Chapter Text
When Seteth first sees Byleth Eisner in the flesh, her eyes are unsettlingly blank.
They are shallow pools of indifference, waters that never stir, never rippling with any sign of life. It sets his nerves on edge. She is an unknown variable, a potentially dangerous one, and the soullessness in her eyes does nothing to ease Seteth's apprehension. But Rhea sees nothing wrong with the strangers Alois had brought to their door. Rhea, in fact, treats Byleth and her father as if they were old friends. Seteth shifts when he sees how intensely interested the Archbishop is in the mercenary woman. Something is amiss, he is out of the loop, and he does not like it. When Rhea offers Byleth tenure at the Officers' Academy, Seteth bristles.
He watches Rhea take a step closer to the young woman. He watches her hands reach up, slowly, to hold Byleth's face between them. He cannot see the mysterious woman's face, but Rhea's is alight with an almost desperate tenderness.
"There is no need for formalities between us. You may simply call me Rhea," she says. "I am sure we will have plenty of time to become better acquainted, Professor. After all, you will be staying with us for quite a long while."
Byleth Eisner remains impassive while her father, Jeralt, is visibly disturbed by the exchange. He quickly takes his leave, pulling his daughter along with him, and Seteth is left to ponder the designs the Archbishop may have for the newly appointed professor.
Whatever they are, they leave him more discomfited at the idea of having this woman in their midst. And as a wary man with much to protect, he must trust in his intuition and scrutinize this interloper into his home.
“Have I done something to offend you, advisor?” Byleth would ask one day at his office.
Seteth would narrow his eyes at her. “Do not mistake my caution for personal contempt, professor. It is only natural to be suspicious of an unknown such as yourself.”
She would then furrow her brows, the first time he has ever seen her emote. “I have only been doing what has been expected of me since I took on this job. Have I not proven my trustworthiness?”
“It is dreadfully easy to feign concern for those around you,” Seteth would tell her under his breath, and the conversation would end there.
He would not see it, but a tempest of irritation and disappointment would flood her eyes as he’d turn his back on her to return to his work.
Soon, Seteth realizes that Byleth Eisner is not truly emotionless. In truth, the more he observes her interactions with the faculty and the student body, the more he notices the little tells that telegraph her feelings. A twitch in her eyebrow when someone compliments her fighting prowess, the way she bites the inside of her cheek when the Archbishop calls her name, a slight curl of her lip when her students would ask her advice.
On the rare occasion he must tolerate her presence around him, he sees it in the eyes he once thought to be hollow. There is a certain sharpness to her gaze, and an attentiveness to her that he did not notice before. Where once there were shallow pools, he starts to see a lagoon hiding greater depths.
And he cannot help but wonder how far those depths go.
He would find her one day sitting by the bridge to the Cathedral, surrounded by a veritable army of cats. She would look up, her expression as placid and dull as ever, and his lips would quirk in bemusement at the odd sight before him.
"I did not expect you to have a soft spot for the monastery cats, Professor," Seteth would say, and he'd note how she'd gently lift the kitten that had fallen asleep in her lap.
Byleth’s eyes would close in tandem with the calm of her animal companions. "They come up to me when I'm here. It would be rude not to pet them."
Seteth would keep his arms behind him, as guarded around her as ever. "Yes, I can see that. Perhaps you can use that tact with the human inhabitants of the monastery."
She’d shrug her shoulders. "The cats make more sense to me."
She would put down the kitten she'd been cradling to let it wander off. She’d point to the other cats congregating around her.
"That one only likes to nap in the sun. This one prefers to play. That one doesn't like it when you stroke its back, but he's perfectly content to sit on your lap. They all enjoy the fish from the pond. They're quite spoiled."
He would cock his head. "You… seem quite informed on their habits."
Byleth would turn to Seteth owlishly. "I spend time with them, and I listen. You can tell what they have to say if you watch their body language closely."
Seteth would sigh, a little exasperated, a little amused. The parallels to his own conundrum with this woman would not be lost on him.
"You seem to have an aptitude for understanding those around you, Professor. Perhaps I was mistaken about you after all."
And there it was, the first time he'd see that lift of her lips that could pass off as a smile.
"There are many things you could notice if you stopped to observe them. I suppose that is why I seem to get along with the students."
Seteth's eyebrows would raise, for once not out of incredulity.
"Yes, I suppose so," would be all he could manage to say.
Byleth's smile would make itself a little more obvious at the cracks starting to form in the advisor's armor.
She is, in a word, a marvel.
As the weeks pass, Seteth starts to see more of Byleth around the monastery, often spending her time in the greenhouse, fishing on the dock, or concocting something at the dining hall. He finds it curious, and perhaps even a little charming, that she has taken it upon herself to plant and prune, to catch and release, to prepare and cook. Seeing her run back and forth across the monastery to find and return lost items becomes an everyday occurrence. Not a single person whose birthday has passed since her arrival has gone without a bouquet from her—yet flowers from her are still a common sight for most, even on mundane, unimportant days. And, if hearsay is to be believed, she has become a regular customer at the gift shops in the market, giving her friends and her students little trinkets to appreciate.
The way the whole of Garreg Mach has come to gravitate around her… Seteth sees it now. The way the students seek her counsel, the way her fellow faculty come to her with their problems and concerns, the way her class' grades have started to improve, the way anyone who has sparred with her comes out a more capable and astute warrior. Byleth Eisner cares deeply for the people around her. Whether it is a recent development or something she has been her entire life, all Seteth knows is that it has shown him that he has been in the wrong for antagonizing her. For all his misgivings and mistrust, she has somehow managed to become a pillar of the monastery.
He can no longer doubt the Archbishop's faith in her, no matter how suspicious Rhea's plans for her may be. When the esteemed professor is found capable of wielding the bones of the goddess, bearing her crest which has not appeared since the War of Heroes, his apprehension returns—not directed towards her, but to the Archbishop who revels in the discovery. Seteth knows for a fact now that Byleth herself is a kind soul with a conspiracy surrounding her, and he cannot fault her for that.
In fact, he has begun to admire her. Seteth can feel his regard for her change from cautious approval to quiet delight.
When he looks into her eyes now, (and that is quite often, seeing how fond she is of inviting him to afternoon tea), he sees tide pools teeming with life.
"Is this yours?" she'd come to him one day, carrying a familiar leatherbound notebook. "It seems to be a draft for a children's story."
He would take the book from her, blushing because she'd found evidence of his personal hobby.
"Ah, I wasn’t sure where I had left this. Thank you for returning it, Professor."
"I thought it was written beautifully," Byleth would tell him. "Would you mind reading it to me? I was rather enjoying the story."
Seteth would hesitate. It is not that he doesn't want her to hear the fable, but the thought of being the sole focus of her attention, the thought of her looking up at him with her wide, rivulet eyes, the thought of her voice, soft and curious, asking him questions about the things he is passionate about… it is all somewhat overwhelming.
That he would think such things about her makes him blush even deeper.
"If you would join me for tea this afternoon, then perhaps I will," he would mumble, and she would smile her odd little smile again, this time at the hint of pink that dusts his cheeks.
"I look forward to it."
And, Goddess help him, he does as well. He would wonder why.
…He knows why.
"Oh, before I forget," she'd turn back to him for a moment, "I got this for you."
She would pull a small fishing float from her pocket and hand it over. It is intricately carved and hand-painted to perfection.
Seteth would stare at the float, mouth agape, unable to formulate a proper response.
"I hope you like it," is all she would say.
And she'd walk away, leaving Seteth with a pleasant feeling bubbling in his chest and a fishing float he would keep with him at all times.
He would have tea with her later that day, and she would think that the tale was delightful.
And then Flayn went missing.
The monastery collapses into chaos. Every available pair of hands is searching the monastery and the surrounding woods for the missing girl. Seteth feels like the world is caving in on itself. The anxiety paralyzes him, and the guilt for letting his guard down has been eating away at his mind.
He hardly notices the door to his office opening, nor the plate of food being shoved in front of him.
“Eat,” Byleth says. Seteth cannot even get himself to face her. “You can’t ignore your own needs, especially at a time like this.”
Seteth stares into nothingness.
“All I need is for Flayn to be back safe.”
Byleth does not bother to reply to that.
“Eat,” she says again, an exercise in futility. She steps forward to approach him, but Seteth only pushes her away.
“Frankly, Professor, until someone comes to me with any news about Flayn, I would rather be left alone.”
The ensuing silence is chasmic. Seteth spirals further into the abyss.
Byleth’s firm, resolute voice breaches through it all.
“I will find her, Seteth. I will never forgive myself if anything were to happen to Flayn.”
And when he dares look her in the eye, he sees nothing in them but a maelstrom of anger and determination, waters raging for justice. Byleth leaves him in his office, a broken, fearful man, hanging only onto the hope that the tides could turn in his favor and bring his daughter back to him.
That is why, when he finally sees her again, battered and bruised, cradling an unconscious Flayn in her arms, he weeps openly before her.
The tempest subsides. She lays Flayn down to recover. She stares at him, drawing him into the estuary of her eyes, and it feels like he could swim into their depths.
"You do not worry about her like a brother," Byleth would tell him one day over tea. The tea is four-spice blend, his favorite. "You worry about her the way a father worries."
Seteth would stiffen, the tea suddenly losing its flavor. Was it that easy to see through his pretense?
"I don't know what you mean, Professor."
Byleth would give him a wry smirk, the first time he has ever seen her smile with an intent beyond expressing happiness.
"As the only daughter of a single father myself, I know what a man looks like when he has a child to protect. You hide the true nature of your relationship to Flayn for a reason. I will not say a word to anyone."
Seteth would sigh and hang his head, but nod. "I appreciate your understanding, Professor. If our enemies were to discover the truth, and target Flayn again as they did… I…"
He would put his teacup down.
"Forgive me. Even the thought is unfathomable. Someday, perhaps, I may tell you more about the situation."
Byleth would shake her head.
"If it would make you uncomfortable, or put either of you in danger, then I would not ask it of you."
He would chuckle softly at her generosity.
"Thank you, Professor."
She, too, would put her cup down. Her smile would melt back into the tempered contentment he has become familiar with.
"Just 'Byleth' is fine."
And she would look at him again with her eyes like calm, tranquil waters, and he would think, just maybe, that he might drown in them.
They hold a fishing tournament that week to celebrate Flayn’s rescue.
Byleth wins the tournament handily, because Seteth is certain that no one put more effort into the competition than she did. Flayn is delighted by the sheer size of the Teutates herring Byleth had caught. He thinks to himself, after watching the two of them walk away arm-in-arm into the dining hall, that it is the first time he has seen his daughter truly smile in years. And, perhaps not for the first time, he thinks that Byleth could be a welcome addition to their everyday life.
"Brother! Come quick! The herring made for an especially delightful stew!" Flayn calls to him.
He stops for a moment before entering the dining hall and glances down at the fishing float he'd been carrying around for weeks. Ever since he allowed Flayn to join the Black Eagles class, Byleth has somehow endeared herself to him more than she already had. Flayn often came to him with stories about how their professor was so kind, so generous, so thoughtful. How much she had learned under Byleth's tutelage. How supportive she was in getting Flayn to make new friends in class. Seteth would never tell his daughter, but his ears would perk up every time at the sound of Byleth's name.
And now, seeing her bond with Flayn like so, sharing in the bounty of her catch, Seteth finds that Byleth slots into their family almost seamlessly. He joins the pair at their table, and Flayn's eyes light up. Byleth offers him some of her meal, and Seteth savors the taste of the herring and the understated joy on her face.
"I need to speak with you later, privately," Byleth leans in to whisper in his ear.
When Seteth turns his head to face her, he finally sees it: the vast expanse of the sea in her eyes, shimmering like it does in the sunlight.
He would meet her at the pond that night. The air is fresh and crisp, and the moonlight casts a glow over the dock. He would wait for her, and she arrives soon after, her steps measured and silent.
She would stand before him, a gentle breeze ruffling her hair, and the sight captivates him.
"I trust you have something important you wish to discuss, Professor?"
Byleth nods.
"I told you that you could just call me 'Byleth'," she would chide him, and Seteth would blush a little at his formality.
"Ah, yes, my apologies, Byleth."
And then the silence would follow. She would fidget nervously, looking anywhere but at him, while Seteth would watch her curiously, because he had never seen her embarrassed before.
"Is everything alright?" he’d ask her.
“I have a question I’d like to ask, is all,” she’d say, and look to the moon reflected in the water. She’d breathe in to calm herself.
“If there was a person you wanted to always spend your time with,” she’d start, “whom you think of almost the entire day, and with whom you feel like you could most be yourself, would you call that love?”
Seteth would look at her with an unreadable expression on his face.
“I would, Byleth. That is what most would consider being in love.”
Byleth would finally look at him, as nervous as her dulled affect could let her be.
“Then I think I am in love with you, Seteth.”
Seteth would blink. "I beg your pardon?"
Byleth would clench her fists and gather her courage.
"I don't understand my own feelings very well, and I am not the best at expressing them, but… I know what I feel, and it has led me here."
Seteth would gape at her. "You… you are certain of this, Byleth?"
She’d nod. "I think I’m in love with you. There is no other way to describe how I feel."
There would be a long pause between them. He would stare at her, still stunned by her sudden confession, and she would stare right back.
"Why?" is all he would be able to say, and Byleth would smile wholly for the first time.
"You are the first person in Garreg Mach to have treated me as I am, without any ulterior motives. I had to work to gain your trust and your friendship. I feel at ease when I am with you."
Seteth would stammer, at a loss.
"I… I am not the easiest man to get along with. I had treated you unfairly out of my own paranoia, after all."
Byleth would shake her head.
"And yet here we are. You were the only one with enough sense to question my placement here. It told me that I would have to earn that place. I have grown as a person because of it. There is no one else I would rather be with."
Seteth would come closer to her. His hand would reach up to her face, and his thumb would graze her cheek.
"Are you sure that this is what you want, Byleth? Our duties and responsibilities take precedence over our feelings; it will be difficult to maintain a relationship to begin with. And even if we were to overcome that, well… there does not exist a relationship that does not face any obstacles.”
Byleth would place her hand over his.
"I am willing to face them if you are, Seteth."
Her eyes would shine like the sea against the moonlight, and Seteth would wonder if this is what it feels like to finally take the plunge and dive into the depths of her soul.
"Then I am glad for it, for I believe that I feel the same."
Byleth would gasp, a soft, delicate sound that makes Seteth’s heart skip a beat.
(If she had a heartbeat, she’d be certain that hers would do the same.)
"Truly?"
He would look at her with tender purpose.
(The forests. His eyes are like the lush groves of trees that hide infinite secrets. Byleth wants to wander through them for all eternity.)
"I… have not felt this way about another for a very long time. You never cease to surprise me, Byleth. Months ago, I would never have seen you so alive. You have a gift for touching others. It is a talent that few could ever hope to emulate."
She would close her eyes and lean into his touch, and the feeling would be exhilarating.
"You are one of the greatest reasons why."
And the waves of her lips would come crashing over him, and his heart would beat wildly, and he would feel so incredibly alive.
She would break away, and he would look into her eyes, and the depths of her gaze would draw him into their currents.
"Seteth," she would whisper, breathless and trembling.
"You are beautiful, Byleth," he would whisper back, and he would lean into her just to taste her again.
Their first kiss would be clumsy and inexperienced, because it is the first time she has ever connected with someone in that way. Seteth would guide her as tenderly and deftly as he would for every other thing she would ask of him. She still could not quite get the hang of it.
It is a moment they would treasure all the same.
Their budding relationship is one that they prefer to hide from the students, out of both propriety and concern over their own privacy. Very little changes between them, except for the stolen kisses and the lingering touches and the way he calls her "dear" in the privacy of his office and the way she whispers his name into his ear, a secret between the two of them, and the way she invites him into the depths of her eyes.
They are careful, they are cautious, but the monastery is filled with many nosy, observant individuals. It does not take long for their fellow faculty members to discover their relationship. Manuela is delighted and immediately suggests to him that he invite her on a double date. Hanneman, always so focused on his crest research, starts to hypothesize the outcome of a union between the Crest of Flames and a Major Crest of Cichol. Alois claps Seteth on the shoulder and tell him that he surely has the Captain’s blessings. Jeralt himself is more surprised than anything; he shrugs it off. If his daughter is happy, he's happy.
Soon, students from all three houses swarm Byleth with burning questions about her burgeoning love life.
"Professor, have you taken a liking to Seteth?"
"I've noticed you've been spending a lot of time with the Church's advisor, my teacher."
"I saw him giving you flowers the other day. I didn't know the two of you were dating."
"Is it true, Professor? Are you and Seteth really a couple?"
Byleth gives them her signature blank stare, albeit with a hint of mirth. It is just enough to keep them questioning, and not enough to reveal too much.
"The truth of it is between me and the Archbishop's advisor alone to know."
It does not stop the students from teasing her about it, or the rumors from spreading, or Seteth from worrying that they would become a spectacle.
(Flayn had simply smiled knowingly at Byleth, because she had known it all along. "Please be sure to bring my dear brother great joy, Professor," she would say, and leave in a fit of giddiness.)
Some days, Byleth finds the house leader of her class leering at her and Seteth from across the courtyard, arms crossed and a brooding scowl on her face. Edelgard did not take long at all to confront her teacher about her suspicions, pulling Byleth aside after class with a furrow in her brows.
"Are you in a relationship with Seteth, my teacher?"
Byleth gives her student a small, enigmatic smile, and tells her, "You can decide that for yourself."
Edelgard's face twitches. "My teacher, I would advise you to be cautious around that man. He and his… 'sister' are not what they seem."
Byleth's smile never leaves her face.
"I’m not what I seem, either. Thank you for your concern, Edelgard, but I can take care of myself."
Edelgard stares her teacher down for a moment, searching her eyes for some kind of crack, a hint that she had gotten through to her.
"If you insist, my teacher. Just know that there are those of us who are concerned about you, and only want you to understand what you're getting yourself into."
Byleth's smile fades, if only slightly. "I understand, Edelgard. Please trust me."
"I do trust you, my teacher," Edelgard says, her voice low and quiet. "That is why I am talking to you about this. I just hope that you know what you're doing."
The conversation ends there. Edelgard walks away, leaving Byleth confused and with her student's words in her mind.
Seteth would later find her brooding by the pond, an introspective frown on her face.
"Is there something on your mind, Byleth?" he’d ask her, sitting down next to her.
"Edelgard is worried about me. She thinks that I might be making a mistake being in a relationship with you," she says, and Seteth contemplates the matter in his usual fashion.
"I see," he says. Byleth watches his expression closely. "Did she tell you why?"
Byleth’s lips would purse as she contemplated her fishing rod. "She said that you and Flayn are not what you appear to be. I didn't understand it, and she didn't elaborate. Perhaps she figured out your real relationship to each other—although I'm not sure why that would make her so pensive over our private matters."
Seteth nods and looks down at the fish swimming in the pond. Byleth notices how he tenses up.
"Ah."
"Seteth," Byleth says, gently lifting his chin with her fingers. "If there's anything you need to tell me, I'm here to listen. I don't care what it is."
He’d look at her with an inscrutable expression, and she tries to hold his gaze. He grimaces.
"Not here. Not out in public. It is something I must show you in private, and even then, I cannot reveal the whole truth. Forgive me, Byleth. You know that I have Flayn to protect."
Byleth puts her hands on his to soothe him.
"You need only tell me what you are comfortable with letting me know, and nothing more. I have no intention of putting your or Flayn in danger, Seteth."
Seteth sighs and curls his fingers into hers. "I know you wouldn't. That is why…"
He trails off and looks at her, and Byleth's eyes are clear and resolute, the serene ocean he so often finds himself lost in.
"I would trust you with my life, Byleth. Know that even the smallest of secrets I offer you put that at risk. Can you live with that knowledge?"
Byleth looks at him in reassurance. "I can. But will you be okay with giving those secrets to me?"
Seteth hesitates, but he brings her hand to his lips and kisses it regardless.
"That is what I have yet to discover, myself. I am putting my faith in you. I pray that there will never be a reason for that faith to break."
She returns the favor, taking his hands in hers, and she would kiss him.
"Then you have my word, Seteth. You can show me later, in your office."
The kiss she leaves on his cheek is a promise, and it is one that she intends to keep.
Later that night, her hands would graze the tips of his ears, hidden underneath his hair. And she would understand in that moment the weight of the burden he carries.
(She glides her fingers over the tips of his ears, and her thoughts drift over to the spirit in the corner of her eye, green-haired and pointed-eared like the man before her. And she understands in that moment the weight of the secrets he carries.)
"Do not speak of this to anyone, please, Byleth. It would only place us in greater danger," he would plead.
Byleth would pull him close and rest her head on his chest. She would run her fingers through his hair, and she would nod.
"You are not what you seem," she whispers. "But neither am I. I have no plans to tell anyone, Seteth. We are the same in that way. It is no one's business but ours."
He would relax, returning the warmth of her embrace, and his lips would brush the crown of her head.
"Thank you, Byleth," he says.
Byleth would hum quietly, nestling into him, letting the rhythm of his heart fill the quiet of her own. This, Seteth notices.
“Your heartbeat…” he trails off.
“…Does not exist,” she finishes the thought for him.
“But how could that be?” he asks. Byleth only looks at him, pensive, because the truth she wants to tell him is beyond her knowing.
“I am not what I seem,” she’d whisper.
Seteth only holds her closer.
“And in that, indeed, we are the same,” he says. He vows to find the answers to her existence for her, and with her. She kisses him in gratitude.
The truth will reveal itself eventually. This is enough for now.
Anxiety sweeps through Seteth like the monsoon rains. What did Edelgard know? What would she do if she knew the things he’d kept hidden from the world for so long? He cannot allow his and Flayn's safety to be put at risk, no matter the cost.
And yet, somehow, he found himself trusting that precarious safety to Byleth, someone he has only known for less than a year. She is truly a marvel, he thinks, that her gift for connecting with others has cut down his defenses so. Even as the whisperings of a darker narrative loom over them all, as Remire falls and they all witness the horrors than mankind is capable of, as the conspiracy around them grows larger and larger, he turns to Byleth to anchor himself amidst the turbulence.
(She turns to him to anchor herself amidst the turbulence.)
That is why, when he receives reports of the Western Church attempting to capture the monument at Rhodos Coast, the very first person he turns to for help is Byleth. He did not expect Byleth to volunteer her entire house's services for the mission, and yet she has offered it all the same.
"Are you certain, Byleth?" he asks. "I could call upon Alois or Jeralt for this, and your students need not—"
Byleth cuts him off with a shake of her head.
"I am certain. We will gladly take the task," she says, her voice firm and unwavering.
Seteth blinks.
"I—very well. I shall accompany you. Your assistance means the world to me, Byleth. Rhodos…" he holds in his breath, to hold in the rush of memories that would drown him, "is a place of personal significance to me and Flayn. Please understand."
Byleth nods.
"We will put a stop to this together," she says, and she places her hand over his, a warm reassurance.
The journey is long and arduous, and his worry refuses to dissipate until he sees for himself that the monument remains unharmed. He leads the way to the Rhodos Coast, powerful and imposing upon his wyvern, and he guides the Black Eagles and their professor through the winding cliffs.
"They are up ahead," he warns. “They have been expecting us.”
"We're ready," Byleth replies, as sure as the frigid breeze.
Seteth holds back a snarl when the Western Church soldiers finally appear, their weapons and their magic poised to capture the monument behind them.
"For the glory of Saint Cichol!" they yell, and Seteth feels his heart burn with indignation, because he is Cichol and they are desecrating the monument that acts as his wife's grave.
"You dare? Begone from here at once!" he bellows, brandishing his lance, and the enemy flinches at the fury that radiates from him.
He tears through the soldiers without a second thought, and Byleth and the others follow, dispatching the ones who would try to ambush him.
"Seteth, look out!" one of the Black Eagles calls, and Seteth turns to see a soldier charging up a spell in his direction.
Before he can even move, Byleth is there, blocking the fireball with the Sword of the Creator.
"Thank you, Byleth," he breathes, and Byleth gives him a slight nod.
"Watch my back," she says.
"I always will," is his reply, and the meaning behind those words is not lost on him.
Byleth's movements are a flurry, slicing through the enemy, and her students could only try to catch up, keeping their distance from her and from the whip of the Sword of the Creator. Seteth fights alongside her, covering her blind spots, and their movements are fluid and coordinated, a perfect synchronization that comes with the trust they have forged between them. It is nothing but miraculous, considering they have never fought alongside each other up to that point. It is a fatal waltz that only they know the steps to.
Byleth cuts down the final enemy, and the coast finally clears. Seteth turns towards the monument, his breath coming out in heavy gasps, and his eyes widen at the sight.
The monument remains intact. Relief washes over him like the waves upon his feet.
"They didn't manage to do anything," he sighs. "I'm glad. Thank you for coming along, Byleth."
“Tell me more about this place,” she says, “once we have restored the area to its peace.”
And when they do clean the coast of the blood of infidels, Seteth grimaces at the pointless loss of life before them. It only serves to remind him of the loss that the monument honors. He and Flayn stand by the stone marker, far from the students who had helped secure it. Byleth approaches him from behind.
“You are a peerless warrior,” Byleth tells him. “You fight as if you’ve fought thousands of battles in your life.”
Seteth stares darkly into the bloodstained waters.
“And how I despise it,” he says, “that I have become so adept at taking partners from their spouses and children from their parents.”
A pregnant silence permeates the air between them.
“My wife, Flayn’s mother, is buried here,” he whispers. It is loud enough only for Byleth to hear. “She died to protect our daughter when Flayn overused her healing magic and fell into… into a coma.”
Byleth could still hear the pinch of his pain in his voice. She could see why she has rarely ever seen him enter combat willingly, not even at the training grounds.
Flayn has gone ahead to pay her respects at the monument, leaving a bouquet of forget-me-nots where she could not leave an embrace.
“I see,” Byleth whispers back. “Thank you for telling me.”
Nothing more needs to be said between any of them.
Seteth looks to her against the backdrop of the shore. He stands in awe, for even the ocean could not compare to the brilliance in her eyes.