Chapter Text

Let Blood Rain like Lightning—The First Cycle of A Divine Dream

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Prelude to Let Blood Rain like Lightning

A lone flower stood limply in the mud on the vast Tailtean Plains. The sky roiled with clouds. Sprinkling rain fell, mixing with the ground below. Dawn was yet still hours away. Across the plains, anticipation hung thick. The land held its breath.

A steel-clad boot slammed down. The flower was crushed, ground underfoot, its stem snapping beneath the force. Mud sprayed as more boots followed behind.

An army charged—thousands of plate-clad men, lances waving in the night. Sparse moonlight cut through clouds, casting pale light off conical helmets and polished spearheads.

Raging, the sky above churned with bits of white as pegasus knights braved the storm. Cavalry thundered across the ground, mud spraying with each hoofbeat. Soldiers charged in wild patterns. The roar of the army rose from every screaming throat.

From the west, another army charged, splashing up mud with every footfall. They wore leather and fur with horned metal helmets and wielded cruel-looking axes and blades. They ran, uncaring of enemy bows, even as broadhead shafts struck down their allies. When they met, it was steel against steel, life against life. Blades screamed as they collided, axes bit deep into shields, and the earth drank the blood of the fallen. Men died beneath their enemies’ feet as shields splintered and mud mixed with blood. This was battle without mercy.

Pegasus riders fell limply from the sky. Some died, bodies breaking upon hitting the ground. Some slammed into armored men below, bones breaking, killing allies and enemies alike. Firelight flickered from torches and danced on helmets and spearheads, adding an eerie glow to the chaos.

The moon drifted toward the horizon as the battle raged. Soldiers fought, bled, and died. Lines buckled as one side or another grew desperate, and the scent of blood grew rank in the air.

The night sky blazed red. Faint white stars were dwarfed as a scarlet light overcame them from the west, resolving into a sword that slammed into the ground between the two armies. A massive explosion of fire erupted from the sword, obliterating anyone nearby. 

The sword was longer than most men’s arms, made entirely of what seemed to be bone. A hole in the center, where the cross guard and handle met, held a stone etched with a strange symbol. A harsh red-orange glow pulsed from it, creating an ominous aura around the bone-white blade.

An inferno separated the two armies, flames raging as they consumed those unfortunate enough to be caught. Smoke billowed from the impact, rising into the sky, choking the pegasus knights above.

As the flames died down, a lone figure rose from a crouch and ripped the sword from the ground. Smoke from the dying fire parted around his form, and the lethal grace in his step caused watching soldiers to shrink back.

His armor was open, exposing his chest. He had large pauldrons on his shoulders with massive black spikes in between, and he wore a jagged, torn cape that bore the same symbol as was on the sword. He watched with piercing yellow eyes as the watching soldiers shook themselves out of their stupor and charged him. The man held the glowing sword out in front of him, and a violent red glow enveloped the blade. He raised the sword, as if to swing, though the charging soldiers were still dozens of meters away. He swung.

A whip-like wave of red-orange lightning and flashing bone blade tore through the charging soldiers, shredding through plate and mail, ripping into flesh. Blood boiled, and the sickly smell of burnt flesh filled the air. Horses screamed, falling atop their riders, pinning them to the earth. Armored knights fell slowly, jagged tears in their armor, dripping blood.

The lightning sword retracted, returning to its original form. Then, before the forces of the east could recover, ten more crimson stars fell, their might terrible, though none so fierce as the first.

Across the plain, a small band of barbarians broke from the battle lines and charged toward the heart of the eastern forces. Their swords swung bare in their hands as they ran through the mud, each step making a small splash as they bellowed battle cries. Ahead, a small force of unmounted paladins stood firm around a green-haired woman, spears pointed outward.

The barbarians struck, steel bashing against armor and shield. A spear took one of the barbarians in the side, but he tore the spearhead out and shoved a dagger through the paladin’s faceplate and into his eye.

The paladin fell, a cry sounding from his lips with his last breath.

“Lady Seiros!”

The green-haired woman stood stock still, not even flinching as the surrounding paladins and barbarians fell, their lifeless bodies sending up small splashes of mud as they hit the ground.

Men died. Died by the dozen as the man with the glowing bone sword cut through them. With each swing of his blade, another fell. After he cleared away another group of armed men, he turned, having carved through to the heart of the eastern army, to face the green-haired woman. He let out a feral growl.

The sun peeked over the mountains, casting light across the woman's face. White flowers in her hair caught the pale light as they shifted in the wind. She wore a crown of gold, formed into the shape of twin dragon wings, and was clad in white cloth. Her eyes fixed on the man across the mud.

The rising sun fell upon the face of the sword-wielding man, bringing to light twin scars running down his left eye and the harsh lines on his face.

With a roar, he swung his sword, blazing lightning emitting from it as it traced a whip-like path across the battlefield, decimating in its path.

The green-haired woman raised her sword, a slim thing of shining silver, small against the mighty sword of her foe. Her face hardened. She started to walk toward the man as he retracted the sword. Her steps kicked up mud, staining her white clothes.

She broke into a dash, sword and shield held out, each silver-white, a stark contrast to the black iron and cracked bone of the man she raced towards.

Sparks flew as they clashed, steel grinding against bone. Where their swords flashed, wind whistled to fill the space. Blow after blow landed with such force that the watching soldiers had to cover their ears. The green-haired woman's movements were quick and flowing, each strike leading into the next. Her blade and shield were a blur.

But the yellow-eyed man was faster. His blade vanished with each strike. He was stronger too. The woman avoided direct clashes where she could, but even deflecting, he began to overpower her. His sword swung, ripping the air, and it moved. The strike would have cleaved her in two had she not leapt back. She fell into an attacking stance and ran to meet him.

They raised their swords and brought them down together. Their blades locked. The man grinned, shoved her back, then lunged with a knee to her stomach. She gasped as it connected and was sent flying several paces. Her eyes still gleamed with murder, but now there was shock in their green depths.

He swung before she could recover. Light ripped from the blade as it extended into its whip form. The arc screamed as it tore through the air, carving into the ground beside her, steam rising from the scar it left.

He swung again, the whipping blade coming down for a second blow. She rolled, avoiding the lash of lightning and bone, and came up with her sword out.

He swung overhead. The flashing arc whipped down with a deafening roar of thunder. She stood beneath the crackling blade, silver sword raised. Just as the violent red blade clashed with hers, she twisted her sword left and pulled, wrenching the extended bone sword free of his grip. Both blades landed with a clatter, the whip retracting into its original form.

Before he could react, she charged, driving an uppercut into his jaw — bone cracked — then a kick to his solar plexus. He hit the mud face up, gasping. She was on him before he could move, knee pinning him, arm pressed to his chest. She set a dagger to his throat, close enough to draw blood if he breathed.

"Tell me, Nemesis, do you recall the Red Canyon?" Her voice was filled with hatred and sorrow. His eyes shifted from narrowed contempt to wide-eyed shock.

It pushed her over the edge.

"You'll die for that! Die! Die!" She raised the dagger and drove it into his chest with each word.

"You took everything that I loved!" Her voice broke. She ripped out the dagger and drove it in again. Blood covered the blade as sunlight reflected off it.

The watching armies stood silent as the green-haired woman rose from the dead man, gasping for breath, tears in her eyes. She wiped her eyes and stilled herself as she looked to the rising sun. The army of the east cheered, weapons raised, their voices echoing across the plain.

The fallen swords lay to one side. She walked to them, chest still heaving. She lifted the blade of her fallen enemy. Sunlight streamed through her hair, casting shadows on the blood-stained bone sword.

She clutched the sword to her cheek and closed her eyes, "He's gone now, Mother."

She opened her eyes, as if seeing something beyond the muddy plains.

The wind stilled, and the cheering voices quieted. Shadows crept in, and the world collapsed and unravelled.

The plains turned into motes of light, gold and white and green. They spun, dancing into vague shapes and colors, like faint embers drifting in the wind. Ages passed in an instant. People, buildings, banners, and wars. Echoes of things long passed.

Then, silence. Blackness with green sparks, swirling smaller and smaller into a single point of brilliant green light in the blackness.

The green light resolved into the sleeping girl. Deep,unruly green hair cascaded down her back,  with pale ribbons braided through. She wore a dark dress with gold embroidery. A carved stone throne stood upon a dais, where the girt sat, head resting against her arm. 

Byleth knew her. She was… Byleth…

Her hand had already drifted toward where the sword hilt would be. The darkness around her set her off. It pulled her, and she—

The girl stirred. She rubbed her eye with the back of her hand, covered a yawn, and then leaned forward into the blackness that Byleth knew better than to look too hard at. The gold piece at her temple held her hair back, baring the tapered point of one ear.

"Oh my." Her voice was high and sweet, threaded with surprise. "What could've brought you here?"

Byleth tried to speak, but her mouth wouldn't open.

"It is most rude to interrupt a moment of repose." The girl settled back against the throne, tipping her head sideways onto her cheek. She didn't sound particularly bothered. "Very rude indeed." She waved a pale hand. "Now come to me. I wish to have a look at you."

Byleth stepped forward. The void underfoot didn’t change; such that she could have stayed still. But the throne was closer.

The girl studied her. Eyes, with green specks dancing within, restless. Byleth knew that gaze. Did she?

"Hmm." She tilted her head. "I have not seen the likes of you before. What are you, anyway?"

"I'm a mortal," the words fell from Byleth’s lips, seeming without resistance.

The girl nodded. "I see." She leaned forward. "Then you must have a name of sorts. Go on."

"Byleth."

Something flickered behind those eyes — not recognition, exactly. Something more like the ghost of it. "I shall not ever grow accustomed to the sound of human names," she said. "You must possess a day of birth as well. Beneath which moon and on what day were you born to this world?"

 "The twentieth day of the Horsebow Moon." The girl knew this. Why was she asking? Byleth’s vision wavered. The girl knew what?

The girl sat up. "Wonders never cease!" For a moment she seemed genuinely delighted, as though she had discovered a favorite toy. "It seems we share our same day of birth. How strange!"

Byleth raised an eyebrow. This part was new.

Or no. She couldn't be certain. The dreams blurred at the edges.

The girl settled back, and the delight faded into something more inward. Her gaze drifted. "Hmm. It all feels so… familiar." She covered another yawn. "I think it might be time for yet another nap…"

Her eyes were closing. "It is almost…" The girl's voice had thinned, was thinning further, dropping below the threshold of sound. "...time to… begin…".

That wasn't right. That wasn't the word. That wasn't how this went.

Byleth reached out to the girl, but the void around her dissolved with a soft green light that faded to black, leaving only unconsciousness.