Byleth hadn't taken her eyes off Goetia since the journey to Garreg Mach had begun.
Even when she was talking with the noble students, her gaze would occasionally drift toward the man who didn't quite belong. He was an odd one. Tall, imposing, silent. He rarely spoke unless spoken to, and even then, his replies were usually short and to the point.
Strangely enough, that made her think of herself. Neither of them were the type to seek out conversation. More often than not, Byleth would catch him quietly watching the others — not out of boredom, but like he was trying to understand something about them.
She wasn't sure what it was he was searching for.
But that alone wasn't why she kept watching him.
It was because of what she said — the voice in her head. Sothis.
Byleth frowned slightly. Was Sothis a ghost? A hallucination? The girl insisted she wasn't, but... wasn't that exactly what a ghost would say?
Still, when Sothis had first noticed Goetia, her reaction had been immediate — and sharp.
"What is that thing?"
Byleth had found the comment unnecessarily rude. Sure, Goetia didn't look like everyone else, but that hardly made him a thing. In fact, she found his presence strangely calming. He was odd, yes, but she was used to being called that too. Maybe that's why she felt like they shared something — like they were kindred spirits in a world that didn't quite know what to do with them.
When she told Sothis not to be so insulting, the little girl huffed.
"You don't understand," Sothis had said, floating in her usual impatient way. "He's wrong. Everything about him is twisted, unnatural. He feels... like he's more than he's pretending to be."
Byleth had silently listened to the outburst. Sure, Goetia was mysterious — but so were a lot of people. That didn't mean he was dangerous.
Eventually, Sothis gave up and said only one thing:
"Just wait and see."
Wait and see, huh?
Byleth blinked. She spotted Goetia ahead, standing next to her father, Jeralt. The two were talking — or at least Goetia was speaking, and Jeralt was listening. That was surprising. She hadn't thought they'd have anything in common.
Curious, she tilted her head slightly, watching them from the back of the caravan.
. . . . . . .
"You seemed hesitant to return to the monastery."
Goetia's voice was calm, measured — not accusatory, just observant. The two of them had drifted away from the rest of the knights during their march, far enough that no one could overhear them.
He had been watching. Observing. The Knights of Seiros, for all their order and discipline, were too wrapped in devotion to be objective. If he wanted to understand the truth of this Church — its power, its people, its flaws — then he needed an outsider's perspective.
Jeralt, the mercenary captain, seemed to fit that description. Especially with how... uneasy he'd looked ever since they began approaching Garreg Mach.
Jeralt didn't respond right away. His gaze stayed forward, fixed on the dirt path winding through the hills. "…What makes you say that?"
"You flinched when Alois appeared," Goetia replied plainly. "And when they mentioned returning to the monastery, your reaction was... less than enthusiastic."
"Hmph. You figured that out, huh?" Jeralt muttered.
"I don't judge you," Goetia said. "I'm only here to learn."
"You could've asked the knights if you wanted to know about the monastery."
"I could have," Goetia agreed. "But their loyalty clouds their perception. You, on the other hand…"
He gave Jeralt a glance — not probing, just curious.
"…You see things differently."
Jeralt gave a low, humorless chuckle. "Guess I would stand out, being the least zealous one among them."
Goetia nodded. "And yet, you still avoid the monastery. Do you disagree with the current religious structure?"
"I won't speak ill of the Archbishop," Jeralt said flatly.
But then, he glanced back, making sure Alois and the others were far enough behind. Satisfied, he leaned slightly closer.
"…Just be careful around Rhea. That's the only advice I'll give you."
"I see." Goetia's expression remained unreadable, but he nodded slowly, thoughtfully.
His gaze drifted back to the group behind them. His eyes met Byleth's — again.
She had been watching him ever since that strange divine awakening. Her eyes, sharp and focused, had barely left him since. Suspicious. Curious. Perhaps even cautious.
Did she notice?
Did she sense that her time-reversal power had no effect on him?
If so, she hadn't confronted him. But the way she watched him suggested she knew something was off.
Could she sense that he was different?
He looked human, after all. At least in appearance.
But his body — this shell — was only a few weeks old. Any competent magi would be able to tell that much. His magical construction was unlike any other human.
Goetia turned his gaze forward again, thoughtful.
"…Your daughter. She doesn't express much emotion."
Jeralt blinked. The sudden shift in topic caught him off guard.
"Byleth?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder at the girl.
Sure enough, she was still watching them, her stare steady and unreadable.
He sighed and looked back at Goetia. "Yeah. She's been like that since the day she was born. Barely shows anything."
"Peculiar," Goetia murmured. "And yet… despite that stillness, her eyes speak volumes. In a way, she may be the most emotive human I've encountered in some time."
"…Come again?" Jeralt stared at him, brow raised. "Her eyes? You're saying you can read her thoughts just from looking at them?"
He narrowed his eyes.
"…Alright, I've gotta ask. What exactly is your interest in my daughter?"
"She is interesting," Goetia said plainly, unbothered by the sharp tone. "Enough to warrant my attention, at least."
Jeralt's glare sharpened.
"…Pal. I've dealt with a lot of fools over the years. But I've never met anyone dumb enough to tell me they're planning to court my daughter to my face."
Goetia blinked. Now he looked confused.
"What? I have no such intentions. I feel no romantic attraction toward your daughter. I am certainly not Solomon."
"…Huh?" Jeralt's scowl faltered. "So, you're not planning anything like that?"
"No," Goetia said flatly. "Romantic attachments are irrelevant to me."
"…Right. Right." Jeralt let out a long sigh and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Good. One less thing to worry about."
Goetia tilted his head slightly as he looked at the man. Human interactions were still a mystery. Somehow, stating that Byleth was "interesting" had led to an assumption of romantic intent.
…Odd.
He returned to his thoughts in silence.
Meanwhile, further back in the group, Claude walked with a casual gait, hands behind his head and a sly grin on his face.
"So," he said, glancing over at the others, "what do you guys think of tall, dark, and golden?"
Dimitri turned toward Claude, a faint frown on his face.
"Claude," he said, his tone firm yet polite, "if you intend to speak of Goetia, the least you could do is use his name — especially considering he saved your life."
Claude held up his hands in mock surrender, grinning.
"Relax, your highness. 'Tall, dark, and golden' is a term of endearment. I mean it with affection," he said with a wink. "Seriously though, what do you make of the guy?"
Dimitri paused for a moment, brow furrowing in thought.
"He's… reserved, but professional. His manner of speaking reminds me of the scholars who used to visit the capital. Learned, but distant."
"I'm surprised at both of you," Edelgard interjected, arms crossed and gaze sharp. "Speaking about a man behind his back like this… It's undignified."
Claude raised an eyebrow, the corners of his lips twitching.
"Oh? And here I thought you'd be used to curious individuals by now. Or are glittery-haired strangers just another Tuesday for the Adrestian princess?"
Edelgard narrowed her eyes at him, unfazed. "While his appearance is... unconventional, judging a person solely by how they look is shallow. You know better than that."
Claude chuckled. "Sure, sure. But you did speak with him, didn't you? Don't tell me you don't have an opinion."
Edelgard's gaze sharpened. "Were you spying on me?"
"Spying's such a harsh word," Claude said innocently, placing a hand over his chest. "I prefer observation. Strategic curiosity, if you will."
"That is spying," Dimitri pointed out matter-of-factly.
"And it makes him a capable one," Byleth said, speaking up for the first time. Her voice was calm, neutral as ever. "Although Goetia likely knew he was being watched."
"Wait, seriously?" Claude blinked at her. "What, does the guy have some kind of sixth sense?"
"He has good instincts."
"Huh. Creepy and perceptive. That tracks." Claude shrugged, then turned back to Edelgard. "Still waiting on that opinion, by the way."
Edelgard sighed lightly, as though indulging a persistent child. "If you must know… I find him intelligent. But he doesn't strike me as a scholar."
"Oh?" Claude leaned in slightly, genuinely curious now.
"He's more of an observer," she said. "The type who studies a situation first… then decides if it's worth stepping into."
"…An observer," Dimitri echoed softly, contemplative.
Byleth didn't say anything, but found herself quietly agreeing. Goetia did prefer to watch from the sidelines — not from cowardice, but from something more… analytical.
"He admitted as much himself," Edelgard said calmly. "Saving us served his own interests, and none of those seemed political in nature."
"Oh-ho?" Claude arched a brow, hands laced behind his head. "So our mystery man had mysterious motives. How... mysterious."
He grinned at his own joke, but it was met with deafening silence.
"…Tough crowd," he muttered, sighing dramatically.
Turning toward Byleth, he raised an eyebrow. "What about you, Professor? You were with him before we showed up at the village. Any insight from the frontlines?"
Byleth tilted her head slightly, thoughtful. Then, without hesitation, she said:
"Lonely."
Claude blinked.
"…That's... huh. Not what I expected."
"He's strange," she added, her voice quiet but steady. "Not used to being around people. And when he is… he gets disappointed easily. Like he's expecting something that never comes."
Her words lingered in the air. No one responded for a while.
Claude let out a low whistle. "That's… oddly poetic coming from you."
Byleth just looked ahead in silence.
The group walked on a little longer before Claude spoke again, voice lighter this time.
"Alright, but seriously — how do you think he gets his hair to glitter like that?"
That brought everyone to a halt, figuratively if not literally.
Even Byleth blinked at the question.
"We'll make camp here!" Alois declared, planting his boots firmly on the grassy trail. He turned to his men with his usual cheerful authority. "Spread out and gather firewood! Gavin, get the hunting gear ready—hopefully there's some game nearby."
Then he turned toward the robed figure standing a little apart from the group.
"Unless you can magically conjure up dinner for us, Goetia?" he asked with a wide grin.
Goetia didn't even blink.
"Denial of nothingness is beyond me," he replied, his voice as flat as the expression on his face.
Alois laughed and shrugged. "Worth a try."
He turned to the nearest knight. "You heard him. Go find us some deer."
"Yes, sir!" the man said quickly before jogging off into the woods.
With the soldiers now scattered on their tasks, the clearing grew quieter.
"Percy, get the firewood," Alois ordered.
The knight in question nodded silently and disappeared among the trees.
Goetia, seeing the bustle die down, took the opportunity to sit on a nearby rock. He rested one hand on his knee and closed his eyes, his back perfectly straight.
He wasn't meditating—at least, not in the traditional sense. It wasn't focused introspection or contemplation. It was emptiness. A void of thought, where even the noise of human existence faded into nothing. That was satisfying, in its own way.
A brief moment of silence.
Then—
"You're not as quiet as you think, Byleth," Goetia said suddenly, eyes still closed.
The footsteps stopped in front of him.
"You could tell it was me?" Byleth asked. Her voice was calm as always, but there was a faint trace of surprise behind her words.
Goetia opened his eyes slowly, glancing up at her.
"Anyone else would've made more noise."
There was a pause.
"Do you need something?" he asked.
"You were speaking to my father earlier," Byleth said. Her tone was neutral, but Goetia could sense the hidden question behind the statement.
"I was curious about our destination," Goetia replied smoothly. "Your father seemed to know something about it, so I asked."
Byleth gave a small nod, then fell silent once more.
To anyone watching, the moment would've seemed awkward—a silence hanging heavy in the air. But to them, it wasn't.
"Hey, Goldilocks!" Claude called out with his usual grin as he strolled up casually.
Goetia turned to face the young man, one eyebrow raised. "Goldilocks?"
"Yeah, well…" Claude rubbed the back of his neck as he gave the man's shining hair a thoughtful once-over. "Not my best work, I'll admit. It was either that or Glitter."
Goetia tilted his head slightly, as if mildly amused. "A title of endearment rather than my actual name, then. Ultimately, what you choose to call me is irrelevant. I have given you my name. Whether or not you use it is your decision."
"Fair enough," Claude said, plopping himself down next to him without an ounce of hesitation. "So, I've been meaning to ask—how'd you get your hair like that?"
Goetia blinked slowly, as if the question was odd. He glanced up at a few strands before replying flatly, "I was born this way."
"Ah," Claude nodded as if that explained everything. "Must be the work of a Crest, then."
"As you say," Goetia replied with a noncommittal hum.
There was no need to correct him. If the boy wanted to come to his own conclusions, that was his right. Not that Goetia possessed a Crest in any conventional sense.
Claude leaned back on his hands, glancing at the sky. "So… what's it like where you're from? Don't meet too many foreigners around here, y'know."
Goetia turned to him, curious. "Did you not speak with Lady Edelgard?"
"Yeah, I did," Claude said, then hesitated.
"And were you not privy to our conversation?" Goetia added without looking at him.
Claude flinched slightly. "Ah. So you caught that, huh…"
Across from them, Byleth gave Claude a look. One of those unreadable stares that somehow still managed to say, 'Told you so.'
Claude sighed. "Yeah, yeah. Caught me red-handed."
"You lack the presence concealment necessary for proper espionage," Goetia said plainly. "Though, given your role as a future leader rather than an assassin, that is expected."
Claude grinned. "Ouch. Fair point. Guess I've got to up my game if I want to be sneaky around you."
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Okay, maybe I did eavesdrop a little. But in my defense, you weren't exactly spilling your life story to Her Highness either."
"There is little of interest about my home," Goetia said, his tone flat and devoid of emotion. "Despite whatever superficial differences may exist, it is ultimately no different from Fódlan, if one were to observe the people and their motives."
Claude hummed thoughtfully, lips pursed. "Is that so…? Well, what's your home called?"
Goetia gave him a curious glance, more puzzled than annoyed. "Why should that concern you? I highly doubt you will ever set foot there."
Claude gave a sheepish shrug. "Probably not. Just curious is all. Not everyday you meet someone from really far away."
The former Beast was silent for a moment. Then, with a quiet grunt, he relented.
"Hmph. I came from a city called Jerusalem, in a land known as the 'United Monarchy.' During the time of my... creation, it was ruled by a man named Solomon."
Claude's eyes widened slightly. "Jerusalem, huh? Never heard of it, but the name has a kind of weight to it. And Solomon? Sounds like a big deal."
"He was referred to as the 'Wise King.' Under his reign, the kingdom was said to have prospered. He was also granted the title of the 'King of Magecraft' due to his unparalleled contributions to magical theory. It is said God—Yahweh—bestowed upon him divine wisdom in the form of ten rings."
Claude gave an impressed whistle. "Ten magic rings and divine wisdom? Sounds like the kind of guy you'd want running a kingdom. Maybe a little intense, but still, not bad."
Suddenly, Goetia's expression darkened.
"He was the greatest fool humanity ever produced."
The sudden venom in his voice caught both Claude and Byleth off guard. The air around him grew heavy, and his golden eyes flashed with something between rage and sorrow.
"Given wisdom by God Himself—granted knowledge of all the suffering humanity would endure, all the cruelty they would inflict upon each other—and yet, he accepted it. He saw it all, and did nothing. He allowed history to unfold, allowed pain to persist. What kind of 'wisdom' is that?"
His hands clenched into fists as he growled out the words.
"His so-called enlightenment was meaningless. Hollow. How can one be called wise… if they witness human suffering and choose not to stop it!?"
He sucked in a sharp breath, then slowly exhaled. The fury that had boiled to the surface simmered down just as quickly, leaving only silence in its wake.
Goetia sat in silence, his expression unreadable, but inside, confusion stirred.
He hated Solomon. That much had always been certain.
But that outburst... it wasn't like him.
Rage, yes—but there had been something else tangled in it.
Disappointment? Resentment? The realization unsettled him.
I was made in his image... So why do we see the same things and reach such different conclusions?
"Okay…" Claude blinked, then glanced over at Byleth, who—despite her usual stoicism—looked just as surprised.
An awkward silence settled over them like a passing cloud. Goetia closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, letting the tension ease from his shoulders.
"…Apologies," he said at last, voice calm again. "Solomon and I… disagreed."
"I can see that." Claude gave a small nod, his tone gentle. "Is that why you left?"
"There is no point in disagreeing with him now. He is dead," Goetia replied, tone flat. "Whoever rules that land now is irrelevant to me."
He paused, his gaze drifting upward, as if trying to find something hidden in the sky.
"Perhaps… I am searching for something," he continued. "Solomon left behind many questions. I intend to find the answers myself. That is why I am no longer where I came to be."
Claude raised his hands in a calming gesture. "Hey, you don't need to explain if you don't want to. Everyone's got their secrets."
"You asked. I answered."
Claude gave a small laugh. "Yeah… I guess I did."
With a stretch and a grin, he stood up. "Well, I'll leave you two to it. I should probably go say hi to our royal friends before they gang up on me for 'making contact with the strange glitter-haired man' first."
He gave them a wave before sauntering off in the direction of Dimitri and Edelgard, both of whom were already glaring daggers at him.
"…Children confuse me," Goetia muttered under his breath.
Byleth nodded once, then, without a word, sat down beside him.
Goetia glanced her way. "You are unfamiliar with this monastery?"
After a moment, Byleth nodded again.
"I didn't really know it existed… or the Church of Seiros," she admitted, her voice quiet but even.
That made Goetia's brows lift ever so slightly.
How curious…
He had only arrived in this world recently, and yet he had learned about the Church within days—purely by chance, after meeting a wandering pilgrim on the road. Since then, he had encountered the faithful often.
For someone to be completely unaware of the most widely practiced religion in all of Fódlan…
That was surprising.
It immediately raised several questions in Goetia's mind.
Clearly, Jeralt had gone out of his way to avoid mentioning the Church to the girl. To keep her ignorant of something so fundamental—there had to be a reason.
Why would he go to such lengths to hide the existence of the Church of Seiros from his own daughter?
Jeralt had warned him to be cautious around the Archbishop. That much he remembered. But a warning alone wouldn't justify keeping Byleth in the dark her entire life.
Was it connected to her divine nature? Her ability to manipulate time?
Goetia blinked.
…Why was he even thinking so hard about this?
It didn't concern him. Her powers—while intriguing—had no real impact on his goals.
Whether she could turn back time or not was ultimately irrelevant.
So why was he so invested in this line of thought?
Was it… curiosity?
A simple desire to understand the strange mystery Byleth represented?
What an odd thing for him to dwell on.
"I assume this will be an interesting visit for you?" he asked, glancing at her.
Byleth shrugged.
"I guess. I don't really know," she said honestly. "Even after hearing about the Church, it didn't feel like anything special. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to react once I actually see it."
"I see," Goetia nodded. "I suppose that makes sense. If you only just learned it existed, it would be difficult to have any strong feelings about it."
Byleth tilted her head slightly, a trace of curiosity in her expression.
"What about you? How do you feel about visiting the Church?"
His face remained impassive.
"I've seen many religions similar to the Church of Seiros. Its existence is nothing new to me." He paused, frowning faintly. "That said… this will be my first time visiting one of these faiths directly. I suppose that's something we have in common."
Byleth gave a soft hum of acknowledgment.
"…What did you do before coming to Fódlan?"
Goetia raised an eyebrow, then gave a small nod.
"Curious, are we?"
He looked up at the sky for a moment before replying.
"In truth, my role has changed very little since arriving here. I have always been… an observer. Wherever I go, that never changes." His voice turned slightly more distant. "I tried being more proactive once. Took action into my own hands. It didn't end well."
He glanced back at her, eyes gleaming with interest.
"And you? I assume you've always been a mercenary?"
Byleth gave a small nod.
"Father trained me from a young age. I haven't done much else besides mercenary work."
"A simple life," Goetia mused. "Perhaps a little barbaric… but you don't strike me as someone particularly weighed down by it."
"A job is a job."
Byleth's tone was flat, almost indifferent. "Doesn't matter what it is. It's just what my father wanted me to do."
Goetia tilted his head slightly, studying her.
"And? Do you have any aspirations beyond the life of a sell-sword?"
He was genuinely curious. She seemed intelligent enough—certainly not a scholar, but far from dull. Surely she had considered something beyond the battlefield?
But Byleth said nothing.
She frowned, eyes turning to the ground.
There wasn't an answer. Not because she was hiding one—she simply hadn't thought about it before.
Her entire life had been shaped by her father's decisions. Where to go. Who to fight. What to be.
She had followed without question.
Goetia eventually broke the silence.
"It's fine if you don't have an answer." His gaze shifted toward the camp, watching the others as they moved about. "Some humans find purpose in simple obedience. In doing what's expected of them."
He frowned.
"It still confuses me," he admitted. "But I acknowledge it exists. A life of servitude."
Yet even as he said it, the thought gnawed at him.
How could someone live that way—entirely at the mercy of someone else's will?
Byleth wasn't a slave in the traditional sense, but to Goetia, she might as well have been. A prisoner to her own lack of vision. Despite her capability, she had never even tried to imagine being anything but a mercenary.
He could understand how her nature made her well-suited to the role. Her distant, almost mechanical demeanor would make it easy to carry out the grim tasks required of her.
But if she felt no joy in it… why continue?
Even her efforts to protect others seemed hollow.
The bandits she killed—yes, they would no longer threaten the village. But there would always be more. At this very moment, elsewhere in the world, others were being killed by those just like them. Surely she understood that?
Then why?
Why bother saving anyone?
Why bother killing at all?
Even if it was happening somewhere else, the principle remained the same—
Humans killing each other over possessions.
A cycle that hadn't changed in centuries.
To Goetia, it was incomprehensible. There was nothing fulfilling about this kind of life.
There had been bandits before Byleth was born. There would be bandits long after she died.
Her efforts—while noble on the surface—would barely make a dent in the grand scheme of things.
So why even bother?
"We found deer!"
Alois's cheerful voice cut through the quiet of the camp. Several heads turned in his direction.
He was beaming, gesturing toward a fellow knight who was hauling back a deer carcass slung over his shoulders.
"Percy!" Alois called out again, waving over another man emerging from the trees with an armful of sticks and branches. "Get that campfire going!"
"Yessir!" Percy saluted with his free hand before dropping to one knee and beginning to arrange the firewood.
The group stood around, watching as Percy fumbled with the flint. Sparks fizzled uselessly. He struck again. And again.
Nothing.
Minutes passed. Alois sighed, his earlier energy beginning to fade.
"…Percy."
"S-Sorry, sir…" the knight slumped his shoulders, looking thoroughly defeated. "It's usually Frederick's job to start the campfires. But… uh… he didn't come on this one."
Alois pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling deeply.
"Right. Outdoors training. We're definitely going to need more of that."
He stepped forward, fully intending to take over—when he noticed something.
Goetia was standing silently beside Percy, his lone arm extended over the neatly arranged logs.
Without a word, a small, controlled flame burst into life. The fire crackled softly as it took to the wood. Satisfied, Goetia lowered his hand and stepped back, his expression as blank as ever.
"Thanks!" Percy grinned up at him, clearly impressed.
Goetia blinked.
"…For what?" he muttered, baffled.
He hadn't done anything worthy of thanks. The knight had failed. Goetia had merely corrected the error—he hadn't done it out of kindness. It wasn't even his responsibility. In fact, his intervention had simply highlighted the man's incompetence.
So why… thank him?
If one of the senior knights had acknowledged his effort, that he could understand. He had, after all, prevented further delays in their dinner preparations. But Percy?
He didn't understand it.
Returning to the edge of the camp, Goetia sat down quietly, staring into the flames.