What Makes Us Human

Waking up as the warm sun imbues its feathers with a comfortable heat, a large gannet lifts itself onto its black webbed feet and drowsily looks around. Dozens of its brethren are still asleep or lazing around on the craggy outcropping they call home, having fought off those strange long-billed abominations back in the days of constant rain. 

Feeling a growing pit in its stomach, the white bird lightly squawks and spreads its black-tipped wings, shaking them. Waddling forward, it flaps its wings and slowly leaves the ground, circling the rocks a few times before catching the wind and heading toward its favorite meal spot. 

Soaring through the air, it looks down at the ground with blue-ringed eyes, wondering how anything can possibly want to live amongst the dense jungles of towering green that cover the mountainous terrain. The sheer noise that often emanates from its borders is insufferable, not to mention the abundance of dangerous predators and poor maneuverability for a bird like her. No thanks, she'll stick to the rocks and buckling waves of the sea. 

Though, some of those large rivers don't look half bad… Nope, never mind. A massive green-scaled lizard just jumped out at a crossing four legger, dragging it under the reddening water. The ocean it is.

Fortunately, it doesn't take long to see the stretch she likes to hunt at, sparkling in the distance. 

Letting the wind carry her, she smoothly glides ever closer, occasionally dipping lower on the approach. Then, she's above water. 

Her yellow-tinted head dips down, observing the crystal clear liquid and the aquatic life teeming within. It's almost like looking at one of those colorful sky arches after a rainstorm, nigh overgrown swaths of multicolored coral lining the seabed. And that's not even mentioning the constant flurry of movement. Long, short, fat, tiny, clear – there are so many types of fish that she would love to savor, but regrettably, most of them would elude her. 

Thankfully her choice prey is present, their sheer numbers looking similar to a storm cloud below the waves. The tasty silvers circle around in a tight-knit formation, content in their group and seemingly unaware of the aerial threat. 

A few passes later, and the gannet makes its move. 

Flying up high into the sky, it tucks its wings close and dives headfirst toward the sea. It cuts through the air like an arrow, spearing into the water with a high splash. Immediately, the surrounding fish scatter, but it's no use. 

Kicking her webbed feet and flapping her billowing wings, the gannet darts at one lagging behind. The silver creature tries to flee but the bird stays right on its tailfin, ignoring the erratic movements all around it. Just as the gannet's lungs start to plead for air, she snaps her beak and grabs the squirming morsel. 

Another successful hunt. 

About to return to the surface and feed on her catch, she's suddenly pulled up and to the side, the fish in her mouth dragging her along. The gannet strugglingly resists but to no avail and is strangely wrenched out of the water and into the air. 

"What the? Get off my fish!" 

A giant hairless monkey shouts nonsense and tries to pull her meal away with some kind of thin vine, but she holds on for dear life. 

After a second of struggle, the pulling force simply disappears and the white bird quickly flies away, shooting a glare before soaring up into the air with her meal intact.

"Damn…" Cursing under his breath, Jeralt alternates his gaze between his broken line and the stupid bird. 

Ultimately, he sits back down with a sigh. 

"What are the odds of that happening huh?" 

He flashes an awkward smile to the absentminded boy across from him, staring into the sky after the fleeting gannet. The man's tired light brown eyes scrutinize him while he absentmindedly probes for another hook in the box next to him. Feeling the sharp point that finds itself hard-pressed to dig into his calloused hand, he grabs it. 

The resulting scene is downright pitiable. 

Grumbling, the aged Eisner tries for the umpteenth time to thread his fashioned line through the tiny, damned hole of his fishing hook. With that final unsuccessful attempt, he relents and places them into his son's outstretched hand. 

He can only watch as the boy threads the hook in one smooth motion and quickly ties a knot, passing the secured line back to him within seconds. 

"Thanks, kid. You know how my hands are." 

"You're welcome," Byleth responds in a quiet voice. 

The hint of a smile can't help but grow on Jeralt's lips. The two of them fishing on a beautiful sunny day. No one to bother them, no bandits or rival mercenaries, just two men enjoying nature and fishing. Well, a man and a child. 

'If only it could always be like this… life would be a lot simpler.' 

Trying not to get bogged down by his emotions, he grabs the smaller rod to his left, extending it. 

"Here, kid." Looking up from the vitreous depths, the younger Eisner takes the offered rod, swiftly looking it over.

Careful not to rock their small wooden boat too much, Jeralt leans forward, where a bucket and a box are placed side by side. Grasping the box, he peruses through the inside, eventually picking out a tiny minnow, too small to even be considered a proper snack. 

He spears the dead creature on his hook and passes the box. Then, bringing back his arm, he casts the line far out into the sea before settling into a more comfortable position, rod firmly between his legs. 

"Go ahead, take some for yourself." 

Examining the strange collection of bait his father pushed towards him, the fledgling Eisner is unsure of what to pick, his regular preference of worms unaccounted for. Noticing his son's hesitance, Jeralt speaks up. 

"Those are special types of bait that Lóegaire gave me. Fish in the ocean prefer different things than our usual fishing grounds, but you don't need to think too hard." He shrugs, "Bait is bait." 

Byleth nods, turning his gaze back to the assortment of dead critters, strange clumps, and cubed meat. Ultimately, he picks out a white glob of… something, the squishy substance sticking to his fingers as he stabs it onto the end of his metal hook. He smells his fingers, slick with goo, but doesn't notice anything particularly strange, and wipes away the substance on his pant leg. 

Seeing his actions, the older man chuckles, "Apparently that one attracts an especially tasty kind of fish, but they put up quite the fight." 

Nodding absentmindedly, the teal-haired youth soon follows his father's earlier example and casts his line, though on the opposite side of the boat.

A gentle silence descends on the pair then, as they sit in the gently rocking boat soaking in the warmth of the tropical sun hanging above their heads. In spite of himself, Jeralt can't help but show another gentle smile as he watches Byleth gaze out into the open sea, a small breeze rustling his hair. 

As he watches the teal-haired boy drink in their lush surroundings, a sudden splash sprays him with a few drops of salty sea water, the jumping culprit eagerly plunging back below the surface. Glancing at the wet spots on his unarmored brown pants, his smile slips away as he notices the dark splotches staining his boots, ones that weren't there until just last night. 

Despite the pleasant morning weather, despite being on a boat with his boy, fishing, his mind's eye becomes filled with the brutalized body of Sean below him, his blood soaking into the earth. Seiros' virgin cunt, to even think of that bastard's name fills his veins with an unquenchable rage. When he finds the infuriatingly missing Tevan, goddess help him, he'll… 

A deep sigh leaves Jeralt's lips as he halts the dark thoughts clouding his mind. Today, right now, is a good moment. To waste it ruminating on fears and anger is a mistake he won't repeat, not again. 

That being said, he can't simply return to the relaxing idleness of mere moments ago. No, he has a son who's hurting and in need. What kind of father would he be if he didn't help? 

'Even my old man had that much decency…'

Raising his head, he prepares to begin, but the words quickly die in his throat as he watches his young child running his hand through the saltwater below them, his features blank and unreadable. An unreadability that's even been affecting him of late. 

For several long moments, the man drafts how best to broach the topic with him, how he might make some grand metaphor that'll convey his love and regret. Lightly exhaling, he decides to simply be himself rather than someone he isn't. Direct rather than allusive. 

"Listen kid," he says firmly, prompting him to raise his head, "I want to talk about what's been going on with you lately." 

Byleth tenses at those words, though the man doesn't stop. 

"I don't know where they got the gall to talk down to you, to dare touch you, but it never should have happened, any of it. Not only am I the captain of those ruffians, but I'm your father. I failed you it's as simple as that."

To someone who doesn't know any better, it might seem that the youth disregards his parents' words as he turns his stony face to the side, but to Jeralt, it's increasingly obvious that's not the case. Leaning forward he rests his elbows on his knees, searching for his next words. 

"Ever since those two bandits almost killed you, well, I lost my bearings. All I could think about was training you and making sure that it wouldn't happen again that I never stopped to actually be with you." 

Listening closely, memories of nonstop harsh training rise to the forefront of Byleth's mind. Grueling months of backbreaking work that left him drenched and sore day after day. Pushed to his limits without reprieve, forced to abandon any notion of free time, it was… unpleasant is the word he's looking for. 

Not that he doesn't appreciate the growth, but it was too costly. He misses the simpler times of birdwatching and playing with his father and Zane, not getting drilled nonstop by them.

Pausing to gather his thoughts, Jeralt looks out at the gentle rise and fall of the waves, recalling an earlier discussion with Lóegaire. They may disagree on many things, but he can't help but admit that many of the points the man made were too convincing. One, in particular, sticks out to him, along with the image of the Brigidian's furious expression as he slammed on his table. 

"Byleth." 

Snapping out of his inner musings at the especially serious voice, the boy looks over and into the man's eyes. 

"For many years now I've been haunted by many fears. I hate to admit it, but the Blade Breaker isn't exactly the fearless warrior that you might believe, and I've let that fear get the better of me this year." 

Looking down at his rough, scarred hands, Jeralt thinks back on his long life. 

"You know, I was the same age as you were when my father began my training. I came out of it all right, so I figured, what's the harm?" he says that last bit mockingly. 

Easing his clenched fist, he looks into Byleth's eyes. 

"What I let myself forget though, is that I didn't train as hard as I've been pushing you until I joined the knights at seventeen. You're only six years old son. No matter how gifted or outstanding you are for your age, that's the simple truth. Honestly, that truth has evaded me lately. I was so caught up in the pursuit of your training and how well you were handling it that I forgot that most essential fact of all." 

Stopping to wet his parched throat, he takes in the boy's expression, observing every minute shift before lowering his waterskin and continuing.

"I want to apologize. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you from those men. I'm sorry for subjecting you to the mercenary life before you were ready, and that it's also the only thing that I can offer you. A kid like you shouldn't have to carry the burden of having taken lives, yet I've forced it on you. You can do anything, be anything, but…" he lets out a sigh from the depths of his soul. 

"I'm sorry kid, I've failed you. I've failed you, but I want you to know that I will never, never," he emphasizes the word, "hurt you. I only want what's best for you, always, and I need you to believe that." 

Finally saying everything he wanted, Jeralt feels a weight being lifted off of him. But it's not over. He still needs to see his son's final reaction, and the process of getting better won't immediately happen overnight. He has a lot to make up for, and he's more than ready to spend a lifetime doing so.

Opposite him, Byleth quite frankly doesn't know what to say or feel. Was there something wrong with him or not? 

For months now he's been choked by doubt and confusion. He was told his father hated him, but he saved him. He was told that no one would ever love or care for him, but his father pledged to just that. He was told he deserved his torment, that it was natural, but his father said that it wasn't his fault. That it should never have happened. All this pain and doubt, he just wants to be rid of it, to spend time and play with Zane, his dad… Sothis. 

He wants to stop hating himself and believe what's being said to him, to unshackle himself from the abuse hanging over his head every day. But can he? What if nothing gets better? If his father only proves him to be the monster he's been led to believe? 

The weight of the choice chokes him. Indecision, hope, fear, anxiety. Maybe he can't properly name them, but he feels the rush all the same. 

As his vision begins to cloud over under the load bearing down on him, a loud noise on the other side of the boat knocks him out of his stupor.

There, Jeralt pins a beautiful yellow fish that sparkles like liquid gold under the bright tropic sun. Seeing him quickly handling the exotic animal causes the boy to recall several similar instances. 

Waking up even before the sun rose to go out on a still lake teeming with life, his dad showing him how to hold the small rod he had fashioned for him. It was crudely made, and he quickly outgrew it, but Byleth won't ever forget the man's pride at presenting the gift that he had worked on for weeks prior in between jobs. 

After those sleepy mornings deep in the Adrestian countryside, they made it a regular habit to go out fishing. The two of them, and occasionally Zane, made it almost a game to see who could find the best fishing spot first as they moved from area to area. 

They explored the Empire together and had fun doing it. Without warning several other memories of his earlier childhood flash through his mind. His father making a horrible attempt to cut his flowing hair that had grown to stretch down his back like the mane of a Faerghus lion. 

His first lessons on hunting, with traps at first and eventually a bow. His introduction to various weapons, his dad's smile when he made them breakfast for the first time, or even running through rows of cornfields together, the setting sun at their backs as his dad chased him back to their lodgings, laughing all the while. 

Those memories, that once seemed almost forgotten in the rear of his mind, now blaze like a guiding light illuminating his path forward. Maybe, just maybe, his father will be able to help him. A desperate thought but one he wants to be true with every fiber of his being.

Setting down his fishing pole, Byleth slowly looks up at Jeralt's back. It's a back that always seemed so wide and strong, as if it could shield him from any harm. With a tentative hand, he begins to reach out. 

Ever so slowly, his fingers make their way forward and, with a brief pause, finally reach out to tap him. 

Feeling the touch, the man turns his head, eyes widening as he does. Despite the youth's trademark straight face being ever present, his slightly trembling hand is firmly latched onto his shirt as a few lone tears escape his dark blue eyes full of confusion. 

The sight of his son's mismatched behavior shocks the man into silence, genuinely unsure of how to react to the display. This is the first time he's ever seen him cry. Truly cry. Although they're few, the tears on the boy's cheeks are quite real, his swimming eyes contrasting sharply with his serious expression. 

This shocked silence allows him to hear Byleth's trembling voice, barely more than a whisper. 

"Father, am I a monster?"

For half a second Jeralt thinks he must have misheard. A monster? How could his son be a monster, he's… 

With a firm grip, he turns and pulls him into a somewhat awkward yet warm embrace. He then grasps his shoulders and looks down into his confused eyes as they pull apart. 

"Listen Byleth… you are one of the best things that's ever happened to me. Your mother…" 

His voice can't help but break as he recalls tender memories of years long gone, but he continues in a strong yet slightly subdued tone full of warmth. 

"Your mother was over the moon when she found out she was pregnant with you. If only you could have seen her smile, it was the most beautiful thing I ever saw." 

For a moment, the man seems to gain a faraway look, tightening his grip on the boy's shoulders. 

"You are not a monster," he says clearly and firmly. 

"Your mother gave all her love, her very life, to ensure that you would be here today. I know things are tough right now, but never forget that you have people who care about you, and that will never change no matter what you do or what others may say. You are my son and that's reason enough for me to do anything for you."

The cobalt-orbed youth feels something begin to stir inside him at that, yet his doubts and insecurities still have their claws in him. 

Looking down at his palms, the boy's hair cascades over his face, obscuring the light and darkening his vision. 

"But… but I've killed so many peo-" 

Jeralt doesn't even let him finish as he raises his voice, and shakes the boy back to awareness, sunlight warming his cheeks once more. 

"Byleth, you are not a monster! We all do what we must to survive. I've killed more people than you can possibly imagine, Zane has killed, Lóegaire has killed. Anyone who walks this path of ours, cannot do so without spilling the blood of another. But remember son, we don't kill for the thrill of it, we don't enjoy the slaughter and destruction, we do it because we need to survive. We do it so our families can live on and prosper. That does not make us monsters, that makes us human."

With those words that are strikingly similar to a certain Brigidian's, a surge of emotions hit Byleth with the force of a charging bull. 

Trying to sort this conflicting mess, he near jumps as he feels Sothis hammer at the block put between their connection. He must've loosened his hold on it, allowing the mysterious girl to get something to reach him. 

Just as he's tensing up in fear and panic, a cooling and relaxing sensation spreads through his entire body with a tingling chill. It's as if he's being embraced by the power surging within him as it relaxes his muscles and sends gentle waves of pleasure. 

Although no words or messages are conveyed, he can practically feel the warmth in the quite literal magic gesture of the fairy-like being trapped in his mind. Before he knows it, more tears stream out, his expression finally breaking somewhat as his cheeks scrunch up.

Jeralt notices the subtle changes in his kid's posture, as if he's more at ease than before, and brings his crying face to his chest. 

From their small wooden boat, he looks out at the gently lapping crystalline blue waves and the multitude of small islands springing out of them, flaxen eyes burning the image into his memory. It's an idyllic scene of beauty, one he won't soon forget. A single thought blazes in his mind then, as he lights up with a genuinely content smile. 

Today, today is a good day.

*****

Hey folks! I'm proud to announce that with this the dark days of abuse chapters are pretty much over. Obviously, Byleth won't immediately snap out of it but will begin to get better. 

Some of you may feel that he shouldn't have cried considering his counterpart in the games, but this Byleth is not the same. He's younger and already being influenced by Sothis both directly and indirectly.

This Brigid arc probably only has one or two more chapters for me to wrap up some things and then we'll be on our way. I hope you enjoyed this one. See you next time!

PSA: I've decided to unpublish my Patreon page.