childrenofbahamutlogs | EVENT #2: BRAIN BOGGLING

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EVENT #2: BRAIN BOGGLING

A CRASH IN THE NIGHT

In the dark hours of a snowy early morning, a sudden BOOM can be heard all across Town. It is swiftly followed by sounds of warping metal and then a screeching crash. Curious, albeit groggy, residents emerge only to find a smoking wreck just a mile outside of Town.

The strange craft appears to be almost nautiloid in shape with wrenched, broken tendrils streaming out the opening.

Much of it is metal although some of it almost seems... organic.

Those who with to get a closer look will be met by Charlie and Dimitri who are already on the job. They request curious onlookers keep their distance since this craft is, without a doubt, tremendously dangerous.

Later in the day, there appears to be an outfit of officials coming from the west to investigate and clean up the wreckage. Thankfully(?), you will all find out soon enough what's going on.

INVESTIGATION & PROTECTION

Deathcard Cabin by Jonah Senzel

4:07 / 13:06

▶︎

Click here to listen.

From the Inscryption OST: A unique and haunting sound paired with a unique and haunting game.

code

Charlie reports to the citizens of Town that an Illithid cargo transport. The pilot did not survive the crash, but they appeared to be transporting some kind of new breed of Intellect Devourers.

"We do not yet know what this new breed is capable of, but..."

Charlie does give everyone a rundown of what an Illithid and what an Intellect Devourer is, what they are capable of, and a keen warning to tread lightly. Many dead ones were discovered in the cargo but several of the enclosures were damaged in the crash and the likelihood of escapees is high.

Charlie reiterates: These creatures are to be killed on sight, or contained until someone can kill it. If you are not confident in your combat abilities, please remain in your homes as much as possible and seal all openings to your dwelling. Those who are capable though are urged to begin patrols of Town alongside Slayd, Dimitri and himself to ensure that Town and the surrounding areas are safe.

Please travel in pairs or groups, do not be alone! Attack from a distance when possible. Hoshiko will offer her assistance as a markswoman as well by picking off any Intellect Devourers from a distance that she can for those that are forced to travel alone. (Don't worry about any jokes she makes of her service not being cheap though. Charlie wouldn't actually let her charge you anything.)

Unfortunately, not even they can predict the blizzard that rolls through Town in the midst of all this. If you happen to see anything skittering through the snow, don't panic too much. It could just be a tiny woodland creature looking for a warm burrow to hide away in!

At least you hope it is.

PROMPT #3

Hybrid intellect devourers are unique from the regular ones in that the goal is not to kill their target, but to gather intelligence and act as a kind of spy network.

They will flee when confronted directly by greater numbers, but will attack a lone target. They do this by jumping at the target's head and wrapping a wet tendril around their neck. They will choke who they've wrapped around if anyone tries to remove it. They are also far more likely to try and attack sleeping target (hence the advice to keep your homes closed!).

These hybrids emit spores that will keep the target asleep during feeding. Their primary goal appears to be infiltrating the targets' minds and absorbing some of their memories. The target will have their mind left mostly intact... though they may suffer short term memory loss, confusion, distress, fatigue and head pain.

Here's where the fun starts!

Once one of these critters has fed on someone, they are onto their next target. When a fed Intellect Devourer feeds from another target, that target may absorb some of the previous target's memories. This can span across multiple victims and be erratic in whose memories taint whose mind. The memories will cross-pollinate in the form of dreams or waking visions and hallucinations.

If one of these creatures is killed, it will explode, releasing a powerful psionic wave and the memories it had absorbed from any recent targets. Anyone within ten (10) yards of the dying creature will be afflicted with extreme head pain in the short term and also witness the memories of it's previous victims.

Enjoy your muddled memories and leggy brain-hunting!

The outfit of people who have come to investigate are from New Svihelen's disaster containment squad and are investigating the hybrid creatures and the possible reason for an Illithid ship to crash here of all places. Right now, the running theory is that interference from the selfsame summoning circle that brought you all here could have caused the interplanar navigation systems of the ship to malfunction but nothing has been determined yet.

Eventually, these creatures will all be rounded up and taken care of. They are persistent and stealthy though in their efforts to survive above all else. Charlie assures that they're doing all they can to make Town safe once and for all but it will take some time.

Notes

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"The fabric of our star began to fray..."

The chandelier above their heads sputters and dims, and for a moment Hades cannot be certain his eyes aren't playing tricks on him again. It has been a difficult day, the longest council session since he took up the Seat of Emet-Selch by far, perhaps the longest in Amaurot's recorded history. And understandably so.

The faces around the chamber are all grim. Beside him Mitron reaches over to take Loghrif's hand in hers, and across the room Lahabrea bows his head, his stern countenance unyielding - but only just. Elidibus looks to each of them in turn, a soft and apologetic smile gracing his features. They must act decisively, he reminds them. This course is the best way to put an end to the blight that has befallen their star, and they will prevail. As their Emissary, he will see it done. When the time comes and their preparations are in order, he will serve as Zodiark's heart.

At Elidibus's left hand, however... Emeth-Selch watches Azem stiffen, knuckles white; a storm threatening to break. As the meeting is at last adjourned, his friend tugs Elidibus into a quick embrace and then rushes from the room.

'Ugh. Just wonderful...' he grumbles through his exhaustion. 'Yet another mess. As if we require another.'

* * *
He finds Azem within the rooftop garden - as always. So many send-offs have occurred in this very spot. And now she hastily secures Arion's saddle, her movements agitated as she slings a pack over her own shoulders and raises the hood of her cowl against the blowing embers, a stark reminder of how little time they have left. Around them, the sky is aglow - not from the setting of the sun, for it is well past midnight, but from the fires burning unchecked in Amaurot's peripheral wards. They've done what they can to staunch the spread, and yet, 'tis scarcely enough. Few are willing to utilize their creation magicks in full for fear of what new monstrosities might arise in their haste...

"And just where do you think you're running off to at this hour?" he intones, as if he cannot already guess. As if she didn't make her stance abundantly clear during the session.

Azem shakes her head, undeterred as she climbs onto her familiar's back. "I can't do this, Hades. I can't agree to the plan. It's too much! There has to be another way..."

"You know as well as I that there is no other way. We've spent months exploring other avenues, and all have come up woefully short. We haven't the luxury to continue chasing our tails in hopes that something more palatable will reveal itself to us, and that is why we must give Elidibus and the others our full support as we move forward with the Zodiark plan."

"Maybe you are, but I'm not ready to give up yet. There must be something else we can do. And that's why I'm leaving. I have to try." Without another word, she nudges her steed forward.

"This is utter madness!" he shouts, planting himself in front of Arion to bar their path. The six-legged horse rears up, snorting at him in open disdain. "You can't just scamper off at a time like this and ignore your duty! If you go out there now, you'll be running straight to your doom! Stay here, do you hear me?"

"And if I stay, I'll be, what, agreeing it's okay for Themis to sacrifice himself?! And what of everyone else? How much aether will something like Zodiark require? How many more of my friends am I going to have to say goodbye to before this is over? I'll find a way! You have to let me find a way! Please, Hades, tell me you don't like it either..."

Hades falls silent a long moment, glowering up at her, his mouth twitching unhappily. Finally he says: "I don't like it. But neither will I abandon our people when they look to us for guidance."

"Then let me go. I'm not asking you to come with me, you know. You're needed here. So stay. Protect everyone. Look after Hythlodaeus and the others. And, hey, try and have a little faith in me, will you? I won't fail. I promise you!"

* * *
"And now, in that boundless sky where our friend sought infinite possibilities, I see only death." - Hythlodaeus

Amaurot burns and Azem has yet to return. The Convocation of...Thirteen has unanimously decided to move forward with the plan to summon Zodiark, a mighty god-like creation of unprecedented scale. A notice has also been issued: a request for volunteers. The Zodiark concept has been checked and re-checked for error, the Words of Lahabrea toiling ceaselessly over their calculations and final adjustments. Half their number, the Speaker confirms. In order to supply the requisite aether to successfully conduct the ritual and bring Zodiark into being, half of their people will be needed.

"Hythlodaeus, please." Hades ignores the high pleading note in his voice as he at last catches up to his dearest friend, no doubt a sight and short on breath besides. Hythlodaeus hadn't been flittering about any of his usual haunts - and it had taken a surprising amount of effort to find him in the first place.

When Hythlodaeus doesn't immediately reply, Hades bulls the conversation forward anyway.

"You mustn't... With your wisdom and skill, surely you could do more for our people if you remained..."

Hythlodaeus smiles at last as he turns towards him, his heliotrope eyes quirking up at the corners. Though he speaks as lightly and pleasantly as always, something about his countenance doesn't quite ring true. "I was wise enough to recruit others who surpass me in every respect. Enough will survive me to ensure our work can continue."

Hades looks offended by the flippant response, the non-answer to the request he can do nothing but skirt around. The line he's towing that he daren't step over. Or does he? Hythlodaeus must misread him (though he never does), for he continues gently: "Azem has not forsaken us. She follows her heart, as she ever has, and seeks to defy this fate in her own way."

"Don't you think I know that!? There is no time, Hythlodaeus! We need solutions now. We have a duty to this star!"

His words are as a guttural howl, unable to hold back the flood of fury and sorrow that threatens to overtake him. Indeed, he had held out hope of Azem's return for as long as he might, even as they were forced to continue on without her. Any day, he had thought. Any moment she'd return. Soot-stained and beaming from ear to ear. The hero of the hour, the sunbeam cutting through this loathsome, nightmarish present. His incorrigible associate, indeed.

"You are right, Emet-Selch. You are right, and that is why I must place my faith in the Convocation's plan."

Emet-Selch. Not Hades. It's a reminder of what he must do. Of who he must be. Emet-Selch feels himself deflate.

For the hour of Zodiark's summoning is at hand.

He speaks again, but there is nothing left to say. Hythlodaeus has made his choice, and 'twould be a disservice to deny him. He cannot ask the impossible. After all, what right has he to revoke what Hythlodaeus has so selflessly given? The words hover unsaid, the whispers of his heart, and yet... he stills his agony. He stays his tongue against that monumental blow. Instead he says stubbornly: "This isn't goodbye."

(Please, Hyth. I need you...)

"Ah, of course not. Take care, my friend, and stay true." Hythlodaeus lifts his hand in apology and farewell and turns to go. He doesn't look back, nor does he slow his steps.

Emet-Selch watches him go, his nails digging into the soft flesh of his palm, his fist trembling as he slowly lowers it to his side. His jaw aches, a hissing breath escapes through his grit teeth as Hythlodaeus's silhouette wavers against a backdrop of fire and destruction. He feels as though he's suffocating, as if his insides, nay his vary soul, is being crushed underfoot. Loyal, devoted Hythlodaeus. The first person who ever called him "friend". He cannot imagine a world in which that beautiful color no longer exists, nor does he wish to.

And yet, he must carry on.

* * *
"From this life, our savior born...May I be worthy of the honor." - Elidibus

"The time is come," Lahabrea says. "We shall rewrite the laws of creation. And we shall save our star."

And thus the ritual begins.

He looks for Hythlodaeus. Futile as it is, Emet-Selch casts his eyes skyward as the great multitude join together as one. Before his Sight a kaleidoscope of brilliant hues swirl and blend into one another, a chorus building and growing until a form takes shape, powerful and magnificent. The will of the star, Zodiark - their salvation made manifest.

One would think that this might be the end of their woes. For indeed, Zodiark answer their prayers with potent efficiency, His darkness pouring deep into their hearts, calling to them to lift their voices and their hopes. The star is scoured of the abominations that remain and their creation magicks have been stabilized. The laws of the star are rewritten, and The Final Days are averted. Yet much lies in ruin. Their people are left reeling, and it is deemed that another sacrifice must be made - this time to return life to their still fragile and broken star. Some few begin to question their choice, to ask whether or not the price may be too steep.

Fools, the lot of them.

For this is only the beginning of what was to come. Only the beginning of the true end of their world...

Edited 2025-03-04 05:58 (UTC)

Love, love is going to lead you by the hand.
Into a white and soundless place.

The world seems to shatter and reconstitute when his blade comes down on the crawling abomination. He is everywhere at once. He is Byleth, he is Hades, he is Azem. He is watching them both from the outside and from Hades' own eyes.

He can feel the sense of frustration and helplessness as she goes to ride off to who-knows-what fate. He cannot stop her, and he knows this is her job, but he wants her here. He wishes...

It were different.

So he watches her go.

What else can he do but his own duty? To look after the here and now? To hope?

--

Now we see things as in a mirror, dimly.
Then we shall see each other face to face.

Azem could come and go, and while it stung deep to have her fly off in the face of this. Of everything. Nothing prepared him for the keen, shrill pain of Hythlodaeus thin smile as he turned to bid his closes friend farewell for the last time for a long time.

This isn't goodbye... so why does it feel so profoundly similar?

What strikes Byleth is the helplessness. He wants to scream, to chase after him, to demand another way, to insist, to rage against it... but Hythlodaeus chose his path. Just as Azem did, isn't that so? He cannot stop the inevitable.

Inevitable.

All he can do is watch him go, and try not to feel the heavy weight of that dig into him, pointless as a task as it is. That. That took something from him. Something that could never be filled. Byleth wonders if Hades can hear him scream in his head. If it's even him screaming?

A familiar conundrum, the muddling of emotion.

--

Snakes in the grass beneath our feet, rain in the clouds above.
Some moments last forever, but some flare out with love, love, love

Standing at the precipice of this great and terrible act.

There is that familiar feeling of helplessness as they raise their hands to send up the call. As the world is stitched back together from the smoldering pieces. They have succeeded.

The world is saved. For now.

And yet there is no joy. No relief. No one to celebrate this empty victory with. Azem never returned, and Hythlodaeus has become the collective.

Ahh that lies ahead is work. Joyless, empty, tattered and bruised. Picking up the pieces, and for how long? How long will it take? Time is no obstacle and yet-

And yet.

He knows, behind the curtains. Outside of the show, a helpless passenger to it all.

This is only the beginning. This is just the start, the pain and sorrow and fury have yet to mature and bloom like fine wine. They have not shown yet their multitude faces.

This fire won't go out though just a flicker it may be,
Shifting through the shadows to a vision we can't see; hold fast to one another.

Thunder rumbles overhead, crashing and roiling with growing intensity, rising again to a veritable fever-pitch.

No, not thunder - a war, after a fashion. Emet-Selch can feel Zodiark's power thrumming within his aether as he casts his gaze to the heavens where His Darkness and Her Light clash in a mighty battle.

Their opposition has grown in recent years. Not even the return of their dear Emissary from Zodiark's breast could quell the outcry entirely. Out of that faction of nay-sayers rose Venat and her ilk, brazen enough to steal their deity's concept and warp it into a god-like being of their own. Her. Hydaelyn. The one who would serve as His shackles. A preposterous notion, that! But no more preposterous than the position that they accept the loss of their world and embrace this new reality. That they abandon the very idea of restoring those who had given all to save them.

Another boom sounds, this one so overwhelming that the entire star beneath him shudders violently. For a moment all is eerily, unnaturally still. Dread rises within him so potent that he finds himself gasping for air. Emet-Selch knows - in the depth of his soul he feels Zodiark's power crumbling, and with it...

NO!!

The entire world lurches and Emet-Selch is thrown from his feet. Great cracks race their way across the twilit sky, the very land buckling and heaving. Adrenaline floods him. He must act - and quickly. There is no more time.

'A confluence...'

Emet-Selch knows not the how or why of it, but an opening within the weave of the world dances before his Sight, just a quick sprint across the courtyard. He turns to call to Altima, but the once glorious thespian is gone - vanished as if they never were. Yet there is a form slumped not too far ahead, his head tilted back, eyes trained on the desperate contest's outcome, motionless in his rapt attention.

Elidibus.

Emet-Selch lunges his way towards him as another pair of footsteps match his beat for beat.

"Quickly! This way!"

The laws of reality bend and break. In this final moment they haul Elidibus to his feet - himself and Lahabrea - and as the very star falls to its knees, the small tear in space is wrenched apart and they three escape into the dark void of the Rift.

* * *
These burdens weigh so heavily when our demons we must carry
Clinging to this fleeting breath, dying for a fighting chance.

Time is no obstacle, and yet it has never felt so long. Their star has been shattered, and the fragments of their Dark Lord's being have become bound within a prison far above their heads. A barren satellite now floats in the gray smudge of their once brilliant sky, serving as his cradle and his grave.

Their lush world is reduced to a sickly pallor, like a painting faded beneath a thousand years of dirt and debris, and everything about it is...wrong. Even the welcoming darkness of the Underworld has been fragmented, its vast ocean reduced to a mere bathing pool.

No matter how long they look, no matter how far they travel - they find no survivors. Nothing. No one. They have only each other. And mayhap it would have been better if it had stayed that way, yet they do, eventually, find some semblance of man. (If they can even be called such.)

Pitiful moaning of malformed creatures...

Emet-Selch looks on in horror at these twisted abominations - incapable of words, incapable of creation magicks, unknowing, unseeing. Unaware of his very presence as he looms thrice tall over the lot of them huddled together in the mud. And yet... and yet...! His Sight beholds the unconscionable truth, the faintest trace of familiar hues now reduced to these crude imitations

"Is this what you wanted, Venat?" he wonders. Emet-Selch's thoughts are as venom, burning hot with rage and unchecked sorrow. "Did you not once proclaim your love for the star? Did you not remain as counselor to our people? And this is how you repay them?! This miserable existence is the answer you would choose for us after all your years of service??!"

He casts no shadow and none hear. To them he is but a ghost of a forgotten past far beyond their reach.

* * *
Millennia pass and Emet-Selch throws himself into his work, toiling ceaselessly to restore his world, his people...his paradise. And yet his repulsion grows, dwarfed only by the bottomless chasm of his insurmountable grief.

'These wretches are fragile and weak. Ignorant, misbegotten husks, fighting each other without aim or end. Their pitiable lives are fleeting. In the simplest of ways they die and die, yet they claim the mantle of mankind?! Absurd! Abhorrent! Intolerable.'

No matter what he does. No matter how much time passes...
The hatred and heartbreak remain.

* * *
I'll return from darkness and will save your precious skin.
I will end your suffering and let the healing light come in.
Sent by forces beyond salvation.

I am the Darkness. You are the Light.

Beneath the Syrcus Tower of the First they meet at last. Though it isn't much of a meeting, really. He calls out to them - the so-called Scions of the Seventh Dawn - and amidst their number Hydaelyn's Chosen turns to face him. That faded amber glow pulses feebly before his Sight and he feels his heart grow colder.

And so the performance begins anew. Emet-Selch stoops into a formal bow, a false smile plastered upon his face.

"I am Solus zos Galvus," he announces. "Founding father of the Garlean Empire, and, under various guises, the architect of myriad other imperially inclined nations. As for my true identity..."

And here the red glyph that denotes his title of office flashes before his eyes like a brand.

"Emet-Selch. Ascian."

So come, shed your preconceptions...

The scene scatters, resolving into a crystalline stage. The Warrior of Light stumbles towards him, so overflowing that even now the bestial light threatens to rend flesh and overtake the last vestiges of the Warrior's being, an inevitable plunge into madness.

"Fool. Who are you? No one. Nothing. Why waste your final moments in futile defiance?" His voice turns mocking and cruel. "Weary wanderer - you've no fight left to fight! No life left to live!"

Cackling, Emet-Selch spreads his arms in triumphant invitation. "So surrender to your fate, and let the transformation take you! Rise up in madness and fury! Devour the vermin infesting the land which is rightfully ours!"

My world will have no need for heroes...

And yet... Mayhap even he could not quite have predicted the nature of this final act. For the audience now waits with bated breath and the silent orchestra swells. The Warrior of Light has risen anew, soul sparking bright, eyes narrowed in unmatched determination. The world shrinks to just the two of them. To two opposing forces waging all.

➤ "I challenge you, Emet-Selch."

Emet-Selch pauses to catch his breath.

"Very well. Let us proceed to your final judgment. The victor shall write the tale, and the vanquished become its villain. But come! Let us cast aside titles and pretense, and reveal our true faces to one another!"

And thus begins his last descent. The shadows gather around him, and the power of the Underworld pours forth into his being, both familiar and unknowable. Immaculate darkness flares, growing ever deeper.

I am Hades. He who shall awaken our brethren from their dark slumber.

[ Fin. ]

Edited (I am never doing this again lol.) 2025-03-09 04:24 (UTC)

It feels as plummeting, being rent apart again and again and again, fourteen-fold. But he is both observer and victim in a way. A strange way. Byleth hears the shattering in his ears, and in his very soul.

He is Emet-Selch.

He is Emet-Selch's friend.

All at once and like nothing before. Both cast far and wide, let to wander and at the same time, trying desperately to scrape the pieces together. Never the same. Never quite perfect. The grief feels like drowning neath an endless sea. Under the crushing weight of all that water, all the color washed out.

Nothing is as bright or beautiful as home. Everything is sickly, pained, and stupid.

---

It's all so cyclical. He goes on a thousand-thousand journeys, each unaware of the others. He lives, he dies, he is washed and born again to continue his never ending journey.

He watches it happen, too. The shadows of friends who hold no memory. Just pale imitation. A copy of a copy of a copy, each becoming more distorted with each pass, all but the faint colors of their souls. Flickering and fluttering flames in the empty. He gets to watch them suffer and suffer. Each tiny victory and every crushing defeat. It's exhausting in a way that he could never conceptualize.

Not Byleth himself. Not even as Emet-Selch. Not as the wanderer, certainly.

---

When it is time at last for these final throes, he watches that Sorcerer of Eld stand before him.

He spreads his own wings, painted by the faces of the lost. Desperate to be remembered. He has as much conviction as he does grief. They wash over him in equal measure as light and darkness clash and bleed into each other. His very being splitting apart again, threatening to become something terrible, should he falter for even but a moment.

When it does emerge, it comes as a weapon. Driving a hole straight through his beloved friend.

It is relief and anguish, both. To at last be granted release from this existence. Knowing that Elidibus will be alone now, but being allowed to rest at last from the endless stage play. The strings are cut, and he gives and is given that final message.

Remember us. Remember that we once lived.

---

Byleth comes to with a hard, rasping gasp, tears spilling over as he coughs and turns to his side to curl into himself. Everything feels so sharp here. There is a lingering resentment at being...woken. Again?

How strange. He groans at the flood of pain that rushes behind his damp eyes and presses the heels of his palms to them in a vain effort to relieve some of it.

[Heedless of poor Byleth's struggles (though he would lend his aid, perhaps - if he knew), a message will appear sometime during his recovery. Emet-Selch had, in fact, thought about making another visit, but given the last time they spoke, well. In the end he had deemed that a simple transmission would suffice. Etheirys knows he doesn't need yet another reminder of his own ill-advised heroic venture, and he has not quite had the time to process everything, nor what he wishes to do with what he now knows.]

[Nor whether he wishes he did or didn't know of it in the first place.]

[Still. Concern is one of Emet-Selch's many facets, a character trait which has gotten far too little use as of late, and thus-]

I suspect you've taken to patrolling again. The others have recently confirmed that several Intellect Devourers remain at large. You hardly need me to tell you this, but keep your wits about you and don't let your guard down for even a moment.

[ The text comes after he's had some time to gather himself, and the irony of the warning is not lost on him. His own response is brief, but to the point. ]

I would say the same to you but I believe it has come too late for the both of us.

Again? I seem to recall you've already had at least one unfortunate encounter with those fiends.

Honestly. It's a wonder that fluffy head of yours doesn't pop clean off your shoulders with the volume of memories going in and out of it.

[He says it like that, but in reality, well, the implications are a little troubling. Emet-Selch's own experience with the creatures had knocked him for quite the loop, after all, and he can't imagine an encore would make things any easier.]

Are you all right?

[Look, Byleth essentially nursed him back to consciousness. It's only proper that Emet-Selch ask this much.]

[ Several moments pass with Emet being left on read. ]

I found the last one that had your memories.

[Oh.]

[There's a pang of dread, but it proves ephemeral as eons of calculated logic begin to wash in to take its place. He has committed what others would consider to be cruel, unconscionable acts, yes, but he doesn't truly regret any of them. In the end, his love for and devotion to his world are stronger; unshakeable. This is simple fact. For as long-winded and as messy as his memories may be, they are his. The very heartbeat of the life he has lived - and has continued to live even now after death.]

[...Not something he would necessarily wish upon anyone else, however. Paltry as it is, 'tis a small mercy that Byleth is already familiar with the subject matter - for both their sakes, perhaps. The response takes a moment, but what Byleth receives proves terse and neutral. Neither angry nor apologetic for whatever atrocities he may have witnessed.]

I see. Given that, I trust that the creature has been vanquished?

Aye, it is. I believe that would be all of them if I am not mistaken.

[ It was certainly a different experience living it as opposed to simply being audience. They can discuss it later, and he finds it somewhat a mercy that Emet doesn't ask.]

[What is there to ask? Emet-Selch can well imagine the sorts of things he has witnessed, and if Byleth wished to speak of them, then he would do so. He...trusts the man at least knows that such a discussion wouldn't go in precisely the same manner as the Amani Reveal. Still, he can't say he's looking forward to it either, and thus he does not press upon the issue.]

Yes. There were three of them, originally. The others have already been dealt with.

Though I see you have chosen to dodge my question. Get some rest. Such heroics would leave anyone exhausted.

[ Ah, he was hoping that he wouldn't mention it, but at least he lets Byleth off the hook this once. ]

I'll be fine. Thank you, I'll speak with you later.

[And yet he continues to dodge. Not "I am fine" but "I will be fine. Byleth isn't fooling anyone, but then there's little Emet-Selch can do about it, is there? Mayhap those close to the man will have better luck in that regard.]

Very well. No sudden movements. Stay hydrated, draw the curtains - and, of course, no flying for at least 3 hours after your migraine subsides.

[Is he being serious? Mostly.]

Thank you, Emet-Selch. I shall absolutely abide.

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EVENT #2: BRAIN BOGGLING

[Closed to Byleth] [Amaurot 2.0: Part One] (cw: apocalyptic themes, major spoilers)

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[Amaurot 2.0: Part Two/Final] (cw: apocalyptic themes, mild horror, major spoilers)

(cw: apocalyptic themes, mild horror, major spoilers)

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