#feyedborn

Welcome to Sonder, Byleth.

You will be given an iron sword. You will be able to use Wrath Strike; this is all. 

May the Gods bless your time here --- if they hear you at all.

     A chill ran down his spine as night began to settle in and the gentle breeze became something frigid and wicked as it licked at the ruined remains of the buildings that had once composed the impressive monastery he had often heard stories of from his father. He had never personally studied within these walls, but he could still feel the emptiness of their loss that gripped the former students who had formed an emotional attachment to this place. He can only imagine the amount of history that’s been carved into the walls, and how much of it had been lost during the war. But he hasn’t the time to admire them or dig through contents of the library to document what remains, much as he wished he did. It hadn’t been long since he and Dedue had been welcomed into their ranks, and to say he had been welcomed was giving him more credit that he truly deserved - if Felix had grown to hate him, he would accept that anger with grace and dignity. He had robbed him of ten years of his life; taken it from him just like that as the entire Kingdom praised him a hero and morphed him into something he had never been and never would be - the perfect knight. 

        He’d thought about it since the day he had first met Dedue - if they made it out of this alive, what would he say to his brother when he saw him again? And he still didn’t have an answer. And days of remaining in his room, allowing the solitude to calm his mind and force him to face reality hadn’t helped. What could he say that could make up for all of the years he had lost, for all of the pain he had put him through? How could he even begin to confess to Felix that he had never been as strong as he thought him? That he was mortal? That he was a failure. That he had given up on living and had needed strangers to feed and bathe him for years before he could so much as lift his head to speak once again? He had no excuse; the right words were nonexistent, and he’d run out of time.

         Slipping calloused, magic-kissed fingers beneath his silky hair, he felt the scar beneath his right eye for a moment before allowing his hand to drop back down to his side as he made his way through the grounds. His legs were stiff and his muscles ached. He walked with a limp that he tried to hide and each step he took sent a dull throb through his entire body. The wounds had healed; at least the uglier ones had, but they still tore at his tattered body and nipped at his heels like wolves waiting for their prey to finally cave beneath its old wounds. In the dead of night, it was quiet - the few soldiers who were still awake were those on guard duty and the others had gone to sleep long ago, but he had the sinking suspicion Felix had yet to turn in for the night. He offered the few he passed by a nod, but didn’t bother to exchange any words with them. What little courage he still had left had been reserved for trying to reach out to his brother. 

    “    i  think  …  it  can  be  a  risk  that  is  worth  it.    ”

    not  that  byleth  has  much  experience  in  love,  anyways.  the  only  personal  experience  of  ‘   love   ’  that  he  can  think  of  is  his  father,  and  that’s  —  well,  it’s  different.  familial.  there’s  an  expectation  to  love  those  you  call  family.  still,  he’s  never  hated  his  father.  perhaps  he’s  been  angry  a  few  times  at  him  (   and  being  essentially  forced  to  become  a  student  at  the  officer’s  academy  reigns  high  on  the  list  of  ‘   reasons  to  be  angry   ’   ),  but  hatred ?  that’s  a  strong  word.

    byleth  regards  felix  with  the  slightest  tilt  of  his  head.  his  stare,  void  of  emotion  as  almost  always,  does  not  falter.  he  hasn’t  quite  been  able  to  figure  felix  out  yet.  a  bit  of  a  mystery,  a  puzzle  to  put  together  piece  by  piece.  he’s  rough  around  the  edges  like  the  mercenaries  he’d  grown  up  around,  but  far  more  interesting.  even  they  had  no  reservations  about  love.