re alright, and I can’t know you’re alright unless you at least open the door.”

“I’m alright, then.”

“Not good enough, I gotta look at you!”

Cybis’s eyes rolled back into their head as they closed them for a bit. Their body practically vibrated with how much they wanted to be left alone right now, but there was no way around it. Cybis stood up and opened the door, just enough for them to be seen and not into their room. There stands Claude, casually with his hands on his hips, and Hilda beside him, her long pink hair pulled into two pigtails, her hands clasped behind her back.. She smiles cutely at them as soon as they appear, leaning toward them a little.

“Oh wow, hey, you are kinda cute!” She taps her finger to her chin, and tilts her head. “In like a…weird kinda way. Where are you from?”

“Not anywhere close by,” Cybis was growing more uncomfortable by the second. Claude seemed to notice, and such an emotion tilted his eyebrows inward.

“Look, you don’t have to be embarrassed by what happened at training today. Prof’s a real hard one to please.”

“I don’t care about that,” Cybis’s tone is short and annoyed.

“Well, at any rate, Leonie is fine. Professor Manuela said she won’t even have a scratch on her when she’s done healing.”

“Great. Is that all?”

“Just wanted to say that none of us think badly of you, is all,” Claude offered. “I know I’ve felt like I couldn’t fit in before, but then I figured out that it doesn’t really matter. So don’t go too hard on yourself, ok?”

“Thanks.”

“...You sure you’re alright?” he persisted.

“Yes, I’m fine. I just don’t want to talk to you right now,” Cybis explained, frustrated. “I just want to be left alone.”

“Let’s go, Claude.” Hilda tugged on Claude’s sleeve a little, casting Cybis a confused but worried look. “We’ll talk to you tomorrow, ok? We’ll even save a seat for you at lunch.”

“I’m not taking lunch.”

“Oh, yes, you are,” Hilda grinned and pointed at them, winking as she teased them. “I’m expecting you there. Ok?”

“Whether Cybis is eating with us or not, we’ll see him tomorrow. Right?”

“Duh,” he puffs out. “Can you go away now?”

“Sure thing. See ya.” And with that, Claude and Hilda turned away back into the night, and Cybis shut the door.

This year was going to be a nightmare.

Chapter Text

The library was quiet at this time of day, later into the evening after dinner. Most students preferred to spend their time with each other or off in town before shops closed, but few still remained behind to study. Cybis came here not to study, but to find someone. They knew she came here sometimes to get her money’s worth of education, as expected from someone who worked so hard to get here.

They saw a few notable heads, but the orange one they sought was on the other side of the room, her back toward them. They moved forward silently, weaving through the old mahogany desks and chairs, and appeared on the other side of her table to look at her. Leonie looked up out of her book at them, her mouth pursing a bit as she waited for them to speak first. It was clear there was still a little sourness to her after yesterday. They could see the freshly healed pink strike on her cheek that would undoubtedly fade completely in time.

“About the spar-”

“Oh? An apology?” She interrupted them, putting her book down but open flat in front of her.

“...Sure,” they lied. After a pause, they sat down across from her. “I wanted to talk about how you fight.”

“That’s not how you apologize to somebody, you know,” she retorted. “Say it like you mean it and maybe we can talk.”

“Ok, fine,” Their pride would have to be sidelined if they wanted answers. This could possibly help them find the Demon, or at least learn more about her. “I’m sorry I kicked your ass in a way I shouldn’t have.”

All it did was make her frown more.

“Really?” Leonie shook her head, “That’s also not how you apologize to someone.”

“Ok, ok.” Third time's the charm, right? “I’m sorry…that I lost my cool in the fight and cut you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

A thick pause passed between them as her amber eyes appraised them, analyzing whether they meant it or not. Either way, it certainly seemed like they were somewhat desperate to talk to her about her fighting skills, for some reason. Her brows knitted before they relaxed, giving Cybis a nod.

“Alright, that works,” she conceded. “Now you said you had questions about my fighting style?”

“Yes,” Cybis answered fairly quickly. “Where did you learn it from?”

She hummed before responding.

“I guess it’s a mish-mash of a few different things I’ve picked up or studied. I don’t really ascribe to a particular discipline.” She gestures toward Cybis, speaking with her hands. “But I was Captain Jeralt Eisner’s greatest and first apprentice! I’m sure you know them, being a mercenary like me - Jeralt’s Mercenaries. He’s the one who interested me in lance work. I’d say that’s the basis of everything I do.”

Captain Jeralt… Jeralt’s Mercenaries. This is the lead Cybis needed.

“If you know of Jeralt’s Mercenaries, what do you know of the Ashen Demon? She is in the company.” They pressed.

“Oh, the Ashen Demon is his daughter. Bethe, I think her name is - Bethe Eisner.” Leonie explained. “I didn’t get to meet her when I met the Captain, but she got her name because she kills without a single emotion on her face. Almost like…she doesn’t feel anything. Or…so I’ve heard anyway. Not a lot of people live to tell the tale.”

The fact that Cybis did was quite literally a divine miracle. They could see her now, on the back of their eyelids every time they blinked, the Demon bathed in white light, wearing the moon like a halo, her eyes cold, so cold and so unfeeling… And then so callously ending their fight. They were nothing to her. Just another target, another victim. She had come and done what she needed and nothing more than that… Cybis wished they could let her go as she had them. Something about her, like some sort of ghost…

They hadn’t realized they had leaned forward on the table, sunk deep into their daymare, until they refocused back to Leonie when she asked a question.

“What’s it about, if I can ask? You seem kinda…bothered.” She leaned forward, tilting her head a bit to the side in concern. “You ok?”

It was at this point Cybis couldn’t decide if they wanted to be honest or avoid this discussion completely. There was nothing that Leonie could do that would hinder them, she was no threat in their eyes. What they were aware of, however, was the old man at the bookshelf, just in line of sight over her shoulder.

The librarian…Tomas. They had avoided Solon perfectly until now. They felt, in some strange way, that he was listening, and the last thing they wanted was to reveal what humiliation happened in the forest those months ago. It would be nice to at least reveal that they had succeeded in their life’s purpose, that their Lord had awoken and now lives in their mind, along with their strange sword they call Ensis. It would be nice to brag, show their superior that he was wrong.

They were not a failure.

But now was not the time, not with so many students about… If they needed to speak to him, the opportunity would come.

“I have a personal grudge against them, that’s all,” Cybis explained shortly.

“Ohh…” Leonie responded. “Are you looking for them or something?”

“I mean…kinda. They’re just some mercenaries.” A bold faced lie. “Your fighting just sort of…took me back to a fight, and so I responded like-”

“Like you were fighting them again,” she nodded. “That happens sometimes. You see it a lot in soldiers and mercenaries, people that have seen a lot of bloodshed. Can I ask why you’re wanting to settle a score?”

“Not really.”

“Ok, well…if you ever want to tell me, I’m all ears.” She folded the book closed at last.

“...All ears?” The image that was conjured in their mind’s eye was certainly a strange one. Their confusion caused her to laugh quietly.

“Yeah, all ears, like…I’d be happy to listen.”

“Oh.”

“Though, I gotta say, your style is weird,” she continued the conversation. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Seems to have some roots with some older routines, like…way, way older, but unexpected about it. Sharp, efficient.”

“Sounds about right.”

“Care to tell me more about it?”

“If I did, I’d have to kill you.”

She raises her hand to her lips to stifle a stronger bout of laughter, before nodding and motioning.

“Ok, ok, but for real, what is it?” She asked again.

“I’m not kidding - I’d have to kill you,” they smiled. She rolled her eyes, still not taking them seriously.

“Alright, fine, don’t tell me,” she caved, “But I want to spar with you more so I can see it more.”

“Even after what happened yesterday?”

“Especially after what happened yesterday,” she grinned, “It’s not every day I meet someone that can nick me, even if it was unfair.”

“Hey, not my fault you-”

“And that you apologized for. You know that when you say sorry, it means you’re not gonna do it again, right? That you admitted you did something wrong and it was your fault, right?”

“Well, yeah…”

“Anyway, point being, I want to spar with you again,” she insisted. “But you have to stop and tell me if you’re feeling like you’re going back in time. Ok?”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It is, and it’s a safety issue,” she points at the mark on her cheek. “I don’t really want another one of these if you lose your cool.”

“...Fine, I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask,” she turned to check the time before starting to pack up her things. “Stayed here long enough… I should probably get going.”

Cybis didn’t respond, merely watched her as she put her books in her leather satchel and stood.

“But anyway, we’re fine,” she concluded. “I was a bit mad, but I’m not anymore.”

“I don’t care if you were mad,” they stated.

“...Ook, well, I’m just telling you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She waved at them with a smile before leaving them alone in the library. Alone, they sat back in the chair for a bit before getting up and stroking the spines of some books, picking up one and then the other to thumb through. It was the first time they had been in here, and some part of them was jealous that they had so many. Of course, their physical books didn’t exist anymore, only files and documents to be accessed by those that truly needed it. Due to the sensitivity of the information, only select few were allowed to read such things - even Cybis themself wasn’t given the clearance. Of course, they were only a vessel, not a future king themself, not in actuality. But possibly both, if this would be how it is - Arval sitting in their mind and providing commentary and orders. They wouldn’t protest it, if it were true. But then again, Arval was not Lord Epimenides, and whenever that change happened, they weren’t too certain on where their own consciousness worked into that equation.

They admittedly didn’t care much for the inner workings and science of it all. It either did or did not, and it didn’t matter to them how. Lord Epimenides lived in the great white server in the Rebirth Vault, but where or how, they would never know, nor how connecting them to it was supposed to give them the power they were always meant to have. So why then did it take dying to bring Arval to them? Would they disappear and Lord Epimenides only remain? And why-

No, no… It wasn’t their place to question it, to know and understand these things. They didn’t need to stick their nose where it didn’t belong. They were a warrior first and foremost and a vessel the next, not an inventor, scientist, or mathematician. Lord Epimenides was all these and more, and Cybis’s body was never meant to be their own. They had made their peace with that long ago.

Nothing was a greater honor.

They glanced up to see Tomas chatting with a student. It was weird, seeing the old mage like this. He was truly a master of his disguise - everything, even down to the way he held his eyes, and his manner was completely different from the Solon they knew. But still, even Cybis knew that disguises needed to bear at least somewhat of a resemblance to the host, in order to make it a seamless glamor with minimal to no glitching. They weren’t really explained the process beyond that, especially since they chose to go without a disguise, and they were content never to know, or so they try to convince themself. If they explained the situation with Arval, then maybe Myson-

“Can I help you, my boy?”

Cybis’s gaze shot immediately toward the voice, looking down at the hobbled figure of Tomas gently smiling up at them.

“Uh…hello,” Cybis looked around and saw only one student left in the room, which they assumed was why Solon bothered with a pretense. Just like with everything with him, this too was a test. “I wanna…look into ancient history, beyond the founding of Adrestia.”

“Hmm…I see,” Tomas hummed, tapping a finger to his chin. “Sadly, there was a great flood which took with it most of Fodlan’s ancient history. The most that are left today are religious texts dictating the past, or myths and legends.”

“Nothing survived the flood?”

“Well, anything that remotely had has been banned,” Tomas explained.

“What? Why?”

“The clergy fear the truth,” Tomas trains his eyes upon the Cybis. They could see Solon now. They could only assume the other student had gone by now. “And they fear us.”

“As they should. Do you know where they put them then, if they exist?”

“Foolish boy, you know our histories well - you live them day to day, you live them now. You have no need for what scraps remain when you have already read the full versions. You read them as a child, as does every Agarthan.”

“Like what?”

“The Romance of World’s Perdition, for one. Do you not remember?” Solon sneered. ““The False God must be defeated before the world sinks into a watery grave. To this end, the children of men have erected pillars of light upon the land. Thinis, Malum, Septen, and Llium were utterly destroyed. Those lands have vanished from this world. Yet even still, the-”“

““-Even still the False God stands, of course I remember.”

“Seven months on the Surface have not dulled you completely after all. May I ask why you were fraternizing with such cordiality with the beast known as Leonie?”

“She knew some things I needed to know, that’s all.” Cybis frowned. “It doesn’t concern you.”

“Watch your mouth, infant,” he snapped instantly, “Awakened or no, I am still your superior.”

“Wait, how do you-”

“No one can be quiet about a student that produces a blade from thin air.” His hands settled firmly on his cane. “Show it to me.”

“My…sword?”

“Of course your sword, you simpleton. You warrior types are all alike…”

Cybis set their jaw and held out their hand, producing Ensis with little to no effort, showing him. Solon observed it, lifting a hand to softly grip the blade, feeling the material of it. Warm, like a living being made of stone.

“Promising, even if you have little magic… You can shift it to different weapons?”

“I…I can, but I can’t control it yet.”

“You will devote time to this.”

“Yes, sir,” Cybis nodded. “May…may I ask what it’s made of?”

Solon looked up at them with a frown bending the lines of the old, cheerful face in an odd way. He clearly debated his answer before giving it.

“Stone. It is your Core, sharding into your blood and reassembling into your hand. It is, essentially, your soul.”

“My..my Core?” Cybis didn’t know that they had one. Such immortality vessels were reserved for higher ranked officials, ones whose legacy needed to be preserved beyond progeny. “I have one?”

“Less yours and more Lord Epimenides’s. It is how you bear Him now.” Solon explained. “Curious, though, that He has not taken your body by now…”

“We’re on a quest, on His order.” Cybis only partially lied. To reveal that Lord Epimenides was a barely pubescent child who did not remember who they were would be to admit failure. “So I…bear Lord Epimenides’s Core?”

“What? Waste His perfect, one-of-its-kind Core on a whelp? And on top of that, a whelp that could have been a total loss and failure?” Solon scoffed. “We had it replicated.”

…Then it was due to them, the scientists, that Arval was…Arval. The Core…the Core wasn’t finished. Arval was not finished.

“What are you thinking?” Solon criticized, scrutinizing Cybis closely.

“...For reasons beyond me, I need to find the Ashen Demon.” Cybis dissolved Ensis back into their body.

“Ah, yes, the Ashen Demon, the mercenary you were asking the beast about…” Solon hummed. “Why is it Lord Epimenides desires this?”

“He doesn’t reveal His designs to me, I am merely His vessel,” Cybis shrugged. “I do as He tells me. I just ask that there is no interference.”

“There shall be none in our Lord’s way, do as you must,” Solon agreed. “In the time you hunt the Demon, ingratiate yourself to Claude von Riegan, your House leader. There are machinations in motion that will secure themselves in the near future. You will be our foothold in the Leicester Alliance.”

“Is that all you have for me, old man?”

“If you did not have our Lord with you, I would cut that tongue out of your head this instant.”

“Lucky me.”

“That is all. We will not correspond further for some time. I go below soon, to monitor our progress.”

“Also lucky me,” Cybis grinned. “Sweet dreams, sir.”

And with that, they turned on their heel and made their way back to their quarters.

“Solon, you said his name was?” Came Arval’s curious voice as Cybis got ready for bed, pulling their sleep shirt over their head.

“Yes, someone you knew a long time ago, my superior,” Cybis explained. “Was he familiar to you?”

“I am…not certain. I know I do not know this Tomas’s face, if that could perhaps bar me from recognizing him.”

“Fair enough. Well, I don’t think that’ll happen any time soon, he rarely leaves Garreg Mach. Not unless something important was happening, I don’t think you’d see him as he really is.”

“What does he look like?”

“Well, a big, obnoxious, ugly head for starters. You’d think that with our reincarnation tech, he’d pick something that at least wasn’t that weird looking…”

“Is that what he was talking about? The Cores?”

“Yes, that’s what they’re for. They’re to make sure no one important really dies.”

The pause suggested…disapproval.

“No one…important? Everyone does not have this Core?”

“Why would they? They’re difficult to make, rare.”

“But…does not everyone deserve to live?”

“Well, not everyone is that important.”

Another, thicker pause. Thick enough to make Cybis question exactly what they said wrong.They swallowed and sat on their bed, fiddling their fingers.

“My Lord?” They asked finally, looking around as if they could catch a glimpse of them, of their expression. All they could feel was…sorrow.

“I do not know if I believe that.”

“It’s just the truth, My Lord… You knew that as well as I do, once.” Cybis more softly bargained with them than said it as fact.

“No…no, I do not believe I did,” Arval quietly disagreed, “This argument feels…familiar to me. However, I…I do not wish to carry it on further.”

“Yes, My Lord.” They almost immediately went under the covers and nestled on their side, feeling a jittering restlessness at the idea that they displeased Arval. “I…I am sorry.”

“No, you simply do not know better,” Arval answered. “In time, you will.”

Chapter Text

The last of the bandits fell with minimal effort as a portion of the Golden Deer worked deeper into the fortress, Cybis leading the charge with Claude, Hilda, and Leonie in tow. They were clearing out another stronghold in the dungeon, and Cybis cut down the head of the snake in a few clean strikes.

“Hey, over here!” They heard Hilda call from down a stone hall. The others went toward her immediately while Cybis sent the soldiers scattering, then followed at a certain distance behind.

“Do you think she’s still alive?” Leonie asked, looking at a red headed girl contained in an old cell. She was unconscious and chained to the wall, like she was being held for something.

“No point chaining up a dead body.” Cybis offered, phasing away Ensis.

“Give me a hand here.” Claude approached and held the lock in his hand, turning it to look it over as Cybis approached.

“Move.” They instructed. Cybis pushed the tip of their Athame into the hole when Claude dropped it, taking a few paces back. Cybis pressed hard and twisted the sword hard, the force of it causing a click. With a rapier-like movement, they removed the lock and flicked it away with the tip. Claude raised his eyebrows.

“How often did you get to practice that one?” He asked.

“Enough.” Cybis pulled open the door, and the girls moved in toward the chained individual.

“Oh my gosh, poor thing… She’s breathing at least!” Hilda told them.

“I think she might be a student, judging by the uniform…” Claude thought allowed, and pulled out a key from a pocket. “Here, got this off one of the thieves. Try it.”

Hilda caught it when he tossed it, and worked to unlock the chains. When she was loose, she slumped, and Hilda caught her in her arms. She shook her gently to try to wake her.

“I think we need a minute, if you guys could get Professor Jeritza…”

Hilda was cut short by the sound of a warp. The four of them looked toward the sound, seeing a mage all in black, a plague mask obscuring their face. Instantly, they fired a ball of dark magic at them.

No way… Is that…

Cybis’s Ensis tangled and threw the darkness away, staring down the Agarthan toward the entrance of the prison’s hallway. What are they doing here? What do they want this girl for? Despite their questions, they had a hunch - experimentation, demonic beasts… But then why her by herself and not with others?

“I’ll take care of it, get the girl out of here.” Cybis told the others.

“I can help,” Claude offered.

“I said go, I’ll catch up.” Without another word, Cybis shadow slid away from them and toward the mage, closing in on them. Claude watched them for a moment before helping Hilda and Leonie get the other girl out of the cell and further down the hall, trying to find their professor.

Cybis was no match for their fellow Agarthan, defending as they might against their doubling blows. They punched directly into the beak of the mask and sent them reeling backwards, and Cybis caught them by the front of their robes, pushing them onto the ground and kneeling beside them to rip the mask away. Indeed, it was a mage, one of their kind. The eyes went wide with recognition, though Cybis did not know them.

“M-my prince!”

“What are you fleas doing here?” Cybis growled at them, gripping the fabric at the base of their collar tighter.

“Ack- The girl, she was…for Kronya-”

“Kronya?” Cybis barked. Oh, they knew her well. She was pitted against them in their youth, and had often encountered her in the palace. She was more an attack dog than anything of use, but still thought of herself as more than she really was. She was egotistical, and a sort of ego that bumped up against Cybis’s unpleasantly. “What did she want her for?”

“She was…going to use her as a disguise to infiltrate Garreg Mach as a student, the Black Eagles! Magister Solon gave the order!”

It made sense… Black Eagles was admittedly Cybis’s first choice. With the proximity to Thales and the deep interest the Agarthans had in the Adrestian royal family, it was a sound place for an agent to be placed. They are now completely convinced that the house would have ended up crowded.

“Where is she now?” They demanded, shaking them a little to maintain their fear.

“She is out at the plaza!”

“You and the others, tell them to leave now or they will meet their end here. That is not a threat, that is a promise. Understood?”

“Y-yes, sir!” They evaporated in purple pulses from Cybis’s hand, and they stood up, shadow stepping through the halls to get back out to the plaza, where they first entered the fortress. Sure enough, there she stood with a few others, playfully twirling her own Athame, always fond of her tricks. She was indeed waiting for something, or someone. Likely more the students, they think, than the prince of her people and the vessel of the great Lord Epimenides.

They flashed to a stop just out the door of the fort, holding both their blades at their sides, approaching her, walking to her by foot.

“Kronya!” They shouted. She turned instantly at the voice, blinking before a wide smile stretched her pale face.

“Well, well! If it isn’t Prince Cybisthon!” She replied, shifting to lean on a leg, tossing the blade up and down as she appraised them. “What are you doing here, Your Royalness? Just to get in my way? Or maybe to get my attention?” She winked.

“As if I want to see you here,” they spat at her, standing a few feet away. They didn’t dare put away their blades as they faced her, knowing her to favor her cheap shots. “Pack it up and head out, you won’t be able to get the girl now. Cut the loss.”

“Uh, what? Excuse me?” She straightened up, putting a hand to her chest. “I brought her here to take her body, and I’m not leaving without it.”

“You’re going to have to, or I’m cleaving your head from your shoulders, those are really the only two options that you have.”

It caused her to laugh, a shrill and intense sound that never sounded genuine.

“Prince or not, I was told to take the girl,” she insisted, jabbing the blade toward Cybis. “And don’t fool yourself for one second that you’re my commander!”

“And I was told to maintain my position at all costs. You’re compromising that position by being here.” Cybis smacked her blade away with one of their own, stepping closer to her. “Move. Out.”

“Make me,” she teased, smiling and crouching low into her first position, her eyes sharp and predatory, hungry. She itched for a fight, and it seemed to Cybis that she wasn’t going to leave without one. Of course, they knew her well - she wouldn’t allow herself to fall here. All they would need to do is defeat her, and she would retreat before her life was taken. How fortunate, then, that she had a Core of her own.

Not even a moment passes, and Cybis strikes for her.

They had no time to dance with her as they usually do, wanting her gone as quickly as possible, and ideally before the rest of the Golden Deer got out here. Kronya hacked and slashed, with the skill of an Agarthan assassin. Her flourishes and whips twirled around their own, two fighters of the same cloth pushing and pulling at one another. Cybis settled her into her routines, so similar to spars that they had shared in the past, and that was when they changed the formula.

In a dark flash, they changed direction, coming at her from behind. Her eyes widened at them, and it was enough of an opening to slash into her defenses. Her offensive began to drop and they lunged at her, keeping her from trying to hold them off. In the corner of their eye, they saw movement in the massive doorway of the fortress - the students.

The imprisoned girl now rode on the front of Professor Jeritza’s horse, still unconscious. Claude was the first to act upon seeing Cybis and Kronya, jogging forward and immediately snatching an arrow from its quiver, drawing it and pointing it directly at Kronya.

“Don’t! Stay back!” Cybis barked at them, shadow stepping to keep her on her toes. Claude hesitated to lower his bow, but kept it drawn, watching them with bright, wary eyes.

“Aww, what? Are you protecting them?” Kronya taunted, “Are you actually getting attached to these vermin?”

“I just don’t want them getting in my way when I finally kill you,” Cybis hissed back. They took a deep breath-

Lend me your strength, like you did before, My Lord!

My partner in destiny, you always have it with you.

-and in a blaze of alabaster light, a transformative power shocked across every cell of their body, much quicker than their first Awakening. The paths were already blazed, cleared for the currents of electricity weaving from organ to organ, and once more time and space collided into one tangible singularity. They could feel Kronya’s movements before she made them, and at every turn they managed to meet her with perfect precision. Dark magic flowed through them and slashed out of their dual blades, pushing her back.

She began fighting like a cornered animal, frenzied slashes instead of practiced strikes and desperate leaps instead of deft dodges. In a moment, Cybis struck at her with their metal blade as their Ensis rearranged into a lance in their other hand. She attempted to slash at them with a side swipe, and they answered with the polearm, swiftly directing a hefty, upward, flat swing against her head. The strength of it sent her reeling and skidding across the stones. She managed to slow herself enough to slide and not lose the blade she gripped so tightly in her hand. Cybis gave her no reprieve, and closed in on her in a single flash. Kronya barely had enough time to stop the sharp edge of the lance from meeting with her neck, blocking it with both hands on the Athame. She gritted her teeth and looked up at Cybis as her arms shook from holding them at bay.

“You…you’re not alone…” She gasped, in shock and…dare they call it fear?

“You do not stand in your God’s way,” Cybis growled at her, their white hair glowing and whipping white hot, their purple eyes ablaze. Their grip reoriented on the sword in their other hand, the blade downward. They shifted their footing to bear it down on her, and as quickly as it approached, she gripped it in her hand. Her skin began to slice and bleed, and she felt it slip closer and closer to her chest, and on the other, the lance inching closer and closer as she attempted to keep it from meeting its mark.

She saw no way out of it. Her prince would take her life, and her Core would be taken for her failure.

Cybis’s lance and sword smashed together with a resounding clang as Kronya warped away in a fizzling blip of darkness. Within moments, the power within Cybis faded, and the pavilion was left silent. They looked up at Claude first, who was laxing the bowstring and putting his arrow back into its quiver, and he met them with a curious and puzzled light. The rest of the Golden Deer were silent as well, staring at Cybis and trying to understand exactly what it was they just saw.

“Umm… Are you feeling ok?” Hilda called, the first to break the silence.

“...Let’s get back to Garreg Mach, yeah?” Cybis suggested, and looked to Professor Jeritza. “Right, Professor?”

“Yes. We have more important things to attend to.” Jeritza walked his dark, massive horse forward and past Cybis, back toward the school.

Cybis assumed this was not the end of the discussion, no matter how quiet it was on the return journey.

Claude finished explaining the situation as he had heard it from Archbishop Rhea, that Tomas would be taken into custody as soon as he returned from his journey elsewhere. The Deer were all gathered up together, discussing the situation at hand. Cybis was curiously silent, leaned against the wall and picking at their nails.

“...What do you think, Cybis?” Claude asked, looking directly at their ivory classmate. Cybis lifted their head when spoken to.

“What do I think of what?”

“Of the whole situation with Tomas,” Claude reiterated. Lorenz scoffed.

“They ought to end his life on the spot! The churl's enmity toward the church is plain for all to see!” Lorenz spat, crossing his arms.

“All the more reason to keep him alive and question him,” Claude reasoned, turning his gaze to Lorenz instead. “You really think he's working alone?”

Cybis’s eyes diverted from Claude as soon as they were released. They didn’t like how close this was getting. They should have killed the girl on the spot, Kronya shouldn’t have been keeping her alive for so long… She knew and saw too much, and now their entire internal situation was compromised. It seemed that it was all on their own shoulders now, and without correspondence. Putting Solon into custody simply wouldn’t be possible, but of course they kept their mouth shut.

“I mean, Rhea seems to trust this Monica girl, so I guess we have no choice,” Hilda hummed indecisively. It seemed to Cybis she suspected that Monica was the inside agent.

They began fidgeting again, which Claude noticed in the corner of his eye.

“So is it safe to assume Tomas hired the bandits that tried to kill us?” Cybis heard Ignatz ask.

“No one has proven he was the mastermind behind it all, but there is no doubt he was involved,” Lorenz insisted.

“These walls were supposed to keep trouble out, but now everything feels very different…” Leonie murmured more to herself than anyone else.

Marianne sat up from her chair and looked toward the door of their meeting room.

“Wait…” She said in her quiet voice, “Do you hear that outside?”

Cybis lifted their gaze to the room and then to the door, where they could hear the clanking of armor and the distant shouts of orders.

Solon was returning.

Without a word, they hastened from the room. Claude sat up instantly and stood to follow.

“Tomas must’ve gotten here, I’ll be back.” And he quickly followed behind Cybis down halls and stairways. Cybis didn’t look behind them once, busy moving at a top speed without the suspicion of full out running toward the gate. They didn’t know why they were bothering to see him arrested, but it felt important. They never liked Solon, not even a little bit, but he was still one of their commanders. On the slim chance they could catch one as slippery as their leader, then they had more to worry about. The church would come for them next, they knew it. Or rather, they were paranoid of it.

“Hey, Cybis!” Claude quickened to a jog to catch up with them. “You went off in a hurry, what’s up?”

“Not now, Claude, like literally any other time could not be worse…” They tried to outpace him, but it didn’t work, the house leader was too quick. They dashed down a set of stone stairs. The sound of voices and armor was closer now, and the front entrance to Garreg Mach was in sight.

“What’s got you so worked up?” Claude asked again.

Just then, a sudden burst of purple, dark magic erupted from the center of the walkway down the stairs before them. It stunned Claude into silence as they both watched the librarian’s visage peel away into a sickly pale, large headed man with dark, blue-piercing eyes. The particles fade, and the old man looks at the knights surrounding him.

“Such hubris for mere vermin…” Solon hissed at them. “You will pay for this.”

And with a tap of his cane, he warped away in a stripe of purple light…but not before touching his gaze upon the white haired prince at the top of the stair. The knights floundered at his disappearance, and then ran off in different directions in efforts to find him.

Cybis could feel a pair of eyes boring into them, and looked to their side to find Claude staring at them. It was an analytical yet shocked look. Cybis could see pieces clicking into place in his mind, and there was no stopping its progress. Cybis felt so horribly visible…

They ran from him.

Claude put his tray down in front of Cybis’s in the mess hall the next day, sitting down rather quickly before the other could escape.

“Would you mind staying in one place long enough for a guy to get a word in edgewise?” He puffed as he watched Cybis’s hands clench around his ration plate and swivel in their seat to leave. They fixed him with an annoyed glare.

“We don’t have anything to discuss.”

“You’ve been avoiding any opportunity for conversation since we cleared out those bandits,” Claude insisted. “I don’t have a ton of questions, just a few. Then I can tell everyone and they’ll leave you alone, alright?”

”Everyone?” Cybis quietly snarled at him, bending a little closer to him. “If you’ve told anybody about what you saw, no one is going to be able to find your body.”

‘Well, now you just added on a few questions there,” Claude’s brows pressed together as he looked up at the other. “Why is your power a secret?”

…Admittedly, that caught Cybis off guard. They thought he was talking about their exchange with Kronya, which was of utmost secrecy that they knew each other. They know they probably shouldn’t have talked to her, but she was such a chatterbox, that was a hard thing to avoid in a heated battle like that. Secondly, that it was specifically about Solon and the connection between them. Had he seen that the two of them saw each other and also knew each other? What does he know? What exactly is he trying to figure out? What is he asking without asking it? They stood there in silence, holding their tray, staring at Claude blankly. Claude wiggled his head a little at their expression.

“Well? What’s it all about?”

Cybis stayed silent as they carefully put their tray back down and slowly sat across from him.

“Look…it’s…” How were they going to be able to explain this in the most simple terms? “...It’s like your Crest activation.”

“You have a Crest?”

“No, I didn’t say I have a Crest, I said it’s like your Crest activating, giving you additional power,” Cybis explained. “That’s all.”

“I mean, I don’t know about you, but Crest activation doesn’t exactly make somebody have glowing hair and eyes…”

“Are you even actually listening to me?”

Claude paused and then nodded sympathetically.

“Right, sorry, not a Crest. So…what is it?” Claude paused. “And why can Tomas...uh, Solon…do the same thing?”

“...Like I know,” they lied, looking directly at him.

“Do you…want to know?”

“Not really, no, and if I’m honest, I’d rather just leave it alone and we never talk about it again,” Cybis nodded and gave a tight lipped smile. “You about done with me or are you gonna keep bothering me?”

“I…” Claude exhaled rather than finish the rest of the sentence. Clearly there was something there that he wasn’t asking, judging by the way his green eyes slightly narrowed as he appraised them. Cybis’s posture straightened as the house leader scrutinized them from across the table, their brows drawing together, their expression almost daring him.

“What were you gonna say?”

Claude’s analytical gaze immediately evaporated.

“Nothing really that important, don’t worry about it,” Claude shook his head. “I’m sure things will get answered with time, for you and me both.”

“Why are you that worried about where my powers come from?”

“Well, it’s curious, isn’t it? You have this…sword that shows up out of nowhere when you call on it, and then all of a sudden you’re lighting up like a torch fighting that pale woman at the bandit’s fort, and then we find out that T-... Solon has the same sort of…weird transforming magic you do. You can’t blame a guy for having a few questions,” Claude explains, then asks. “Who was she anyway?”

“She was the one who kidnapped the girl…uh, Monica.”

“Oh. Well, thanks anyway for handling her. You could’ve let me assist, at least.”

“I didn’t need your help, she was on the defensive by the time you showed up. If you’d interfered, there was a good chance she’d have brought in something a lot worse than those mages.”

“Worse than the mages? What do you mean, we could’ve had a whole legion on us or something?”

“What? No, the class and Jeritza aren’t that important. She would’ve probably brought in something to…exterminate you.” A pause. “Exterminate us.”

“What makes you say that?”

Cybis looked at him for a minute longer than was organic, sipped on their drink, and put it back down. They know they probably said more than they should have, but they saw no reason to give a full line of trust to this human, but also not a reason to completely withdraw the line altogether. They both played their games, made their moves, moved their pieces on the board, and it was a matter of time to see how it all played out. Claude was too intelligent for his own good, and Cybis was too egotistical to keep their mouth shut.

“Just a hunch,” Cybis replied.

“Just a hunch?” Claude echoed incredulously, leaning back in his seat.

“Yeah. So are you going to leave me to my meal now?”

“Well, nothing says we can’t eat together,” Claude winked at them with a smile, and picked up his fork to eat.

“You’re going to keep prodding and poking at me, I know what you are,” Cybis frowned as they resumed eating again. It made Claude chuckle.

“You know what I am?”

“Yeah. You’re one of those…schemers. Always looking for the way to get what you want out of people, or get them to say what you want them to say without actually telling them to say it.” Cybis chewed sharply on a bite of their protein block before continuing. “You think you’re smarter than everyone else so you try to make everyone else think your ideas are their own.”

“Well, me being called a schemer isn’t new, I can tell you that much,” Claude hummed. “As for the rest…that’s a pretty big leap of judgment, especially since we haven’t known each other that long.”

“Believe me, I know the type,” Cybis huffed. “When you know what to look for, it’s as clear as crystal.”

“Do you always expect the worst out of people or am I just that lucky?”

“The worst is just nature,” Cybis elaborated, their leg starting to bounce with frustration in their seat. “Anything else is…fluff. Substanceless.”

“Am I making you nervous?” Claude stopped pushing around his vegetables for a moment.

“Why would you say that?” Cybis scoffed.

“Because you’re trying to get me offended so I leave,” Claude smiled. “I know the type.”

Cybis inhaled deeply and stared at him for sometime, blinking a few times, before they could respond. Their nerves buzzed with irritation…and suspicion.

“Why are you still sitting here if you’re not trying to get something out of me?” They asked.

“Maybe I just want to get to know you as my classmate?” Claude shrugged. “Is that a crime?”

“No, just-”

“You don’t believe me.”

“You know? Honestly, no, I don’t.”

“Then let’s ignore the conversation we just had about your powers. Yeah?” Claude tilted his head a little. “Let’s just…talk.”

“If we talk it’s just going to be you asking questions about me and never answering any about yourself. Just like the first time we met, just like any other time we’ve “just talked.””

“So you don’t want to talk to me because I ask questions about you?” A half smile sat comfortably on Claude’s lips as he listened to Cybis nervously spit at him.

“There you are, doing it again,” They point out. “You just take and take, you don’t give. Or rather, you don’t give enough. I’m not showing you my cards unless you show me yours.” Cybis finally had enough of the electric energy running through them, and stood up, finishing their bullion drink faster than they probably should have. “I’m done with this conversation. And just for your information?” They leaned by their hands on the table toward him. “Whatever it is you dance around in conversations, someone is going to find out.”

“Yeah?” Claude leaned forward to look up at Cybis with a smug smile. “I guess someone could say the same thing about you, huh?”

Cybis’s lips snarled as they forcefully pushed themselves away from the table and stormed from the mess hall.

Claude’s smile faded as he watched his pale classmate go, squinting his eyes just a little.

He would figure this out, one way or another.

Chapter Text

What a coincidence that six months later, all three Houses all had to leave at the same time to deal with problems in their home countries. Lady von Hresvelg to address a coup in Enbarr, Prince Blaiddyd to hush a riot in Fhirdiad, and Lord von Riegan to an Almyran invasion at Fodlan’s Locket. Cybis analyzed the situation with a level of suspicion, remembering what Solon had said to them all that time ago. Since then, they had participated in the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, some silly game where the students played at war to earn a prize. Ultimately, the Golden Deer House won with Cybis’s help. The time hadn’t been wasted, they thought, having devoted time to the shape-shifting ability of Ensis, and by the time the battle had commenced, they would say they had a good handle on the mental mechanics of it. The trick was to imagine the sword in a different shape, to command it into reforming. If in the mind it was an axe, it would be an axe. However, they did find there were certain limitations to what it could do - even if it could take on the shape of a bow, it did not produce its own arrows, nor could it leave their hand. Trying to throw it produced disastrous results in a fight. Other than that, Cybis found it to be a formidable tool, and wondered if it could even mimic relic weapons.

Time would tell, they suppose. But time felt as if it was slipping away faster than it should.

“All this time and no sign of her…” Cybis kicked a piece of stone into the void where they discussed with Arval their next moves.

“Patience, my friend! It has been a short time still since you saw her last, in the grand scheme of things,” Arval assured them from their space in the air above them. “The Ashen Demon has not simply disappeared.”

“It’s been a year since I left Shambhala, and nearly a year since I saw her last. Where could she have gone…” Cybis mumbled more to themself than anyone else.

“It has also nearly been a year since you and I found each other, as well,” Arval added another positive twist, “I know you feel that you are running out of time, but be sure that you are not! You are on the road to mastering your abilities and the Awakening, and will present her quite the challenge when you next cross blades. I am certain she does not stand a chance now.”

“And what’s she been doing, huh?” Cybis finally looked up at their companion. “If I’ve been getting stronger all this time, she probably has, too. I can’t…shake that she has something up her sleeve, like we do.”

They can still remember it, too. During the fight, it was like puzzle pieces shifted in the picture of time itself - they looked at the piece as they placed it down, knowing exactly where it would fit, only to find when pressed into place, it doesn’t fit at all. It wasn’t correct, and it wasn’t their eyes or their body that did something wrong. Deja vu was a cloud that hung heavy over their encounter, with no explanation. Whatever she was doing, it was cheating. They had convinced themself of that fact through replaying the fight over and over in their mind, and knew it to be an indisputable truth now. In moments where their mind was empty of anything else, they worked themselves up to a feverish obsession, a hatred of her.

But alas, there had been no whispers, no snatches of green hair or piercing greyish eyes. Nothing, except for what they saw in fragments of dreams and memories. The feeling of blood leaving their limbs haunted their nerves even in slumber, the sensation of death like a shroud covering and darkening the world. It was difficult to shake, even when awake.

“Time only will tell if that is true,” Arval sighs. “But you are becoming stronger with each day that passes! The next encounter will be telling, when fate pulls you together once more.”

“Yeah, but when?” they growled. “I feel ready, why haven’t I gotten word of her?”

“In time, in time!” Arval insisted, “You have pursued her as much as you can with the limitations presented. I by no means call upon you to relax your hunt, but know that I am quite pleased with your eagerness. We need only find a better position in which to search for her.”

“Eagerness means nothing if I -” They hear someone come into the room of the lounge at the mess hall, eyes popping open and looking from their place on the couch, to see Claude coming toward them. Judging by the look on his face, he had something to say. Cybis didn’t move, and Claude waited until he was significantly closer to say anything.

“Hey,” Claude smiled, which had started to feel like a primer at this point for whatever he would say next, a way to soften up the person on the other side. “Got a second?”

“What do you want?”

“Look, I…” Claude exhaled audibly, putting his hands on his hips and looking around for a way to ease up what might sound like an accusation, before looking back at the other. “...Alright, there’s no nice way to dance around this - are you sure you don’t know Tomas?”

“Claude, we’ve had this conversation before, and I’m not exactly inclined to have it again,” Cybis hissed at him. It had been radio silence from Agartha since Solon was forced to retreat from Garreg Mach, and after Claude’s initial interrogation, the house leader had been hesitant to push the subject more. On some level, Cybis was grateful for the quiet - they were more than certain that somewhere, Claude would have been listening. On other levels, they desperately wished they were in the loop.

“I know, I know,” Claude lifted his hands slightly, defensively, “But I can’t shake it. I thought I’d just be honest and try to have it out right now.”

“Why? So you have an excuse to send an arrow through my neck?” Cybis leaned forward, elbows on their knees, eyes hardening. They could feel their nerve endings prickle in preparation to assemble Ensis at a moment’s notice. Claude’s eyes narrowed in confusion and then widened.

“What? No, I’m not saying you’re in league with them or anything. I mean, if you were, you’d probably have killed us by now, right?” Claude shook his curly head. “Who knows, maybe there's some mysterious clan out there with shape-shifting powers. And maybe they banished you when you were little and you don't remember it. It's possible, right?”

Cybis looked at him in silence for a few moments. Had Claude really talked himself into this corner after all this time, that they were some…lost orphan? Or was it some ploy to help ease them into confession?

“Maybe,” was all they offered.

“And look, I get why you’re so defensive about the whole thing, and I wanted to apologize for…coming after you like I did before,” Claude explained. “I haven’t really been able to let it go. Feel like you’ve been avoiding me since.”

“What, me avoid you for accusing me of being in cahoots with an enemy?” Cybis feigned surprise theatrically, putting their hand on their chest.

“I’m not accusing you! I’m just…well, you can’t blame me for being curious, yeah?” Claude moved again to come sit beside them. “Let me just explain where I’m coming from.”

Cybis just looked at him, silent consent for him to continue. Claude obliged.

“I only ask because people here also see me as something of an outsider. Guess I got a little ahead of myself,” he went on, then paused for a moment, looking into his hands, then back to the other. “Maybe I was just excited to meet a kindred spirit.”

“...You're an outsider?” Cybis was confused at the turn of the conversation. Claude nodded back.

“I remember you said that talking to me is…one-sided. I take and take, and don’t give,” he elaborated. “So, I…just thought I’d explain my side a little bit, so you can understand me a bit more. I’m not trying to get something from you, I don’t think you’re evil - like I said, if you were, I’m pretty sure you would’ve done something drastic by now. I don’t distrust you, and I don’t want you to distrust me.”

“Why are you taking the time to do this?”

“Because I think, deep down, you and I are alike.” He gave a small grin, something soft and sincere. “And I think if we were more honest with each other, maybe we could be friends.”

“Look, I’m fine with knowing you, but-”

“There you are, Claude!” The clank of Lorenz’s armor and his voice broke through their conversation, causing the pair to avert their gazes to him. “You must come quickly. We have an urgent message from House Goneril.”

“Sure thing,” Claude nodded to him, and looked to Cybis as he stood up. “We’ll pick this up later. Why don't you tag along? I'm not sure what House Goneril wants, but it can't be good.”

“I can't believe the Almyran army is invading!” Leonie exclaims in a hushed tone to Cybis, doing everything but physically pulling them to the side after the meeting with the House about what was coming from the other side of the mountain range. Cybis wouldn’t consider her a friend, they considered no one a friend still, but at least she was tolerable, with a good head on her shoulders.

“Well, at least you’re not going it alone. Seems like everyone but Margrave Edmund is on the docket to help defend the Locket,” Cybis replied, not very pressed about the state of affairs beyond how this could compromise or change their mission. Honestly, they could care less about Fodlan’s state of affairs, with how homesick they were becoming. Every bad thing here that happened was akin to kicking an ant hill in their eyes - something utterly insignificant, but one that caused great panic. “Just kick their ass, it’ll be fine.”

“This is the biggest army appearance from them since the Locket was built in the first place - Cybis, that’s practically a century’s worth!”

“Whatever’s happened to piss them off, there’s probably something more to it,” Cybis theorized. “They smell blood in the water. Didn’t you say they’ve always had some kind of beef with Fodlan?”

“It’s been more of a…war of cultural difference, in the past. It’s why Almyrans are treated with suspicion over on this side of the pass.” Leonie folded her arms comfortably, looking as people passed the pair of them to go about their day. “Almyrans are considered more of a warrior culture, and that’s put them at odds with Fodlandi ways of life in the past. People say the Almyrans believe we don’t deserve the land we have. Though, you could be right, there’s destabilization everywhere right now...”

“Exactly. It’s what any smart leader would do.” They would know. Causing unrest caused oversights, paths for disruption and infiltration. It was a trick as old as time - distraction. They recalled their lessons of tactics with Thales so long ago. It could very well be what their people were doing at this very moment. Patience…patience. Trust your commanders. “But this one doesn’t make sense - why would they dispatch such a big force? If it were me, it would be covert. Assassination. Choke the Throat, and move through unimpeded. Why all this pageantry?”

“You think it’s showing off?”

“Isn’t it?” The pair looked at each other. “If it’s not, whoever is leading the charge obviously isn’t thinking clearly. It’s showing me insecurity.”

“I didn’t think about it like that…” she hummed, touching her chin thoughtfully. “Might be something you should bring up to Claude, and Holst once we make camp in Goneril territory.”

“Later.” Cybis had agreed to help with this fight, this was true. If nothing else, it deepened their stance in Leicester, and gave them an excuse to kill more of the beasts. Besides, it led them from the fold of the school, and therefore more chance they could finally find the Ashen Demon. “I need to get acquainted with our newest member.”

“Ah, yeah, Shamir!” Leonie nodded. “Would make sense to get to know her, being as you’re both mercenaries. I should probably do the same sometime. But I think I’ll tell Claude what you said right now.”

“Go ahead. Let me know when we head out.”

Leonie gave a small wave as Cybis left the meeting room to go toward the training grounds. They could see her down there, drawing her bow with practiced, steady hands and shoulders. They admit they’ve seldom seen such elegant work with a bow. Claude tended to snap into position, quicker than a breath with a whisper of wood on wood. But Shamir, in one fluid, controlled motion she drew and positioned her arrow, letting it fly true into the flesh of the straw target a significant measure away from her. They trotted down the steps and slowed as they came behind her, observing her work at a distance. A few minutes passed in silence, before she turned her head toward the white figure behind her.

“You.” Her voice was sharp, without pretense or frills. “You're the ex-merc who enrolled in the academy, right?”

“That’s me,” Cybis came closer so she could look at them properly. “Cybis Fox.”

Her gaze seemed to size them up, her purple eyes quickly darting up and down them before she spoke.

“Shamir Nevrand, but you knew that already,” she introduced herself. “I'm a mercenary by trade myself. Though I'm actually with the Knights of Seiros right now.”

“Why is a mercenary working for the Knights of Seiros?”

“Bit early for that, isn’t it?” She cut that off in the bud before it had the thought to grow. “Let’s just say the pay is good, and we’ll leave it at that.”

“Nonbeliever.” Cybis nodded. “Fair enough.”

“Anyway, seems like you and me are in the same line of work. Let me know if you need something.”

“Actually, I have a question,” Cybis replied. “Do you know Jeralt’s Mercenaries?”

“Well, I know of them, but not anything beyond that.” She swapped her grip to hold the bow casually in one hand.

Well, that was the end of that lead.

“Great. Well, that’s all I had for the time being.”

“Could keep an ear out for you, if you like.” Shamir offered. “Obviously I’m not in the field, but…one hears things.”

“That works.”

She nodded at them, and Cybis stood there for a beat longer than they probably should have, which caused some confusion in them. They expected more.

“You’re not going to ask me why?” Cybis asked.

“Why would I?” She replied flatly. “It’s not my business.”

That actually got a bit of a grin out of them.

“Finally, someone who isn’t nosy around here. I think we’ll get along.”

“So long as you keep your nose out of my business in return, maybe so.”

Shamir turned and went to retrieve her arrows from the training dummy, and Cybis also went their own way.

Through their time on the surface, it had occurred to him that cooperation got them more than hostility. With their own kind, it was imperative to assert dominance wherever possible. One lapse, one kind word, could indicate weakness that needed to be culled. Conversations were pissing contests, and favors were simply not done. Cordiality was not an acceptable concept in a war culture. However, they had now begun to learn the art of neutrality. It was still admittedly hard-going, and they weren’t inclined toward it. Their first reflex was to push help and challenge kindness. Sickeningly, these beasts wouldn’t leave them be most of the time. Best to play at their game, to the best of their ability. At least, with some of them.

Cybis had never seen a wyvern up close before. Now they saw hundreds of them, all bearing Almyran banners and colors, their riders raining down arrows and axes on their heads. The first task was to clear them from around the Alliance base to secure their position. It was there Cybis got to see Holst Goneril in action - Hilda’s older brother, a swordmaster twice the size of a grown man. What might he had was matched by his mind and manner, and he worked cooperatively with Claude and the others. Cybis was impressed with the strength, and wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of it.

Once the area was no longer compromised, Holst was mobilized toward the center assault as a distraction, while an even split took the strongholds to the north and south. Claude kept Cybis near, and together they began to secure the positions for the pincer tactic he had planned. Nader, the second in command of the Almyran army, advanced on the Alliance stronghold as the so-called Prince Shahid stayed comfortably protected in the center. Nader was driven away into a forced retreat, and the numbers were dwindling as wave after wave of them found no purchase or crack in the Goneril defenses, their bases were being cut down one by one. One final wave pushed toward the Throat with the Prince himself at the charge. A feral, desperate man, Cybis noted, watching him fly above, screaming at his soldiers to keep pushing.

Desperation… Something to prove, as Cybis predicted.

“You stand in the presence of Shahid the Great, next king of Almyra!” Shahid declared above the throngs of soldiers, so many yet so defeated. The pair of them watched as his great brown wyvern landed, blowing dust and rock from the ground with its beating, leathery wings.

“I thought I recognized you…” The prince sneered at Claude, his chin tilted up to look down on the other. “You look just like my horror of a little brother.”

“Then for your brother's sake and my own, it's time to put you in your place,” Claude replied, swiftly arming an arrow. Cybis inhaled and pushed the Awakening through their body in a well-practiced rush, neon white hair whipping with power.

“Let’s gut him.” They flashed forward to deliver their first blows as Claude provided direct cover. Shahid was armed with an axe, and were it not for that fact, he would not need to stay grounded for so long. Such underestimation was his undoing. Claude’s arrows met exactly where they needed to, and Cybis’s blades were sharp and precise. In his rage of his defeat, Shahid’s performance began to unravel, and eventually he took to the sky in retreat of Cybis’s blades. It was now only Claude could reach him.

“How dare you challenge me!” Shahid yells from above, trying to dive toward the house leader. Claude’s next arrow brushed across his cheek, causing the wyvern rider to pull out of the maneuver, sailing high above as Claude’s keen shots kept the creature from coming back down.

“I would make my escape if I were you!” Claude called up to the prince. “You're not gonna like what comes next!”

“You swine... Turn that loathsome face from my sight!” He screeched from his lofty place in the sky, “In every way, you remind me of my wretch of a brother! I will be the end of you one day, I promise you that!”

With that, the pair of them watched him retreat toward the east once more. The battlefield already felt calmer, with whatever was remaining of the Almyran force either dying out or running back after the defeat.

“Could go after him, cut the head off the snake,” Cybis suggested. “He’s weakened, and with no army to support him, it wouldn’t be hard.”

“Nah, at the end of the day, he's still royalty. The last thing we need is some army tromping in here trying to avenge him, y'know?” Claude didn’t look at his fellow soldier, instead remained gazing at the sky. Cybis studied him for a moment longer before speaking.

“Claude, when you said you felt like an outsider-”

“Hey! You know, I bet Holst and them are wondering where we went off to,” Claude interrupted, smiling brightly at them. “You can bet your last coin that we’re going to have a feast after this victory. Not that you…eat. Really.”

“I eat, just not your food.”

“Yeah, your diet or whatever it is,” Claude chuckled. “Whatever it is, you can still join in. Maybe I can tempt you with a drink or two?”

It was the first time Cybis felt inclined to say yes at their first instinct. There was something here that wasn’t quite explored, something that Claude didn’t want to say but came close. There was a mystery to both of them that they wanted answers for, and it wasn’t like they didn’t get along. Maybe…spending time getting to know him would be…nice. And maybe the same, in Claude’s eyes.

But their directive…

“...Not likely,” Cybis answered after a beat. “I need to stay sharp.”

“Then no drinks, just good company,” Claude insisted. “We still have to pick up where we left off before we left for Fodlan’s Locket. Besides, I have some stuff I want to talk to you about.”

“There’s your angle, per usual,” Cybis’s lip curled in displeasure. They couldn’t believe they almost fell for it. “Just out with it, it’ll save us all the trouble.”

“Not until the celebration. You have to come, even if it’s just long enough to hear what I have to say.”

“You’re leaving me no choice?”

“None at all,” Claude was clearly amused with himself, grinning at him.

“Have it your way.”

The feast was held in the banquet hall of the stone fortress, Fodlan’s Locket, one that stood both as bulwark and as the Goneril estate, perched upon the mountains known as Fodlan’s Throat. The massive windows boasted spectacular views across Riegan territory to the west, and of Almyra far in the distance to the east. If one squinted, one could see the dark mass of soldiers still retreating to their homeland. The sunlight was dwindling into the night, torches hung from grey stone walls and candle chandeliers hung from vaulted, carved stone from above, which provided illumination across the long, wide table set with every food imaginable. Against the far wall large kegs of beer and wine were mounted, for the liquid entertainment of the guests, soldiers, and nobles alike all gathered here in celebration of Alliance victory. The massive room was full of people, and fine, delicious smells, lively music, and the noise of happy chatter.

Cybis sat halfway in a cold window facing the east, a distance from all the commotion around them. They held in their hand a beer mug, to keep up appearances and to not be bothered, filled with water, and wore something on the nicer, tidier side than their usual attire, but not a full formal outfit. They didn’t care that much. After all, the last thing they wanted was to be caught unawares amidst all this joy-making. They were only here to hear what Claude had to say, besides. That was lost for now, as they had spotted him not too long ago talking to Holst and Hilda, after of course he floated to every single person he even remotely knew. They didn’t understand how he managed to do it, but they supposed it was part of being the charming leader, the lord that could get anything done if he just said the right words. The con man.

They wondered how much of it was genuine, and how much of it was an act. It seemed that every time the two of them neared…something, Claude showed a card under his sleeve, causing Cybis to bolt backward. It was supposed to be Cybis that looked for the angles and holes and niches, not the other way around, and like Aillel was Cybis going to get caught with their guard down. Maybe it was like Claude said - because they were both different, misfits, outsiders. Cybis could even say that was true among their own people, even though that thought would never leave their lips. They could never show how they really felt, what they truly thought, never be vulnerable and always sleep with a knife under the pillow. It was so exhausting when they were younger, to have two eyes in the front and one in the back. Getting beaten by classmates at basic training was enough to teach them to be louder and meaner than the others to be left alone. They never felt like they were like the others, like they belonged somewhere else, almost in another time entirely. And their body, stronger than most, faster than most, better than most…

That’s right, they reminded themself…they were perfect.

It wasn’t Cybis, it was them. The classmates. His “fellow” soldiers. Those that couldn’t understand, couldn’t comprehend who and what they were dealing with until it ended in red. But Thales did, their superiors understood. Cybis didn’t belong with those unworthy worms, the common slag of their army, but above, alongside the elite. Whatever Claude thought they had in common, he thought wrong. They weren’t alike in the slightest.

“Phew! I'm so stuffed I can barely move!” Claude's voice was heard before his body came into view in Cybis’s periphery, leaning his back on the window beside them. He smelled slightly of wine, confirmed by the half glass of it in his hand. “I tell you what, that Holst? He sure knows how to throw a party.”

Cybis only hummed back, still thinking more than listening. Claude’s smile faded a little as he watched them, then turned to rest his elbows on the sill and look out where they were.

“Pretty, huh?” Claude commented softly. “You probably know this, but out there is Almyra. Boasts a desert just beyond here, then, heat gets broken up in the hills and valleys of the next mountain range. From there, it fades into these vast, fertile, green prairies as far as the eye can see. Settlements start popping up there, aside from the odd oasis here and there on the west side, all the way out to the capital. It’s green all year round because of the pine trees and temperate weather.”

“If it’s so lush, why do they want to come over on this side?” Cybis asked without looking over to him.

“Prince Shahid was bent on something personal, I think,” Claude shifted his gaze from the horizon to the edges of his glass instead, a thumb tracing the rim. “Almyrans use battle as a way to prove their worth. That’s falling out of fashion as far as I know, but it has deep roots. And what better way for the future king to show he’s better than his brother than to conquer the neighbors?”

“You certainly know a lot about it.”

“Well, I have to, being the next Duke von Riegan.” Claude falls silent for a bit as he looked back out toward Almyra. “So what are you planning on doing once you get done at Garreg Mach? It’s coming up.” He looked at Cybis again. “You going to stick around, fork out for another year?”

“That’s a waste of my time, I have other things to focus on.”

“Can I ask what?”

Finally, Cybis looked at Claude in return. A beat of silence passed between them. Claude waited, then sighed.

“Right, the one-sided thing,” Claude nodded and looked back out the window. “Ok, I’ll say something first. Remember when I told you I’m an outsider?”

“I do.”

“Well…I have Riegan blood, but I grew up about as far from nobility as you can get.”

“Are you a bastard?”

“Well, no, not really. But I’m not…as legit as some would want me to be,” he explained. “One day, I might give you the whole story. Out here in the open isn’t exactly the place for it, if you know what I mean.”

“Didn’t know it was that serious.”

“Honestly, it could threaten my life, let’s say that.”

“Well, saying that makes me more curious.”

“I promise I’ll tell you one day, if this discussion goes like I’d like it to,” Claude briefly puts a hand on his chest as he looked at Cybis. “Care to hear me out?”

“...I’m listening.” At least Claude gave him something to work with. If he wanted their trust, more of this sort of thing would have to happen. They would not pour into his cup without getting some back.

“Once we're done with the Officers Academy, I was thinking you might join me in Leicester for a while,” he offered. “I tend to get the full "who's this upstart" treatment around Leicester, so I could use someone reliable like you at my side.”

“Who ever said I was reliable?”

“Well, you have been so far. You saved us from bandits twice over, a crazy lady with orange hair, and now helped defend the Locket itself.” He gave a soft smile. “I’d call that reliable.”

“I’m not some noble’s errand boy or guard dog, so get this idea out of your head,” Cybis was quick to refuse it. “As I said, I have my own shit to deal with when I get out.”

“Hunting down those mercenaries, right?” Claude pressed. “Jeralt’s Mercenaries?”

Cybis’s head snapped from Claude’s face out to the cheerful crowd, their spine jolting straight, and found Leonie’s distant face before she ducked out of view. They’ll have to put her right about sharing their business in the future.

“Yes, Leonie told me, and I promise it wasn’t easy,” Claude continued. “Don’t get mad at her for something I pestered her for.”

“You looked for leverage,” Cybis turned their head to bore their violet eyes directly into him. “You looked for your fucking angle, and you found it.”

“I won’t ask you why,” Claude went on as if Cybis wasn’t beginning to boil across from him. “But I wanted to offer an exchange. You come to Leicester with me at the year’s end, and I use my family’s influence and connections to track them down. And then you can do...whatever it is you need to do.” Claude nodded once toward them. “I won’t stand in your way.”

Cybis filled their lungs with air, their jaw set angrily against their teeth…

”I understand your anger, it tastes like betrayal on your tongue…” Arval echoed across their mind. ”However, do consider this offer. You have no standing as he does. This is the opening we need. Use it to your favor!”

They then exhaled, their gaze relaxing into more irritation than rage.

“I have a debt that needs to be repaid, suffice it to say for now. I need to find those mercenaries.”

“And I’ll help you.” Claude agreed, his frame obviously relaxing from bracing for whatever it was that Cybis was going to say or do. “I won’t push you about it. And maybe one day, we can share the full story. Right?”

“Yeah…maybe.”

Not likely, they think.