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[progenitorheart]

My the professors at this institution looked as though they hadn't a single thought rattling in their heads at times. Mitama cleared her throat. "You've seen the game running through the sands, I imagine?" She held out her palm, quill resting in it. "Should you aid my efforts at victory, I will attempt to cease my tendency to not submit my assignments."

“...You should be turning them in to begin with, but... alright.” Byleth pens his name along her inner wrist without missing a beat. “Good luck to you.”

[progenitorheart]

TO SHATTER A HART. — ♡

sunisoleil​:

her weapon falls from her hands.

             and she crumples to the floor along with it.

the ground lets her knee sink into it like an animal sinks it’s teeth into prey; but unlike the animal, she doesn’t tear away. lungs work in a frenzy to provide her the air to live— after all that had been lost. she’d watched as the dragon-winged girl ahead drove it’s spear right into the beast, heard it scream and writhe in it’s painful last moments. soleil didn’t even know what to think; part of her should feel accomplished, hateful even— but the other simply feels remorse. 

in her peripheries, lady camilla turns and excuses herself from the scene. the carcass trembles, whatever darkness left of it seeping into the earth, deep below. death wasn’t new, no. but the number of times you’d have to see it never numbed the next. 

quietly, she stands. her sword is messily sheathed; shield strapped to her back. everything she feels is sore, and her face contorts between a sob and a smile. her steps are slow towards the dead, but she continues to move; eyes set on the messy shock of blue hair, laced with grime and blood. he’s as expressionless as he was alive, but she couldn’t really judge— she hadn’t known him for that long anyway. the strings of her heart twang regretfully. she could’ve.

soleil crouches down next to him. 

         “hey, teach. let’s get you home, yeah?”

                                                    — fin.

[progenitorheart]

TO SHATTER A HART. — ♡

darklingdragon​:

She lay face down on the ground still, listening to the screaming of her muscles as they beg her to recover from the fall. The sounds of her peers facing the attack echoed around her, and Myrrh lifted her eyes slightly to look at the beast (one that had been human once - something that tugged at her heart, the familiarity of that creeping over the edge of being haunting) and frowned.

A nagging in her mind never left, no matter what she did to try and shake it off. ‘You will see where you are older, Myrrh, but you cannot abandon mankind to the darkness’. She saw. But was she strong enough? She knew she had to be - he was no longer here to be strong for her. Something stirred in the dragon’s chest as she swallowed her fear.

Clutching lance in hand, she rose and kicked up dirt as she ran full tilt.

roll: 19 (critical hit!)

cervid husks’ roll: 3 (miss)

With a scream somewhere between anger and fear, she launches the lance forward, firmly lodging it into one of the beast’s legs. Removing it with ease, Myrrh bounces back and takes off as it kicks back towards her in retaliation, though it missed the spot she had been in completely. Her free hand comes up to her face to wipe away the dirt that had caked on from her tears.

She would not bow out from the fight gracefully.

-> @progenitorheart​ !!

In hindsight, it was foolish to carry on in spite of the wounds dealt to him by the galestorm.

CW: gore, death.

next: @prodigiosusmagus​ or @sunisoleil​

The smell of iron is thick, cloying. Blood dyes red what was once gray and plasters the fabric to his skin, oozes freely where razor-sharp wind had mercilessly sliced into his body. A sensible person with his injuries would have retreated and avoided any further combat, sought out treatment because a soldier is more useful alive than dead.

But abandoning his allies while they’re still fighting—when they’re in similarly poor shape? He couldn’t do that. So he remains where he is, waiting for an opening to strike. Has to make it count, while he can still be of use.

Spearpoint cuts into the viscous rot comprising the stag’s body, clean and targeted to a hind leg; seemingly does little to actually impede its movement despite shattering bone, kicking the red-haired woman away before antlers are brought down—and for a terrifying moment, he thinks she’s going to die, starts to run knowing full well the effort is wasted.

Someone starts singing—Byleth looks up to see mist gathering around the pegasus rider, bowstring pulled back to let loose an arrow that flies true and strikes its target. Mount swerves to narrowly avoid being gored by the cervid’s remaining antler, and another lance finds its temporary home in darkened hide before draconic wings take to the air once more.

( some tiny part of him that can appreciate it at all whispers praises for how the song seems to flow like water itself. )

Gloved fists tighten around the iron sword’s hilt, sights set on branches of bone painted crimson. He’d severed a part of them earlier—surely he could do it again, before they inflict further harm to anyone.

                              as the saying goes, famous last words.

Perhaps the blood loss had gotten to him. Perhaps it was just a stroke of bad luck. Whichever one it was, moving to attack the beast would turn out to be a mistake, and a fatal one at that.

Byleth’s attack misses the Cervid Husk! (Roll: 3) Cervid Husk lands a critical hit in return! (Roll: 18)

Running—really, anything that required movement—ends up pulling at his wounds, a fresh wave of red saturating already ruined clothing to its limit. Still, he doesn’t stop, drawing the creature’s hollow gaze to him and earning a vicious snarl for it; it moves much faster than one would expect when it’s been crippled so, evading the swing of his blade and lowering its head before charging—

                                                  —!!!

A sickening crunch, the sound of flesh being pierced through... and the pain of something digging into his chest at several different points, grating against ribs and puncturing what he knows are vital organs. Weapon slips from his grasp and hits the ground with a thump, now useless with its owner in no condition to pick it back up. The stag's head lifts as if in triumph, with Byleth’s body impaled on its antlers—choked gasp leaves his throat, followed by a wet cough that splatters flecks of crimson onto rotted coat. Starts to feebly struggle, hands seizing hold of branches slick with freshly spilled blood to try and free himself before he’s tossed aside like a broken toy regardless, promptly forgotten as the beast turns to those who yet live.

It’s silent, save for the sounds of battle in the distance. Something about it is unnerving—as if he longs for someone to fill it with their voice. No one comes, though, and he resigns himself to enduring his final moments with only his thoughts for company.

His sister’s probably still fighting. She’ll be fine, though—she’s always been the stronger one. She’ll adapt to teaching the students when they return to the monastery, and the students will grow to like her in turn. Maybe they’ll finally learn to take better care of their belongings and stop losing them so often.

He feels cold, even though it’s spring in this world. Like he’s surrounded by ice instead of grass.

Sight goes next, and that’s a shame. The sky was such a pretty shade of blue.

Hearing stays for a while longer, and if he pretends hard enough he can almost hear footsteps approaching.

...

......

............

His consciousness is the last to fade, and it’s only then that he realizes he wanted to live.

[progenitorheart]

TO SHATTER A HART. — ♡

ceaselessblade​:

The beast howls, the scream seeming to distort even time itself as it ripples outwards. A silence seems to descend upon the plains, a low buzzing, and Ike can hear nothing but the beat of his heart thumping in his chest, a low groan that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. This, Ike is familiar with.

Ike would laugh if anyone told him that the power to change the battlefield came from those who wielded steel first. Yes—the footsoldiers did. In the end, they contributed the most after every battle, from the sheer volume of their march, like ants. They did it through slow attrition, with the flow of the force of nature. But magic did what was against it, changing landscapes in a scant moment. It was magic that held the gaze of a god and had the audacity to spit in it.

A low howling seems to echo across the planes, like wolves howling all at once. He hears it, and his heart chills both in familiarity and in fear. He can hear the whistling that would’ve come with it, if the timbre weren’t so low, the stag’s gimlet eyes staring at the sky as its front lifts entirely off the ground. It’s wind. Ike steps low, laying Ettard ahead of himself. If it were an axe, it’d cover more. He doesn’t lie down—he remembers Soren holding his arms and telling him clearly how the more experienced ones trail their blades across, parallel to the ground and so you look for the empty space–

The moment of tension breaks. Gale explodes from the Stag, furrows of invisible death tearing the ground to shreds as they bear down their group like the hounds of hell. The wind raises to a fever pitch, screaming in a single long blast that deafens the ear as it passes. Ike has to see. He opens both his eyes, even as the other regales him for his mistake by throbbing with pain and utter uselessness. Blood flecks the sky, clods of earth flying past as the thin layer of topsoil turns over from green into brown. He sees it—the empty space, so quiet it stares at him like the grinning of a slavering hyena. He throws himself to the side. His lack of armor doesn’t matter—the attack is simply too large for armor to blunt. A banshee’s cry rips open a scar behind him, gaping wide to swallow whatever’s left. Another empty space opens ahead of him, and he turns this time, dodging into the path of the previous blade. The turbulence ripples ahead of him and jolts his organs, but like a shield, the previous blade’s passing stops the next one. [Cervid husk rolled: 1… ]

From there, it’s like a dance—the first being the hardest, soundless, fastest, but yet leading all of the others behind. Soren would have laughed, would have said that wind’s lethality is in its silence, and to make all the rest follow would be its greatest mistake– But the sheer size of the attack makes it visible. What for ferocity and speed it gains—it measures in how it is telegraphed, and as the last blade passes, Ike finds himself gasping for air as he tries to steal back the displaced oxygen. Sound rushes back in. The group is scattered, tossed, but he can still see a few standing strong, like they’d never been hit by the wind at all. The deer looks bigger than it’d last been, wounds that were crawling with black worms simply now coated with an ill-looking paste.

Ike staggers to his feet.

It’s not over yet.

//next: @Progenitorheart

Their attacks are slowly, surely, wearing it down. They just have to keep at their current pace, until it finally falls—

A scream most terrible rends the air then, chilling him down to the bone and seeming to ripple the very space around its source. Perhaps the others too are petrified by the sound, though he cannot tell—he dares not look away from the battered form of their foe. Empty sockets shine crimson against the inky darkness of its form, the stag rears back to slam its hooves against the earth with another frenzied cry,

                                                  and a storm roars to life.

There’s nowhere to run or hide—an open plain leaves nothing for them to use to their advantage. Byleth plunges his sword into the ground, white-knuckled grip wrapped around the hilt to brace himself—

Cervid Husk rolls 20 to deal a critical hit!

—for what little good it does in the face of nature’s wrath. Scarlet blooms from a dozen wounds, seeping into fabric and spilling onto the dirt at his feet. He’s fortunate to still have his limbs intact when it finally stops, for how deeply the winds cut into his flesh—though that will be the least of his worries if he doesn’t do something about the bleeding, Byleth notes as he pulls his weapon free.

Periwinkle hues drift to his scattered allies, relieved to see that everyone survived, at least—albeit nursing injuries of their own after the storm’s passing. ( he should’ve learned at least one healing spell when he had the chance to. it would’ve been better than nothing. )

// next: @prodigiosusmagus​

[progenitorheart]

TO SHATTER A HART. — ♡

razurite​:

♪ —       there’s a flash of red and at first, they’re not sure if it might be caeldori or if it might be the beast’s eyes. one by one, shigure only watches, waiting for the first opportunity that presents itself. with every near blow, the sky knight drops in rapid descent only for the deer to turn its attention on its next prey and their efforts halted as they follow. hands tighten around the leather, a muted fury. they’re not fast enough. faster, they needed to be faster. they needed to buy them more time between its blows. at this rate, the hunter would become the hunted. ( or, maybe, they had been from the very start. ) faster. gold flicks in the direction of the dragon girl. there.

      sumire darts through the sky.

shigure rolls an 18 ( 14 + 4 ) to hit! cervid husk, 23 / 40.

      and their blessed lance rips through the cervid husk’s side, a spray of blood splattering across the ground as the creature nearly buckles —

cervid husk rolls a 9 to barely hit!

      — but not before it sends a razor-thin wave of dark magic in their direction, cutting across sumire’s body and the pant-leg of shigure’s uniform. crimson blooms against the mare’s coat, but sumire has seen worse. they both have. so, neither rider nor mount bow to the fight. instead, their attention skirts the field and hand is stretched out toward the princess of nohr. gold turns upon their allies. they worry. they always worry, but. ( they were supposed to trust and shigure wants to believe that they’d return home, safe and sound, as they had from all battles before. ) “lady camilla,” they urge. “we don’t have much time.”

@progenitorheart!

The not-quite-flesh making up the stag’s body stretches and knits itself back together, but the process is a slow one and cannot outpace the rate at which it is being cut apart. Injuries accumulate on their side—some worse than others, looking at the bulky swordsman in particular—emphasizing the necessity of ending the battle sooner rather than later with no one in the immediate vicinity capable of using healing spells.

Hooves pound against the dirt, the husk’s head lowered with intent to impale another on its antlers—still stained with blood from its earlier success—as it thunders toward him with a scream that could almost be mistaken for human.

Cervid Husk rolls a 4 and misses! Byleth rolls a 10 to attack with Wrath Strike! Cervid Husk: 21.5/40 HP.

An idea comes together, risky though it might be—Byleth breaks into a run in its direction, nimbly avoiding its wrath at the same time his blade moves in a flash of steel to shatter bone with a resounding crack. The beast howls, now missing a substantial portion of its antlers as the remains fall to the ground in pieces, and the professor falls back to make room for another’s followup. “Don’t let up! Keep hitting it!”

// next: @sunisoleil​ or @prodigiosusmagus​

[progenitorheart]

TO SHATTER A HART. — ♡

razurite​:

♪ —       it is not so different from the war of their childhood, shigure thinks. two kingdoms were trapped in the desperate clawing for redemption and sacrifice in the name of a greater good; their grandfather of more than two generations past vying for his children to return home to quell the monster he too became after splitting his soul into two. ( how desperately he wanted to be as human as the rest of his kingdom. ) this war is pettier, they think with quiet contempt. they know no more than anyone else. maybe less, than those born of this place. maybe that is still the part of them that is a child, thinking any battle soldiers were prepared to die for so simple.

      but, here shigure is again, marching to do combat for a cause they did not believe in. here shigure is again, looking for a reason that does not exist.

      ( does it still make you feel like your life is worth living, shigure? )

      caeldori’s voice is the last they hear.

      gold refuses to linger on the creature’s nightmarish form, the shadow of a person that they all had thought they could trust because it bore the face of someone they knew. thought they know. ( that they had wanted to believe in. ) a smile blooms at the thought that comes next: perhaps, claude was right to distrust his ‘ FRIENDS ‘ from the very beginning if this is what he would become. it, they think. mother would describe anything that bore such vicious betrayal that. they do not wait to see what comes next.

      with a kick, sumire takes flight with furious speed as the cervid lunges forward at a girl whose name they do not know. blessed lance in-hand ( they wish it was their naginata; they had always fared better with it ), its gilded blade glinting in the dimming sunlight, the sharp edge slashing at its leg in an effort to keep it from charging again.

shigure rolls a 6 ( 2 + 4 ) to hit! cervid husk, 37 / 40.

      too far, not close enough —

cervid husk rolls a 7!

      and the deer turns its head, its bloodshot eyes furious as it rears and slams its hooves against their leg and sumire’s side to knock them off beat. but, pegasus knight is not knocked from their saddle and both pegasus and rider skirt gronder field ( it was only months ago that their classmates had fought here, just play-fighting then ) and head out of its reach again.

@progenitorheart!

This isn’t their war to fight.

They shouldn’t even be here.

In spite of this, they march toward Gronder Field to do exactly that, wary of one another after the tragedy they unwittingly took part in. The Emblem of Trust inscribed on his heart, on the hearts of everyone whisked away from their reality and into this one, seems to mock them, for there is no trust to be found here. Only the opposite, along with a growing sense of unease for what is to come.

If they die on this battlefield, will they resurrect as some of their number did before? Or will they perish for good, never to return to their own world?

          he prays they do not have to find out.

But they never reach their destination—instead, blades are raised in response to the triad of creatures that were once allies, a strategy is formed to divide the foe and neutralize them individually. Twin voids of malevolent red stare back—

          don’t think about how that thing had been claude just a moment ago.                                                                  it’s not him anymore.

—and Byleth dashes forward to attack, sword’s edge singing as it arcs and slices into the deer’s leg as Shigure did before him.

// Byleth rolls an 8 to hit! Cervid Husk: 36/40.

// Cervid Husk rolls 11 to counterattack.

Enraged, the deer’s antlers pulse with dark energy, firing a bolt that collides with him faster than he could have moved to avoid it. The force throws Byleth back, body hitting the ground and rolling a few feet before stopping; picks himself back up with not a second to waste because it’ll take more than a single blow to incapacitate him.

...If he squints hard enough, the beast’s wounds appear to be slowly stitching themselves back together. Fun.

// next: @prodigiosusmagus​

[progenitorheart]

who the fuck are you (…you?)

thelordoftheair​:

Tibarn sits in silence for a while, letting those more familiar with Fodlan and its reality speak and trying to make sense of what they say. Unlike most others here, it seems, he has not in fact heard of the “Battle of the Eagle and Lion”, he just assumes that it was, as the name suggests, a battle, and whatever tragedy took place back then seems likely to repeat itself.

As much as Tibarn likes a spar every once in a while, this doesn’t sound like it would be one of those. It feels more likely to be one of those struggles born of someone’s hunger for power, that is just going to get a lot of innocent people killed.

And that is something he, being a king obligated to protect his people, is not fond of.

He nods to Byleth’s words. “As I said before, if that is alright with you, we will assist however we can. It would appear that getting out of this alive is in both your and our best interest. So, I suppose, let us make the most of it.”

– FIN

[progenitorheart]

smoke and mirrors

thelordoftheair​:

Well, this situation has just turned into the biggest mess he has ever seen. And for someone who has seen (and experienced firsthand) the shenanigans of the Begnion Senate and Ashera’s attempt at ending the world, that is really saying something.

Maybe that is why he ended up reacting so badly to the battle’s chaos that he nearly fell ill. Not only did they get a confirmation that there was some kind of sorcery at work… but also he was not actually striking down enemies.

He cannot help but feel the sickness coming back as he thinks about those he tore apart. At least he wasn’t the only one who fell for it, but… is that really supposed to be consolation? It just means more innocents were killed.

He has to admit, if he were older Claude, he would have torn them all to shreds right about now. And honestly, if someone were to ask Tibarn, the Hawk would say he probably deserved it.

Sigh. Only thing he can do right now is to try and somehow make up for it. Claude has requested a search for his younger self, and the winged laguz can easily assist in the task. Transformed, he scouts from the air while Byleth - the male Byleth - the Academy’s version of male Byleth - holy Yune’s backside this is so confusing - searches while on the ground. The first idea they came up with was to check around the area where they initially woke up after the first dream, so that’s where they’re headed.

Tibarn lowers himself to speak to Byleth without yelling. “Seen anything unusual so far?” He asks, a frown flashing across his face. “This is gonna get funny if we end up having to check out beorc settlements. Something tells me we won’t be welcome with open arms. Hope you’ve got some ideas for that.”

> @progenitorheart​

He’d fallen silent—more silent than usual—following the revelation that they had been attacking, killing their own allies. What was one supposed to say, after unwittingly staining their hands and weapons with the blood of innocents? They had all been caught up in the illusion and couldn’t have known better, but that doesn’t excuse what they’ve done—no excuse in the world could justify such a senseless slaughter.

And what of Claude, the one that came here with them? As a professor for the Officers Academy tasked with guiding its students, was it not a failure on his part for the Golden Deer’s leader to have been killed and replaced without anyone’s notice? They’d even shared a tent—and Byleth hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary until it was too late.

He doesn’t begrudge the older versions of Lorenz, Lysithea, Leonie, and Hilda for wanting them banished. Surely they’ve overstayed their welcome now, with the Alliance soldiers blaming them for what transpired—yet the older Claude wants them to remain and assist in the coming battle at Gronder, and plug in some of the holes left by their losses.

          ( being a leader is tough, isn’t it? )

Boots pound against the earth in a fast-paced rhythm, periwinkle hues darting about for any sign of the younger Claude while Tibarn searches from the air. If the archer resurrected following his death like Cordelia and Ricken and Erk did ( and that was a mystery in itself—the dead aren’t supposed to come back to life ), then they have to find and bring him back to the Alliance camp. Older Claude believed his younger self wouldn’t stray far from his allies—so their first thought is to check the field they’d first woken up in.

The professor shakes his head in response to Tibarn’s question. “...But perhaps it’s to be expected. I spoke with one of the three who... came back, and none of them saw Claude at the time.” Byleth frowns at the mention of searching the nearby settlements, recalling the wary looks he’d gotten for his armor and the sword at his hip when gathering information with Mist and the others. Between that and Tibarn’s very noticeably non-human features, the flying instructor has a point. “It’d attract less attention if I went into the villages alone, but... we don’t have a lot of time. And they’ll be wary because I look like a mercenary.

“...Your range of sight is greater than mine. Have you found anything yet?”

// next: @boundlesshart​

[progenitorheart]

Where Eagles Fly, Vultures Follow [Byleth, Byleth, Mist, Mozu]

swordbecomesdestiny​:

With her twin at her side, there’s nothing that can stop them. That’s how it’s always been. Byleth raised the Sword of the Creator and sprung into combat, swinging it at the nearest fighter she saw. She watched as the glowing bone blade whipped into his flesh and cut a deep but not life taking wound. At that moment her sword seemed less a statue than her, the vengeful red glow casting a light onto her expressionless face.

Could someone like her be an adequate teacher? Was this the ideal, what people wished to become?

On a battlefield, no one was a person. Not the the ends to with they fought. Her own opinion of the Alliance meant little. She had no personal quarrel with the men she was sent to kill and defend herself against. In war, it wasn’t a matter of mercenaries defending a town from criminals. Her opponent, who was around the same age as those she was supposed to teach, had only committed the crime of being born on the wrong side of a border and putting on the wrong color uniform.

So be it.

She raised her sword again and gave chase as soldiers ignored her and focused on Mozu, perhaps thinking the archer weak and not preparing for the guardian demon coming up behind them.

Attack Roll to Fighter L: Hit! Damage: 7

Next @progenitorheart​

Within seconds of the Sagittae spell being cast and him evading it, an arrow streaks through the air and finds its home in the mage’s head, putting a swift end to their life and throwing the body to the ground with its force. A glance to his rear reveals the groundskeeper person from the monastery as the source—she’s a good shot, he thinks, acknowledging her presence with a short nod before moving on.

He doesn’t get far before a soldier’s lance swipes at him, his blade automatically moving to block it from inflicting serious harm. The reaction’s just a hair too slow, the lance’s tip glancing off and ramming into the armor protecting his shoulder—though it doesn’t pierce through, the impact hurts enough for Byleth to know it’ll bruise later. A step forward and the gap closes between them, his sword cutting a near-horizontal slash across the soldier’s midsection and sending them staggering back with a scream.

Red flickers for an instant, briefly appearing orange before Byleth blinks and it’s gone. It’s enough to weaken the momentum of his follow-up attack though, leaving only a shallow slice instead of the killing blow he’d intended. Is he seeing things, or was that...? He doesn’t ponder on it for long—distractions lead to injury or worse on the battlefield. All he has to do is strike back if an enemy gets too close.

// next: @healingmist​ or @harvestrose​

[progenitorheart]

Where Eagles Fly, Vultures Follow [Byleth, Byleth, Mist, Mozu]

swordbecomesdestiny​:

Starter for Trust @healingmist @progenitorheart @harvestrose

-

Waking in the early hours for combat was a familiar sensation. There had been that day long ago, so early that the sky was still dark blue. Rain had drizzled in torchlight, illuminating the faces of three students she had hoped to be her future companions before she even knew them. three enigmas, each so full of hope, potential, greatness. She’d been presented with a choice, back then.

She’d been at a loss.

Now, here, the decision was made for her, clear as the clangs of blades striking together like a cacophony of bells, a song of blood.

While deep in memory her mind was blank, moving on autopilot as she reached for the sword at her side. The Sword of the Creator glowed under her gloved touch, the disturbing, deadly protruding bone spurs on the blade sharper than they seemed, the sword itself able to take on a life of it’s own, extending like a whip and flaying all in its path.

The sword was a tool. as she was a tool. 

Nothing more.

However, she was part of a matching set.

“Me!” Ha, that didn’t get old. “Byleth!” She called to him as she raced outside, ready to strike at any Adrestian that came their way, knowing the other Byleth was moments from joining her.

“For Claude!”

They wake to a cacophony of screams and the sounds of battle.

Byleth follows his sister with sword in hand, throws himself into the fighting as soon as he’s made it out of the tent. Everything they’d learned under their father and his band of mercenaries is being put to the test here—if they could cut down enough of the enemy, it’d give the Alliance forces and their companions a chance to regroup and turn the tides around.

( he’s not as strong as byleth—has always been a notch lower in terms of ability. the stakes are so much more dire than either of them have ever dealt with, but it doesn’t stop her from taking the lead and charging in anyway. )

The grip on his weapon tightens. Just focus on what’s right in front of you. Don’t think about anything else. “I’ve got your back!”

Steering clear of the Sword of the Creator’s extended range, the younger twin’s blade slices into the body of a mage, cutting through cloth and flesh as if they were butter. The wound isn’t lethal, though—amidst howls of pain, a storm of magical arrows form and rush toward him in retaliation. Gaze narrows; Byleth throws himself to one side to avoid the Sagittae spell before lunging in for the kill.

Or rather, that is what he’d intended to do, but someone else seems to have beaten him to it.

// next: @harvestrose​

[progenitorheart]

dichromatic butterfly

swordbecomesdestiny​:

Of everything to have happened so far, sharing a tent with her twin in a military encampment was the most familiar thing yet to happen. Compared to their circumstances mere days ago, with many of then inexplicably ill in this world that was less new and more shifted from their own, this was a welcome development. The dream foretelling a traitor in their midst was foreboding, but Byleth could be sure of one thing.

It wasn’t her. And if it wasn’t her, it wasn’t him. If she had no motive to betray anyone, Byleth must not either. That seemed logical. Plus, their future selves were also at Claude’s side. It brought her solace to think that she would truly find a home off the road, a loyalty to someone outside of Jeralt’s company. Byleth wasn’t… dependent, per se, on Jeralt and her twin, but when both had been around the need to branch out simply wasn’t there. Her older self was proof it wasn’t too late to learn. She’d find that place, someday.

As for now, it was good to see other Byleth again. She’d dressed in the newer clothes as well, pleased that they matched. Byleth didn’t seem bothered by the Alliance soldier, so Byleth wasn’t either.

It was amusing to think like that.

“You’re talking right now,” she pointed out, with a hint of a smile. But this was serious business. She nodded, ready to follow his lead. “Certainly, We’re among allies, even if they’re a little close. I’ll follow.”

“You know what I mean,” he huffs quietly, but takes no offense to his sister’s jest. He’d missed this, missed her even though the letters came and went and made certain they were never truly apart. Even if this isn’t how he imagined they’d meet again, he is grateful—it feels like an eternity passed since they last fought side-by-side, shared a bit of silence in a world so rife with sounds. Their father isn’t here though, wasn’t hurtled into this place with the rest of them to complete the family reunion. All the more reason to do what they have to here so they can find their way back.

( ...he hadn’t always thought about it in so many words, had he? he’d never felt the need to, before—what changed? )

Brother and sister walk through the camp together; he tries to ignore the itchy sensation of being watched, tries to ignore the set of footsteps that belong to neither of them. They talk about more mundane things initially, trying to fill in the gaps where letters were not enough—until the younger twin gets to the point of why he’d sought her out. “Those dreams we had... What do you think of them?” About touching the heart of the embodiment of distrust, and the supposed traitor in their midst.

( it can’t be anyone from their group. there’s no reason it should be any of them, when they were all thrust into this world knowing nothing... right? )

Eventually, they come to a stop before a particular tent—one bearing a Crest he at least recognizes on sight. Byleth spares a glance toward his sister’s inquisitive expression before he explains. “I wanted to speak with our... other selves. About-” Why their hair and eye color are the only things different about them. “-what they’ve experienced. I... didn’t want to go alone.”

It’s silly, he’s sure. They’re not children anymore, but... “Is that selfish of me?”

[progenitorheart]

who the fuck are you (…you?)

lethalbeautyofetruria​:

… With a sigh, the older Claude leans back, clearly deep in thought. “…Do you guys know the Battle of the Eagle and Lion?” At the younger Claude’s nod, the older one continues, “Well, history is about to repeat itself. We’ve known that crossing into Imperial territory would result in the Imperial army trying to intercept us with an attack. At this rate, it’s looking more and more like we’re going to have a major battle at Gronder Field.” A wry, humorless smile. “I hear that Edelgard herself is leading the charge. Talk about a class reunion, am I right? She’s bringing her all to this fight, and so am I. You say that you are on my side, right? Then help me win this fight, for the sake of the Alliance and all of Fódlan.”

Louise is hesitant the idea of charging head first into war scares her a lot, however if she could help she would. “I dislike that it has gotten to this point, why declare war when she could have inspired change through other means… However I have experience with battle, my husband was a Mage General and I would protect him.” She frowns but looks into the older Claude’s emerald green eyes. 

Louise trusts him but she feels sad considering how much he probably has lost due to this war, one that didn’t have to start and children forced to fight against there classmates it hurt her to see that. 

She takes a deep breath, and sighs trying to think of a few things to say, there’s nothing she can say that will change the situation. “I will help you, but is there any way we can avoid this battle? Such as peace talks or treaties, I don’t think more blood spilled will change or help anything even if we capture Edelgard her followers will still keep fighting, more and more people will die and in the end no one will win.” She hopes this doesn’t cross a line but in her experience of seeing many wars or hearing about them, she felt it important to state how she truly felt. 

Louise fumbles with her hair for a bit, then continues her statement“I know I haven’t been here or know totally what happened. However it may not work but still if there’s any way to save lives of others we should take it. I am not afraid of battle, I am afraid of more innocent people suffering. I am sorry if I crossed a line and if you have already attempted peace talks but I am begging that you please consider it…”

-> @progenitorheart​

The older Claude sighs at Louise’s response. “Trust me, if that was an option then we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Edelgard won’t rest until she has control of all of Fódlan. And so long as we’re all fighting for our lives and futures... we can’t afford to let up.”

Byleth’s gaze lowers to the floor, troubled. He finds no fault in the older Claude’s reason for fighting, and yet... It could not be easy, having to face former classmates as enemies—because it is unlikely that Edelgard is the only one on the opposite end of the battlefield. The professor remains silent, however, cognizant of how much he doesn’t know about this reality’s situation aside from what’s been told this far. Five years is a long time—what he sees now is but the end result of that.

“We don’t quite understand how we got here,” he contributes, glancing around to his companions. “We simply... woke up here, after a dream. A vision.” One that had seemingly gone awry in some measure—Byleth remembers hearing something about interference, a buzzing sound accompanying the voice’s words prior to opening his eyes in a place that wasn’t his room in the monastery. “It didn’t tell us much, but... it seems like the best course of action for us is to help you.”

          One of your number shall bear a traitor’s cloak.

“...If you’ll allow us, that is.” He falls quiet once more, eventually reaching into the bowl for a grape. It seems rude not to, if the older Claude says they can eat them. ( these are good. would anyone mind if he took another one? )

// next: @thelordoftheair

[progenitorheart]

dichromatic butterfly

They hadn’t really gotten to speak much, during the first day or so of being in this new reality. He’d been focused on doing what he could to help others adjust, joined efforts to procure supplies and gather information on their surroundings—things that feel almost natural to the younger twin at this stage. Perhaps it came off as cold, that he’d not spared any time to be with his sister after she’d finally returned, but their relationship is stronger than that. It’s with something near absolute confidence that Byleth believes this—there would be a chance to talk later, when the alarm and unease of waking up in unfamiliar territory permeated the atmosphere less.

And then they’d been rounded up in the middle of the night and taken to the Alliance encampment. He had remained silent throughout the entire procedure, watching—stare lingering on the man claiming to be Claude von Riegan and the rider with purple hair in particular until he grew tired of doing so. That turned into observing the camp as they were led into it, which only lasted until everyone was separated into tents.

He doesn’t fail to notice how they keep Claude, his sister, and himself together, along with a pair of Alliance soldiers.

Morning comes, and though privacy is impossible as things are, Byleth supposes none of the things he wants to say are so sensitive that their wardens can’t be allowed to listen. Dressed in the new set of clothes so generously provided to them, he approaches his older twin while mindful of the assigned Alliance soldier hovering nearby. “...Can we talk?”

@swordbecomesdestiny

[progenitorheart]

who the fuck are you (…you?)

lethalbeautyofetruria​:

Louise fidgets nervously, she never was the best at formal situations like this. She listens closely to the three of them, all while occasionally eyeing the grapes. She currently was not hungry due to her nerves being a bit on edge mainly from the size of the army and the idea of a war going on makes her nervous. When Tibarn flaps his wings her worries are quickly quelled for a brief moment as she stares in awe.

The wings truly were magnificent, she then forces herself to stop staring as she realizes that she is supposed to introduce herself next.  Louise smiles gently at the older Claude, she does a small bow to him and then states, “Ah Hello, My name is Louise and I am not originally from Fodlan however I recently became a professor at monastery.”

She pauses for a brief moment then realizes she has a few questions for the older Claude. “I am sorry for intruding on your land, but may I please ask a few questions? First What has happened, and why is there a war going on? As well as what has happened to the academy…” 

@progenitorheart​

Claude—the older one—laughs weakly, "Right. I've been told that you guys might need a little help understanding our reality.... It's a pretty long story, but here's the gist of it...”

And so the leader of the Alliance army explains everything—a long chain of events that lead to the current state of affairs in this world, and why they’ve chosen to fight back against the power threatening to sweep all under its sway. Byleth absorbs every word in silence, expression gradually becoming perturbed the more he hears. The Flame Emperor? Turning people into Demonic Beasts? None of those things happened in theirs, so he doesn’t fully understand—can’t wrap his head around the idea of any cause being worth starting a war for.

( what of the edelgard from their world, then? is she, too, only pretending to be an ally? )

But the other Claude has little reason to lie about this, more so if the situation is as dire as he claims it to be. At least, Byleth would like to think so. He knows better than to trust in others blindly—he just prefers it when he can take someone at their word, doesn’t have to be on edge all the time. “...A question, then,” the professor finally speaks up, periwinkle fixed on forest green. “You brought us here, and it’s obvious we’re being watched at all times... more or less. What do you gain from doing so?”

// next: @boundlesshart​

[progenitorheart]

gathering information

sunisoleil​:

soleil felt the damned sun beat upon her back, shifting her weight uneasily. she didn’t remember a time where her body hated the sunlight; it would’ve been wholly ironic to her namesake. she brings a hand to her mouth, turning away and coughing into her glove. gods, she really, really feels like absolute ass. shaky hands rectifiy her collar, facing downwards and keeping the light out of her face; somewhat listening to what cordelia was saying. she’d also been affected by that…. whatever it was, hadn’t she? it really didn’t seem like it to her. or maybe that was just the power of being an incredible woman. 

                                                                  —yes, she thinks cordelia’s very cool.

bringing a hand to her chin, soleil looks in the direction of the village; tapping thoughtfully. “i guess i could do some mercenary work, then. it’s what i’m best at, after all!” she announces after a moment, then reaches back confidently and grasps around— nothing. she turns. pats her pockets. oh. the would-be mercenary looks at the rest of the people in her little group with a profound expression, a nervous smile curving at the corners of her lips. “er… guess not. maybe i could work at a cafe—?” granted, she didn’t have any experience with cafes, or at least, working in them; but she’d be down to try. come on, who’d turn down a springy young woman with a penchant for flirting and a willingness to work for minimum wage? certainly not her, that’s for sure.

she turns to cordelia when mist offers the other woman a chance of alleviating their ails, and then gives mist a surprised look when she turns towards her. “o-oh! really?” if, somehow, the sun was terrible to her before, the familiar shade of red that bloomed on her face whenever she was around a girl made it bearable. she scratches the back of her neck, smiling awkwardly. “then… sure. thanks, sweet thing! you’re real lovely.” she winks with a smile in her eyes, and hopes that it didn’t turn out odd.

» @progenitorheart​, @lareinacordelia​, @healingmist​

“Let’s split up and meet here later, then. We’ll pool our funds together and use it to get whatever we can bring back.” Byleth turns to Cordelia and Soleil, a glimmer of concern in his features. No one understands the exact nature of what’s afflicting half their group, nor do they know if the condition is temporary or permanent. The best they can do is try to provide relief where possible; he just wishes it isn’t all they can do. “Don’t push yourselves too hard, you two. Mist is here if you’re feeling especially unwell.”

The professor turns away for a second, about to separate from the others as he’d suggested until a thought occurs to him. “...We should use this chance to ask the people what day and year it is.” It’s too warm for it to still be winter, that much is certain. They’re near Gronder Field, which is hardly immune to frost and snow; were they affected by some kind of time-space manipulation? It would explain the current climate for sure, as well as why they’re here and not in Garreg Mach...

( it doesn’t seem that farfetched, in theory. this entire year has been strange one way or another. )

// next: @lareinacordelia​

[progenitorheart]

gathering information

healingmist​:

This was… weird. Really weird.

One minute, Mist is sleeping soundly in her bed, and the next she’s… near Gronder Field? At least, that’s what she thinks this place is. Some of the classmates with her, ones much more familiar with Fodlan, had mentioned as such. Speaking of which… this had been a pretty strange mix of people, and the cleric can’t help but wonder why—and how—they had all been gathered here. There was that strange vision with the Golden Prince, too…

What was going on?

Mist sighs to herself as she walks through the town close to where they had all woken up. And there, they only found more weirdness. The townspeople seemed to be awfully anxious, as if they were preparing for something big. Soleil and Professor Byleth were on either side of her, and since no one knew anything useful about their current situation, they had been tasked with information gathering, and supply shopping. The only problem with that was—

“We’re… broke. Huh? Wait a minute—” Mist pats herself, realizing that she didn’t have a purse or satchel on her. Ugh. Makes sense, if she was taken out of her sleep. “Great.” 

How were they going to buy food and medicine now?

@sunisoleil, @progenitorheart

Byleth reacted to waking up on the ground after distinctly going to sleep in his quarters just about the same way he reacted to everything else, which is to say he didn’t. Blinked a few times, periwinkle hues taking in the surroundings before rising to his feet and trying to help those who’d been brought here in a similar fashion. ( here looked familiar, come to think of it... searches his memory for a name to put to the grassy fields stretching almost endlessly to the south. gronder? ) Some were visibly faring worse compared to others—perhaps the most worrying part of their current situation, as he was sure they’d been perfectly healthy the last time he saw them...

As it turns out, none of them have a clue as to what happened. There is a town nearby, though, and it’s only natural information gathering is in order to see what they can learn. Not to mention they need supplies, having woken up with next to nothing save their weapons and equipment.

Except they have no money. Like Mist, searching his own clothing turns up nothing, and the professor frowns. Glances to the third member of their group, though Byleth doubts Soleil will spontaneously produce gold from her pockets and save them the trouble of finding another way to pay for food and medicine. “...If we don’t have anything to buy food with, our next best option is to look for work and earn the funds to cover what we need,” he muses aloud. “We can’t return empty-handed. What do you two think?”

// next: @sunisoleil​ or @lareinacordelia​

[progenitorheart]

tidying things up here too which is way easier because there’s less stuff to mess with.

blog theme changed (as seen by an earlier reblog)

threads moved to its own page

muse profile updated

tags page updated

minor changes to blog tags, posts were retagged as needed