shadow prince.

The two step outside and the cool air graces her skin and scatters rivulets of blue hair into the wind. She tucks the wayward strands behind her ear in a vain attempt to keep it in place. There are very few people here and so it is an ideal location to ask about what she wishes to, but first there is one more thing.

"I am sorry, Lyon. I did not think before I spoke of Seth. You might have been here when we were wed, and though I wish you had been with us...being alone for that long could not have been easy. Away from Grado and from us. I feel as if I've thrown our happiness in your face. That you might think we were happy without you at all. But I do truly wish that you could have been with us. There is nothing that me and my brother would have wanted more."

For a moment, Eirika looks around as if she's expecting she might see someone (namely, her brother), but when she confirms that it still only the two of them, she continues.

That you might think we were happy without you at all. A guilty glance at his feet. She comes closer to the truth than she may suspect. Hasn't he thought about this and that? Hasn't he wondered: wouldn't everyone be happier if I weren't around? Without Lyon, the flames of war wouldn't have engulfed Magvel. Or perhaps he would have taken the role of an antagonist who wasn't worth grieving.

"Ephraim did?" He blinks. All those little things he noticed but failed to put into words — Ephraim, who hugged him tight and sometimes put Lyon's safety above his own — are recontextualized. At the same time, he feels a little worse about his choices.

"It's... I believe you, Eirika." Her hands are as warm as they were on the second floor. This time, he looks up instead of paying attention to the ring. "Unless you are just trying to make me feel better about myself?"

That last part is a half-hearted joke, not too unlike his self-deprecating comments in the past.

Sure, for some people, simply knowing of L’Arachel’s existence is reason enough to improve their life, but for those for whom that (somehow) is not the case, all L’Arachel can do is try to gently nudge them towards happiness.

And… somewhat begrudgingly, she hopes Lyon does find his happiness. For what else can she hope for? Wishing for anything else, it would feel like betraying Eirika and Ephraim. And even though she may be mad at them, she just… cannot. She cannot imagine wishing for something that would make them miserable.

So, she speaks up again, to talk with Lyon properly.

“You deserve honesty, so I shall give it to you. While I accept your apology… I cannot say I am able to say it is all fine; that I can simply forget everything that has happened. But… I am more than willing to give you a chance. I want to get to know the Lyon that Ephraim and Eirika know. To be able to learn more about you, and to be able to truly forgive you. And who knows, mayhaps my radiance shall be so bright that it will break through some of your gloom.” She lets out a very slight chuckle.

“Does that sound agreeable?” She holds out her hand, in expectation of a handshake.

Hopefully it shall come soon, and then the two of them can leave this blasted room so that L’Arachel can go back to focusing on the enjoyable parts of the Ethereal Ball. She is certain she shall feel so much better once she shows everyone how gracefully she can dance.

A glint of violet catches his eye and he looks down. Petals lay upon the ground, their violets and blues marred with blood. More flutter free behind Lyon.

"...What are these?" He picks one up and the blood stains his glove. Are these...from Lyon?

Worry swells within his chest. This time, he does not give Lyon a choice. He hurries after him and takes him by the shoulder, halting his attempt to flee by turning him to face him.

He resists the pull, but all his futile resistance amounts to is a stumbling step.

...Blood?

Violet eyes stare at those damned petals. The brow furrows. Instead of the inevitable dread of getting caught, there is confusion at the discovery. He swears there was no blood before. Were the flowers so overwhelming that he missed the metallic taste in his mouth?

"... ... My mouth. My throat." Somewhere further down, but he isn't sure where. "But blood is new." Concerning, even. His clenched fist opens to reveal more petals — violet, blue, some bloodied like the ones Ephraim found — on the palm. By doing so, more fall at his feet.

"There doesn't seem to be a particular order we must solve them in," Or at least, there was no explicit order- perhaps one would unlock another, and another, or they would contain tools for the next room over.

One could hardly say for certain, without solving a puzzle first. The next room was far more straightforward, and before Sephiran has a chance to finish looking it over (though there was not much to see) half the bars had retreated into the ground.

He steps on the other tile- it lights up just the same, and the bars in the ceiling rise as well, leaving the way to the door clear. Simple enough, it seemed. He steps off the tile, and the light fades, the bars sliding down with remarkable force.

"Hm." It was too quick to try and force their way through- the bars could lead to significant injury or worse. "Perhaps we could take the empty chest from the first room?"

As that seems like their best shot at making progress, it doesn't take too long to backtrack to the chest in the other room. Lyon flips the lid back in place before attempting to lift it. The chest is surprisingly light in his arms — is it because it only held the key? — but still heavier than dark tomes he is used to.

His arms are trembling by the time he sets it down and watches the tile light up.

He can hear Lyon some steps away searching fervently for supplies yet it's nothing but background noise to the pain that claws at his thoughts. When Lyon turns back to him, he's hunched over with beads of sweat upon his brow.

In this moment, Ephraim doesn't remember the medicinal plants Lyon oft talked about. At that age, they held little interest to him, but despite that he doesn't question it when Lyon insists on lifting his shirt to treat the wound.

He's fared worse wounds but leaving it untreated this long has come back to bite him. Ephraim leans back in the chair and reaches to undo his belt first. The hook catches for a moment and then gives to let the ends of his belt fall to either side of the chair.

A slow, careful hand lifts his tunic, peeling the fabric away from a singed and bloody wound. Ephraim utters not one sound even as it stings his side.

Azure eyes lift to find Lyon. There's a comfort in having him by his side and to know that he's alive. The more he focuses on him, the easier it is to ignore the pain.

Under his focused expression, Lyon is doing everything he can to keep it together. His hand trembles slightly as it hovers over the wound. He should've made them stop sooner— no, he should never have dropped his staff to begin with.

"This might sting a little," the Grado prince warns the other man before placing his salve-coated finger on the wound. He keeps applying it in slow, circular motions. He cannot do much about dried blood on Ephraim's skin. Not right now, in any case.

Once done, he stands to exchange the bottle for the bandages.

"For now, this is the best I can do, but we need to check it in a few hours... Lift your arms, Ephraim," Lyon directs him. If the circumstances were different, he might have felt... something about the strong muscle under his hands. This kind of physique was a source of envy and admiration for so long.

A part of her feels foolish having even asked.

All she is left with is the option to put her faith in him; believing that he has been around for several years, that things shall be alright.

And… as foolish as it may be, as illogical as it is considering everything she has been taught, L’Arachel decides to trust him. Partially it is for the sake of Ephraim and Eirika; mad as she may be at them, she would not want to tear away their happiness. But also, rebuking someone who has just said they do not deserve to be alive… it would feel akin to throwing a puppy like a javelin.

“I… shall believe you, Lyon. For one, if you were untruthful, it would be most easy to find out.” She says with a stern expression, one which quickly softens as she moves on to her next point.

“More importantly, however, I choose to believe you because we have been through enough death and tragedy already. You seem most genuine enough about not adding more to it. And I would not wish to tear away this second chance at life that you have gotten.” What good would it do anyone? Lyon’s death would not bring anyone back, would not improve anyone’s lives. All it would do is make more people grieve.

“However, Lyon. I want you to take heed of what I say.” She takes his hands gently into her own.

“You have been brought back to life, free of the Demon King’s claim on you. That is a miracle. Do not squander this miracle, Lyon. For the sake of those alive, and especially those who perished, live the best life you can live. Carry the guilt of what happened close if you must, but face life head on.”

"...I'll keep your words in mind." Lyon doesn't make a promise, but they are at least something and far better than a flat-out no, I can't do that.

He no longer lives like an afterthought, a figure bound to fade from memory with time, but neither does he live life to its fullest. He sees more sunlight than he did at the start of his self-imposed exile. But living underground and guarding the secret of Garreg Mach's hidden fourth house? Those aren't part of a regular student's life.

However, he cannot bring himself to embrace light with wide-open arms.

Or perhaps he doesn't know how to do it, while the guilt is ever-consuming. It became shackles around his wrists, his ankles, his neck, and his heart.

"But... I... I don't intend to give my friends a reason to grieve..." Ducking his head, the Grado prince gently pulls back. He thinks of Ephraim's arms around him and Eirika's tears. Dying or disappearing again won't grant them peace; he has learned that.

(She is uncertain if he needs the reassurance; but all the same, she was his knight, and that would not be betrayed. If the prince was unsure, the Fluorspar would make clear her devotion.)

Her ideal path would be to guide them the way Selena had come, but though the mechanical monster had been diverted for now, there had still been the maze they traversed to get this far. Doors and hallways sprout out every which way, and it is upon her own memory that the knight must rely to retrace their steps. (Her hope, however wishful, was that she was leading the two of them the right way.)

It is between one step and the next, however, that she finds her thoughts pointing, briefly, askew. Though up to this moment, she had been singularly focused on escape (third, of course, to ensuring Prince Lyon’s and to ensuring his safety), Selena would be remiss to consider herself a knight if she did not also consider any other potential threats.

The catacombs are old, evidently; and they stretch on for endless eternities. Between one step and the next, the thought occurs:

What if there are more?

She hopes there aren’t. (She wouldn’t know.) Only the one has appeared so far, so it was highly unlikely they would find another. All the same, she finds she must voice it; it would only be fair to her liege:

“There is a risk, however faint, of us running into another of these golems.” (Simultaneously, her mind decides their next path, finding a familiarity in some of the stone grooves.) “I do not ask anything of you should the need arise,”—(because he had voiced, clearly, already and by order, that he would not permit Selena to lay down her life for him)—“but I do wish for you to be ready just in case.”

Many archways lead into small yet empty chambers. In other words, he and the general could hide in them. Staying dead silent for a few moments won't be too difficult; they have to make sure not to choose one with only one exit.

"One from before seemed to react to sound... I don't know about sight, though." Did it also react to the flash of light from Selena's Thunder spell? Or just the sound? He supposes it doesn't matter too much if those things can hear them. If they weren't in a perilous situation, Lyon would wonder how they work.

"But... If I have to, I can try casting." He keeps following Selena's lead. Nothing about the walls seems any different — not that he looked for any distinguishable architecture before he got lost. "It's too risky for me to try offensive spells without a tome, but I know Rescue and Physic..." Both have good range and utility in a pinch, and failure to cast them shouldn't have any dire repercussions.

It's the question that Innes had hassled his parents with over and over again. Could the Grado royal family not visit Frelia, instead? Why must Innes leave his comfort to go and visit someone else? Especially as, from what Innes has seen, Grado has none of the beauty of Frelia. Really, it's insulting.

His mother, tired of the arguing, only says with exasperation, "because I said so."

That was it. The Frelian royal family are on their way to visit, and Innes sulks in the carriage. He had been allowed to bring his bow, if only to silence him, but his arrows were swiftly confiscated. If anything, he sulks harder now than he had if they'd never let him have the bow.

After a few dreadful days, they have arrived in Grado. He thinks of complaining further, but the training drilled into him from birth kicks in the instant his boot touches Grado soil.

Nothing about the keep impresses him, but after Frelia, what could possibly impress him? Truly, he had been born into perfection. Innes had been told there was another boy around his age, the crown prince of Grado. He's easy to spot, looking like the spitting image of his father. It takes a couple of moments, and a nudge, before Innes remembers his manners. He goes to his things before fetching a heavy (for a child) parcel.

Innes walks over to the prince, and realises quickly that he cannot bow with this parcel in his arms. He tries for a polite nod, instead. "Hello. I am Innes, prince of Frelia. We come bearing gifts." We, because Innes represents his nation, of course. "Please, take it." When the prince unwraps the parcel, he will find plenty of books; some on magical studies in Frelia (of course), and some on history.

He straightens to his full (unimpressive) height to accept the gift, with a shy smile directed at the other prince. "I'll gladly accept it! Thank you for the gift."

A young boy that he is, his shoulders dip under its unexpected weight. Readjusting his grip, he heaves it up. Curious eyes glance at it. Should he take a peek? No, he probably shouldn't — not right in front of the guests. That would be rather rude, wouldn't it? He cradles the parcel to his chest instead.

"Lyon, why don't you show Prince Innes around?"

"Oh–!" His eyes flicker to his father. His father must wish to speak with King Hayden and his wife about something important. "Of course, Father– um..." What should he do? His arms will tire from carrying around the parcel before long.

In the end, Lyon passes it to a servant who is here to help with the Frelian royals' luggage.

"Follow me, Prince Innes! I'll show you to my favorite place in the Keep."

And what is his favorite place? The scent of flowers greeting them in a courtyard — no, the garden — is the answer.

A small smile plays on Lyon's lips. "Pretty, aren't they?" He swears the gardener worked even harder after a visit from Frelia's royal family was announced to the staff. In his opinion, the man already tends to the flowers with enough dedication. "Some of them need a lot of care to blossom here in Grado, but nothing is impossible with hard work... Good soil, enough water and sunlight, things like that—"

This, he thought, was also why his father had been so insistent on Ephraim being distant and detached. A king must make decisive decisions that benefit everyone. Had he in that mirror world? It is hard to say. Morally, he believes the man needed help. But would the church give it to him or was he too far gone to recover? Would he break free? Would he hurt others? He was surely a victim himself. Whoever had put him there, whatever their intentions, and whatever he had done to deserve such a punishment, it had all ended in a sorry mess of a situation.

Cough, cough. His damned throat interrupts him again.

"It's fine."

Lyon tries to shrug away the hand. The motion is sharp and more forceful than he intends. Right now? He doesn't give it a second thought. He needs to get away before Ephraim sees too much or insists on accompanying him to his "dorm room".

His voice, hoarser by the minute, isn't doing him any favors. He only wishes Ephraim weren't trying to be helpful at this very moment.

"I can go on my own—"

As though to prove a point, the Grado prince straightens his back. His hands fall back to his sides. More petals climb up his throat, irritating it, but he stubbornly presses his lips together. It is out of that stubbornness that he continues heading towards the main building. He needs to discreetly dispose of the petals, too, before he gets inside.

Yet, in his hurry, he fails to notice a few petals slipping through his fingers.

He halts when Lyon grabs him and turns to look at where he points. In war time, he had avoided civilians, not wishing to drag them into the war's crossfires anymore than they already were. He would not have his presence endanger innocent Grado civilians.

But this isn't a war and the monsters have long since stopped in their pursuit. He turns and can see smoke billowing from the monastery in the distance.

"Let's go." He nods.

They make for the treeline but as they get closer, Ephraim notices the door is ajar. Further inspection reveals that whoever had been here had left in a hurry, leaving plates and food out as if they had just been getting ready for dinner.

"They must have seen the commotion at the monastery and ran." He does not blame them. It was likely the wise choice.

He guides Ephraim to the chair.

"Sit here and wait. I'll look for something I can use." They have no choice but to borrow supplies without the homeowner's permission.

Floorboards creak. Cabinet doors swing open and slam shut. Lyon's sense of urgency grows when he finds none of the medicinal supplies he is looking for. He forces the panic down with deep exhales through his nose. Focus. Stay calm. There has to be something here.

After what feels like forever of rummaging through the cabinets and drawers, Lyon finds what he is looking for: cloth bandages, herbs, and a few bottles—all thankfully labeled. It makes sense: whoever lives here would have to travel some distance to reach the town. They would need their own supplies in case of emergency—especially if they are too poor to afford a visit to an apothecary's shop.

He grabs the bandages and a bottle of salve before hurrying back to Ephraim's side.

Though he understands the student's choice to pass the decision on to someone else- it would cause less grief than if you chose wrong yourself.

"I wonder if we're expected to return here often," Sephiran muses aloud. "Perhaps some of these are dead ends."

He walks up to the center door of the far wall, and tries the key. A click, and it slides open… revealing a fairly empty room.

Fairly empty- to an extent. A glass wall separates their entrance to a door on the other side, alongside a glint of a key hanging off a hook from the ceiling.

"I can't say I see anything on this side, but there might be a mechanism of sorts that gets rid of the glass," Lyon speculates aloud. On one hand, he is wary of the Elementals' intentions, but on the other hand, this space fascinates him.

"Or maybe another room is connected to this one? I don't think we're supposed to break the glass... even if we could..." The last part is muttered under Lyon's breath.

His cape gently swishes behind him as he turns to face Sephiran.

"Let's check another door."

The next door leads them into another room of similar size. While there is no glass this time, metal bars seal the door. No key. Two large, rectangular tiles jut out from the floor. When Lyon steps on one, it lights up. Ahead, the lower half of the metal bars retreats into holes in the flooring. Now that he looks, there are similar holes in the ceiling.

Oh, he sees how this works.

Her smile wanes. "In truth, we almost did not marry. Renais is very strict about class and Seth is common born. Renais' nobility was not happy, but Ephraim insisted and the people supported us. He assisted with the restoration of Renais' lands after... Well, after the war."

A polite and vague way of referencing Grado's invasion of their lands.

"...I see. Congratulations are in order then," the prince of Grado offers, soft-spoken as ever, when they come upon the stairs. The timing couldn't be better because it forces Lyon to look down. To watch his step, of course. "I think we've heard about 'the Silver Knight' in Grado as well... Now, since he is here, I suppose I have a good reason to meet him someday."

Lyon should continue with 'I am happy for you' or 'I'm glad you found someone', but he cannot bring himself to do so. It is unfair to Eirika; yet, it would be even more unfair to say something without meaning it from the bottom of his heart. He despises himself for it.

Once they emerge on the first floor, Lyon takes a left turn and heads towards the open doors.

Keeping his hold on Lyon, he glides forward again and again, unsteady but upright all the same. The pair coast forward almost effortlessly.

"Not so bad really."

Perhaps he speaks too soon. The end of the icy surface is approaching and with it, Ephraim realizes he's not quite sure how to stop safely. And now that they've picked up speed, there's less room to coast to a slow glide. Yet for Ephraim, panic doesn't set in.

"I've got this."

Ephraim turns and grabs Lyon just before he hits the snowy shore. His balance fails and he falls backwards into the snow with a grunt, sending plumes of snow scattering around them. Lyon is safe, secured close to his chest with one hand on his back and the other his head. Now that they're safe, Ephraim release his hold with a soft laugh.

Their faces are close. A little too close.

Realizing the awkward position he is in, the Grado prince stutters an apology and scrambles to get off Ephraim. The blades on his boots scratch and threaten to slide him back on the pond's frozen surface. Rather than taking the risk of crashing into Ephraim's chest again, he rolls off.

"We need to work on stopping," Lyon decides as he sits up. Gloved hands brush snow off his collar and pat down his coat. A shade of pink dusts his cheeks, but there's plausible deniability behind its cause. After all, he felt the icy embrace on his cheek just seconds ago.

"But this is enough excitement for one day, I think. Warming up by the fireplace sounds great..."

Lyon doesn't know, and Ephraim is only just realizing the depths of his feeling himself, but he has loved him since they were young. When he would ask Lyon to read to him, how they talked late into the night, his not-so-quiet admiration of his skills and his fierce need to protect him. He had written them all off. Lyon was his best friend.

And he is, but he's also the man he loves.

He breaks their kiss with a soft gasp for air but doesn't go far, opting instead to rest his forehead against Lyon's. He returns the soft squeeze of his hand.

"I'll indulge you as often as you like, Lyon."

"The library is not your personal makeout space!"

Ephraim jumps at the voice and instinctively turns, pulling Lyon behind him in the same motion, and realizes that once again he is being chastised by the librarian. He can almost imagine that Father MacGregor's spirit has inhabited her. Only this time he can't keep the flush from his face.

He peers from behind Ephraim, sheepishly, as the librarian nods curtly at them, seemingly satisfied with the answer for now. Or perhaps they both look embarrassed enough for her? Whatever the case, she turns to leave and disappears behind a shelf.

Lyon waits for her to be out of earshot before murmuring: "I suppose we went, ah, a little overboard..."

He moves around Ephraim, but never once does he let go of his hand.

"Let's go get your books." Lyon pulls him along towards the tables. "I don't think either of us can focus after that. I certainly can't." He glances over his shoulder. Perhaps they will even continue what they were doing somewhere outside the library.

A beat.

"...You don't have an assignment due tomorrow, do you?"