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Altered Emblem Ch. 16
🕑 Added 2024-12-14 12:00:11 +0000 UTCThe rain came without warning.
Thick, cold droplets hammered down from a sky choked with slate-gray clouds. It fell in sheets, slithering through the canopy above and soaking everything below. The forest's once-golden light dimmed, shadows stretching long and sharp. Rain dripped from leaves like beads of glass, gathering into streams that trailed down bark and over roots.
Byleth felt the first cold splash hit her cheek and blinked, wiping her face with a gauntleted hand. Water clung to her hair, matting it against her skin in dark blue strands. Her cloak grew heavier with each passing moment, the fabric slowly drinking in the rain like a sponge. She pulled it tighter around herself, eyes narrowing on the path ahead. Visibility was getting worse.
“Perfect.” Sylvain muttered behind her, his voice wry but thin. He tilted his head up, letting the rain hit his face with a long, exaggerated groan. “Nothing like a good downpour to make an already bad day worse.”
“Complaining won't dry you off.” Dedue said, his voice as calm and unshaken as always. Rain ran down his bald head in clear rivulets, and he didn’t seem to mind.
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Sylvain shook his head like a dog trying to shed water, flinging droplets everywhere. “But I reserve the right to sulk a little.”
The cold air smelled of wet earth and pine, a sharp, grounding scent that mixed with the faint tang of iron still clinging from earlier. Each step the group took was accompanied by the slick squelch of boots on mud, the sound swallowed quickly by the constant drumming of the rain. It was quiet in a way that wasn’t peaceful. Too many sounds, but none of them right.
Byleth’s eyes shifted toward the edge of the treeline. Her eyes didn’t stay in one place for long, flicking from shadow to shadow like a bird watching for movement. She was back in her element, as strange as that may sound. She had already spent quite a while just teaching her students, and yet, the idea of being in danger from an unseen threat was like second nature to her.
It told her a lot more about herself than she liked to think about, honestly.
The rain didn’t let up. If anything, it grew worse, as if it heard her thoughts and agreed with them wholeheartedly.
Three days of marching through twisting forest paths that seemed to shift when you weren't looking, trees stretching higher and denser the further in they went. The undergrowth was slick with mud, roots jutting out like gnarled fingers reaching for ankles. Every night, the rain drummed against the tents like the steady beat of war drums, and every morning they woke up with damp clothes that never fully dried.
Byleth felt the weight of it all. Not just the rain clinging to her cloak, but the creeping fatigue that came with long travel under heavy skies. It wasn’t the first time she’d done this. It wouldn’t be the last. But somehow, it felt heavier now. Maybe because this time, she wasn’t alone.
Her students trudged behind her, quieter than they had been on the first day. The rain had stolen even Sylvain's energy to quip. Ashe was busy checking his bowstring every few minutes, his fingers running along it to make sure it hadn’t frayed from the moisture. Annette’s spells sparked faintly in her hands, flashes of blue light like fireflies caught in her palm. It was something she'd started doing when she was nervous, Byleth had noticed. Little arcs of lightning crawling over her fingertips like restless insects.
Dimitri’s eyes never left the path ahead. He had spoken little since they’d left Garreg Mach, his thoughts clearly focused on the mission. His jaw was tight, shoulders stiff. Even Dedue’s watchful presence wasn’t enough to ease that tension. It was the look of a man burdened by something unseen. Something he couldn't put down, no matter how much he wanted to.
But of all of them, it was him that stood out the most.
The Archer was the only one who moved without the weight of the storm on his back. No exhaustion in his steps. No weariness in his gaze. If anything, the rain only seemed to sharpen him, like water sliding down the edge of a whetstone. He stayed ahead of the group, just far enough to scout but close enough that they’d never lose sight of him. His coat trailed behind him, its hem already soaked and stained with mud, but he didn’t seem to notice or care.
His weapons (the gun-blades, her mind whispered) hung low on his hips, the twin shapes barely visible beneath the folds of his soaked coat. Sleek, black metal with faint, sharp edges that reflected no light. Every so often, Byleth would catch the faint glint of rainwater trailing off the barrels, beads of silver sliding over the smooth surface like tears on stone.
And every so often, just the slightest bit of horror would find itself etched into her mind.
Truth be told, she didn’t know exactly why. Just that, ever since recently, she would periodically wake up with the certainty that the Archer was a monster.
A monster wearing human skin.
That thought lingered like the taste of bitter herbs on her tongue. It wasn’t fear. No, fear would have been simpler. Fear could be confronted, rationalized, overcome. But this? This was something colder, quieter. It was the recognition of something familiar in the Archer.
And that was the part that terrified her.
Her dreams hadn’t been hers lately. Not truly. In those dreams, she’d watch the Archer.
It had taken her a while to realize that, to recognize the hands that weren't hers. The weapons that were all too unique. The bitterness that was all too familiar.
She’d seen him walk through battlefields littered with corpses. Not step around them. Not leap over them. Through them. Footfalls slow, deliberate, as he moved past faceless bodies, none of them worthy of notice. Fire raged in the distance, black smoke rising to blot out the sky. She remembered the acrid stench of it. The coppery taste of blood on the wind.
Too vivid to be nothing more than a figment of her imagination.
But most of all, she remembered her his face.
The calm face of a woman who had long since stopped trying to resist what he’d become. It wasn’t the face of a villain or a tyrant. It was the face of a man who had carved out everything soft, everything fragile, everything human, and discarded it with her his own two hands. Not out of hatred. Not out of greed.
Out of necessity.
She knew, deep down, that it wasn’t her dream. These memories didn’t belong to her. They weren’t hers to claim, and yet, somehow, she understood them. Every step he took, every quiet moment spent reloading one of his weapons, every sigh he let out as he watched a fire die out in front of him.
She understood it too well.
"Professor?" Dimitri’s voice broke through the fog, low and cautious. He wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were forward, his gaze sharp, like he’d noticed something in the distance.
Her body reacted before her mind caught up. Her fingers tightened on the hilt of the Sword of the Creator, her boots shifting to a ready stance. Her gaze darted to the edges of the treeline, her breath steady and shallow.
“Movement ahead.” Dimitri muttered, his eyes narrowing. His spear tilted slightly forward, like a wolf lowering its head before a fight. “Near the base of the tower.”
She spotted it too. The vague silhouette of movement through the rain. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. A flicker of shadow too sharp, too quick. A figure moving against the gray backdrop of stone and rain, weaving between crates and tents set around the old watchtower.
“Patrols.” Byleth said, her eyes darting between the figures. “At least four. Possibly more.”
“Six.” Daid a voice just to her left. She didn’t even have to turn to know it was him.
The Archer had appeared beside her like a ghost, his coat dripping with rain, his gaze locked on the tower. His eyes swept from left to right, cold and precise, counting faster than any of them could track. His fingers brushed one of his gun-blades, resting on the grip, thumb tapping the side once, twice, like a ticking clock.
“Two on the outer edge.” he said, his voice low but steady. “One by the crates. Another pacing near the southern tent. Last two are standing watch near the tower door.” His gaze shifted to Byleth, golden eyes half-lidded. “They’re sloppy.”
“No.” Byleth murmured, her eyes locked on the two by the tower. “They’re waiting.”
Of course, they were. Her eyes flicked to Sylvain, and in that moment, she saw the shift in his posture. The slack in his shoulders disappeared, his face hardening like iron fresh from the forge. His grin didn’t return, not this time. His grip on his lance was too tight, his knuckles whitening with every second.
“...Miklan.” Sylvain muttered, his voice quieter than the rain but sharp enough to cut through it. He didn’t look at her. His gaze stayed fixed on the tower like he could see his brother through the stone. His jaw clenched once, hard enough for her to hear the faint grind of his teeth.
No one said anything at first. The rain filled the space in their silence.
Dimitri’s eyes narrowed. "Sylvain," He said carefully, "If you-"
"Don’t." Sylvain’s voice was firm but not loud. He looked at Dimitri for the first time, his eyes steady but distant. "I know what you’re going to say, and you don’t need to say it. I’m fine."
“Are you?” Dimitri pressed, his eyes watching Sylvain with the same focus he gave to his enemies. “If you’re not, we can wait. We can think this through.”
“I said I’m fine.” Sylvain’s voice didn’t rise, but it was harder now, like a stone beneath the weight of a river. “I know what he is. I know who he is. But I’m not stopping.”
His gaze shifted, locking eyes with Byleth. “Don’t hold back, Professor. Not for me.” His smile was thin but bitter. “Miklan is...beyond saving.”
“...Tch.” Something about it must have rubbed the Archer wrong, as he clicked his tongue and left without another word, disappearing into the rain. Presumably to get a better vantage point. Not that he’d need it, to be completely honest. Byleth knew exactly how deadly he could be.
Gilbert cleared his throat, a rough, deliberate sound that cut through the rain like the crack of a whip. His armored boots pressed into the wet soil with a faint squelch as he stepped forward, his weathered gaze sweeping over each of them in turn.
"Focus." He rumbled, his voice carrying the weight of authority forged through years of battlefield experience. His eyes lingered on Sylvain longer than the others, but he didn’t say his name. He didn’t have to. “We are not here to settle personal scores. Our mission is clear. We retrieve the Lance of Ruin, and we eliminate all resistance.” His gaze shifted, hard as stone. “Hesitation will cost you your life. Do not waste it.”
Sylvain didn’t flinch, his lips pulling into a grim line. “I know.” His voice wasn’t sharp or defensive. It was calm. Hollow, even.
Gilbert’s eyes narrowed, but he gave no further comment. Instead, he turned to Byleth, the weight of his focus settling on her like the rain pressing down on her shoulders. “Professor. You have command. Your orders?”
She took a moment to think, eyes shifting to every figure around her. Each one of them ready in their own way. Byleth exhaled slowly.
“Three teams.” she said, her voice cutting through the rain like a blade. “Dimitri, Dedue, and Ingrid, you’ll push in from the left. Draw their attention. Cause as much noise as you need to, but don’t overextend.”
“Understood.” Dimitri said, his eyes already scanning the best approach through the forest. Dedue and Ingrid nodded in silence, already shifting their positions to fall in line.
Byleth’s gaze turned to Sylvain. “You’re with me. We’ll take the right flank. No hesitation. We move fast and we move hard.” Her eyes shifted to Ashe. “You’ll cover us from range. Prioritize archers and anyone trying to regroup.”
Ashe nodded once, swallowing his nerves. “Got it.” Sylvain nodded silently alongside him. Byleth frowned for a moment more. It really was unnerving to see the chipper student be so quiet, even if the brief moment of levity still sprang up here and there.
“Gilbert, you’ll lead the third team.” Byleth said, eyes cutting toward him. “Take Annette and Mercedes with you. Approach from the rear. Provide support for both sides as needed.” Her tone was sharp, precise, and left no room for argument. They had no time to argue.
Gilbert’s eyes flickered with recognition, then a slow, steady nod followed. “Understood, Professor. I’ll ensure they stay focused.”
Annette’s hands twitched as sparks danced along her fingertips, bright blue flickers like tiny stars caught in the downpour. Her eyes darted to Byleth, then to Gilbert. “Professor, I-" She stopped herself, biting her lip. She glanced toward the tower, her brow furrowed with unease.
Byleth knew what it was. Hell, she'd be surprised if nobody cottoned on by now. They'd had three days to figure it out, and neither Gilbert nor Annette were especially good at hiding the familial ties between them.
Mercedes stepped forward, her usual gentle demeanor like a quiet glow amid the storm. Her hands folded neatly in front of her, her voice as soft as the hum of distant bells. “Don’t worry, Annette,” She said, her smile warm despite the cold rain sliding down her face. “We’ll be fine. And so will you.”
Annette’s face tensed for a moment before she nodded, sparks fading from her hands. Her gaze shifted to Byleth, more focused now. “Right. I’ll do what I can.”
“Good.” Byleth said, her eyes scanning them all. She raised her hand, fingers splayed. Her gaze shifted from Dimitri to Gilbert, to Annette, to Mercedes, to Sylvain. Each one met her eyes, their resolve firm. The Archer was still missing, but she knew he would know the right time to strike.
He was a right monster, but that's what made it worse - the good monsters knew when to strike for the most impact.
They’re ready. Or, as ready as they could be for what amounted to an assassination and retrieval mission.
Her fingers curled into a fist. The signal.
"Move."
…
Commissioned by: FireRogueWolf25
