The air leaves Byleth’s lungs as a strong kick impacts his chest, throwing him to the ground. Trying to get up, he suddenly sees stars as the muddy sole of a boot descends on his head, keeping it firmly rooted in the dirt. 

“Where did ya find the damn nerve to stand up to me brat? I thought someone like you woulda learned their place a long time ago.”  

The man waits a moment, listening for a response. When he doesn’t get one, he raises his foot and smashes it back down on the boy’s skull with savage glee. 

“That’s fine, I enjoy it this way too, remember?” 

The attacker chuckles at that, as if amused by his demented words and actions. 

Lying amidst the moist earth and decaying leaves, the budding Eisner offers no resistance, having long since resigned himself to this fate but only now fully accepting it. ‘This is what I deserve.’ This thought shoots through his aching form over and over as his dull eyes stare at the mud he’s currently planted in. 

He doesn’t react to his abuser’s acrid remarks, nor his beatings. Enduring the painful kicks to his stomach and head, he grits his teeth through the hammering torment until the blows subside, allowing him to draw a shaky breath. 

“Fuckin’ trash, next time don’t forget what you are.”

With that comment the demoralized and aching youth expects the man to leave, but his darkened globes widen ever so slightly as he feels a newfound wetness begin to soak through to his side. 

The stench immediately hits his nostrils, and for a moment it's as if he can’t breathe, his senses overwhelmed by the putrid scent, vaguely reminiscent of some of his battlefields. His diminutive form is soon enough soaked in the stream of foul-smelling yellow liquid, bursting forth from the browbeater’s unwashed loins. 

Fully relieving himself, the deviant chuckles at his handiwork before yanking his trousers back up, “Ugh, that one was stewing for a while all right. Well, see you later, little shit.” 

Another sound of amusement later, he relaxedly struts away, a whistle on his lips. Behind him, Byleth is splayed unmoving on the ground, a single tear unknowingly trailing down his skin as he vacantly contemplates how things came to this point, his memories appearing so vividly it's as if he’s relieving them.

Despite not being the best at keeping track of time, it was definitely over a year ago when everything changed. That was when he began to notice a marked shift in the attitudes of those around him. 

He’s come to recognize that he was always seen as rather strange due to his anti-social behavior and emotionless demeanor, but killing those two men on that night, it started something. 

After that consequential occurrence, he would occasionally hear some of his father’s mercenaries call him names or whisper about him in corners. At first, he seldom noticed it, but it slowly became something that was increasingly apparent. 

He didn’t understand exactly what was happening or why they were doing it, not back then, but the more he was exposed to it the more it began to affect him. However, in spite of the growing negativity in both himself and others, he didn’t tell Zane or his father what was happening.

A month following the beginning of the whispering and verbal abuse, the two main offenders made their first appearance before him. At that juncture, they were relatively new members of the New Dawn Mercenaries, having joined not long after the deprecation surrounding him had started. 

Despite their confrontation also being their first interaction with him, he recognized them easily enough since he commonly saw them joining in with the others in his verbal torment. 

That day though, there were more than simple words thrown about, there were also fists. 

Nearly every day from then on, the two would come and beat him. In the beginning, it was merely a scant few punches here and there, but they were evidently emboldened as time went on seeing they never got caught. Perhaps they felt drunk in their power, their power over a young and strange child.

Then he met Sothis. 

For some reason, he felt this inexplicable link with her, emotions he previously couldn’t even conceive of now rampaging inside of him. With her, it was as if he forgot the darkness surrounding him. With her he felt safe and whole, he felt happy. 

Yet in the end, he was cruelly dragged into the abyss all over again. He was reminded of who he was by his tormentors, of who he could never be - someone worthy of love. 

Thus, he began to push her away, even though his sole desire was to be near her. What if she betrayed him? Or what if he somehow ruined her with his presence? That was something that would absolutely break him, something he couldn’t risk happening. 

And yet it did happen. 

She was exposed to who he had come to see himself as. A monster. She watched firsthand how he sliced that bandit down, and the negative emotions coursing through her still haunt his young mind nonstop. He had failed and lost her too. The seemingly final bastion of hope in his life, turned against him. 

And so, in an instantaneous and instinctive move, he blurred their connection, not wanting to experience the heart-rending pain of her eventual venomous words. Unfortunately, regardless of that he currently felt more broken than ever before. 

Still laying in the dirt with a myriad of thoughts in his mind, the hot sun bears down on him, simply serving to make the stench covering him all the worse. Despite that, he doesn’t move, not having the strength or will.

***

“We finished cleaning up our assigned portion of the perimeter while you were out. Everything went pretty smooth ‘cept for that blockhead Klein dropping a heavy load on his damn foot. The fool’s lucky it didn’t break but he’ll still be out for a few days.” 

“That guy…” Zane mutters in an exasperated tone of voice, “Still, I’d much rather he was the only thing I had to worry about…” 

“Did something happen during the clearing?” 

The ginger’s mouth opens as if to reply but he quickly stops himself and lightly shakes his head with a sigh. 

“Nothing I want to talk about. For now, you and your team can take a quick break if you haven’t already. After that, go and join Hugo’s group in the central zone.” 

The toned merc with short brown hair across from him nods, “Sure thing, we’ll get right on it.” 

As he begins to leave, his superior's voice echoes behind him, “Hey Duncan, if you see Byleth then let me know. I need to have a word with him.” 

The brunet doesn’t turn back around, merely waving his hand in acknowledgment as he continues on his way. Zane’s tired eyes linger on the retreating form for a shake prior to returning to the nearby campfire.

Taking a seat on an uprooted trunk he prods the fire for a moment, the flames crackling and sending fleeting embers drifting into the air. Deciding to add another log, he does just that and watches as the blaze once more pops in excitement before settling down, greedily consuming the additional fuel. 

The fire isn’t especially necessary considering the heat radiating from above, but it still offers a much-needed, if partial, distraction. 

Picking up his bow which was lying nearby, his calloused hand runs over the wood and metal trimmings, taking note of the signs of wear readily showing, many of which were produced by a certain teal-haired boy as the ginger helped teach him to shoot. 

“I wonder if we did the right thing…” 

Almost like a whisper, those thoughts drift from his lips as he recalls Byleth’s frosty demeanor from earlier. He’s always had his misgivings regarding letting the young child join in acts of killing, but only now is he fully coming to terms with the wrongness of it all as that frigid gaze as well as the events preceding it continually replays in his thoughts. 

Pondering the situation, he releases a deep exhale, his absentminded stare on the weapon in his lap. 

“You seem troubled, care to share?”

Hearing a question in Tuatha, he tears his faraway look away from his bow and looks up to see the same middle-aged man that had hired them to root out the bandits. 

Opening his mouth, he’s about to speak but pauses as the native throws a small pouch at him, the clink of metal in his hands clueing him in as to the contents. 

“There’s your pay. It’s mostly our currency but you can always be melting it down if you don’t use it. The other things will be prepared later.” 

Zane nods in thanks whilst the scarred former employer sits across from him, absentmindedly pulling out a compact piece of wood that he begins whittling away at. Looking at the piece slowly being carved; the deputy can tell that it’s starting to take a peculiar shape but can’t discern what exactly the end result will be. 

“Speak boy, what ails you?” 

The ginger raises his gaze, his bronze eyes glinting with hesitancy as he gathers his thoughts. Desire to discuss the issue hanging over him like a guillotine ready to drop bubbles up from within, yet he’s reticent to reveal such matters to the stranger facing him. 

For what seems like ages, the young man grapples with his dilemma yet the native leisurely sitting across from him makes no effort to rush him. Perhaps it’s exactly this unconstrained behavior that allows the ginger to calm himself, and leaving aside the last minute of silence, he decides to divulge his anxiety. 

“Well,” his voice is quiet at first, but steadily increases to a normal volume, “it’s about the captain’s son.” 

“The lad from earlier?” The islander cuts in while glancing up from his unperfected effigy. 

The deputy simply nods, “Yes, him,” he says as he turns his vision to the blue sky above. “He’s seemed troubled as of late and now he’s disappeared somewhere in the jungle. To be honest, I can’t help but feel that this is my fault, I was supposed to look after him and yet he’s grown so distant. Granted, I was busy cleaning up after Jeralt the last few months but that’s not a proper excuse for my negligence.”

Zane continues to stare at the drifting clouds with troubled thoughts but lowers his head as he hears a low snort. 

“If he has a problem it’s that you and that captain of yours are complete idiots.” 

Shocked by the change in attitude, he looks across from him to see the darker-skinned man’s sharp eyes boring into him. 

“What kind of people bring a small child to a battlefield? I am not caring if he has one of your Fódlan gifts, a mere boy has no place in the arena of men. Training? Sure. You can be guaranteeing that I will train my granddaughter properly even when she’s young, but I would never subject her to such cruelty and danger until she is of an appropriate age. He’s troubled because of you people making him run the gauntlet of life and death despite having barely begun life himself!” 

The local’s voice gets louder and louder, and by the end, several others are looking over with curious expressions. 

Eyes widened, Zane sits there in slight shock but cannot help but agree with everything that was said. Clenching his fists, he stares at his boots with a twisted expression. 

“You’re right, we made the wrong decision. I thought that I shouldn’t intervene with Jeralt’s plans but I should have spoken up…” 

He falls into silence as he broods over how everything went wrong. He’s been noticing the changes in his student of sorts, but it wasn’t until today that he realized that he’d let things go on too long. The boy is mentally unwell. ‘Damn it what’s wrong with me? Haven’t I learned anything?’ Thinking back to his own troubled childhood, Zane can’t help but berate himself for not being more attentive.

The islander’s heated gaze lingers on the sullen youth before a stinging pain in his hand brings his vision downward. 

Clicking his tongue in annoyance he loosens his grip and watches as some crushed pieces of wood slip from his fist. Fully opening his tightened hand, he stares at the half-finished remains of his carving with a complicated light, eventually chucking them toward a nearby scrap pile with a sigh. 

Standing, he licks the blood starting to seep out of the thin cut on his palm, “I will search for him.” 

Looking up, Zane sees the man preparing to leave and hastily makes to stand, only to be stopped as he puts out his hand. 

“To outsiders, these jungles are a maze; you will not find him. But I grew up here, I know how to track through these areas, and I know them like the back of my hand. I will bring him with me but when I do, I had better hear of plans for the future. I would rather keep him here with me than return him to you under his current living conditions.” 

With that strong declaration of action that takes the deputy by surprise, the older fellow walks away to grab some supplies, waltzing into the brush soon after.

***

All in all, it wasn’t very hard to find him. For anyone unfamiliar with the area it would be near impossible, but for someone who had lived here their entire life, it was easy enough to follow the clues that had been left. The youth obviously hadn’t tried his hardest to disappear, merely enough to fool the men he had arrived with. 

Creeping silently along a tall tree branch high above the ground, the islandman looks down on a moderately sized clearing where he’s found his target. Sitting alone on a fallen log, Byleth’s head hangs low as he seemingly stares at the grass, gently rolling from the tropical winds. 

The boy is as bare as he was born, his attire and possessions lying nearby and a noticeable sheen on his hair, likely from the stream cutting across the nearby landscape. 

The islander watches for a few minutes, attempting to perceive anything useful about the youth by his actions however nothing occurs during that period, he only remains seated on the bark in perpetual silence.

Just as the older individual decides to make himself known; his focus suddenly shifts to the side as he peers into the darkness of the foliage. Ten seconds later, a black snout peeks through the dense fauna as a creature slowly steps into the clearing. 

It’s a massive cat with yellowish-orange fur decorated with black spots and rings. 

Despite its great size, the beast’s heavy paws make nary a sound as it stalks ever forward, its attention remaining focused on the small form of the child before it. 

Hidden in the branches overlooking the glade, the man reaches for the bow resting on his back, his face hard as he analyzes the situation. 

As the muscled feline moves closer, it suddenly stops mid-step as Byleth raises his head, his eyes hidden behind his glistening teal hair meeting those across from him. Simultaneously they both freeze, inspecting one another. 

If the youngster feels any fear at the sight of a wildcat almost as tall as him, he makes no showing of it, his cobalt orbs betraying no emotion as they gaze deeply into the almost intelligent golden ones staring back at him.

Perched above, the adept local slowly nocks an arrow and tightly draws the bowstring, the muscles in his arm flexing at the strain. Fingers aching at being dug into by the tense wire, he prepares to loose the feathered shaft, yet finds himself hesitating as he takes in the strange scene illuminated by the majestic sun’s rays. 

The silent exchange continues, much too lengthy to be normal. Neither the boy nor the feline makes a move, but the unusual circumstance ends abruptly as the majestic cat’s ears twitch, its head rapidly twisting to peer in a specific direction. 

With no warning or hesitation, it bounds from its static position, its muscles bursting with fierce power as it disappears in the blink of an eye. A short animalistic scream sounds nearby prior to devolving into silence. 

Turning towards the noise, Byleth tries to see where the creature disappeared to. 

In the distance, not far into the woods, he makes out the mighty feline slowly rising from the ground, its jaw clamped around the neck of a limp reddish-brown fawn. The fur surrounding its mouth soaked in blood, it turns its golden orbs towards him for a final lingering moment before huffing and retreating further inward, seemingly satisfied with its bounty. 

For several minutes, he gazes into the distance, focused on the area where the cat disappeared with its prey.

Sometime afterward, however, a subtle yet distinct noise breaks his focus. 

It sounds similar to the many birdsongs constantly being performed on the plentiful stages above, yet this one in particular is unique. It truly sounds like a fully structured song, and so curiously he looks every which way throughout the treeline attempting to spot the source. 

Soon enough, he turns up and to the left, spotting the producer of the melody. His eyebrows raise minutely at the sight of the same old man from camp smiling and waving at him from up in the trees, but ultimately, he doesn’t waste a heartbeat as he stands and begins to dress, walking away quickly after. 

“Hey wait!” Shouting in Tuatha, the deft adult quickly scrambles down the towering tree and hurries to catch up, staying on pace behind him. 

“What’s wrong, you didn’t find my little song to be enjoyable? I thought it was quite good…” 

Byleth doesn’t spare him a glance and keeps on walking, forging his own path through the chaotic vegetation. The man doesn’t mind the lack of response as he continues talking about lighthearted topics in Tuatha even despite being clearly and totally ignored.

This scene goes on for quite a while as the fledgling mercenary completely disregards the stranger, who simply follows closely behind with various chatter. 

Twenty minutes later, the teal-haired kid stops in his tracks, causing the Brigid local to similarly stop lest they collide. Relative silence reigns between them for a brief period until the boy finally speaks in a small voice. 

“Stop following me.” 

The accent is a bit rough around the edges, but the man understands his words well enough. A light grin graces his lips with the satisfaction that he finally got a response out of the silent child. 

Not wasting the opening, he switches to the language of Fódlan, “The stone has finally decided to speak! I was being a little sad when you did not laugh at my jokes you know.” 

He chuckles a bit as Byleth turns and stares at him with a straight face devoid of emotion. Looking at the lack of expression he sighs in his heart but doesn’t erase the warm smile on his face.

As he’s about to add more, a loud grumble echoes from the lad’s stomach, causing him to finally react as he glances to the side as if in embarrassment. The adult makes use of the opportunity as he gets closer and pats his back while laughing. 

“Hungry huh? Let us go hunt!” 

The adolescent just looks at him, as if determining whether to plunge a knife in his chest, before shaking his head and making to walk away again. As he does, the man grabs him by the collar, securely keeping him in place. 

“Do not be like that boy. Your father asked for us to be hunting together since the camp is running low on food,” his voice a little firmer this time. 

He watches as the child turns his head, his indigo eyes narrowing as he notices the lad’s rapid breathing and minutely trembling form. 

Releasing the fabric from his grasp, the olive-skinned native’s gaze follows Byleth as he immediately jumps back, fingering the dagger at his waist. 

Seeing the guarded form ahead of him, the local repeats himself, “As I said, your father wants us to be hunting. Will you come with me?” 

Presumably trying to discern the truth of the statement, Byleth peers into the persistent individual’s eyes, silently acquiescing after a moment yet maintaining his wary demeanor all the same, clear from his body language. 

The islander nods, “Good, now follow me.” He begins walking, seemingly uncaring if the youth would follow suit. Ultimately, he does, but not without a moment of hesitation. 

And so, the unlikely pair tread further into the weald, their intentions ostensibly aligned.