"Matilda?" beckons Edelgard, she's heard that name before. "That's the same name as—"
"The Ghost of Garreg Mach, yes," Byleth motions to the bossy child bestowing her wisdom upon her newly-acquired manakete clique. "That is her true form—Matilda as she appeared in her prime."
"This world is truly breathtaking," says the heir. "Such a miracle would be impossible in Fódlan."
"Such a miracle would be impossible anywhere else," Byleth clarifies. "And here I thought she didn't exist at all."
"Feeling a little foolish, are we?"
"Devastated. I'll never be able to live this defeat down."
"You'll live. It'll undoubtedly do more harm than good to quash the rumor mill. This should stay between us, lest the others be in hysterics for weeks. Still though..."
"If this world can manifest a mere resentful student bereft of a date to the ball," she speaks with what knowledge the mill has provided her. "Just think of who else it can conjure. It is an interesting prospect, don't you agree?"
Her phrasing concerns him, but Sothis returns before he can answer.
"I've ascended godhood," she declares, with naught but a pair of Tinted Glasses to show for it.