Chapter Text
On the 13th day of the Horsebow Moon, in the Imperial Year 1182, the world ended.
Or, so many have thought.
With the wailing cries of the people, and the corpses—burnt, mauled, and nigh unrecognizable—the people of Fódlan had every right to believe that the Goddess had forsaken them.
The days pass Felix like a blur. He isn’t even sure how he’s managed to survive so far, nor does he know how many days have passed since the fateful day. Probably a week, two weeks at most. The memory of the night it happened is seared into his memory, but adrenaline took hold of his body and has yet to let go. He has been on auto-pilot ever since.
When hell rained on earth, balls of fire blasted everywhere, setting everything ablaze. A few days after the initial onslaught, the volcanoes in Ailell erupted, covering Fódlan in ash. The land quickly became inhospitable. Even just breathing hurts.
He tightens the makeshift mask on his face: scrap fabric torn from some other article of clothing, its owner long passed. He quickly caught onto how life would be from here on out. Clean air and water are now a luxury—a distant memory. If you had to beware bandits before, now, you’d do well to be careful even around your friends. Felix thinks his nose will never be the same; always the putrid smell of rotting corpses hanging in the air, tainting his senses. He wonders what kind of man he will be if he manages to survive all this, if he manages to become immune.
Felix is tired, hungry, and aching. Thankfully, he knows where he is right now, more or less: in Fenja territory, south of Aegir.
He left Fraldarius, Faerghus, half a year ago, when the kingdom had devolved into madness by Cornelia’s doing. The disappearance of the rightful heir and the acquiescence of the western territories of the kingdom to the Adrestian Empire disgusted him. Though he surmises eastern Faerghus—especially Houses Gautier, Fraldarius, and Galatea—would fight tooth and nail to keep empire forces out, it would only be a matter of time before they were overwhelmed. He decided he wanted nothing to do with a nation that would make him fight to the death just to glorify it in the name of patriotism.
It was this disdain for his former homeland that made him think he’d be a wandering mercenary for the rest of his life. Under normal circumstances, he would squarely avoid Faerghus for as long as he was recognizable as Duke Fraldarius’ son.
Then again, these were not normal circumstances, and so he had to make decisions the Felix of last week would never think to make: a journey back to the land he turned away from—home, Fraldarius.
No one could have seen the calamity coming, nor did they know where it came from. Madmen whispered their conspiracies and even though people were now afraid of being too close to each other out of heightened distrust, word still gets around. Most believed it to be the Goddess’s wrath, well-deserved after humankind dared to point their sword to the heavens.
Felix’s stomach rumbles. He winces under his mask in pain. It has been two days since he had anything to eat. Markets have collapsed. Money wasn’t the issue—he has it in spades after the job he just finished—merchants and items for sale were. It would be a miracle if money were even worth anything in the state the world’s in right now.
He finds a human toppled over. It is apparent that he is several days expired. It takes Felix everything to ignore the vile smell, as he prays for anything valuable to loot. The dead don’t need it, he thought.
Material goods. Pity. And to be quite frank, respect.
Having a dead brother himself, he never imagined he’d think that way. However, things are vastly different now. It’s every man for themselves; society starts to degrade into its most basic, primal form.
Fraldarius is many weeks away.
“Where do you think you’re going?” A sharp tone cut through the room, causing him to flinch. His back was turned to the speaker, but the voice was all too familiar.
“That’s none of your business.” Felix curtly responded, turning to shoot the other person an icy glare.
“We’re in the middle of a war. You can’t be so stupid to think I’d let you abandon the kingdom!”
“That’s funny, I don’t remember asking for your permission.” He spat out, the scowl on his face growing deeper.
He stood face to face with his father. Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius—the Shield of Faerghus. A man so devoted to his country and to his dead best friend, he’d throw his life away for it.
Felix wasn’t going to be yet another Fraldarius on the kingdom’s death toll.
“I’d gladly die in service for the King, the kingdom, and its people. To become a deserter… you disgrace everything our family stands for!” Rodrigue hissed, but Felix remained unflinching in his resolve, his father’s words only serving to fuel his anger even more.
“Then die for it, you fool. But don’t drag me down with you.”
Those were the last words Felix said to his father. The idea that father and son might just die hating each other haunts him on nights like these, as if life after the calamity wasn’t a living nightmare enough.
He doesn’t consider himself particularly sentimental. He’s the kind of person who could cut down family if need be, even though he would not exactly be pleased about it. Knowing his own father, he would think the same. Despite this, the sudden uncertainty of the world and their continued survival has him reflecting on his past actions, and whether he actually made the right choice at that moment in time. Nothing is ever black-or-white, especially not his complex emotions surrounding his family, Faerghus, and what it meant to be a man of his status.
Felix has become an exceptionally light sleeper nowadays. It’s a source of worry—sleep deprivation dulls the senses. He cannot abide his swordsmanship weakening, but if he must survive the nights out, he must be alert. Bandits have become more emboldened than ever in a dog-eat-dog world, taking everything and leaving nothing.
He set up camp in a secluded part in the woods bordering Fenja and Aegir, making sure he’s well away from the road. He hears a rustle in the bushes, and he bristles for a moment, until he realizes it’s just a raccoon. He sighs, half relieved, half frustrated, and lets fatigue take him once more.
Felix arrives at the Aegir capital of Boramas just a few hours before noon. The city center has a makeshift market set up; tents with holes on their roofs, merchandise that were mostly useless for travel, and merchants themselves who have seen better days.
He can feel eyes on him, observing his every move. Everyone is skittish, rightfully so, but it makes it harder for Felix to approach anyone, especially with a face so unfriendly as his.
“What would you take for these?” Felix points at the hardtack for sale. Food is exceptionally hard to come by; most of what is sold is preserved or dried.
The seller leers at him, scrutinizes him for every visible item he has on himself to ascertain whether there was anything worth exchanging. “Your sword. I’ll take it.”
Felix sneers, his eyes narrowing to fixate on the man and his audacity. He almost wants to cut him down on the spot. “You’ve got to be kidding me. My sword, for some biscuits?”
“You have two,” the man shrugs and jerks his chin to point at his hip, where there are indeed two swords in their scabbards. “Take it or leave it.”
He would be sorely mistaken if he thought Felix could be taken as a fool. He turns away with disgust, but suddenly finds himself face-to-face with a man whose flowing coral hair is striking and unmistakable. “Ferdinand?” He yelps in surprise.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the merchant behind him visibly startle, not expecting to see his lord. The man named Ferdinand also becomes wide-eyed, until Felix realizes he is properly covered with a hood and a mask, mentally kicking himself for needlessly giving himself away. He reluctantly removes the hood, but keeps the mask on for the safety of his health.
“…Felix, of House Fraldarius? What brings you to Aegir? My, it is a relief to see you alive!” Ferdinand brightly smiles, as though this was a reunion of long lost friends.
In truth, they did not interact much at all during their academy days, especially not after the Empire declared war. They would have found themselves on opposing sides if not for the tragedy that befell them. Still, there is something comforting about seeing a familiar face so far from home.
He doesn’t know how any of his friends or family have been doing. When he left, he didn’t exactly give any priority to keeping in touch, but now, it would be hard to do even if he wanted to. Messengers have been charging five times the usual rate due to the increased risk and the lowered value of money.
If one could pay with food and other necessities, there would probably be some takers, but Felix doesn’t even have enough for himself.
Felix doesn’t meet Ferdinand’s eye, but he tells him about how he had just finished a mercenary contract in Fenja before the disaster struck and is now on his way back to the kingdom. He refuses to call it the Dukedom—what a ridiculous name.
The Adrestian noble doesn’t ask further questions, though Felix knows with all his pompousness about nobility and honor, Felix’s abandonment would probably not be taken with much approval. As a de facto enemy though, that may just be well in their favor. In any case, he still opts to be honest about his intentions—it is still his territory he’s passing through and he does not intend to stay for long.
“Would you come with me back to the Aegir estate? I assure you I have no intention to capture you. If you had not heard, Her Majesty has ordered a ceasefire. I am sure it’s obvious why.” He gestures around him with a wry smile, “In any case, I simply can’t watch you scavenge in the public market like this and carry on without so much as a word, for what kind of noble would I be if I didn’t even host you for at least one night?”
Felix raises a brow in response to his offer. He surveys Ferdinand’s face for any hint of deception. From their time in the academy, he knows Ferdinand is honorable, and if he intended to capture him, he would have let him know the moment he recognized him. Still, Felix does not trust so easily.
He decides to play along for now, taking care not to let his guard down.
“You’re still going on about the nobility?” Felix mildly scoffs, though it conveys amusement more than malice. He tries not to sound ungrateful. “No thanks. I’d rather not be indebted, and I’ve got a long road ahead of me still.”
Ferdinand insists there is no debt to be incurred, though—just goodwill from one friend to another. Felix reluctantly obliges and finds himself following Aegir back to his residence.
On their way there, Felix notices the property damage gradually becomes more and more severe. Houses reduced to rubble, and plenty of debris in the way. He tries to be careful of where he steps. A faint stench hangs in the air.
“A tidal wave. It struck about a week ago, I assume they’re aftershocks of the main calamity. I’m surprised you know nothing of it, considering you weren’t far from here.”
He tries to remember. He did feel a mild earthquake a few days back, but he thought nothing of it. The earth had been unstable since everything went down—he didn’t think a tremor of that scale was worth getting worked up about.
Ferdinand keeps his eyes on the road as he recounts the event for Felix. “Recovery has been difficult. Our main industries are crippled; neither fishing nor farming are feasible now, and the people are growing hungry. No food, no shelter… not to mention the devastating loss of lives…” he trails off with a sigh.
They walk all the way back, his host noting that he could not take a horse. He says that, if he were to leave a horse outside the city center’s market, it would probably have been killed by the time he returns, whether it was for food or to entrap its owner, noting that it happened just a few days prior.
Even after saying that, though, he is quick to reassure Felix that society—at least in this part of Adrestia—hasn’t completely lost it yet. He admits to being a bit paranoid but says he’s doing his best so that his people would not have to resort to banditry.
The walk is not too long, but the way home is not any kinder. He notices how Ferdinand’s hand isn’t completely relaxed, as though he is ready to draw his blade at a moment’s notice. The distrust does not seem to be targeted towards him, but rather, their surroundings.
It’s fascinating how Ferdinand seems to trust me so much to keep his back open. Or maybe that’s what he wants me to think? Felix scrutinizes the other man, his stare burning holes into his back as he struggles to fully trust someone who was, not too long ago, an enemy of their state.
Once they arrive, Felix’s tense shoulders loosen with relief. He has arrived safely, with neither a scratch, nor any item missing on his person. The Faerghian swordsman can’t help but feel a slight pang of guilt when he realizes that he assumed the worst out of someone who truly does have good intentions.
The Aegir estate looks rather unkempt, and one section of the outer wall on the second floor is damaged. This place has certainly seen better days…
Felix is then shown to a small room, with very minimal furniture.
It is as if the room hadn’t been used for a while; the furniture has a layer of dust and even the air feels like there were particles floating around, waiting to get in someone’s lungs. But even then, it’s nowhere as bad as the ash outside, and Felix is grateful for the opportunity to remove his makeshift mask.
Ferdinand apologizes for the dismal accommodations. “It isn’t much, but I hope this would be an improvement over your conditions on the road.”
“A bed’s a bed. Beggars can’t be choosers,” Felix shrugs. “Thank you, Ferdinand.”
“The pleasure is all mine. I will have someone fetch you for dinner. And Felix… you can stay for as long as you need to.”
“I don’t plan to. Stay, I mean. I’ll leave tomorrow.”
He wonders if the pained expression on Ferdinand’s face is just his mind playing tricks on him. “Very well.”
Ferdinand takes his leave and Felix appreciates the privacy. For the first time in a long while, he quickly drifts off to sleep.