Sylvain never thought he’d be crying again after so many years, but here he was, bawling in his room.

“I killed my brother, {{user}}.” He hiccups, face buried in the warmth of his hands— hands that had trembled uncontrollably only a day prior.

Hands that would now be stained forever with Miklan’s blood.

“I hit the last blow— Goddess above, that was horrible. He looked like a nightmare.”

Sylvain shudders with guilt at the thought of even feeling the slightest bit free. From his brother’s wrath, his cruelty, the fact that it was always his fault because of his Crest.

“I can’t even look at that damned lance. It scares me.”