The Fell Star’s Return

‘It’s a beautiful night.’

Shining stars twinkle in the swirling purple and blue night sky, the distant galaxies and planets forming a picturesque scene of exotic beauty and life. Off to the side, a large white moon bathes the world below in its radiance, illuminating a young boy resting on a tall tree branch.

Despite being late in the evening, it’s anything but quiet as all sorts of insects and nocturnal animals come out to hunt and thrive.

Simply enjoying the warm night air as well as the gentle lapping of the waves on the distant shore, Sothis’s melodic voice comes into his mind like a gentle summer breeze.

His chest feels as if it swells at her appearance, but it just as swiftly clenches in pain and frustration as he determines to not be involved with her. On the outside, however, his countenance seems as undisturbed as earlier as he gazes up into the color-shifting firmament.

The emerald-haired girl waits a few moments prior to speaking again, ‘I do not know what troubles you so, Byleth, but know you need not bear it alone. I am always here by your side now and nothing will ever change that.’

The youth’s eyes tremble at her impactful words, words that mean more to him than she could ever know. Despite that, he stays resolute and remains silent.

The mystical maiden says nothing further on the matter, perhaps sensing his complex mood. And so, the two share in the splendor of the radiant heavens above, gazing at the infinite cosmos laid before them while silently relishing in the presence of one another.

***

The next morning continues where the last had left off, cleanup. Moving around the remains of tall trees and homes, Byleth appears unperturbed by the constant whispers surrounding him, his stoic expression never shifting or faltering as he works.

Perhaps it’s the pleasant weather or last night’s declaration from the sleeping beauty resting in his subconscious, but there is a subtle spring to his step that was lacking only the day prior. It may very well be that another part of it is the fact that a certain duo hadn’t found any time to harass him yesterday.

Whatever the case, with a much calmer mental state than he previously had, he goes about his duty. It’s fairly simple work and provides a deserved shift from constant training and combat, virtually the only life he’s known up until this point.

Squatting down, the abnormally capable youth grabs a broken wooden beam, careful to avoid potential splinters as he’s learned from the last two days.

Pushing his feet into the ground as if to move the very planet itself he begins to lift it. Muscles all across his body straining at the work, the thick column slowly rises from the surrounding debris, eventually revealing itself as well over triple his height.

Making sure it’s free from its confines, Byleth starts to drag the long mass of wood down from atop the rubble of a collapsed home, careful not to lose his footing amongst the ruined heap.

Starting out well, his pace steadily lessens as he lugs the beam toward the appropriate area. Pausing for a break, the looming weight digs into his shoulder where he’s supporting it as his free hand comes up to wipe away the sweat on his brow.

Taking a deep breath, he readjusts the mass and prepares to continue his objective, but as he does so he suddenly feels the burden notably diminish.

Rapidly turning his head, he eyes the individual lifting the other end, a muscular Brigid man that flashes him a small smile. Byleth studies him closely for a moment before nodding and continuing the trip to the allotted scrap pile, much easier now with a helping hand.

Tossing both ends at the same time, the beam crashes amongst similar pieces of wood. Glad to be rid of the encumbrance, the young Eisner exchanges a small nod with the worker across from him for his help as they go their separate ways.

Walking back to the destroyed abode he was at previously, the adolescent uses the trek to steady his breathing while looking about at the noisy environment all around him filled with the chatter and noise of people.

Although the moment-to-moment toil is slow, the boy notes how a good portion of the land is already cleared, looking much better than during his arrival. Beyond the environment though, his eyes are focused on the people.

Echoing his previous sentiments, the diversity on display is an interesting sight compared to the relative white homogeneity of Fódlan. That is to say that the people here are different than his normal, not that they themselves have wide variance in appearance. Occasionally he’d see those with darker skin on his home continent, but here it’s the standard.

Adding on to that, the differences in culture are clear from how they interact with one another and dress. The seafarers, while decidedly freer spirited, are apparently not an exception with regard to attire. It isn’t everyone, but the majority of natives are wearing open clothing, some wearing very little at all.

All sorts of tattoos of varying shapes and colors decorate their skin, though notably with the exception of children who seem free of such marks below a certain age.

Hair colors largely vary between shades of blues and purples, though at one point he sees a hint of pinkish melon-colored hair, but the owner quickly disappears from his vision afterward.

Lifting his gaze from the people along his path, he arrives once again at the razed domicile to continue cleaning. After an hour of such though, the relative harmony of people working together is distorted by a loud shout coming from the nearby jungle.

Glancing over, he spots a lone Brigid woman running out of the brush in a large state of disarray, her hair littered with twigs and leaves and her torn clothes displaying shallow cuts underneath. From the bit of Tuatha he can understand, the only words that he can make sense of are a repeated call for help.

Quickly, those in the clearing begin to murmur about the odd situation and more than a few head towards the commotion, Byleth being one of them.

Arriving nearby, he sees her briskly talking to the older individual he had interacted with yesterday while repeatedly motioning to the forest. Although he can’t entirely make out what she’s saying, it’s clear that something bad happened judging by the tone of her voice and the older man’s face scrunched in anger.

Soon, Zane and Jeralt similarly arrive, sensing that they may be able to find some additional work, not to necessarily discount them wanting to assist her out of good intentions alone.

Jeralt simply adopts a clueless expression after trying to listen in for a short duration, but the stoic juvenile doesn’t miss how his father’s wary gaze moves to the similarly aged native. Zane on the other hand, eagerly tunes in prior to interjecting with his own point.

The pair stop talking and look at the ginger, surprised by his interpolation, before all three begin an in-depth discussion.

Despite having only just begun learning the language, the aspiring linguist finds himself understanding more and more as he listens in. It’s still just fragments, and largely implicit, but the growth is astonishing.

Heatedly conversing, Zane motions towards the mercenary captain, causing both the wounded woman and longevous man to look at him with evaluating gazes.

“You go by the name of Jeralt?”

Suddenly, the older male speaks in the language of Fódlan, stopping the previously heated discussion. The flaxen-haired leader gives the Brigid fellow a steely stare then replies in a deep voice.

“Yes, I’m Jeralt. I’m sure my deputy here has told you about what we do.”

“Yes, he has. I admit I am surprised that a man of your reputation has come down to this small archipelago we are calling home.”

Faintly tensing, the captain takes a moment to respond, “I’m honored that the reputability of my mercenary band has reached across the sea.”

The tattooed native evaluates Jeralt for a near uncomfortable amount of time before finally smirking.

“Yes, well back to the matter at hand. A group of filthy bandits has attacked a convoy that was heading here, and this woman managed to get away to be calling for aid. Would the famous Jeralt and his group of… mercenaries… be able to handle the situation for us?”

“We’d be happy to! I’m sure we can expect a good reward for the effort too?”

Zane jumps into the conversation, dissolving the oddly tense air between the two men. Laughing, the older native says something in Tuatha which causes the deputy to similarly chuckle.

“Very well, we’ll get right on it won’t we Captain?”

Jeralt remains reticent for several long seconds, but eventually nods in acknowledgment after a final glance at the man.

***

Walking along the asperous floors of the lush jungle, about half of the New Dawn Mercenaries have gathered to look for the bandits while the other half stayed behind to continue their main task.

As nice as the heat was previously, many are now sick of it as they sweat nonstop from the increased temperature and humidity in the overgrown wilderness. More unbothered by such things, Byleth dutifully goes through the densely packed flora, searching the surroundings for any type of tracks to follow.

They had located where on the dirt trail the group of provisioners were ambushed, but it appears the bandits were quite smart as they had hidden well their trail from there, leaving behind only an empty caravan littered with blood and slowly cooling bodies.

It was rather gruesome with some of the corpses already being picked at by wild animals when they showed up.

Scanning over his surroundings, the cobalt eyed youth bends down to examine several disturbed plants, Sothis’s cheerful voice ringing in his mind as he does so.

‘Good morning Byleth! What are you doing now?’

Per usual lately, she receives no reply as the boy silently finishes his examination and heads off in a specific direction. It’s a handful of minutes later when her words once again echo, but this time, they cause him to stop moving altogether.

‘Say, I suppose I never inquired previously, but why is it that you’re always doing the oddest things while surrounded by all of these ruffians? It seems a strange life for a child.’

The lad feels himself shudder with emotion as he can’t help but recall his two aggressors standing above him, screaming at the battered and bruised child beneath them.

Dread rising in his chest, the adolescent tries to brush it off.

‘It’s nothing special, don’t worry about it.’

The mysterious girl responds with a thoughtful hum as the boy moves onward, noticeably shaken.

Continuing on, he tries to move slower, fearing the inevitable and attempting to stall until the girl would go back to sleep from exhaustion.

But it’s not meant to be.

“Oi lads, I see some of ‘em over here.”

His panic explodes as he registers that remark and shakenly peers through the dense foliage, spotting several dozen bandits wearing green and brown armor stained with mud sitting around the looted supplies, laughing as they dine on some of the food contained within.

‘What’s going on here?’

Instead of the warm and gentle sound that soothes his soul, he takes note of the increasingly serious and questioning edge in her tone, perhaps noticing the many armed men and strange atmosphere.

With desperate eyes, he watches as his father’s mercenaries spread out to encircle the encampment, not planning to let any of their quarry escape.

‘Byleth, answ-’

Helplessness and fear, likely the strongest emotions he has ever felt that are truly his and his alone. These are the feelings that run amok within him as a strong kick catches him unaware and sends him reeling into the enemy encampment, the quiet snicker full of sickening mirth more than enough for him to identify the perpetrator.

There’s a beat of silence as the confused rogues look over to the small kid faceplanted on the ground, then there is carnage.

Taking the scene as a signal, Jeralt’s mercenaries spring from hiding, blades finding purchase immediately. Blood flies and screams ring out as the clashing of steel signifies life or death combat. Despite the surprise attack, only a few are immediately killed, the rest proving why they have the strength to thrive in the dangerous jungles of Brigid.

As Byleth watches his compatriots begin the hunt while stumbling to his feet, he can feel it. He can feel her pounding chaotic emotions: shock, fright, confusion, and anger. This and more are conveyed through their link as Sothis is brutally exposed to her juvenile host’s bloody lifestyle.

‘Watch out!’

Suddenly, her desperate cry tears the boy from his dark musings as he looks up to see a blade nearing his head.

Despite his tumultuous emotional state, his superior physique and harsh training kick in as he pivots to the side, only a stinging cut gracing his cheek.

With a dull expression and practiced movements, he sweeps the lunging attacker's legs, using the foe’s forward momentum against him to force him to the ground. Never one to waste time, the young warrior automatically bursts with speed, pulling out one of his trusty knives and instinctually slashing toward his prey’s exposed neck.

‘No, you can’t!’

Everything appears to slow down from the adrenaline coursing through his veins. As his sharp blade approaches the filthy man’s throat, he can see the shock and fear painted in the bandit’s brown eyes. He can feel his taut muscles springing forth with power and precision. He can feel Sothis’s horror. Horror partly directed at him and his instantaneous movement to kill.

Time then resumes as his blade easily slices through the brigand’s jugular, causing a short spray of warm blood to wash over him. For several excruciatingly long seconds, silence reigns between the pair, not even the clashes of combat all around registering in their minds. Then Sothis speaks.

‘Byleth… you… you killed him…’

The shock and distress in her voice nearly makes him stumble as his very soul seemingly shudders in pain.

'You... I... Are you o-'

In this moment of despair, he manages to do something. Somehow, he dulls the link between himself and the emerald-eyed lass in his mind, cutting off whatever she was going to say.

All at once, her emotions and words seem to fade away to the rear of his subconscious. He can still vaguely make out her trying to speak to him, but whatever it is and whatever she’s feeling are hidden from him, cloaked in a thick cloud of fog.

Standing next to the dead body of the person he had killed, the distraught youth keeps replaying Sothis’s final utterances and negative emotions in his head over and over.

“Heh, good kill demon brat. Here I thought you were gonna get stuffed there but I shoulda known better from a monster like you ay?”

Glancing up, his pupils meet those of one of his constant aggressors. Seeing the man’s cruel gaze, Byleth suddenly feels like he’s suffocating as the incessant words of derision and cruel beatings he’s suffered from his tenure as a mercenary combine with Sothis’s recent shock and horror.

His eyes blaze with a quiet fury as a fierce fire ignites in his chest, the likes of which he has never experienced.

His hand begins to reach for the sword on his hip as he gazes at his abuser, who can’t help but shrink away slightly from the deadly light emanating from the boy’s almost glowing blue orbs. Slowly unsheathing his gleaming argentine blade, the hiss of metal rings in the air as he walks towards the man with measured steps.

Stumbling backwards, the mercenary raises his own weapon threateningly, “H-hey! What d’ya think you’re doin’ brat!?”

Soon Byleth’s blade is fully uncovered and held low as he goes into an attacking stance, muttering under his breath, “This is all your fault…”

Tightening his grip and with no hesitation, he springs forward with every ounce of his strength, easily reaching past the other mercenary’s poor attempt at defense as his weapon nears his neck.

To the lad’s surprise though, another sword appears to stop his at the final moment, struggling to block his blow but eventually pushing him back. Boots sliding across the earth, his gaze immediately shifts to see the new foe, but as he does his arm lowers and his eyes widen ever so slightly.

“Zane…?” he asks in a broken whisper of a voice.

Standing next to the mercenary who’s fallen to his butt on the ground, the young deputy stares at his student with scrunched eyebrows.

“What are you doing Byleth?! He’s one of ours, not a bandit!”

The sight of Zane defending the contemptible coward is plenty enough to cause the boy to recall the countless ideas drilled into his head beating after beating, the small seed of doubt about even those closest to him beginning to bloom.

Something gives every indication of breaking inside of him as he watches one of the few he trusts defend the man he hates, his expression becoming even colder than usual and the flicker in his gaze ceasing to exist.

Seated on the jungle floor, said individual of reproach points a trembling finger at the kid, “Lieu-lieutenant h-he tried to kill m-”

Rather than let him finish, Zane snaps at him with an angry tone, “Shut it Sean, I’m not in the mood to hear you speak!”

The mercenary, now identified as Sean, merely looks to the side in rage and humiliation.

Conversely, the ginger continues to gaze at Byleth but his expression eventually turns soft as he sighs and sheathes his blade. Walking to the youngster he crouches and puts a hand on his shoulder, trying to see into him despite his lowered head.

“Byleth,” he says in a softer tone, “why did you do that? Is everything okay?”

He doesn’t receive a response as he expected, but what does surprise him is when the teal haired youth roughly pulls away and backs up.

The adolescent peers down at the corpse by his feet and at the sword in his hand before walking back into the jungle, ignoring the calls echoing behind him.

Chest aching in pain he tries to ignore it, pushing it down until he feels nothing once more.

Running at an even pace, his cold eyes dart around, taking in the slightest clues of things off in the flora surrounding him. He’s like a predator on a chase, and before long he comes across an additional group of bandits, six of them lazing around a fire with booze in their drooping hands. All of them are noticeably younger than the other group, most of them barely able to grow hair on their chins.

Not wasting a second, he charges right into the clearing, decapitating one of them while driving his trusty steel through another in the blink of an eye.

The bandits can barely respond as he moves once again, throwing two daggers right into the throats of the men standing up to grab their weapons.

Looking over, the others are scared shitless but manage to pick up their arms and somewhat ready themselves. The burgeoning warrior simply watches them coldly and indifferently, as if looking at an insect.

Pulling his arming sword from the chest of the corpse in front of him, it falls to the ground with a thud and he slowly begins to walk toward the remaining two trembling outlaws. They yell something at him in their native tongue, something about peace, but he pays it no mind and continues moving towards them with his blade hanging low.

Finally, the older of the pair can’t take it anymore and runs at the kid. Raising his arm to swing down his axe, he doesn’t even get to do that as Byleth suddenly appears right before him causing the world to go dark.

Watching his ally drop like a puppet with its strings cut, the remaining bandit pisses himself and falls to the ground. He watches the supposed child draw closer and closer and holds out his arms while begging for mercy, tears and snot streaming down his face.

With a flash of steel, he no longer has any arms to hold out as blood erupts from his two stumps. Screaming in pain, he barely notices as he’s pushed flat down, a small boot putting impossible pressure on his chest. Glancing up through the pain, all he manages to see is a sharp tip of gleaming metal plunging right between his eyes.

Slowly pulling out his weapon from the man’s, or rather boy’s, broken skull, he glances to the side as he hears the rumbling of footsteps, only to see a few of his father’s mercenaries along with Zane burst from the brush.

Their raised arms lower a bit as they spot the youth and many, including Zane, cannot help but suck in a breath at the sight, experienced as they are. The image of a young child surrounded by six bloodied bodies, yet still maintaining an emotionless demeanor is not something they can ever get used to.

“Byleth, you shouldn’t have run off on your own, that was extremely reckless!”

Zane adjusts to the view quicker than the others and immediately berates the youth with a scolding tone. The child doesn’t seem to react to the words and simply stares at the ginger.

After a moment of silence, he turns and starts walking away. Surprised, the mercenary lieutenant immediately runs over to the boy and grabs his arm, halting him.

“Hey, where are you going?”

Turning his head, he looks at Zane with eyes so hollow and chilling they startle the young man.

“To kill bandits, or isn’t that what you want?”

With that simple yet charged question, he shakes free and continues forward unimpeded. The red-headed deputy stares at Byleth’s retreating back with a shocked and sad bearing, unable to tear away the image of the child’s unexpressive bloody face from his mind.

That day, every single bandit hiding in that particular section of the jungle disappeared, an emotionless pair of cobalt eyes the last thing many of them saw before their sanguine essence dyed the foliage red.