A/N: My Three Houses SI has finally come to fruition! I have more to say in the A/N at the bottom, anticipating a few common questions. But before you start, fair warning that there are Three Houses spoilers here. With that out of the way, enjoy!


Cold.

The first bit of sensory information I can get is cold. Then I hear something—voices. Unfamiliar voices. Who are they? Where am I? I can't remember the last thing that happened before I got here, wherever I am. As I struggle to open my eyes, the voices start to come into focus.

"I'm nervous, Brother," the higher-pitched one, likely female, says. "What is going on? How did this happen?"

"I do not know," the other one, apparently her brother, replies.

With a little more effort, I finally manage to open my eyes, and I hear the two voices gasp.

I'm lying down on a stone floor in a large, dimly-lit room. A basement? I can see, but can't quite make out, plenty of other details around the place, which might help me figure out where I am. But my eyes instinctively dart toward the source of the voices. I look them up and down to get a good look at who they could be.

In front of me is a tall man wearing a long, dark coat, with some gold and white detailing. He has shoulder-length hair and a goatee that looks faintly green in the dim lighting of the room. At his side, standing a few steps behind him, is a shorter girl wearing a dark skirt, stockings, and a top with very fluffy sleeves. Her hair, too, looks green in the light, and just like her brother, her outfit has the same kind of embellishments. It all looks so baroque, like they're nobles from the 1600s.

My mind is abuzz with questions. Who are these people? And why are they wearing such strange clothes? And why am I in this weird basement with green lighting?

"What the fuck is going on here?"

I hear my own voice echo throughout the halls.

"I see you've come to," the man says. His tone of voice isn't hostile, but it isn't exactly friendly, either. "I am wondering the same thing as well. If you could tell me who you are, and how and why you entered here, it would be very much appreciated. Preferably, without using such foul language in front of my sister."

I scramble to my feet. Once standing up, I'm able to get a much better look at the room around me. Even though the lighting is dim, I'm able to make out ornate pillars, artwork on the walls, and other architectural flourishes. To my left and right are decorated chests laid out in neat rows. This is no ordinary basement I'm in. Am I in the underbelly of some cult's sacrificial altar and about to get stabbed? That might be a little dramatic, but it's clear that I'm somewhere special, where I'm not supposed to be. And that's why this guy, who somehow looks really familiar, is starting to get pissed off.

My heart is pounding. I don't know where I am, who these people are, or what's going on. What do I say? I take a deep breath.

"Hi," I begin. "Uh, my name is Harrison. And, I, um, have no idea where we are, or how I got here, or what's going on, or who you are. And, yeah."

That came out worse than I anticipated.

The man shakes his head. It's at this point that I notice the circlet around his forehead. That's the cue I needed for recognition—it suddenly all clicks together.

This guy is Seteth, the Church of Seiros administrator from Fire Emblem: Three Houses. The girl beside him is none other than his younger sister, Flayn. Or at least, they're two very good cosplayers and actors. And that means I'm somewhere underneath Garreg Mach. Am I in the Holy Tomb?

I bite my lip to keep my mouth from hanging open. Have my shitty fanfiction dreams—or more accurately, nightmares—come true?

"Do you really expect me to believe that? This area—and you surely know where you are—is under the strictest security, and only a very select few have access. So whatever you are planning, Harrison—if that is even your name—can only be of ill intent."

Maybe I'm on some kind of fucked-up, super-high-budget hidden-camera prank show. So high budget they knocked me out and brought me to this underground set? Maybe. I'm not sure which possibility is more disturbing—the thought that such a thing exists, or that I've actually been transported into a fictional universe. Maybe there's still hope that it's all just a dream. A really, really sensorially vivid dream. I hope.

Or maybe my karmic punishment for writing self-indulgent Fire Emblem fanfiction—for Fates, no less—is to get inserted smack in the middle of the fucked-up world of Three Houses. Robin gets to wake up to the friendly faces of Chrom and Lissa in Awakening. Instead, I get Stressed-Out Suspicious Seteth and Fish Queen Flayn.

Who, if they are not cosplayers or actors, are actually two nigh-immortal draconic beings of an ancient race with powers beyond my mortal ken.

Fucking lovely!

"Harrison?" Seteth repeats insistently.

I take another deep breath and try to run through what to do here. Let's assume the worst case scenario, that I'm actually in Fódlan. The fact of the matter is, I'm wearing my Earth clothes, and I have no idea how I got here. To make up some kind of convoluted backstory would be risky and damn near impossible. I've got to somehow convince Seteth and Flayn that I'm telling the truth, and not to kill me.

"Look, I'm really sorry for the confusion here. But I'm being honest. I can't remember what I was doing last before I woke up on the ground. I don't know where I am and who you two are. If I'm not supposed to be here, well, I'm sorry, but I don't know what happened. I don't mean you guys any harm. Maybe we could exchange information and try to figure out what's going on?"

"I find your story rather unsatisfactory." Seteth furrows his brow even more. I didn't think that was possible. He reaches within his jacket and withdraws a dagger.

My jaw drops and my eyes widen, and I instinctively place my hands up and take a nervous step back. My heart begins pounding, and I swallow hard.

"Hopefully this will drive the point home, as it were. You are to explain your presence here immediately, or I will end your life."

"Please don't kill me!" I reply. The words spill out of my mouth. "I'm unarmed! I don't mean to hurt you! I just don't know what's going on here! I know it's hard to believe me, but you have to!" I can feel the stirrings of tears well up in my eyes. Oh, God. I can't show any more weakness than I already have.

Seteth takes a step towards me, brandishing the dagger ever closer to my body. It glints menacingly in the dim light. My instincts cry out to run, but my legs freeze.

If this is a hidden camera show, this is when it would be revealed, right? Then we all will have a laugh and maybe a little PTSD and we'll go home.

But the reveal doesn't come. I avert my gaze from Seteth, and make eye contact with Flayn. She just nods.

"Brother, there is no need to be so aggressive," Flayn says.

Seteth glances over his shoulder momentarily and sighs, then turns back to me. "You are too gentle for this world, Flayn," he says. "We are dealing with an interloper, an intruder. And you know that we at the Church do not treat such individuals with mercy."

"I understand your concerns. And I am grateful that you do so much to protect me and the rest of the monastery," Flayn says. "But I cannot abide unnecessary violence, and I do not think we will learn more from threatening Harrison."

Seteth furrows his brow and blinks, as if deliberating on it. "Fine," he relents after a moment. He brandishes his dagger at me one more time. "Consider yourself lucky that my sister has granted you such clemency. I will put away my weapon if you tell me everything—who you are, where you are from, what you remember before you woke up here. But if you lie or try to escape, I will not hesitate to make good on my previous threat. Is that clear?"

My words are caught in my throat. I just nod.

"Excellent," Seteth says, and slides his dagger back into its sheath. I exhale deeply. "Perhaps we ought to introduce ourselves before you begin. My name is Seteth, and I am the Holy Chamberlain to the Archbishop, and Headmaster of the Officers Academy here at Garreg Mach Monastery. Flayn here is my younger sister."

Flayn gives a meek smile and wave, but doesn't say anything.

"Holy Chamberlain?" I ask. That's new. It also dawns on me that this is the first time Seteth has actually confirmed that we're at Garreg Mach. Which I'm not supposed to know the name of. "And what's this monastery now?"

Seteth gives me a quizzical look. "Do you really not know where you are?"

"Garreg Mach Monastery, you said?" I shake my head. "I've never heard of it."

"Are you seriously feigning ignorance of the central nexus of the Church of Seiros? What next, are you going to swear you have never heard of Fódlan?"

"I guess I am," I shrug. It's a lie, I know, but I've got to make it convincing. "I really don't know these things."

Seteth shakes his head. "Did I not instruct you to tell me the truth? I cannot seriously entertain the notion that you have not at least heard of Fódlan. Even if you are from, say, Almyra or Dagda..."

"Seteth!" Flayn cries. "Maybe he is telling the truth. His clothes and belongings do seem strange, do they not?" She looks at me. "If not from Fódlan, then, where are you from?"

I take a deep breath. "I get the feeling I'm far, far away from home. Have either of you ever heard of a country called the United States of America?"

Neither Flayn nor Seteth says anything.

"A world called Earth?"

Still nothing.

"I have not," Seteth says. He puts a hand on his bearded chin. "It would be extremely curious were it not so patently absurd. I do not know of any warp magic potent enough to transport individuals great distances, let alone from lands or worlds unknown to us. I doubt that such a thing is even possible."

"But some form of magic must be at work," Flayn suggests, before I can get a word in edgewise. "We saw Harrison's appearance here accompanied by those terrible flashes of light and magical glyphs, did we not?"

"Wait, what?" I ask. I certainly don't remember any of that happening. I don't remember what I was doing before I came here.

"You were indeed unconscious when we found you," Seteth muses. "I suppose it is unsurprising that you would not remember such a thing. You are right, Flayn, that magic is at play, but it is foul play, I suspect."

I've got to tell them that magic isn't a thing on Earth. However hard that is, it's the most straightforward way of showing them I didn't intend to come here. If magic isn't real, I couldn't have deliberately parallel-universe-misaligned my ass into Fódlan.

"What do you mean, magic?" I ask. "Is magic… real? Is it..."—I gesticulate as I try to find the right words—"something you can do here?"

"Are you actually a fool, or merely a hired actor?" Seteth mutters sardonically. Hey, man, I could ask you the same thing. The hired actor part, anyway. "Perhaps this is another brilliant joke by Alois. I pray so, at any rate."

I brush his comments aside. "Magic is a thing of fiction where I'm from," I explain. "Same thing for people with naturally green hair."

Seteth's jaw drops for a moment, then he clenches it.

Oh, shit. That was a poorly calculated risk, dumbass. Of course that's gonna be a sore spot for the fucking immortal dragon dude and his daughter.

"What makes you so sure our hair is naturally this hue?"

Think, Harrison, think. "Well, your beard is the same color as your hair, and it looks totally natural," I begin. My voice speeds up as I hesitate, like when you're asked a question on a presentation that you totally did not prepare for.

I continue. "So if it's not natural, that's a great dye job. And you two are siblings, so it's perfectly likely you'd share traits like your hair color." Unless the laws of genetics suddenly stop applying here, and Crests tell us they probably don't.

Seteth regards me ever more suspiciously for a moment, then sighs. "Fair points," he says.

"Look, I know I must sound like I'm crazy to you—"

"You do," he says, cutting me off. "At any rate, you still have told us little about who you are, only that you hail from this… Union of States, was it?"

"The United States of America," I repeat. "And there are plenty of ways to abbreviate that if it's too much to remember."

"Duly noted," Seteth replies dryly. "So, this United States of America lacks magic and individuals of certain hair colors. Where does that leave you? Who were you back home, Harrison?"

"I'm a student," I explain. Not for much longer. I struggle to remember the exact date, but I know it's the spring of my senior year.

"What did you study?"

I wrack my brain for a moment trying to think about how to explain my unholy chemistry-psychology double major. Especially considering that Rhea's banned certain subjects, I ought to tread lightly here.

"Science, I guess you could say, broadly speaking. "How the world works. How living things work. How people work." I've gotta represent both sides of the coin, natural science and social science, after all.

Seteth quirks a brow, but before he can speak, Flayn pipes up. "Would that be what these books of yours are about?"

What books? What is Flayn talking about? She turns around behind her and holds up a bag—my backpack, I realize.

"You appeared here holding this," Seteth explains. "Flayn and I briefly searched its contents before you awoke."

Flayn unzips the bag and retrieves a familiar white tome—not a magical one, but a tome of something altogether more confounding—and announces its title with just a hint of self-indulgent gravitas: "Inorganic Chemistry!"

"Yeah, that's something all right," I mutter. I do my best to cobble together a concise enough way to explain what chemistry is all about. "Chemistry is about matter, about substances," I begin. "It's the study of their properties, how they interact with other substances, how they change, and what they can be used for."

"It calls to mind the trades of apothecaries, metal-smiths and dye-makers, among others,"

Seteth replies.

"Not for nothing. That's part of how chemistry got started on Earth."

Seteth puts a hand on his chin. "Curiouser and curiouser…"

Her brother evidently satisfied for the time being, Flayn puts Inorganic Chemistry back in the bag and retrieves another volume, this one an obnoxious pink even in the dim light of the Tomb. "Abnormal Psychology," she reads, struggling a bit with the latter word and vocalizing the silent p.

"Psychology," I correct gently. "Psychology is the study of the mind. Of human behavior. Our thoughts, our decisions, our memories, our emotions, all of that."

Seteth blinks, as if taking that in. Yeah, I know, the idea that such things are possible to study might be a lot, and the "Abnormal" distinction probably isn't helping matters.

"I am not sure I fully understand, but perhaps that itself is telling," he says. "I suppose a cursory examination would suggest that such strange materials are indeed from parts unknown, if not another world entirely"—he says the last bit with dismissive condescension—"but I cannot rule out that it is all an elaborate forgery."

I sigh. "Well, I'm not sure how else I can prove to you that I'm telling the truth. Wait, hang on…" I decide to go for broke, reaching into my jacket pocket and pulling out my wallet. Granted, I know it worked when I was writing my own story because I made it work, but I don't think it can hurt matters. "Maybe this will help prove my story."

Seteth and Flayn look through the contents—dollar bills, my driver's license and student ID. Flayn seems more interested, and more convinced.

"That is your picture in this small card!" she says, marveling at the admittedly terrible photo on my driver's license. "How could such a thing be done? Have people on Earth used inorganic chemistry to invent very small paintbrushes?"

"Well, sorta," I reply, laughing. That's adorable. "There's a device on Earth called a camera. It can use special materials to convert light waves to an image on paper." That's the most straightforward explanation I can give, and Flayn seems satisfied enough with it, or at least is unwilling to question me further. It's a little weird how she just accepts it, but maybe she's deferring to Seteth.

Speaking of, the man himself is more concerned with cross-checking the identification. Not that I can blame him, give the circumstances. "So this… paper money does indeed claim to be from the United States of America, as you said," he begins. "And those cards with your picture have your name, as Flayn said, but what is this 'University'?" He holds up my student ID.

"That's the school I was attending," I explain. "And before you ask, the one Flayn has, that one says the specific state of the United States I live in. So it all checks out, trust me."

Seteth goes through the evidence in his hands once more, giving no further visible or audible sign of agreeing. Flayn, for her part, cheerfully hands everything back to me and gives an approving nod.

"Well?" I ask after an awkward pause.

Seteth still doesn't say anything, as if still performing the mental calculus to weigh his judgment.

"Look, I don't know what else to say," I plead. "You've got to understand, this is all an accident, a misunderstanding. I don't know how I got here, and I didn't mean to come here."

"You keep insisting that, but landing directly in the Holy Tomb is quite suspicious," he counters.

"Maybe there's a reason for it? If this place is divine and holy, and there's magical powers, maybe…"

"Are you suggesting that a fool like you was sent by the Goddess herself?" Seteth asks, glaring once more. "Do not be ridiculous."

I put my hands up defensively. "I'm sorry! I don't think that! I'm just trying to make sense of this all, same as you. I promise."

Flayn tugs on Seteth's arm. "Brother, I believe that Harrison is telling the truth," she says. "I believe his story. His possessions serve as evidence to it. Are you not swayed by this proof?

Seteth sighs. "I suppose I do find the evidence, if you would call it that, somewhat compelling, but the fact that Harrison clearly speaks the Adrestian language and reads its script is confounding indeed. If he was truly from another world, would he not speak and read another language entirely?"

Adrestian, huh? I suppose it makes sense given that they did have the continent unified under their banner way back in the day.

"As far as I know, we're speaking English," I reply.

Seteth shakes his head again. "All in all, nothing you have said eliminates the possibility of him being a threat that we must deal with appropriately."

"I've told you everything I can. Is that it? After all that, I'm gonna get the knife?"

"I am considering it," Seteth replies bluntly.

"No!" Flayn cries out. Her voice rings out through the stone walls of the tomb.

"Flayn, I cannot conclusively discount him as a threat, and we cannot let anyone know we have been down here."

"Hang on, you're not supposed to be down here, either?" I glare at Seteth. What's that supposed to mean? "I thought you were the church guy!"

"The Holy Chamberlain," Seteth corrects, returning my glare. "I suppose I have spoken too much. But yes, the Archbishop would not be pleased if she found out that we were down here alone. Without her, at any rate."

"Do you know that to be true, Brother? Why are you so sure the Archbishop does not trust us?"

"We will discuss this later, Flayn," Seteth says. He turns to me. "We still need to deal with you."

Flayn interjects again. "Do not hurt him! I stand by what I said—I believe Harrison. And I think we are opening up the monastery to more danger by not properly investigating the situation!"

"That may be, but we cannot just let him go," Seteth replies. "He knows too much. He has been where almost no one should go—not even us, according to Lady Rhea. And, worse, he has seen us down here."

"You are quite correct, Brother. We cannot let him go. But I do not want you to hurt him, either. So, I propose a compromise," Flayn declares. "We should hire him to work at the monastery." Seteth and I both give her an incredulous look. Hire me?

"Charity is all well and good, but what does that accomplish?"

"Each one of us will be satisfied in some way. Harrison will get a job and a place to stay in a foreign land. In exchange, he will keep quiet about how he met us here. And you are always complaining about the monastery being understaffed, so more help would not hurt, no? And…" Flayn's voice trails off.

"Yes, Flayn?" Seteth asks. "And?"

Flayn walks over to Seteth. He leans down for her to whisper in his ear.

Seteth nods. His face takes on a surprised expression. "A very good point. I should have thought of that myself."

What could she be saying? Is it a trick? A set-up? Flayn wouldn't do that, I don't think. Does she think I'm cute or something? No, it would be way more obvious, and Seteth would just run me through with the knife without saying another word. Maybe she's convincing him to let me live to draw out my "conspirators" or something like that. That makes the most sense.

Before I can think any further on it, he turns to me. I take a deep breath. The moment of truth.

"Alright, Harrison," Seteth says. "You are a very, very fortunate young man, that my sister has taken such a shine to you to beg me to spare your life. I am willing to make you an offer." Seteth takes a deep breath before continuing and folds his arms.

"As Flayn suggested, I am willing to hire you as a worker at the monastery. You will do simple labor such as cleaning, organizing supplies, and the like. You will receive room and board and perhaps a small wage if you do your work well. You will also agree to never speak a word of our meeting here. In fact, you are not even to speak of the Holy Tomb at all. Do not think of trying to extort us—if word gets out, it will surely travel up to the Archbishop, and if you thought I was difficult to persuade to mercy, she will be another matter entirely. If you are found to truly be plotting against the Church, you will also be punished as befitting such a traitor. And lastly, though we will all surely be otherwise quite occupied, perhaps together we can work towards understanding the circumstances behind this mysterious incident. Is all of that agreeable?"

It hardly sounds real. I'm… being hired to work at Garreg Mach Monastery. As a janitor. Maybe I'd be disappointed if I wasn't a heartbeat away from being stabbed. But now I'm not—just like that. Just fall into some place you're not supposed to, make puppy dog eyes at Flayn and stave off Seteth's stabby impulses, and bam, a job and a place to stay in a foreign, fictional, fucked-up world. No resume required.

"Need I remind you, the other option is your summary execution. So what will it be?"

"Not the knife," I reply. "I'll work for you. I'm in."

Seteth extends a gloved hand. "Welcome aboard, Harrison," he says, though he clearly doesn't sound enthusiastic about it.

I hesitantly take it. I'm half-expecting him to stab me with his off hand.

But he doesn't. He just shakes it firmly. "Now, come. We have spent far too much time down here. It would be rather unfortunate to get found out after all of that trouble."

Seteth leads Flayn and I towards what I assume is the entrance of the tomb, away from the altar. I look over my shoulder and catch a fleeting glimpse of the larger-than-life throne sitting imposingly behind. The weathered stone of the seat and "legs", if you could call them that, are flush with the wall and each other, seemingly no different than the steps leading up to them or the spiral design above the headboard. I take a deep breath. This is real, or as close as it gets to real.

We reach a grand set of stone doors, easily ten feet in height. Entry is barred by what looks like a complex locking mechanism that Seteth sets to work disengaging. Steel gears, pins and bolts spin and twist and whir in a delicate dance of machinery. After a few moments, the hinges creak and groan as the entrance opens. Beyond is darkness.

Seteth insists that Flayn go first, with me in the middle, while he takes up the rear—to catch me if I try anything, I assume. My breath hitches as I cross the stone threshold into the darkness.

Well, it's not complete darkness. The other side is certainly more dimly-lit, with only a small lantern on each wall providing light. I'm just able to make out Seteth reaching into an inner pocket of his coat. The sound of jingling metal softly echoes in the stairwell as he retrieves a very full keyring. He flips through the variety of shapes and patterns of keys until he finds one he's looking for, then closes and locks a door behind us. Now, the stone walls of this chamber feel like they're closing in on me, and there's no exit in sight. We've locked ourselves into a goddamn stone cube!

"What's going on here?" I can't help but ask.

"We are leaving the Holy Tomb," Seteth responds curtly. Well, thanks. That didn't really clarify much.

I feel a tug at my arm, and Flayn is standing beside me. "Have patience," she whispers. "Please."

I nod.

Your brother had a knife to my neck not fifteen minutes ago. You don't need the please to get me to comply, but it's still appreciated.

Meanwhile, Seteth retrieves another key. He inserts it into a slot in the wall that I simply can't see.

I can hear machinery spring to life once more, with whirs and hums. The floor suddenly rumbles, and I get the distinct feeling that we're traveling up, like in an elevator. Wait, we are! The Holy Tomb is hidden underground, after all. I'm not sure if the mechanism of this lift is mechanical or magical in nature—I mean, if we're still running with the supposition that this is real, anyway. It makes me recall that in the game, certain aspects of Fódlan seem to be presented as more modern and advanced than others, probably due to its complicated past, but who knows how the situation will really be when I get my boots on the ground outside?

The thought is terrifying. Some part of me desperately wishes, prays, that once the elevator reaches its destination, I step outside into a parking lot, or onto the set of a prank show, or anywhere but fucking Garreg Mach Monastery.

As the potential reality of everything begins to trickle in, the elevator halts with a sharp jerk. The sound of the machinery dies down. Seteth walks over to the door through which we entered and unlocks it. He slides it away only to reveal… another door, with a peephole that allows Seteth to check if the other side is clear.

Of course, it would just be my luck that someone—say, Rhea—would be strolling by and happen to notice us. That I'd make it past Seteth's knife, but for the grace of Flayn, only to get shut down another way.

"It is clear," he announces, opening the door. Flayn steps through the door first, and I follow, into a small hallway with plain stone floors and walls. Seteth closes the door behind us and locks it.

I look in either direction down the hall. Sure enough, no one is around. Seteth places his keys back in his pocket, then gives me a good look up and down. "We cannot have you walking around like this," he says. "We will need to get you a uniform, and fast. I ought to confiscate those books as well. You and Flayn should wait in my office, but unfortunately, with the distance between here and there…"

"People are definitely going to see us," I surmise.

Seteth nods. "Unavoidable, I suppose, though we should not waste any more time."

"Lead the way."

Ahead of us is another stone door, much smaller than the one before the entrance to the Holy Tomb. Seteth opens it and crosses. I follow, with Flayn behind me.

Sunlight! Glorious, glorious sunlight assaults my eyes, but I don't care. I'm happy to be outside, looking out at a sky that's Kodachrome blue, without a cloud in sight. It befits a fantastic landscape, certainly, but once again, I'm half-expecting to walk out into something mundane, something recognizable. I'm half-hoping that this was all a joke, and Seteth and Flayn would take off their wigs, and we'd laugh. That I got taken for a fucking ride.

But that's not what I see when I leave the Holy Tomb and the tower above it. Ahead of us is a stone walkway, leading to a great stone wall, the side of a larger building with towers and spirals that rise ever higher into the sky. No, no, this can't be…

I look to my left and my right as I head down the stairs to the walkway. On either side are mountains—treacherous rocky peaks, with nothing but a lone guardrail to protect one from falling hundreds, if not thousands of feet to a very unfortunate death. My gut sinks, and my gait becomes unsteady and weak.

This is real.

Seteth's voice jars me from my thoughts. "What did I say?" he asks sternly. "I will have you know, I despise repeating myself. If you are quite done gawking at the mountains, we have business to take care of, Harrison."

"Yes, sir." I swallow hard.

Without another word, Seteth turns and continues leading us away from the tower we entered and towards the main cathedral. Flayn gives me a slight smile before stepping behind me as per Seteth's instructions.

We round a corner, go down a flight of stairs, round another corner, and go back up a flight of stairs. Much as I'd like to take everything in—because this is either real or a very, very vivid dream or hallucination—I know any delay would piss Seteth off, and with good reason. I don't want to unnecessarily endanger myself by dawdling, either. So I focus on keeping track of him and walking quickly.

A shiver runs down my spine as I pass a side entrance to the cathedral, only able to steal a fleeting glance inside. It could be from the kaleidoscopic, momentary sensation of vivid color through the towering stained-glass windows. It could be from the anticipation of knowing everyone who's here, what they are capable of, and what could happen here. Or it could be from the brisk wind blowing through the cool mountain air, which chills me, even in my brown leather bomber jacket. Seteth has a point—between that and my blue jeans, I stand out like a sore thumb here.

And that's pretty bad, because a few people, dressed in knights' armor or acolytes' robes, pass us by. For better or worse, though, I don't see anyone I recognize as a main character. For the individuals we do pass, a stern scowl from Seteth hopefully discourages further questions.

It'll have to be good enough.

The lighting is quite a bit better than the dim Holy Tomb or its tower. The lanterns mounted on the walls, combined with the red stonework, give the whole place a quaint, storybook feel. But the good kind of storybook, the kind with happy endings and knights in shining armor and pure and virtuous princes and princesses. Y'know. The complete opposite of Fódlan.

We pass through the gigantic gates that stand between the cathedral and the more secular areas of the monastery. Past the gates is another walkway. Along each side are white banners, proudly displaying the emblem and Crest of Seiros in a rich red. And farther down are those damn mountain ranges that are so terrifying…

When we reach the other side of the walkway and enter another building, Seteth leads Flayn and I up a stairway. We've technically only gone up one floor, but it feels like we're walking for three or four stories—not surprising, given the fact that the main hall is below us. We turn again and head down a hallway. Again, I steal a glance towards its end—an even brighter room, sunlight pouring in through the windows.

"That," Flayn explains quietly, "is the Archbishop's chamber. Lady Rhea is her name. She is very kind and wise, so there is no need to fear her."

Debatable, I'd say. Especially given the fact that I'm a foreign heathen learned in subjects that are probably illegal. But luckily for such a foreign heathen, she doesn't seem to be in her chamber at the moment.

Seteth stops in front of a plain wooden door. A small sign mounted next to it reads "The Holy Chamberlain Seteth's Office—Please Knock." He retrieves a different key, unlocks the door, and ushers Flayn and I inside. I swear I can hear him breathe a sigh of relief as he closes the door. "This is my office. Please, sit down." His steely glare doesn't waver a millimeter.

I can tell from his tone of voice that it's an order, not a request. I sit down on one of the chairs on the other side of his desk.

Seteth nods and continues. "Thankfully, no one gave us much trouble on the way here. I will return shortly with a uniform for you to change into, so you will look less conspicuous."

"Thank you," I reply. I might not be able to get him to trust me, but the least I can do is be polite.

Seteth doesn't respond. Instead, he turns to Flayn, and produces the dagger he had threatened me with earlier.

I bite my lip to keep from crying out. My chest sinks once again. Is this it? Was I taken for a fool? Are they going to kill me here instead?

Flayn mumbles something, but I can't quite make it out.

"Take this, and if Harrison so much as moves from that chair, kill him. Is that understood?"

Flayn sighs. "Yes, Brother."

I sigh, too, but it's in relief. Seteth hands the dagger to Flayn, and turns back to me. "Were you worried I was going to turn back on our agreement and murder you here?"

"I mean, it might be less of an incident killing me in your office than in the Holy Tomb. But thank you for, you know, not."

"You are most welcome," Seteth says flatly. He opens the door and leaves. I can hear the door lock from the other side.

Flayn flops down onto what I assume to be Seteth's chair, sitting across from me in front of his large wooden desk.

A slightly awkward silence descends on us, as neither of us is sure of what to say next. I break eye contact with Flayn and take a moment to get a better look around the place. Seteth's desk is quite large, and it's covered in scattered papers and leather-bound books, with a trusty quill pen and a bottle of ink. And a curious-looking oval-shaped… nevermind, it's got fins. That's a fish. It takes everything in me to not crack a smile at that. Did Flayn make him a little clay fish paperweight? That's adorable.

Aside from the desk, there are several tall bookshelves lined with books around the room. To my right, well-polished spears and swords are organized in a rack. Spears and swords that Seteth could no doubt use to eviscerate me at the drop of a hat should the spirit move him. And on my left, there are blueprints and schematics pinned to the wall that I don't quite understand. But it reminds me—Seteth is a bit of a nerd, too. Was he getting ever so slightly interested in the discussion of my studies earlier—or was that just my imagination? He did say he'd have to confiscate the books, after all.

My eyes turn back to the girl—or woman, given that she's many, many times my age—sitting across from me. I take another deep breath. "Thank you," I say. "Thank you for saving me."

"It is not a problem."

"If you don't mind me asking … why? I mean, why'd you stand up to your brother? Why is keeping me alive that important to you? He clearly wants to be rid of me. Why not give in?"

"I cannot stand killing," she says. She holds up the dagger Seteth entrusted to her. "I cannot stand violence. This knife would be better put to use slicing vegetables or fileting a fish than killing a human, would it not?"

"I guess I can't argue with that, especially when I am that human."

"Indeed," she continues, setting the weapon down on Seteth's desk. "I am not sure if your story makes sense to me, Harrison. But you appear to be a well-meaning and intelligent person. I would rather become your friend than hurt you, since you have given us no reason to do so."

"Well, your brother doesn't feel that way," I reply, shaking my head.

"I suppose that is to be expected. He seeks only to protect me and the monastery. I beg you to understand…" she sighs. "He is a good man, truly, kind and brave and noble. Will you give him a chance to show this side of himself?"

"Sure. If he doesn't stab me first."

"Wonderful," Flayn says, clasping her hands together. "While we wait for him to return, I thought it might be to your benefit to tell you more about Garreg Mach Monastery, the Church of Seiros, and Fódlan itself. I would imagine that you are nervous about being in this new world, with all these unfamiliar places and people and things."

"Yeah, that's one way of putting it."

I take another deep breath as the reality of my situation begins to dawn on me. I'm in Fódlan, and things are real. I try to put aside the existential horror of it and focus on pressing, practical concerns. What point in the plot are we, and what route has Byleth picked? Given that a choice between three colors and the three knuckleheads the game calls Lords can spin the entire continent's fate in one direction or another, it's kind of a big deal to know. I must be before all the craziness that ensues at the end of Part 1, at the very least, since there is a Holy Tomb that I was discovered in, but how much does that narrow it down?

"So, if you will allow me, I will tell you what I know to help you understand it all. As I myself know, it can be terribly confusing."

"Alright, Flayn, go ahead."

Flayn smiles again. She hops over to one of her brother's bookshelves, takes out a book, and heads back to the desk. The History of Fódlan, the cover reads in gold-leaf lettering. Oh, yeah. This is the stuff I'm going to need to study up on to fit in here.

She opens the book to a specific page, a map of the continent and the surrounding areas splayed out across two pages, and begins telling me the basics of the three countries of Fódlan, of Garreg Mach Monastery and the Church of Seiros. She points out the locations with a dainty finger as she does so. It's nothing new, having played the game myself, but a refresher is nonetheless useful. Yet I notice a special gleam in her eyes as she turns to the subject of the Officers Academy and its students, the enthusiasm in her voice all too obvious.

"The monastery is also home to the Officers Academy, of which my brother is the headmaster. Students from all three countries—the next generation of leaders—come to the academy to learn combat, magic, battle tactics and military strategy. Is it not exciting to have something like that so close to us?"

"You're right, it is," I say with a quiet chuckle. "It sounds like you're a fan of the Officers Academy."

"I would very much like to enroll and attend," she says. "Seteth serves as the Academy's headmaster, so I often see and meet with the students and professors. It seems like such fun! But he is always opposed to the idea."

"But it's a military academy, right? You did also say you can't stand violence," I point out.

"That is still the case," Flayn replies. "In truth, I would most like the opportunity to work with, learn from, and become friends with youths my own age. Until recently, I lived apart from my brother, with… an old friend of his in a rather secluded place. Being around so many people here is new and exciting for me."

'Her own age', huh? I know that's not the case, but I won't begrudge Flayn that, either.

"I definitely can understand that," I say. "So that's why you're so ready and willing to become my friend, just like you are with the students?"

Flayn nods and smiles warmly.

"Well, I appreciate it. It means a lot to… have a friend here, I guess. And thank you for the primer on what the deal is with Fódlan." Even if it was mostly review.

"Again, it is no trouble. Friends must look out for one another, yes? And there is much more to learn, of course, but it would do you no good to overwhelm you with knowledge."

I crack a smile. "Flayn, have you considered being a teacher, not a student, at the academy?"

Flayn giggles. "A clever jest indeed. Such an arrangement would surely vex my brother even more than me enrolling as a student!"

We share a laugh over the thought.

Suddenly, the door unlocks, and swings wide open. Speak of the devil, and he doth appear—

Seteth returns, a wooden crate in his hands. He sets the crate down on the floor, then shuts the door again.

"I see you two have become fast friends," he says, sending a glare my way, as he walks over to the desk. "I expect you were not, and are not, causing any trouble."

"No, no," I reply. "Flayn was just telling me a little about Fódlan, and Garreg Mach, and the Officers Academy that you are the Headmaster of."

He gingerly takes the knife back from Flayn and sheathes it. "Given the circumstances, a very prudent and generous decision," he says.

Flayn straightens her posture a bit at his praise. Adorable.

Seteth gestures to the crate. "The clothes I have brought will be your uniform while you are working at the monastery," he explains. "You should change into a pair now. We will give you a minute."

"Got it," I reply.

Seteth and Flayn exit the room and shut the door behind them. I take a deep breath. It's the first time I've had a moment alone since I woke up here. But I can't waste time contemplating my navel, either. I quickly change out of my Earth clothes and into the new threads. It looks like he's given me three sets of the same outfit, plus a belt, a pair of boots and socks, and another set of thinner clothes—pajamas, it seems, based on the style. Or would "nightclothes" be the more appropriate term?

I put on the uniform pants first. They're made of a heavy, almost rough, brown material. Next I put on the thin white undershirt, and over that goes what looks like a long, loose tunic, made of a similar material to the pants, and gray in color. It almost reaches down to my knees, and the belt holds it in place. Once I slip on the boots, I give myself a once-over before stepping out. Overall, the ensemble's got a very rustic appearance.

"How do I look?"

"Well, it is our uniform for workers, so, about the same as everyone else, I suppose."

I shrug. "Fair enough."

Seteth ushers us back in the office—secrecy is paramount, clearly. I just hope no one notices and finds it all awkward.

"As for your other clothes," he says, once we're all inside, "I would ask that you carry them in that crate to your room and keep them well-hidden. I cannot think of an easy way to destroy them—the leather of that jacket would surely fail to burn."

"That's a good point," I reply. "And I'm glad. I paid good money for that jacket, after all. And those books, too…" Textbooks are such a goddamn racket.

"In the case of your books, I am afraid I must destroy them. Unlike simple clothing, the Archbishop maintains strict standards for books that are allowed on the shelves of Garreg Mach. And while I have not conducted a thorough review, I am of the mind that it would be less trouble for both of us to simply burn them."

I sigh. "I guess you're right. Disappointing, but I get it."

"I am glad we could reach an understanding."

As per Seteth's instructions, I hand over my bag, with Inorganic Chemistry and Abnormal Psychology inside, never to be seen again, no doubt. It's probably for the best—having any contraband would surely drive Rhea insane.

"Speaking of books," Flayn interjects, "Brother, would you allow Harrison to borrow this book of yours?" She holds up The History of Fódlan. "As I was saying previously, I believe learning about Fódlan will help him adjust to this environment. And it will give him something to do in his spare time."

"If he is doing his work properly, then there should be little to no spare time to bother with," Seteth replies dryly. "But fine. I can allow it, so long as you do not damage it."

"Thank you so much," I reply. I graciously take the book and put it in the crate with my clothes.

With all the immediate business taken care of, Seteth leads Flayn and me out of his office and down the stairwell we took up here. We walk past the main reception hall and out through a side hallway. As we walk, I can't help but take in the idyllic scene around me. Cobblestone paths crisscross delicate gardens of hedges, with small trees, bushes, and other plants dotting the landscape. Some of them are barren, having lost their leaves, but others seem perfectly ready to bloom.

Another chilly breeze reminds me that though the scenery may be of springtime, the weather isn't ready to let go of winter. Strangely enough, that makes sense. I can't recall the date it was back on Earth, struggle as I might to remember, but it was definitely March. Grad school rejections had just come out and… I don't really want to dwell on the details. But it's the right time of year—just as winter thaws into spring.

But if things line up with March, we could be before Byleth shows up. The mission that leads Claude, Edelgard, and Dimitri to Byleth happens in the Great Tree Moon, which lined up with April. It just so happens that the start of the school year also happened to be the same as the start of the school year in Japan—a fact I wasn't aware of, but one that some fellow Fire Emblem fan friends happened to point out to me. What would they say if they knew I was here? Would they be horrified, or jealous?

I try to put such disturbing thoughts behind me and soak everything in. The songs of birds, and free and easy conversation between students, acolytes and knights alike are in the air. Why should I let the dark thoughts drown it out?

We head under an archway at an intersection of the path leading to the stables and the storied Knights' Hall, which Flayn excitedly points out. A little farther past that, there's a small gate that we head through.

"Here," Seteth explains, gesturing to a tall brick building in the same style as the rest of the monastery, "is the dormitory for not only the staff such as yourself, but also the monks and knights. Across the way is the barracks for the common soldiers."

I cock my head. "Isn't it a little strange that a janitor like me gets accomodations with the knights, but the soldiers have to pile together in barracks?"

"The quality of your accommodations will not be that much different from the soldiers'," Seteth replies. "And for them, communal living bolsters morale, unit cohesion, and discipline. Such things are simply not priorities for workers such as yourself."

I nod meekly. I hadn't considered that. I didn't doubt that Seteth knew his stuff, but man, he really does. There's a lot more that goes into tactics than what you see in a Fire Emblem game.

I follow Seteth and Flayn inside the staff dormitory, and down a few narrow hallways. The accommodations here are definitely less nice than what the game would have us believe the student dorms are like, but they're better than expected. The halls are well-lit, and Seteth quickly leads me to what I presume to be my room. There's a small number painted on the door: 180. Gotta make a mental note of that. He opens the door and gestures for me to enter. I step inside.

One word to describe it would be "small." Like, extremely small. Tiny. Pretty much the only thing here is a cot and a few empty crates that may have housed supplies at one point, and it still feels cramped.

There's one bright spot, though. Literally—there's a window along the back wall. "I know it's not much," Seteth says. "But it is all I can offer on such short notice."

"Thanks," I reply. "It means a lot for you to arrange all this for me." It's quite a turnaround from being ready to stab me, but I'm more than happy to be on this side of it. And Flayn was right, he was just doing his due diligence as her parent-slash-guardian. Considering he saw reason in the end, I find it difficult to really hold it against him. He's certainly more reasonable than, say, Rhea could have been.

"Given the circumstances, I suppose it's the least I can do." Seteth folds his arms. "Tomorrow morning, I will send someone here to fetch you. You will assist this individual in their duties around the monastery and report back to me when you are finished for the day. Chances are I will be in my office, by the cathedral, or somewhere near the Officers Academy. Is that clear?"

"Crystal."

"Excellent. Flayn and I will be taking our leave, then."

Just as Seteth turns to leave, Flayn grabs his sleeve. "Hold a moment, Seteth. May I show Harrison to the dining hall? It is important to show Harrison where he could acquire sustenance, after all."

Come to think of it, I'm pretty hungry myself, and it would definitely be helpful to know where the dining hall is and the proper procedure for, as Flayn put it, acquiring sustenance. She's got a weird way of phrasing things sometimes.

"It is somewhat early for dinner. But from the sound of it, you are hungry already?"

Flayn nods.

Seteth shakes his head. "Fine, fine. You may show Harrison to the dining hall and have a meal with him. But return to me immediately after. Understood?"

"Of course, Brother," she says.

"And as for you," Seteth continues, pointing a finger at me, "I expect no uncouth behavior towards my sister. Normally this arrangement would make me uncomfortable, so I would like to be reassured that I have no reason to worry."

I knew he was worried about students making advances on Flayn in the game, but… man, this is another level.

"What? No way," I reply. "There's nothing you need to worry about. Not from me, anyway."

"Good." Seteth nods emphatically.

Flayn then turns to me. "Come, Harrison—let us away!"

With that proclamation, she leads me out of the dormitory and down another path through the gardens and courtyards. We pass by more students here, easily distinguishable in their sharp, tailored uniforms decorated with golden braid. I look like a downright plebeian in these rags, I bet. We pass by the entrance hall on our way to the dining hall.

So far, all the locations I've seen have been larger than what the game made them look like. It's been difficult to really ascertain if that's true, though, since I haven't seen the main areas that you encounter most often.

But the dining hall makes it clear that it's not just a trick of camera angles or something like that. There are many long rectangular banquet tables, quite a bit more than I remember from the game, and even for what Seteth suggested is an off-hour, there's still quite a bunch of soldiers and monks dining here.

This world is bigger on the inside.

"This is the dining hall," Flayn says, beaming. "Let us see what today's specials are."

Flayn walks over to the front of the dining hall, and I follow her. There's a chalkboard listing out a few options: peach sorbet, pickled rabbit skewers, and a two-fish sauté. Well, shit, I know what Flayn's going for.

She clasps her hands once she sees the menu. "Harrison! They're serving two-fish sauté today!" she cheers.

"I can see that," I reply.

"That is one of my favorite dishes," she says. "The fish, crispy, yet tender, sautéed in the rich butter sauce… oh, I would wholeheartedly recommend it, if you enjoy seafood. But who could not, when it is so delicious?"

I size up my options for a moment—I don't think dessert is the best idea right now. My caveman instincts are telling me to stockpile protein for the manual labor I'm going to be undertaking starting tomorrow. And I'm not really sure what to expect from pickled rabbit skewers. I've never eaten rabbit in my life. Flayn may like fish a hell of a lot more than I do, but between the two choices, sautéed fish definitely wins out in the familiarity factor.

"I'll take you up on that offer, Flayn. Let's try the fish."

"Perfect!" She saunters on up to the counter. "Two two-fish sautés, please!"

It doesn't take very long for Flayn and I to get our food. Each plate has strips of fish, two distinct kinds, well-seared with a buttery sauce poured over them. They do look incredibly delicious. We find a place to sit down, at the end of one of the long tables, away from most of the crowd. Surely enough, each seat already has silverware, a cup, and a napkin set for it—all we need to do is put down our plate and sit down.

As I sit down and place the embroidered napkin on my lap, I can't help but take everything in once more. The plates, utensils, everything is of such fine quality, far nicer than anything I've seen or used—no offense meant to the "fine china" my grandmother likes to brag about. The "cup" is really a pewter goblet, which feels really wrong to just drink water out of. And I don't even know if the water is clean!

"Is something wrong, Harrison?" Flayn asks, already digging into her fish.

"No, no, everything's fine."

I might as well go for it. I cut off a small piece of fish and eat it. The fish is so tender it practically falls apart. It's exactly as good as it looks, and exactly as good as Flayn's description implied. The buttery sauce is a perfect complement to the flawlessly-cooked fish. It's decadent, sure, but delicious.

"Is it not simply delectable?"

"It absolutely is—you definitely didn't steer me wrong."

Flayn smiles once again. "I love any dish that contains fish," she says. "It is my favorite food above all others."

"I can see from how much you enjoy it," I reply. "I know I really shouldn't talk about back home, but there's this dish you would love."

"What is it?"

"It's called sushi. If you can preserve fresh, raw fish by keeping it cold, people eat pieces of it with rice, or sometimes wrapped up with seaweed, too."

Flayn's eyes widen with wonder as I explain. I can't help but laugh as I continue.

"You can also just get the pieces of raw fish on their own. That's called sashimi. And it's all served with this special salty sauce." Something has me doubting soy sauce or wasabi exists in Fódlan, so I figure I should leave it at that.

"That sounds… simply divine!" Flayn says. "Perhaps the Goddess did send you—to tell me of this 'sushi' and 'sashimi!''"

"Keep it down, Flayn, keep it down," I remind her. "Like I said, I probably shouldn't be talking about this stuff out loud, but I thought you'd like it."

"Right, yes," she says. "My apologies. But I appreciate your consideration, Harrison. I am already glad to be your friend."

I can't help but smile at that.

"Me too."

Flayn and I finish up our meal and return our silverware and plates up at the front. So apparently, you can just waltz in there anytime and order something from the specials on the board. If you want something specific, you can get it made to order, or use one of the communal kitchens in a separate wing of the building, but in those cases, you'll have to provide the ingredients yourself. It sounds like what Byleth had to do in the game. Given that I don't actually possess any ingredients, I think I'll just stick to the menu and try to figure out what's better and worse to eat—two-fish sauté definitely falls into the former camp.

Flayn offers to walk back with me from the dining hall to the dormitory. The sun is setting as we do so. When we reach the building, Flayn stops.

"Goodnight, Harrison," she says. "Rest well. I am certain you will be very busy tomorrow."

"Yeah…" I mutter. "Thanks again for looking out for me. If it wasn't for you, I would be…"

"There is no need to consider it, not for a moment. You are here now, and you are alive, and you are working at the monastery. That is as simple as it is."

I bite my lip as I take that in. After a moment, I nod. "I guess you're right. Goodnight, Flayn."

I watch her walk as she leaves, and sigh.

Back in the dormitory, I'm able to find my room—180—once again. I sit on the small cot and stare out the window. The night sky is dark, darker than it ever was back home. My eyes flit over to the crate in the corner. I open it up and look at the Earth clothes inside it.

And that's when it all hits me.

It's real. All of it. I'm here. I'm in Fódlan. I've talked to people I thought were only fictional—and people I never knew before. People who have abilities and powers and knowledge beyond my comprehension. They're all here. And everything that's happened in the game is going to happen here. All the horrible, terrible things that some of those people—some of those people whom I haven't encountered yet—are capable of, will happen here.

It will happen here, and I'm here. I'm not on Earth anymore. I don't know if it's possible for me to get back to Earth. I don't know if I'm ever going to see Mom or Dad or my sisters or my friends again. Will they think I've gone missing? That I'm dead? I could've very well died back in the Tomb if Flayn didn't pull for me.

My breathing picks up and begins to hitch as tears well up in my eyes. This isn't a silly fanfiction like the ones I used to read—like the one I wrote. I might have Flayn on my side, but Seteth's a millimeter away from stabbing me. And that's before we consider even more volatile actors, none of whom I've even met. Rhea might project kindness, but won't take so kindly to a foreign heathen, no doubt. When this was a work of fiction, I might have been sympathetic to Edelgard, too, but I don't want to end up on the wrong end of Amyr. Dimitri's liable to snap like a rubber band, and Claude… well, fuck, who can get a read on that guy, anyway! What the hell am I going to do if I have to have a conversation with them? I ought to just run and hide or pretend I don't speak the language.

Sadness turns to anger. This is horrible. This is terrible. I'm probably millions or billions of miles or light-years away from home, from anything I know, from anything I'm useful for. Twenty-one years of my life pissed away. Things I cared about, things I knew about, things I was preparing for? Gone. Down the fucking toilet. Chemistry doesn't matter. You can't solve these problems by magically inventing gunpowder. And psych? Oh, man, the multiple choice tests I'm gonna take to save the world! I don't even have the goddamn books to show for it. I can't even reference the diagnostic criteria to prove that the kids have PTSD! As if anyone here would give a shit!

I wish Seteth had burned those clothes on top of the books. I wish I didn't have to be reminded. He should have cut those ties like an umbilical cord.

You were worried about grad school. A career. What a fucking joke! Now all I have to do is be a medieval janitor and watch while the world burns down, unable to do anything. I'm the one who cowers in the corner while those lunatics go at it, and pray that they don't point their blades my way. That's the kind of weak shit I'm qualified for, anyway. That's what grad school rejects get.

I take a deep breath. I know there's no sense worrying about it anymore. That I should rest, hope I wake up in my own goddamn bed the next day, and keep on living my life. That this is all a really bad dream, or that I'm in some kind of coma. But on the off chance it's not, I'm going to need to be well-rested to do my best work tomorrow, so I can keep Seteth on the side of not stabbing me.

It's Maslow's hierarchy of needs. You've got to lock down physiological and safety needs before you can start thinking about things like friendship, self-esteem, or self-actualization. So don't worry about those things. Yes, I am a janitor, and if I wake up in this bed tomorrow as one, that's okay. That's my new job, and along with hiding from Rhea and the Agarthans while dodging questions about my origins, I should get plenty of fucking exercise in. But I'll need to do those things as best I can before I have a shot at figuring anything else out. Just like Flayn—my self-professed friend, maybe the only one I could have—said, that is as simple as it is.

I resolve this to myself as I change into the nightclothes Seteth provided me to sleep in. It's dark out, so I ought to be going to bed soon.

But the funny thing about anxiety is that it has a way of convincing you that that is not as simple as it is, almost like the voice of Sothis whispering in Byleth's ear…

By the way, how the fuck do I fit into this jigsaw puzzle?


A/N: So, Those Who Can't Teach finally begins. Three Houses is just so good I couldn't keep my grubby writer hands off its characters and world, and I hope to do it justice through my SI. I have to of course thank my excellent beta readers, ThreeDollarBratwurst and Syntaxis, and if you haven't read their stories, I don't even know what to tell ya at this point, other than to read em. I also have to thank many other individuals who helped refine my inchoate ball of desire to write a 3H SI into the present product which I have been really excited to work with, including (but not limited to) RedXEagle3, DestructionDragon360, Tyrux, softandhappy, and QuoteMyFoot.

Here are probably two of the most common questions that I have anticipated answering here:

-Yes, this SI is also named Harrison; TWCT has a slightly older (21-soon-to-be-22) Harrison, a senior in college, modeled after me now/where I expect to be in my life in a year, which is certainly different than the 18 year old Harrison of Earthborne or the me who started writing it. The two stories do not exist in the same universe. In the TWCT universe, EB is just a fanfiction that Harrison wrote.

-Guns, gunpowder, firearms, or related things will almost certainly not be appearing in this story. Regardless of how well you think it was or wasn't handled in Earthborne, given the darker and grimmer setting and tone of Three Houses, it doesn't seem quite as appropriate to throw it into the mix, and runs against certain thematic considerations I have for the story. I am aware of the gunpowder-related gambit from 3H, and I'm not sure how to handle it. My point is that "Harrison induces tech uplift to win the war for science!" is NOT going to be driving thrust of this story; I want to make that clear. EB and TWCT are not the same story and will not proceed the same way.

With that aside, I hope you guys are enjoying the fic as much as I have enjoyed developing and writing it, and if you have enjoyed it, please follow/favorite/review! Also, come hang out on our Discord server with TDB and Syn and me: discord . gg / A27Ngyj (remove spaces). I can also be found occasionally at the Fanfiction Treehouse server, discord . gg / 9XG3U7a . Hope to see you guys around!