The evening of this ball has certainly been memorable for him so far. Reunions–both good and, unfortunately, ugly. A variety of things to see and things to do. He thought the enormous amount of guests and the grandiosity of it all would deter him from doing anything besides hop in for a drink or two.

Little did he know that just beyond the horizon, an incoming storm starts to brew… Literally.

BOOM! CRASH!

The downpour brings him unpleasant memories, and while he’s not one to fear many things–much less the elements themselves–the sound of relentless rain and thunder makes him run for the nearest form of cover he could find. Greil spots an opening within the nearby cliff and makes his way towards it, using his cape as a makeshift umbrella.

Upon heading into the cave, he makes a quick assessment of his surroundings. A snuffed out torch sitting in kicked up sand, two lounge chairs that are still in decent shape, and a small hole with a faint, warm light on the other side–presumably peeking into a cave system further in. 

He spots a figure maneuvering across the beach past flying beach decorations, trying to seek refuge. “Hey! Over here! Quickly!” They’re too far away for Greil to run over to cover them himself, but the least he can do is bring their attention to the cave so that they could join him.

Dark skies and pounding rain cloaked the figures of those struggling across the beach. Wet sand clumped around their feet, making each step more tedious than it ought to be. Soaked, exhausted bodies stumbled and fell, and Alfonse did his best to help them back to their feet, darting from person to person in his hurry to help as many as possible reach shelter. The conditions were dismal and quickly getting worse. The people needed refuge.

It was exhausting work to be certain. Only once Alfonse was the only one left on this stretch of the beach did he notice that he had become covered in clods of dirt and sand in the process. The outfit his mother had painstakingly crafted for him was soaked and filthy, his father's fur cloak matted. He looked miserable to be certain, dismayed and tired, worrying about the disappointment he would see in his mother's eyes when he returned the outfit to her ruined after a single outing in it.

A deep boom reached Alfonse's ears, though it was not thunder, but a thunderous voice calling out to him. Azure eyes turned upwards, focusing on the figure waving him over. A flash of lightning on the horizon briefly illuminated the man, though its brightness left him little more than a silhouette. Broad shoulders and strong features were all Alfonse could make out in the moment, and for just a second, he could only think of one man, the man whose muddied cloak was draped limply across his shoulders.

"F... Father?" He mumbled, stumbling closer. He had heard rumors of the king's ghost stalking Askr's castle grounds, but was it possible for him to have followed Alfonse to Fódlan?

No. It wasn't. Alfonse blinked, rubbing at his bleary eyes in a vain attempt to clear them. The act only pushed sand and salt into them, rewarding his attempt to see more clearly with blurrier vision and burning eyes. He shook his head, a small hiss of frustration leaving him as he stumbled blindly ahead.

Greil already racked his brain trying to think of gifts for his own children, what more of someone like Rhys? He had a familial attachment to everyone, but he knew that not all of them felt the same way. Though, it went well enough when he said his thoughts to Soren…

At the very least, he knew that Rhys cared for him a lot. Which meant he shouldn’t disappoint him by not bringing any gift at all.

“Happy birthday Rhys!” When he showed up at the doorstep to Ike and Rhys’ home, Greil plopped down a sack of hard, green fruits onto the floor between them. “I was out in the market and came across a merchant selling these ‘coconuts’. Apparently, if you chop the top open, you can drink the water inside and eat its flesh. Want to give it a try?”

While Rhys had left his family behind in order to pursue his dreams, it was through his dream that he was able to support his parents in return. Any money he'd made through working with the Greil Mercenaries had been sent back to his family and he'd kept very little for himself. He still sent money back to them, but without having the safety of the Greil Mercenaries he'd had to keep more of it for expenses. Perhaps that could change now that he had a more steady income through the academy.

And he will always fondly remember his time working as a mercenary. Being a professor now won't change that, and it doesn't change the joy it brings when Greil comes to visit on his birthday of all days.

"Whoa, thank you!" His eyes go wide as Greil presents the coconuts. Rhys crouches to get a better look and pulls one out. "You can drink from these?" It was kind of hard to believe but if Greil said so then they must be able to. Fascinated by the idea, Rhys quickly nods. "Of course! Come in, Ike is here too. We can all try it out."

He squints his eyes, brows tense as he takes a long glance at him — his former student and soldier, working as a knight in this land, of all places? 

… You again, boy. 

The mercenary could only hope that there would be no more reason to face him anymore, or for him to challenge Greil anymore. They were both alive, now no longer on different sides of conflict and war. 

There’s nothing for him to say to Zelgius. And so, he walks away before a conversation could be had.

He turns at the last moment. It is him. He felt it the moment they passed one another, the same as when they had passed before, years ago. He need not look for confirmation.

There is no longer a part of him that yearns for validation. There is little for him to act on, as vain as his quest had been. Gawain already lives on in Ike; why would he return now? (Though, why too would Zelgius himself reappear?)

There was a time that Zelgius would have sacrificed much for one more lesson with him. As much as his Lord had guided him, aided him, healed him, it was incomparable to his crusade of skill under Gawain. That wholeness, in pursuit of talent, that his mentor had left him hungry with. His mentor, that had left him alone.

His lips start to part, but he hesitates: would Gawain even want to see him again? His bloodstained claws were no longer the property of a valiant knight of Daein, no matter how much he believed to champion its restoration. Would Gawain understand, just he had always seemed to before? Wordlessly?

His teeth clench, cutting the inside of his lip.

“I’m looking for a girl named Mist. Brown hair, blue eyes. Do you know anything?”

He’s taking a bit of a risk here. What if she became a totally different person than how he remembered her all those years ago? Greil is half-expecting to come to terms with it. After all, he left her when she needed him most.

However, when asking around, a couple of students from the Black Eagles seem to understand without the need of explaining. They had pointed out a direction for him, saying that she was last seen near the monastery’s greenhouse.

Sure enough, he sees her inside, busying herself with watering a bush of flowers. She’s a bit older, yet very much recognizable nonetheless. Does she notice him entering? Maybe. Maybe not. Still, he approaches from behind, though not too close. Don’t wanna give her a heart attack. “You’re enjoying your time here at the monastery, I take it?”

It's an ordinary day. Free from her duties, whether classes or other tasks, she finds herself once more in the newly reconstructed greenhouse. A particular patch of flowers had taken her fancy -- gold, yellow, oranges, reminiscent of a field long gone, and on gardens long trodden underfoot by Daein soldiers. So, she had made it her mission to check in on this colorful bunch every so often.

It's an ordinary day, and her father is alive.

Her ears must be playing tricks on her, she reasons. That voice, she'd last heard it as a 15 year old, no taller than a short spear. That voice, whose last words had been entrusted to Ike. Her jaw clenches, her skin pricks, her heart beats fast, too fast. She doesn't dare turn around for fear of being wrong but, well. It's not like her father actually could stand behind her, right?

Mist is a reasonable girl. She had shed a river of tears on that daybreak four years ago in Gallia. Long conversationgs with Titania and comforting silences with Ike had helped her out. She was over it. She knew what had transpired, and she had come to terms with it.

Unfortunately, despite everything -- she want's so desperately to believe her father is in the room with her now.

Fingers tense on the handle of the watering can. Her knuckles whitening from the effort. The inside of her lip is being bitten furiously, too. It's all she can do from snapping, on this quaint afternoon in the Garreg Mach greenhouse.

No; surely she must be dreaming.