Chapter Text
Something was wrong in Remire village.
No, ‘wrong’ was an understatement; something utterly inexplicable—insane—was going on. The Knights of Seiros had received notice of an unusual outbreak in Remire village; some afflicted villagers becoming bedridden, while others, more alarmingly, turned violent; attacking family and friends alike. It was unusual enough to instigate an investigation.
The handful of knights that had been sent to inspect the village and confirm the situation had taken careful precautions to protect themselves from potential contagions, only to discover when they arrived that it did not appear to be a disease that plagued the village, as not every villager was affected. Additionally, the symptoms varied so widely that they simply didn’t align with any known illnesses, either.
Stranger still, when the knights returned to the monastery with their report, despite all of them being in contact with those from Remire, not one of them showed any sign of illness. It was expected, even with precautions in place, for a contagious disease to have spread to at least one of them; that was one of the reasons they’d sent such a small number of knights in the first place—to minimize the spread.
Dr. Manuela Casagranda had read over the knights’ written report of the situation in Remire several times, and she was almost certain that it was more than a virus. If it were a contagious disease, it should’ve affected everyone who came into contact with it. As it was, there were many villagers who were wholly unaffected, despite remaining by the bedside of and caring for those who would not wake.
Shamir had briefed her on the knights’ excursion—which she had led—essentially recapping what Manuela already knew, and was requesting her input.
“Is there no chance this is an infectious disease?” she asked.
Manuela thought for a moment before replying carefully, “There are no absolutes in medicine, but I find it highly unlikely. It could either be a mixture of poisons, or possibly black magic.” She suspected the latter. A mixture of different poisons would explain the variety of symptoms, and the limited spread. But something about the whole situation made her suspect magic. It would have to be black magic; no other magic was capable of this type of devastation.
A different voice cut into the conversation, “You’re talking about Remire village, aren’t you?” It was Jeralt, captain of the Knights of Seiros. A quick look showed his son, the newly appointed professor at the Officers Academy, Byleth, beside him.
Manuela turned her attention to the two newest additions to Garreg Mach Monastery,
“Oh my, if it isn’t Jeralt,” she purred his name, eliciting an eyeroll from the man. Ignoring this, she prompted, “Tell me, what all did you hear?”
“Everything after you said it’s not likely an infectious disease.” He continued, “My son and I owe the people of Remire village. If something’s happening there, we must help them.”
This piqued her interest; Jeralt and his son were certainly a mysterious pair, to learn they were indebted to a remote village like Remire was new. She would love to learn more, but she knew better than to ask.
Shamir spoke up, curtly as ever, “Speak with the knights; hear what they have to say. I must go.” She turned on her heel to leave, only to add, almost as an afterthought, “Thank you for your help, Manuela.”
As Shamir left, Manuela turned her attention to Byleth, who had yet to speak on the matter.
“You know, I’d be more than willing to go to Remire village with you. I bet we could even manage the mission by ourselves; just the two of us…” She trailed off with a wink, leaving him to think of the implications on his own.
When his son didn’t reply after a few seconds, his father spoke, gruff voice breaking the younger man’s reverie, “Byleth.”
Byleth blinked, and seemed to come back to himself. His answer was as quick as it was disappointing,
“No.” at her mock-hurt look, he amended, “No, thank you.”
It was a gentler rejection than she’d gotten from him in the past. Perhaps teaching was improving his social skills. Not that she had any right to complain; she flirted with every man she met and she was well aware of how that made her come across. Even before he began teaching, Byleth’s complete indifference to her advances was still one of the least offensive rejections she’d received.
“Aw,” she whined, “well, aren’t you boring.” She hadn’t expected anything else.
“Nice try, but I’ll be going as well.” Jeralt said. Turning to his son, he added, “Now enough nonsense. Let’s go.”
__
Byleth followed his father out of the infirmary and into his office. Truthfully, he hadn’t been paying enough attention to the conversation to know what Manuela had said to him, but, knowing Manuela, he figured “no” would be the safest answer. The discussion about Remire had brought up some unpleasant memories associated with the village; especially his father’s comment that they owed them.
Within the confines of his mind, a girl’s voice chided him, “You must pay attention when you are spoken to; people will think you are rude if you do not!”
Byleth flinched—he was not acclimating to Sothis’ constant company in a hurry; something she teased him about on occasion. As always, when she spoke, his head ached.
He didn’t bother thinking of a riposte, instead opting to give the generic reply that seemed to placate her, no matter her complaint,
“Sorry.”
She made no further comments, which Byleth supposed meant his half-assed apology was accepted. Or she’d fallen asleep.
Jeralt was hard at work sorting through the stacks of paper piled on his desk; no doubt searching for a copy of the knight’s report. He sighed, lost in thought similarly to Byleth. The situation in Remire was…troubling, to say the least. He knew those people. They were genuinely good people—a rarity in the world. He’d meant it when he said they owed that village, and though he doubted there was anything he could do to ever truly repay them for their kindness, he would certainly aid them in any way he could.
“I’ll be here making preparations,” Jeralt explained, “If you have the time, it’d be helpful if you could go ahead and talk to the knights.” Byleth didn’t seem particularly busy today—if Jeralt remembered correctly, it was his day off—which meant he could help out with Shamir’s request.
A sudden ‘thud’ sounded from behind, pulling his attention from the papers on his desk. He spun around to see Byleth collapsed on the floor.
Alarmed, he was at Byleth’s side in an instant, “Hey! What’s wrong?!”
He carefully looked him over for any injuries. From what Jeralt could see, he wasn’t hurt. Placing a hand on his forehead, he determined Byleth didn’t have a fever, either. Rather, he was slightly cool to the touch. Jeralt didn’t dwell on it; for Byleth, that was normal—the kid was always cold. Jeralt was no doctor, but he figured it related to his son’s lack of heartbeat, much in the same way he was always pallid. Even after over twenty years, he still didn’t understand what miracle kept him alive.
It wasn’t long before Byleth opened his eyes; his father’s worried face being the first thing he sees. The room spun so much he couldn’t tell up from down, but he could feel the hardwood floor beneath his back and his father’s calloused hands gently supporting his head.
Before he could tell his father what was happening, the nauseating dizziness stopped. Just as suddenly as it had started; it stopped.
It was disorienting, but Byleth was relieved that the vertigo had passed.
The first words out of his mouth were, “I’m okay.”
It was meant to reassure him, but his father stared disapprovingly, clearly not believing him. Given that he was still laying on the floor, it was understandable.
This prompted Byleth to clarify, “I just…got a little dizzy.”
It was the understatement of the year, but Jeralt seemed to accept it. Byleth sat up, and Jeralt stood back, giving him some space.
“If anything feels off, return to the infirmary.” He instructed, concern etched into his features, “No need to grin and bear it. Got it?”
His father knew him well; Byleth was, by nature, a very stoic person, to say the least. He had a tendency to downplay any illness or injury that plagued him, as he did not like admitting there was a problem. He liked the extra attention it provoked even less.
Jeralt knew this, and strove to give Byleth the independency he preferred. In some ways, he was proud of him for it. But, like anyone else, there were times when he needed help, and as his father it was his duty to make sure he got that help, even if it was unwanted.
Byleth nodded, and slowly rose to his feet.
As he stood, the dizziness returned, though not to the same extent as before. He stumbled slightly, and instinctively reached out to catch himself. Jeralt caught him instead, wordlessly taking his hand to help him up the rest of the way.
Once he was standing on his own two feet, his father spoke,
“You go get some rest, kid; I can handle things from here.” After a moment, he asked, “Think you can make it back to your room?”
Byleth nodded, “Yes, father.” He hoped that wasn’t a lie.
He stuck close to the wall as he carefully made his way down the corridor. Not long after, Sothis’s voice echoed in his head,
“Ugh, what could’ve caused such dizziness?” she wondered. Byleth blinked; so, she’d felt it too, then.
“Actually,” she mused, “I’ve felt that way before.”
Byleth tensed—so had he. It wasn’t something he liked to think about, so he pushed the memory to the back of his mind, where Sothis hopefully wouldn’t dredge it up. He’d wondered before if their memories were somehow intertwined. If they were, then she may be vaguely recalling the same incident.
__
The following morning, Byleth was dismayed to determine that whatever ailed him was not cured by sleep. After returning to his quarters, he’d promptly gone to bed in the hopes that a day’s rest would make him feel better. He was surprised—and, a little concerned—to discover he’d slept through the remainder of the afternoon, dinner, and clear through the night. He awoke much later in the morning than usual, as well. Thankfully, as his class had just returned from last month’s mission, they had an extra day off, so he was not late to his own lecture.
As the monks at the cathedral say, “count your blessings.”
Sothis appeared before him as he was preparing to leave. Her vibrant green eyes were filled with worry as she floated near the doorway, visible only to him. Her ethereal beauty was a disparity to the rather plain room. Byleth could tell something was bothering her, so he looked at her expectantly.
She tilted her head to the side, deep in thought, “I do not know why it is so, but I feel quite…unwell.” She admitted, “I am so sleepy…it is a struggle merely to stay conscious…are you feeling the same?”
Indeed; he was still dizzy, and quite tired. He supposed there was no use hiding it, “I am.” He concurred. Ordinarily, he did not speak to her aloud; opting instead to answer in thought. Naturally, after all, if he spoke to her in the presence of others, they’d think he was insane. He reserved audible conversations for when he was certain they were alone.
Sothis continued, “And yet, it feels familiar…as though pulled from a corner of my memory, from a long time ago.”
Byleth chose to stay silent as she mused, disinclined to revisit said memory.
His silence did not deter her, for her next question was, “Do you recall such a memory?”
Byleth suppressed a sigh; past experiences with Sothis had taught him he cannot lie to her. When she’d appeared in his dreams that fateful night in Remire, she’d asked him what he was. He’d replied that he was a demon; the same thing he told anyone that asked, at that time. She’d been quick to refute that claim, irritated that he’d tried to deceive her. Subsequent attempts to withhold information or otherwise deceive had led to much the same.
“I do.” He said truthfully, “but I do not wish to discuss it.”
Sothis blinked at his candid response, unaccustomed to such honesty.
“Very well,” she conceded, “I will respect your privacy…for now.” Byleth eyed her warily.
“But know that if this continues, I will have no choice but to investigate. This affects me as much as it affects you; do not forget it!”
Byleth gave a nod, “Thank you.”
Sothis vanished as he left his room, but her voice lingered, “I would suggest a visit to the infirmary, but I have strong reservations about that…Manuela woman.”
On that, they were in agreement.
As it would turn out, Sothis and his father were not the only two to take notice of his apparent illness. Many of his students commented on it.
When he visited the knight’s hall, Dimitri had frowned at him; concern clear in his crystal blue eyes.
“Professor, you seem unwell. How are you faring?” he asked.
Byleth had waved him off, “I’m fine, Dimitri. Don’t worry.”
The prince hadn’t seemed convinced, but thankfully did not push the matter further. The future king of Faerghus had more important things to focus on than the health of a teacher that wasn't even teaching his class. Byleth was aware that there was already something troubling him, even if he didn’t know exactly what. He did not intend to add to the crown prince’s quandaries.
In the cathedral, Mercedes had approached him fretfully,
“Oh, goodness. Is something the matter, Professor? You look a little pale…” she remarked.
Byleth shook his head, “No, I’m all right,” with a small smile, he added, “thank you for your concern.”
Mercedes was a purehearted individual, always looking to help others. There were others more deserving of her concern, he was sure, but it was sweet of her to care.
He knew he must’ve looked bad when Lorenz, of all people, took notice.
“How are you feeling, Professor? You look rather ill, if you don't mind my saying so. Are you sick? If so, I would urge you not to push yourself too hard.”
It was such an unexpected kindness that he actually said so, much to Lorenz’s chagrin.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, clearly offended by the implication. Before Byleth could attempt to smooth things over, he continued, “Oh, never mind. If you’re not feeling well, you should stop trying to walk it off and simply lie down.”
After a few more similar conversations with various occupants of the monastery, Byleth decided to visit his father.
He was surprised to see, when walking into his father’s office, Leonie standing there alongside him.
She was the first to greet him,
“Professor! Captain Jeralt just told me, Remire Village is in a bad way, right?”
It sounded like she was already aware of the situation, so he simply nodded to confirm.
It wasn’t that he disliked Leonie, but the girl seemed determined to instigate a sibling-like rivalry between them; something Byleth had absolutely no interest in sharing. He felt it best to simply let her do as she pleased; if his father got annoyed with her, he’d let her know.
His father—Captain Jeralt, as Leonie and everyone else called him—seemed more concerned with other things.
“The situation there is worrying, yes… But tell me, how are you feeling?” he asked.
Leonie spoke before Byleth could, “Huh? Are you not feeling ok? You seem fine to me…” The self-proclaimed apprentice of Jeralt trailed off awkwardly when he gave her a look.
If everyone else’s comments were anything to go by, it would appear Leonie was rather unobservant.
Byleth answered his father’s question honestly,
“Still a little unsteady,” he admitted, “but I’ll be all right.”
At his admission, Leonie frowned worriedly, “Oh, that’s no good. You should get some rest!”
Jeralt regarded him thoughtfully, “Hm. If you must go to the village, make sure you’re in good health,” he said. Byleth got the impression his father still wanted him to go to the infirmary.
“We can’t have you putting on a brave face only to fall in battle.”
That gave him pause. He hadn’t considered the possibility of this vertigo lasting all month. In battle, one needed to be keenly aware of their surroundings; swift and steady on their feet at all times. If he tried to fight with such a handicap as this—blacking out while vertigo made the world spin chaotically around him—he would surely die.
This needed to be resolved before the end of the month.
As much as he did not want to subject himself to Manuela’s unwelcome advances, he was not foolish enough to risk death just to avoid her.
Reluctantly, he acquiesced, “I will visit the infirmary if it doesn’t improve by the end of the week.”
That seemed to appease his father, who was noticeably relieved. Or, at least, he seemed to be. Much like Byleth, his father could be difficult to read. It was one of the few traits they shared as father and son.
Sothis, on the other hand, urged him to go sooner rather than later.
“A week seems like quite a long time…” Sothis droned, “Perhaps you could visit sooner?”
Byleth was heading back to his room, determined to sleep this off before having to consult Manuela.
He thought back to her, “No.”
“Ugh, you are so stubborn!” She exclaimed, exasperation evident in her voice, “I do not wish to feel this way for an entire week before you seek help.”
If things went according to plan, he would be fine before then, and it would be a moot point.
“Things never go according to plan!”