A gaggle of greens and a colorless constitute the day's aether quarry. Kiran, unimpressed, addresses his units in turn.
"Alright, nugatory skill fodder who I'm only bringing out to farm feathers that I don't need, convince me that I didn't just make the biggest mistake of my life. You have five seconds from the moment I stop talking to explain how you're going to keep us in tier twenty-seven. Go."
"Oh," Robin blinks, hand on his neck. "I, uh, suppose I'll bait out the archer to create an opening."
"You repeatedly baffle the gods by continuing to live," says Kiran. "Next."
"Right!" Corrin stands at attention, legs together and arms at his side. "I'll attack the armors after the archer is dealt with! And my spur ability will act as support for my allies!"
"And you emphatically reaffirm my belief that there are no gods," Kiran moves on. "Nex—"
The Summoner pauses.
"What is that?"
He gestures at his latest acquisition, a freebie from a newly-contracted world, and the thing latching onto his sleeve.
"I am a goddess!" Sothis snaps. "How dare you even think of referring to me otherwis—"
"It talks?" the Summoner looks to Byleth.
"Noted. Not duly noted, but noted," Kiran nods. "I deployed you, not the imp,"
"She's a goblin, not an imp—"
"I am neither, you mortals! Correct the record this instant!"
"I didn't know they came in parasitic quantities."
"Nor did I, and she occupies my head without compensation."
"My very presence is your compensation!"
"Tragic," says Kiran. "Almost as tragic as the fact that the most amicable person here, the least terrible ant of all the ants in the farm, also happens to be the most mentally and socially disadvantaged," Kiran looks around. "What? Too soon? I didn't make up that lore, it's literally the truth. It's not my fault you can't crack a smile."
"What?" Byleth frowns.
"Unimportant," Kiran waves. "Much like you and your little Impadimp. I don't have the time, patience, or desire to prattle. If you insist on being a package deal, then I won't block you."
"I don't insist," says Byleth. "Insisting is the last thing I would—"
"Don't fail me, smooth brains!" the Summoner signals to the other side. "Or better yet, fail so that I have four less faces to micromanage!"
"Insolent tactician!" Sothis hisses. "It is as though our origins mean nothing to him! Hmph, I much preferred when you were the one calling the shots!"
"I like him," Byleth hums.