#feth oc

Sylvain gently nudged her arm across his shoulder. He helped her to her feet, not as a general taking a prisoner of war, but with the tenderness of a friend leaning against another.

Supported by him, she wobbled forward. It was then she realized the extent of her injuries. Left hand pierced by an arrow, right shoulder nicked by a javelin, clothes singed by Bolganone, and—ah. She forgot about the kaleidoscope of wounds underneath her armor.

Her head throbbed as she reached a trembling hand to her temple, but Sylvain held her wrist and shook his head, guiding her to his horse with slow steps.

“You’ll get blood on your face,” he explained quietly.

He lifted her up carefully and joined the saddle behind her. Once she settled between his arms, he held the reins and spurred his steed on. His horse neighed, low and mournful, as it trotted across the field ravaged with craters, corpses, and the tattered flags of the Holy Kingdom.

Reines remembered her own pegasus. Glossy black feathers now tinted red with carnage. She reminisced about racing across the blue skies with her partner, rather than being a general that led a brigade of dark fliers.

Before Sylvain arrived, she summoned the last of her strength and casted a light gust of Excalibur. She forced her pegasus to fly far, far into the paper gray clouds despite her steed’s cry. In her condition, she couldn’t manage another flight. 

Let us meet again…in another life.

She averted her gaze when Sylvain’s horse passed by her fallen comrades. Grief pooled in her eyes as her heart lurched with soundless despair.

“Edelgard spared you,” Sylvain started absentmindedly, close to her ear, “because you said you believed in a society not governed by Crests, nobility, or a holy power. But a world based on merits, truths, and humanity.”

“But why did you spare me?” she asked numbly, turning back briefly so her orchid eyes caught a pair of bronze marks.

Sylvain’s voice barely rose to a crescendo of a whisper. “I’d be lonely if you died too.”

His expression grazed the depths of her soul and revealed an unfathomable melancholy. She returned her gaze to the front, more rattled by his stare than the injuries that adorned her body.  

Again, he spurred his horse on. It waded through a bed of ivory petals, and she tasted the sweet fragrance of flowers on her lips.

Reines dropped her eyes and saw a line of crimson trickling down her fingers. A petal wilted when her blood beaded it. Its beauty haunted her; its ephemeral nature reminded her of the fragility of human life.

Graphite clouds billowed above while the sky wept a light film of mist. Reines’ mind operated at half capacity; her vision reduced the world to smudgy blocks of color. 

Slowly, she tipped her head heavenward and blinked. 

“Have I ever told you,” she murmured, feeling faint, “why I enjoy the rain?”

“Stay with me, Reines. Clerics are in Empire territory, so please,” he replied, his tone softened considerably, “please tell me why you love the rain.”

She felt herself slip forward. Eyes fluttered, a lapse in consciousness.

Sylvain yelped and immediately caught her in the crook of his elbow.

Cool armor touched her cheek as she opened her eyes again, unfocused. He held her close to his chest, face hovered above hers, and she couldn’t parse his expression. But the way he gripped at the reins betrayed his calm disposition.

Droplets touched her face.

The rain, she heard him prompt again, his voice nearly muted by a cacophony of thunder. Around them, a steady drizzle transformed into a downpour.

I admire it, she thought, as she felt herself being pressed against a tangible body, because what I lack, the sky rains a thousand heartbeats. To remind myself I am a person and not a weapon.

A soul. Not an automaton.

Slowly, the world around her dissolved into a pure darkness as thick as death’s cloak.

When Reines opened her eyes again, two thoughts surfaced. One, she betrayed the Holy Kingdom. She severed honor and chivalry and chose to cherish the life given to her—knighthood be damned. 

Two, Sylvain’s face drifted to mind. While gods and devils wore the same faces, she believed the hand that pulled her to her feet was divinity personified.

Again, she blinked and absorbed her surroundings. Reines stared up at an olive tarp—inside a tent, perhaps. Outside, the fusillade of rain was relentless.

Her body protested as she sat up. The thin blanket fell away and pooled around her waist. Her eyes followed the bandages that trailed down her body and slipped under the covers. Despite her exhaustion, she recalled the battle from earlier.

After Arianrhod fell to the Empire, Rhea ordered her to defend the outskirts of Tailtean Plains while Dimitri fortified the Kingdom’s defenses for one last triumph. Despite being cognizant of her death march, she rallied her dark flier brigade. Escape was futile, but as she led her troops, she was comforted by the fact that if she died, she would die beside them.

But only she remained with their legacy.

She gritted her teeth. When the war ended, a proper vigil would be held for her sister in arms.

For now, Reines breathed deeply and looked at her hands.

She flexed her fingers, only her right hand moved. Slowly, she drew her hand in front of her. Thin, spiderweb like scars stretched across her palm and arm, a testament to her use of Thoron. The last vision her opponents saw were the brilliant, brutal pillars of light.

As if on cue, a bolt of thunder shattered the silence. Lightning illuminated a figure near her cot.

Eyes closed; Sylvain rested his head on folded arms. His body gently stirred while he slept. Long eyelashes casted feathery shadows across his cheeks while dark rings rested under his eyes. He appeared as pale as a phantom. 

Her limbs throbbed as she reached for Sylvain’s face. Was he tangible or truly a ghost? Just then, eyes the color of a crackling hearth opened. Immediately, he became alert but slackened with relief.

“Hey there,” he breathed softly. “You sure took your time waking up.”

When she didn’t respond, he gestured for her left hand. Mechanically, she reached out. Sylvain murmured an incantation, and a white light illuminated the injury. A warm feeling coursed through her veins as the wound slowly mended itself.

“If I studied faith more, I could’ve fixed your hand better. I’m sorry I couldn’t prevent the scars.”

“It’s OK,” she murmured, startled by his kindness. “They are a testament to survival but…”

Reines remembered the bandages around her body. She pulled the blanket to her chest, uncertain of his gesture.

He released her hand and quickly spoke. “Oh. I asked a female cleric to change your bandages. I swear I didn’t—what’s wrong? Does it still hurt?”

“It’s bearable. It’s just—you act so friendly.” She paused and assessed how familiar he acted with her. Her hands curled into the sheets. “I’m a traitor to the Kingdom, yet you treat me so delicately. If Edelgard is using you, I have no information.”

They stared at each other as a turret of raindrops bombarded the tent. A beat of silence passed before he carded a hand through his hair and sighed.

“My kindness isn’t tepid.” He started quietly; expression replaced by a melancholic one. Sylvain leaned forward and rested his arms on his thighs, hands clasped together. “Even when he fought, you seemed reluctant. Like you knew the Kingdom sent you to your deaths. That your brigade was expendable. But to me—you’re not.”

“Does that explain why,” she managed out hoarsely, throat parched as the Red Canyon, “you look like you’re about to cry?”

He offered a smile as faint as a flickering flame. Behind those eyes lurked another emotion.

“It’s because your expression,” he choked out, “says you don’t want to live anymore.”

Her chest tightened, and for a long, long moment, she didn’t respond.

“What will you do after the war ends?” His inquiry resembled a plea.

She studied the ground. “My parents died of old age. Even if I return, no one is waiting for me in Faerghus.”

“Then let’s go back together.”

She caught his gaze, perplexed by his declaration. “My parents were minor nobles, so I have nothing to offer.”

“Your company is all I desire. It scares me more leaving you alone.”

“There’s too much uncertainty even if I stayed.”

“Then for now,” he pleaded, “stay by my side. Rebuild House Gautier with me.”

Gauntleted fingers brushed against hers. He bowed his head, and carefully brought her right hand to his lips. “Once reconstruction is done, we can run through grassy plains that resemble the ocean. We can skim our fingers along seafoam and taste saltwater on our lips. So please…”

His eyes gleamed with solemnity as he clutched her hand in his like a vow.

“Let’s catch a skylark’s shadow together.”

Her left hand twisted into the blanket and trembled.

For five years, the world turned on its axis and collected sunlight to nourish the earth. But the light never reached her eyes. Every day she prayed to the goddess to make her eternity feel like a heartbeat, but her prayers were only met with silence. So why? Why did her vision blur now with warm tears, not by the rejection of divinity, but by a gentle hand that belonged to no gods except for man?

Her expression revealed it all. She wondered how Sylvain remembered her wishes from half a decade ago.

“How could I ever forget?” Sylvain mused softly. “Your eyes held such tender dreams.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she leaned toward Sylvain. “Thank you for remembering.”

He moved closer, pressed his forehead against hers, and grinned. Even if Fódlan didn’t find peace today, Reines found it within Sylvain’s reach. Within this pocket of calm, the azure skies she chased felt obtainable.  

“How do you catch a shadow?” Her eyes glistened with emotion.

“You start with the bird,” Sylvain said, and he held her hands. “I finally caught you, my crimson skylark.”