Chapter Text
Dimitri had known fog before—the frigid, biting fog that cut through clothing and turned words to ice before they left his lips. Fog laden with ice crystals that could almost slice through flesh with the slightest gust of wind. This fog was different. It tugged at his armor, wrapping its fingers around his body and weighing him down.
It felt like he was wading through water with each step, and each blink of his eyes did nothing to clear the thick veil from them. There was the ground just in front of him, sure enough to guide each step, but there was nothing beyond that but an impenetrable cloak of gray.
He knew he was pushing forward at too fast a rate. His allies had fallen behind, and he could but barely hear them shouting behind him. It didn’t matter. They would be fine, and so would he.
He had already cut down two swordsmen, stepping over their bodies as he drove forward. Blood pounded in his eardrums, sending a wicked thrill through his body. An almost sickening excitement was sending tremors through his body. His lance felt weightless in his grasp, but solid. His only tether to the world as he fumbled through the fog.
For a couple moments, he felt rabid, and horribly guilty about it. Lightning was coursing through his veins, making each step more invigorating than the last. He felt powerful. He felt unstoppable.
And then came the arrow to his side.
Dimitri stumbled backwards, letting out a surprised cry. The pain registered slightly afterwards, suddenly bursting throughout his body. He staggered to one knee, his eyes widening. The thrill coursing through him had dissolved, and left nothing but the clarity of pain.
What was I thinking? he winced, grasping at the base of the arrow’s shaft. I got carried away.
He turned his head, not to look for the source of the arrow, but for someone else. He was already resigned to the condescending comment.
It never came. He cast a wary glance around him, listening carefully for any disturbances. No one, friend or foe, seemed to be anywhere nearby. Just the distant shouts and clangs of combat.
That’s unusual, he frowned. Unusual, but certainly not unwelcome—
“Dimitri!”
He jerked in the direction of the voice, sending a fresh jolt of pain through his body. He let out a strangled yell, falling backwards into a sitting position.
“Please don’t strain yourself,” the voice said, getting closer. A female voice. It was high and distressed, but not one he was intimately familiar with.
And then a vaguely familiar face ducked in front of him, emerging from the thick blanket of fog, and the pieces clicked in his mind.
“Ah,” he winced. “Marianne.” The healer from the Golden Deer. A healer. Yes, perfect.
She crouched in front of him, looking down at his wound with wide eyes and trembling hands.
“You shouldn’t be this close to the front lines,” he grimaced. “You could get hurt.”
She nodded twitchily and dismissively, casting a couple glances around. “There’s a tree just over there,” she said quietly. “Can you move?”
Not really, he thought. The slightest movement had sent pain ricocheting through him. But we can’t stay out here in the open. We have no idea where that archer could’ve gone.
“Yes,” he said, clamping down on his tongue as he staggered to his knees. Marianne gave him her shoulder, trying to support him, but almost buckled under his weight.
“You’re quite heavy,” she said as she stumbled forward with his arm over her shoulder.
Dimitri snorted. “Yes, I suppose I am.” He could almost feel the arrow burrowing deeper into his flesh with every step. A quick glance down confirmed that his entire left side was drenched in blood.
He swallowed, wrinkling his nose. Don’t think about it too much. It’s just blood.
“Here,” Marianne tried to lay his back against the rough bark of a tree, but he ended up collapsing instead. He grunted, his hands flying to the wound on his side as he sank to the ground. He heard his lance clatter to the dirt somewhere beside him.
“Sorry,” she gasped, dropping to her knees. Her hands hovered over his with a look of panic. “I-I’m sorry. I’ll heal you now.”
He tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. “I’m alright, thank you.”
She didn’t seem convinced, but she nodded anyway. “Right.”
Then, with still-shaky hands, she reached for the arrow’s shaft.
Dimitri stopped her with a frown. “Let me.”
She hesitated for a moment before nodding. Her shoulders slumped a little, as if she’d breathed a sigh of relief.
He planted his hand over the wound with the arrow between his fingers, gritting his teeth as they met the slickness of blood. Pressing down slightly with one hand, he gingerly grabbed the base of the arrow with the other.
And then he pulled.
The pain was blinding. A sharp, guttural groan tore its way from his throat, and he spasmed against the tree as shockwaves exploded outwards from his wound.
“Dimitri!” Marianne’s voice was faint, as if she was suddenly very far away. She had always come across as quiet, though. Perhaps she was just whispering.
“Please don’t lose consciousness,” she pleaded. “You have to stay with me.” Her voice was fuzzy. His vision was fuzzy, too. Or maybe it was just the fog? The fog could be to blame.
He felt fingers pry the arrow from his grip, and heard the quiet thump of it being tossed aside. The pain was coming in ripples now, soft and constant. It was almost rhythmic. Almost comforting, like a gentle rocking that was lulling him to sleep.
And then a brilliant light erupted across his vision, and his eyes flew open.
A magic sigil, one used for healing. An intricate mosaic of interlocking shapes, swirling text, and symbols beyond his understanding. He’d seen one before, of course, but usually only from a distance. Never had he been so close to one before. It was larger than he expected it to be, and brighter. The light was so vivid, so radiant… he could hardly keep his eyes open.
And yet, he did. How could he not?
Marianne was leaning over him, her hands positioned over his wound. Her face, furrowed in concentration, was positioned perfectly within a gap in the sigil that outlined her face like a halo. The light from it cast her skin in a ghostly, ethereal light, illuminating every pore of her face. She seemed to glow in the gleam of her own light, as if she’d been spun from spider silk or carved from the rays of the moon.
Dimitri felt his breath lodge in his chest. He unabashedly gazed at her with wide eyes.
Their heads were level with one another, but her gaze was pointed downwards. Her face only could’ve been a few inches away. The sigil hovered between them like a thin veil, a window into another world. He could see her chest rise and fall with rapid, nervous breaths, and the way she bit down on her lower lip as she healed him. She was just so… close. And they were alone. There was nothing but them, the light, and the fog.
His throat suddenly felt drier than sand.
The pain was ebbing away, and his sense of real clarity was starting to return. He inhaled tentatively, but there was no ache accompanying the movement. If anything, he felt like he was back to full strength.
“There,” she said, her hands falling in her lap. The sigil disappeared with them, and they were plunged back into a darkness that seemed heavier than before. “How do you feel?”
Dimitri felt his pulse quicken. The sigil was gone, and there was no barrier between them. Though it was darker, she still appeared ghostly, and her face was still a few inches from his. He opened his mouth to say something, but it felt like something was lodged in his throat.
Awaiting his reply, her gaze flicked up to his. Their eyes locked for the briefest of moments before she jerked backwards, a flush smearing across her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, turning her head to the side. “I, um… are you able to stand?”
He blinked, caught off guard by her reaction. “Ah… yes, I think so.”
He glanced around for his lance. Grasping it with one hand, he drove the base of the shaft into the ground and pulled himself up, grimacing slightly.
“Please don’t strain yourself,” she said. Her hand graced across his shoulder for a moment, perhaps in some attempt to help with his balance. “And… don’t rush off like that again. It’s dangerous.”
A small wave of surprise swept through him, and he looked down at her again.
Did she rush in after me, then? Of her own volition? he thought. No, Professor Byleth probably sent her after me. But still…
“Thank you, Marianne,” he said with a smile. “But I’m afraid I can’t afford to be idle. I must keep pushing forward.”
“Pushing forward?” a nagging voice echoed. “That’s a nice sentiment, isn’t it?”
He bit back a curse, keeping his gaze firmly locked on Marianne. If he looked away, he would be snatched up. He ignored the voice and wiped off his own blood down the front of his uniform.
Marianne took a step back from him, her lips pursed with concern. “Is that truly what you believe?”
Dimitri flinched, his eyes widening at her.
Before he could even begin to think up a reply, the fog around them suddenly dissipated.
They both started, looking around in confusion. The fog had vanished almost instantaneously, as if it had never been there to begin with. They were standing at the very edge of a forest, looking out over the rocky terrain.
Marianne frowned, holding a palm up to the air. “How strange…”
The rest of his class was charging forward, only a fair distance from them. None of his classmates had seemed to notice them in the shadows of the forest.
“We should rejoin them,” he said, taking a couple faltering steps forward. The pain from his wound had also vanished, and he took the next few strides in confidence. “Let’s hurry.”
“...Right,” Marianne said, following close behind.
Dimitri ground his teeth together, his brows knitting together.
I was a fool, he thought bitterly. Of course they aren’t gone. With fog that thick, I just couldn’t see them.
He glanced around the clearing, strewn with Lonato’s dead soldiers. None were left standing, and his allies had already pushed forward to meet the rest. He felt his upper lip twitch. With disgust or pity, he was unable to tell. He could almost taste blood in the back of his throat.
He swallowed it down, tightening his grip around his lance.
I have to remain calm, he thought. I must stay focused.
I can deal with them another time.