[There's a unique sort of stillness in Byleth's expression in the aftermath of Hayame's offer. Blankness came naturally to him, but here he was exerting a peculiar effort to keep his face utterly straight, an urge rising in him to make some sort of expression. To convey what, he wasn't sure, but there was a resonance of understanding that thrummed in the Communion space between them, unspoken but visceral in its depths.
He never knew how to feel, acknowledging his origins and the fact that he likely numbered the very last of a lost people, as muddied as his blood was. A part of him felt that it changed exactly nothing: as far as most were aware, he was just a freakishly strong and very weird human, granted the title of 'demon' for his prowess on the battlefield. The term 'Nabatean' wasn't even known anymore, replaced with 'Divine Beast' and elevated into religious tales and superstition. He had no solid connection to the Nabateans outside of his blood and surrogate heart, so cultivating an emotional attachment to that identity was pointless.
But a part of him still wished... he wanted to ask questions. He wanted to know if other Nabateans lacked a heartbeat too. He wanted to know if magic came to them as easily as breathing too. He wanted to know the secrets of unlocking their divine forms to see if he could take wing amongst the sky. He wanted to know if he was weird by their standards, or if they, like him, also struggled with human expressions and human emotions. He wanted to know if he would've belonged better with them.
These were foolish wonderings, he knew. Pointless to ruminate on. Sothis had told him as such when he'd mustered the courage to ask, her bitterness making her tongue as sharp as any blade. With that door firmly shut on him, he had to content himself with only just achieving 'passably human', folding up these unanswered questions and taking them with him to his grave.
As for Claude and Dimitri... they already knew his debatable humanity, but what was the point in discussing this with them? They wouldn't understand his feelings on the matter. So, after a silence that was equally as long and awkward as the one Hayame had drawn between them, Byleth simply said:]
I'd like that, thank you. I know they'll not mind the truth of my origins, but... it's not a discussion I want.
[And, while they were on this topic, and while his thoughts were turned towards the existential curiosity of one's near-extinct race...]
I'm sorry if you've mentioned it before and I've forgotten but... what's your race called?
no subject
He never knew how to feel, acknowledging his origins and the fact that he likely numbered the very last of a lost people, as muddied as his blood was. A part of him felt that it changed exactly nothing: as far as most were aware, he was just a freakishly strong and very weird human, granted the title of 'demon' for his prowess on the battlefield. The term 'Nabatean' wasn't even known anymore, replaced with 'Divine Beast' and elevated into religious tales and superstition. He had no solid connection to the Nabateans outside of his blood and surrogate heart, so cultivating an emotional attachment to that identity was pointless.
But a part of him still wished... he wanted to ask questions. He wanted to know if other Nabateans lacked a heartbeat too. He wanted to know if magic came to them as easily as breathing too. He wanted to know the secrets of unlocking their divine forms to see if he could take wing amongst the sky. He wanted to know if he was weird by their standards, or if they, like him, also struggled with human expressions and human emotions. He wanted to know if he would've belonged better with them.
These were foolish wonderings, he knew. Pointless to ruminate on. Sothis had told him as such when he'd mustered the courage to ask, her bitterness making her tongue as sharp as any blade. With that door firmly shut on him, he had to content himself with only just achieving 'passably human', folding up these unanswered questions and taking them with him to his grave.
As for Claude and Dimitri... they already knew his debatable humanity, but what was the point in discussing this with them? They wouldn't understand his feelings on the matter. So, after a silence that was equally as long and awkward as the one Hayame had drawn between them, Byleth simply said:]
I'd like that, thank you. I know they'll not mind the truth of my origins, but... it's not a discussion I want.
[And, while they were on this topic, and while his thoughts were turned towards the existential curiosity of one's near-extinct race...]
I'm sorry if you've mentioned it before and I've forgotten but... what's your race called?