[It's a short walk until they're in the middle of the trees, the moon lighting up the small clearing Claude finds. There fair enough away from the festivities that the sounds of chatter is barely a whisper on the breeze, the lights of distant bonfires winking like fireflies from gaps in the forest.

Claude turns to face Byleth fully as he stops. He drops the hand in his--but still lingers close, resting a hand on his shoulder instead.]

I have...many questions. I'm honestly floundering trying to wrap my head around the concept, even though I've seen you do more impossible things. But-- [His brow furrows, concern shining in his gaze as he looks at Byleth's face, searching for any minute changes in his expression.] It sounds to me as if you're somehow blaming yourself for these other impossible timelines--as if you could have predicted this, or that the fault would lie completely on your shoulders.