#toaepiphany2025

She's too tired and sore to care about whatever threats Edelgard's retainer might try and throw her way. The minute she finds her, Yunaka grabs her by the shoulder and pushes her somewhere quiet, somewhere where they hopefully won't be seen by anyone who wants to intervene.

Her voice comes out in a furious hiss as she glares at the Emperor. "Is this your big plan? The war you wanted to stop the church?"

She said they wouldn't be hurt. And like a fucking idiot, Yunaka believed her at her word.

Rage and fury makes her hands shake. She clenches them tightly at her sides. "You said that nobody from Elyos would get hurt." She snarls. "If anything has happened to them...I'll be the one to pay it back myself, do you understand me?"

The moment Yunaka ushered her aside, she knew what would follow. It made sense, certainly— That, after indulging a secret as large as she did, the events to follow only seemed to align with sheer chaos and crimson flames engulfing all they once knew. She isn't oblivious to this reasoning. Even so, she will not take the fall. "No," she says in a harsh whisper. "You're mistaken."

For as frustrated as Edelgard is, all she can do is hope to sew the truth in a world tainted by lies; one that Yunaka may hope to understand.

"Recall the situation we find ourselves in." She keeps her words level; spoken in a hissed declaration than sentences for only her to hear. "If I was the one who caused this, would it not be foolish of me to stand here with everyone else? That only invites trouble, does it not?"

"Besides." Her eyes drop towards the professor's shaken fists, keeping distance between the two. "To accuse myself is to say the Empire is capable of all those foes and more that have stood in our way. Do you truly believe this? " But she knows who wants ribbons of doubt shredded apart. Who else holds a seed of hatred towards the church, sewn so deep that they continue to hide and manipulate from their well obscured shadows. She could tell Yunaka. Surely, that may ease the tension. Or, it may only make the grandiose story only stranger.

"Maria!" They call out, padding over eagerly, two parts of their spoils cradled in their arms; A Heal staff, an anima spell of relative potency. They take her hand, press both into it with both of their own and hold them there, warm and alive and mostly unharmed.

"Here," and here, they smile, "I found these for you while I was out. We need to keep working hard, yeah?"

After a beat, it erodes slightly at the edges, but not for want of affection; only the usual fretting. "... But don't overdo it. We're all gonna make it back, so we should act like it."

chad traded heal (15/20) and rabbit scroll (15/15) to maria!

There is an uncommon distance in her eyes as she stares elsewhere, the turn of her head just a beat slow, the smile on her lips a slighter shape at first.

"...Chad!" But again, not for want of affection; it reaches its full bloom as she beholds him, rising from her seat, allowing them one hand as the other hovers at their elbow. Fingers curl over her newfound gifts, a ticklish note further brightening her expression with its warm hues. "...For me? Hee hee!" The giggle quite slips past her lips without her permission, but she allows it, eyes squeezed shut in the moment and narrowed fondly when it passes.

And he worries for her. The waiting hand at last alights upon his elbow, a gentle touch holding him in place as she twists around to lay the presents on her perch. Another twist to return to him and there she simply looks.

"I like you," Maria declares suddenly, certainly. "I like you a lot," she says again, just so he can be sure. Her head tilts to one side, hair curtaining over her shoulder, and something sparkles in her eyes -- grateful, if touched by a sort of sorrow.

"I like your pretty eyes. Your shiny smile." She pulls her hand back to herself and catches his along the way, clasping it in both. "This kindness."

A breath in, and then at last -- a breath out. Her head feels clearer again.

It is sad, he realises, that this flimsy relationship is one of the closest things Innes has to a friendship. However, his pride is not strong enough to not seek out some kind of familiar.

"Linhardt," he says. "I-" What did he even want to say? He tries again, hoping this time words will come out. "I'm glad you made it out, though I wasn't aware you were out on this mission with us in the first place. I assumed you would have shirked that responsibility. Though, I suppose if you had..."

He trails off, and looks towards the monastery. "You likely would no longer be here, would you?"

linhardt doesn't see anyone approach. they don't have a word for it, but it's been awhile since they've felt this way. it's familiar in a sickening way, but they're glad for it, too, because it means they don't feel the way their body revolts against them. it's out-of-body, it's numbing, it's like they're not even there.

but hearing his name can cut through the fog surrounding him. it doesn't help him recognize the voice, or the face, but the words stick out enough that he can grasp onto and pull.

they aren't looking at him. they try to, but their gaze jolts away at the first opportunity. it takes a moment for everything to click. innes. he's happy to see them alive? they wouldn't have expected that, but they don't have the presence of mind to explain why not.

"maybe that would be preferable," linhardt says reflexively. normally, he may have thought it over it enough to bite back the truth. he is simply incapable of that right now.

for once, dorothea doesn't care. it's hard to when stashed away in this bunker, watching classmates hobble on broken limbs and blinking back images of a burning world outside their door.

a frayed blanket is carefully lifted over their heads and adjusted so the thin fabric blocks out everything around them — the cramped quarters, the rundown and gaunt faces, the injuries. should the imagination be stirred, they might even find themselves in one of their rooms: two girls sitting on a bed, ducked beneath the covers and recounting the day's misadventures and otherwise.

"i didn't see you at mealtime," she whispers. from her pocket, dorothea retrieves a bread roll, and holds it out to bernadetta in offering. "here. a fuller stomach makes things a bit more bearable."

only a little.

her gaze falls onto the ground as she wraps her arms around her knees. there's a great deal she wishes to share — but a worn blanket and weary heart can only endure so much weight.

we had to kill a woman, bern. she begged us to. she was suffering. and still, i wanted to try and keep her alive. was that selfish of me? did i add to her misery? or should i have fought harder?

"how was your mission? you have no idea how much i've missed you."

i didn't see you at mealtime. bernadetta's absence is not an uncommon one. the kinder people who notice might bring her something later. they don't know that it isn't only about going outside. now that they are all here, strewn into conflict that may change them all, she has even fewer excuses to refuse.

"i wasn't hungry," mumbles bernadetta. but for dorothea, always, she can try. a hesitant glance at the bread. she has the decency to accept it, even though it sits in her hands like stone.

"we, um…" we had to choose to starve, or lose what made us ourselves. almost everyone chose the first one. it was probably because they were strong, or liked themselves. but me, i did it for the exact opposite. i've always done it for the exact opposite.

and for all of bernadetta's terrors throughout it, perhaps her outing came nowhere close to what had gripped dorothea so that she would bundle up with her now.

"we went through a lot, but we came out okay." the faintest shrug. then she lets herself tip sideways, leaned against dorothea, slipping an arm through her friend's and hugging it because this is where home is, too. after chewing on her own vagueness, lips part again to murmur: "linhardt really scared me. they started turning into… into some kind of giant dog monster?"

bernadetta tells her—about the village, mairenn, the forest, pasithee, the way she swung a saint's bow in desperation like a misshapen axe. she only omits the illusory feast and her own nausea from it.

"and i just don't know," she trails off, voice dwindling. "i don't know why all of this is happening. but i missed you, too. i wish we could've gone together..."

for countless reasons. but the one that gives bernadetta the most pause, as she stares blearily at the bread in her hands, finally slips out of her as a near whisper.

"Don't." He already started it. "I don't wanna hear it. I'm perfectly fine but I need a moment to myself, that is all."