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People who knew or had worked with her will easily agree on a fact: Byleth rarely knows when to give up. Honed instinct always led her to seek for the smallest loopholes in whatever situation she found herself in to get the best possible outcome out of something, be it her pupils' daily tomfoolery fueled by too much leisure time and boredom, or an ambush by a group of bandit--hell, even she survived that pack of demonic beasts, even though she also had her kids to thank for that.
But she had learnt to stop struggling against the binding fate, too. One particular time was when the Divine Pulse failed to save Jeralt; she stopped trying after her 9th attempt of turning back the hands of time, half because it exhausted her energy, half because she can't bear watching her father being stabbed--again, and again, and again--by that red-haired, whiny-voiced girl she remembered rescuing alongside Flayn.
Traitor, she recalled Annette gasping. Murderer! Dimitri had exclaimed, already launching himself towards the strangers cloaked in dark clothes only to stop when they warped out of his reach. Byelth rushed to Jeralt's side, Mercedes following closely behind. Be it her basic or Mercedes' advanced ones, no amount of healing spells could save him. She tried to jump back--if she can't prevent the stabbing, at least she could try to heal him by any means necessary. Byleth barked orders at every healers available to try different spells on him, using her ability when it gets too late to start all over again. Nothing worked, his limp figure a painful evidence every time, and she gave up on that, too, eventually, tears streaming down her face as if she had never cried before.
She had never cried before, Jeralt attested, a moment before he closed his eyes for the last time.
She should have just let that girl rot in the secret passage, sometimes she mused. Days turned to weeks and weeks turned to a month, but everything still felt as if it was yesterday he was murdered right in front of her eyes.
Then she remembered the way Sothis had soothed her after they came back to the monastery, her father's body left in the infirmary for Manuela to do post-mortem checking; how Sothis had caressed her head in a gentle manner like a mother would, despite her appearance, softly whispering about even with the possibility of exhausting whatever resource they had, Jeralt could never be saved. At least, not in this timeline. So did the chain of events leading to that loathsome day. If they didn't get Monica--whoever she actually was--out of the dimly-lit passage, somebody else will. An unknowing knight might rescue her to safety because of that damsel-in-distress look she had. Maybe the Death Knight himself would personally escort her to the monastery ground. Fate will always carve its own way to get back in course, like a river too strong to be controlled by a dam.
There's just so much a goddess' power can do, and altering fate is not one of them.
Byleth vividly remembers and can recount his burial if she so wished. The funeral was held on the last day of Ethereal Moon, under the clear sky and breezy wind carrying the scent of numerous floral arrangement placed at the cemetery. In all honesty, it was a nice day for an excursion to the town and Jeralt would have taken her to a nearby tavern to celebrate a job well done.
Probably.
If the assassination didn't happen.
She watched, feeling more hollow than she had ever felt, while his casket was being lowered into the dug-out ground. Sothis floated by her side but for once staying silent in her own solemn way, Dimitri stood at her other side with something akin to sorrow and another feeling in his eyes that Byleth couldn't put a finger on, Mercedes' arm loosely wrapped around Byleth's waist in a comforting, steady way. Leonie and Lysithea cried openly, neither unexpected nor unwelcomed. Somewhere behind her, Ingrid let out a small sniffle and she even caught Felix blinking rapidly when Seteth finished reciting his obituary. Maybe it hit too close to home for them.
But Byleth didn't shed a tear, even when the burial had commenced and words of condolence were exchanged, the number of people slowly dwindling until she was left alone in the cemetery. Among the last to leave was Mercedes, who whispered to Ashe about helping her to cook Byleth's favourite dish for dinner; Dedue, who only left when Dimitri took his leave; Annette, after giving her a comforting hug and soft pats on her back. She returned the hug, but shook her head when Ingrid offered to escort her back to her room. Felix had excused himself earlier and Sylvain hastily trailed after him, muttering something about keeping Felix off of the training ground until he's stable enough to handle a sword. The other houses had left shortly after the ceremony ended. Bernadetta had lingered for a while to put a small garland of lilies and carnation on Jeralt's grave, and left together with Marianne after she recited a prayer for the goddess so his soul will rest in peace.
It's okay to mourn, Sothis had whispered before she vanished, likely to give her some private moment. Byleth did, just in her own way. She stood vigil beside the grave until it got far too late into the night, her thin robe failing to provide enough warmth, leaving her to shiver whenever the harsh wind blew. Still she stayed as her thought went astray, lamenting the fact that her father, the so-called Blade Breaker people heavily praised upon, a man put on the pedestal by many be it the knights, squires, even common folks... was dead. Is this how loneliness feel? she mused, thinking about the vast size of the world and how it seemed to grow even larger with his absence.
Until something heavy was draped on her shoulders, nearly smothering her in an instanteous warmth, making her jump a little in alert. So lost in her pensive thoughts Byleth was that she failed to hear the nearing footsteps--dangerous move, but then again Dimitri also knew how to approach his target silently despite his stature, like a lion zeroing in on its next prey on the soft pads of its paw.
"My apologies for scaring you, Professor, but I don't think it's safe to stay here for the remainder of the night," Dimitri actually had the decency to look somewhat sheepish for coming unannounced and scaring her like that. Byleth stared at him for a second before glancing back at the horizon, but she tightened the coat, nonetheless. Like an unspoken word of appreciation. Something that he had learnt to understood very well.
For some moments, no conversation was drawn between them, and anyone passing by the place would only see two figures standing like a pair of statues under the moonless night. The silence was expected as they're busy with their respective minds, Byleth in her endless narrative of what-ifs (What if he didn't stop for a chat, would Monica still be within his arm's reach? What if it was another knight there, would they be murdered in Jeralt's stead, or would nothing happen? What if Byleth was standing near enough to snatch the blade away with her own hands, would a cruel twist of momentum led her to accidentally stab him, killing him instead? What if?); Dimitri with something he never, ever disclosed to anyone else.
He glanced at her unmoving form and stoic face, her sorrowful stare the only difference from her usually expressionless facade. It's like there's a barrier breaking inside his heart and he couldn't hold it back anymore, not with that sadness he really wanted to wipe away from her eyes, with how she slightly curled into herself as if all leftover burdens in this world was hers to shoulder. Alone.
He lifted his hand, carefully touching Byleth's arm. Light, soft, yet determined and terrifying. She looked up, about to ask him what was wrong, but stopped short when she saw a predatory glint in his eyes, the same glint she had failed to discern earlier. But it's gone too soon that she couldn't tell it was really there or just her exhausted mind playing tricks on her.
His next words confirmed it for her, though.
"If you need it, Professor," he started, the tone of his voice flat; too flat, bordering on cold, it's frightening. She almost shivered despite the warmth of his cloak, but he pressed on, unbothered by the alarmed look. "If you ever need my help, be it to seek the murderer... to exact a revenge... banishing them from this very world we walk upon, I will never hesitate. Ask, and I shall answer with any blade and lance I have in my hands."
And revenge did she get after hours of pursuit by the end of Guardian Moon, along with the awakening of whatever power lies within her body (or so Rhea said), too-quiet mind, a new appearance, and--
--the uncovering of Dimitri's already poorly-contained bloodlust.
The glimmer of fury in his eyes resonated with her sword's pulsing energy, as if the weapon could sense a human's thirst of revenge and pure hatred and responded accordingly. It probably could, seeing as Byleth knew next to nothing about the Creator's Sword other than how to wield it.
She wasn't sure what scared her more.