Work Text:
Love is like a butterfly. It is beautiful; it is determined. It can be strong in the face of hardships and danger, yet it can be just as fleeting—transient as the fragile wings that try to survive gales and frost. Yet you still yearn for its touch, craving that sensation more than anything else in the world. Sometimes, it’s like your fingertips might just be able to brush against it, but in the end you’re still too far away. Love for you is just a distant memory, you think, and your heart sinks like a stone. The sea of your soul welcomes its pain.
You leave it be.
·· ·-·· --- ···- · -·-- --- ··-
Life is like a bird. It is stronger than love; it can weather through more. It finds its meaning in the freedom of the skies—the world. But under its plumage and power, there’s only brittle bones, so easily broken beyond repair. Even so, some are determined enough to take flight once more. You are not. Your wings were snapped and crushed and burned in fire. You live, yes, but you lack meaning. Sometimes, you wish there was something you could do to bring it back, to heal your broken wings so you can be free once more, but it’s a futile effort. Even if your soul wasn’t half-encased in ice, there would be nothing waiting for you in the skies above. Everyone that mattered is dead. The sea of your soul welcomes your discarded desires, stifling them, drowning them, letting them sink until you feel like you could forget that you once cared.
You leave them be.
-·-- --- ··- ·- ·-· · ·- ·--· ···· --- · -· ·· -··-
Death is a predator. You never decided on what kind. But you can always feel it stalking, hanging in the corners of your vision and waiting for the right time to pounce. It’s lingered by your side for as long as you care to remember, too, and in a way, it comforts you. Sometimes, it is cold and unjust to those around you. It can sometimes be cruel. But somehow, like how some beasts yearn for companionship in the most bizarre places, you find it soothing. It comforted you when nothing else did. After all, death is inevitable. It brings release after life. Of course, you fear it as much as anyone else, but you respect it. You feel close to it. It stays close to you. The sea of your soul bubbles in contentment.
You accept it for what it is and trust what it brings.
-·· · ·- - ····
When your aunt dies of some causes you don’t really care to remember and leaves you with a decent sum of money, it’s in her will that you go to Gekkoukan for the rest of your high school years. You plan to just go along with it anyway—no reason to disrespect the dead’s wishes—but you’re certain of going when you hear the school’s on Tatsumi Port Island. Your hands twitch; you remember the place, the moon, the bridge.
You apply to the school as a transfer student with a vigor that startles the people around you. You’re soon accepted. All that’s left is waiting.
Time goes quickly, after all.
-·· · ·- - ····
When you arrive at Iwatodai for the first semester, it’s late. You glance at a clock, and it offers 11:59 PM in response. It’s not too important. You leave the station. The clock strikes twelve.
Your music dies as the world turns green. The air quickly becomes musty, a stale semi-metallic scent rising from the ground. You don’t want to look down; even then, you catch glimpses of the red puddles you have to walk through. It almost reminds you of that night. You shudder.
As you hurry through the night, there are shadows of things moving just beyond your field of vision. They growl at times, or squeak, and you can almost pretend they’re just animals. But the silhouettes say otherwise, and you don’t want to find out what they are. At least they seem to be avoiding you, as if they fear you—as if you’re protected by something else.
You try not to linger on the thought and head to the dorm.
To your relief, the shadows continue to leave you be.
-·· · ·- - ····
Death is a symbol of change. A little boy waits at the dorm, bright blue eyes focused on you. He stares with an innocent intensity that’s almost terrifying.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he says with a sort of familiarity that sets you on edge. Have you met? Now that you think about it, you can almost recall seeing him in the edges of your vision in the past, but it’s hazy. Maybe it wasn’t him. But you feel like you can trust him.
He offers you a contract. Its words are likewise familiar, and you pick up a pen.
Time shall not wait, but death shall. One year will be enough. It’s easy enough to live a life you barely care for, one that’s simple and leaves no true wants.
Besides, who would care when you die? You doubt anyone really would. You accept the consequences of your actions.
You sign your name, and he smiles.
-·· · ·- - ····
You dream in blue that night, of long noses and an elevator that’s always going up. The bizarre, balding man with the long nose—he says his name is Igor—talks to you about things you don’t understand, of bonds and potential and things to come.
You don’t understand how friendships are supposed to matter, though. He laughs at your confusion and says you’ll learn, and that you’ll see him again soon. There’s someone he wants you to meet, too.
Whatever. If that’s the case, you don’t really have a choice.
-·-- --- ··- ·- ·-· · ·- ·--· ···· --- · -· ·· -··-
I am thou, thou art I… Orpheus, the Master of Strings, is the first Persona to awaken to your call.
If the myths meant anything, the implications seem brilliantly ironic; you doubt you could ever hold onto love or life strongly enough to face death itself, just for the slim chance you could save someone you love. After all, you did just shoot yourself in the head with the girl’s fake gun from the first night, and that’s how you got this far.
But then again, you aren’t one to complain when he’s the one warding off the many-armed beast trying to kill you and the girl—Takeba, that’s her name. Even so, the beast soon overpowers the Persona, and rushes towards you. Like the Fool you are, you’re not truly afraid of it. You face it head-on, still holding the weird gun-not-gun Takeba dropped.
In the corner of your vision, you see the little boy from the first night look up at the beast and vanish. Pain fires in your head; it’s like something’s battering on the inside of your skull, desperately trying to break free. You clutch your head, trying not to scream, but the efforts are futile.
Something deep inside you breaks.
As your screams ring out into the night, a masked terror tears out of Orpheus. It roars alongside your howls of agony, then launches at the beast. As it viciously shreds the creature into pieces, the metallic taste of blood fills your mouth. It’s too much for you, whatever that is. You crumple to the ground. You don’t have the strength to move.
Who are you? you ask the new member of the sea of your soul, as the world fades to black.
I am Thanatos, the harbinger of Death, it replies, and then its presence is gone, just as fast as it came.
So death protected you. You could have laughed, if you were awake.
·· ·-·· --- ···- · -·-- --- ··-
Life is like a bird, with brittle bones, broken bones. But as you’ve found out, it’s not a complete description. However frail they might be, some have the desire to survive burning in their soul with a ferocity that rivals the greatest infernos. The will to live is thus like a flame: critical for warmth, for hope, for survival.
After recovering from that stressful night and joining their little Persona-user club—SEES, they call it—you’ve seen plenty of those kinds of people. It’s rather ironic that one of the most fiercely burning souls probably belongs to the ice specialist. She acts rather frosty, though, so you leave her be for the most part.
The others are more friendly. You have the feeling you’re never going to get the taste of ramen and beef bowls out of your mouth for long, given that everyone seems to like visiting those sorts of places. But somehow, instead of making you sick to your stomach, it’s a vaguely pleasant thought. They seem to like talking to you, too, as if maybe they really do enjoy spending time with someone who’s roughly as interesting as a rotting corpse.
There are others, too, who want to spend time with you. The old couple running a bookstore, the little girl at the shrine, and your club leaders are the first to come to mind. They require a little more effort than bonding with your teammates, but there’s something about them that makes them pleasant enough to deal with.
You’re not sure how you feel about that, but you take it in stride. It’s not a bad feeling; something deep inside you grows stronger with each bond you make, anyway. And although it’s hard, you eventually accept the new additions into your little world. They’re a small comfort after years of being alone.
The sea of your soul bubbles in contentment. It’s rather silly of you to leave it be, you think, but then again, you were always the Fool of this story.
You let it bubble in peace.
-·-- --- ··- ·- ·-· · ·- ·--· ···· --- · -· ·· -··-
And just how life is supposed to be—is becoming, maybe, for you—death is a companion. He’s there at night, talking cryptically like a little oracle. He seems harmless enough for sure. You know better now. He represents death—he is Death, like Thanatos, yet different somehow—although he is far from malicious. He seems to have your best interests at heart, at least, assuming you still had those. But he’s certainly pleasant company during long nights of illness. He listens to you when you talk about love and life and death in words that probably shouldn’t have made so much sense together. He’s never made much of a comment.
He must be listening, though, because one night he brings you a bright orange feather, saying it reminded him of you. It’s a mystery where or how he got it, but you keep it anyway.
It takes months for him to tell his name to you. Pharos, he says, with a glimmer of pride that suggests he picked it out himself. It’s silly and childish, but you can’t help but smile when he tells it.
·· ·-·· --- ···- · -·-- --- ··-
You hadn’t realized how quickly SEES had grown on you. They’re like moss in that regard. You accept offers to hang out without a qualm anymore, listen to what they have to say. There’s the odd tendency of people eventually telling all their woes to someone who’s quiet, and SEES happens to have some of the most emotionally constipated people you’ve ever met. Once upon a time, you’re certain that would have bugged you. You hardly care about yourself; why should you care about the issues of others?
Yet you’ve let them talk about it. There’s so many issues, so many confessions, but apparently just being there for them made you a good friend in their eyes. More members come, and it all falls into the same pattern. You get to know them, they confide in you, they consider you a friend. You won’t tell another soul of the things that they told you; you respect them like that. But it serves as the first link of your friendships, and you could say you even cherish the time you spend with them nowadays.
There are the visits to the night club with Iori, filled with dancing and impromptu singing and awkward wingmanning on both sides. There’s the shopping sessions with Takeba; you’ve never heard anyone so passionate about fashion. Sanada drags you along for his training sessions, and for all your complaints about your limbs aching, you don’t mind it when you both start laughing. Kirijo, for all her majesty, is hilariously awkward in normal society, and it’s wonderful to see her experience fast food or the movies for the first time. Cooking with Yamagishi has a nice ring to it, if you meant the ring of the fire alarm, but she’s so determined to improve that you tolerate it for her sake. You spend less time being with Aigis that she does with you, but she’s no trouble and she offers insight sometimes. You walk Koromaru with Amada—who reminds you of yourself at his age— and you often watch as the child and dog play together on the moonlit playground. And Aragaki, Sanada’s best friend… well, he’s gruff and aloof and slightly rude, but he has a good heart somewhere, and he’s definitely good at cooking, and that’s more than enough reason to have you and Yamagishi talk with him.
And tonight, sitting at the dinner he (though whether it was and or despite Yamagishi’s help, you’re not sure) made, with all of SEES at the table, you almost smile at the lively, lighthearted chaos that accompanies your meal.
Friends? Yes, they’re friends. Not too long ago, you would have called yourself a Fool for thinking of them like that, but that’s what you are. And shockingly, you’re happy.
-·-- --- ··- ·- ·-· · ·- ·--· ···· --- · -· ·· -··-
Despite all the nights you suffer, killing Shadows and climbing up countless floors in Tartarus so that maybe one day you all would be free of this hell, you’ve grown soft. You even went so far to call death your friend. But you’ve forgotten death at its heart is still a beast. When its patience is worn too thin, it bares its bitter teeth, crunching through the fragility of life to take who it wants. It steals the lives dear to your team. Aragaki, Kirijo’s father… the losses struck some hard, left others brewing in their guilt. You don’t know how to comfort your teammates. It’s been too long since you actually had to do something like that.
But it hurts to see them in pain. They’re your teammates, friends if you cared to stretch a little. You offer what little you can in an attempt to cheer them up, though it’s not easy, given that they tend to prefer staying on their own. It leaves you feeling more than just a little miserable. But you’re not suffering as badly as the others; surely you have no right to complain. Still, it has to come out somehow. It turns out Koromaru’s the only one you can really talk to about all of this, and he’s a dog.
As he rests his chin on your lap and you run your hand through his fluffy fur, you stare off out the window. The sky outside is darkening into its nighttime hues. It’s pretty, yet all you can see in the rising moon’s glow is the events that transpired in the Dark Hour.
Your hand tightens around Koromaru’s fur, and he yelps in pain. You release him immediately and apologize until he licks your face. It tickles. Laughter bubbles out of you as affection fills your heart. It’s a common feeling now, but in that way, it’s weird; since when did you care about everyone so much?
Sometimes you want to think about it, but the answer never comes to you. Hadn’t you thought it was stupid to care for the others like this? Then again, you’ve always been the Fool; maybe it’s better like that.
After all, you care now, and that’s all that matters.
-·· · ·- - ····
You dream of blue, of long noses and pale smiles and silly antics and an elevator that’s always going up. Igor watches you in silence, but you mostly ignore his creepy gaze.
“Your bonds have grown quite strong,” the much more approachable Elizabeth hums brightly, flipping through her compendium with seemingly idle curiosity. “Perhaps we can try one of the pentagon spreads?”
There’s no loss in trying it out. You agree and she beams, spreading the cards out on the table for you to see. Loa, Pale Rider, Samael, Mot, and Alice—they’re all labeled XIII, the Arcana for Death. They all feel familiar, more so now that they’re together.
You hesitate a moment, and Elizabeth cocks her head like a confused but intrigued pigeon at the pause. She asks if you’re alright. You wave her off; you’re okay, you’re fine—just thinking—and then you tell her to continue with the fusion.
By the time you wake for school, the semi-familiar presence of Thanatos is well-nestled in your heart, tucked right beside Orpheus as if it always belonged there.
-·· · ·- - ····
You don’t know what to think of the new student—Mochizuki Ryoji. He feels so eerily familiar, yet you can’t quite place it. But it also attracts you to him. You end up hanging out with him a lot, much to Aigis’s chagrin. He’s fun, though it’s a mystery how he somehow manages to be both a bit of a pervert and a lady-killer. He tones it down around you, though, and you’re glad about that.
He’s still an idiot, though. What kind of person says, “I think I’m meant to be with you,” on the first meeting?
Nevertheless, you do accept his offer when he invites you to come to the cafe with him. Is it a date if you never admit to yourself that it is? Whatever the answer is, it definitely doesn’t change the fact you still go there with Mochizuki. He’s easy to talk to, kind of like the way Iori is. It’s the goofball air, you decide. They don’t have a permanently serious bone in their body.
That said, it’s not like either of them are dishonest, which may make this situation maybe a little more awkward. After all, Mochizuki absolutely, positively, definitely has no qualms calling you “darling” and all sorts of pet names in public. He would never lie about how he felt. You’re not sure why he’s so interested in you of all people, nor why he’s familiar to you, but the way he showers you with attention is somewhere between mortifying and flattering. It’s cute, in a way, too, and you’re not sure if you’d want him to stop.
You also don’t want to say anything at all, preferring to stir your coffee as you listen to him talk. He has a nice voice, soft and pleasant on the ears like how birdsong or wind chimes are soothing.
“You know, it feels like I’m supposed to be with you. Like… soulmates? Because I think I’d still feel the same about you whether you were a guy or a girl,” he tells you with a soft sort of smile, a genuine one. You feel a flutter in your chest, something you can’t really recognize. You want to say something, but the words are stuck in your throat and your face feels far warmer than it should.
Now flustered, you gulp down your coffee as an excuse not to reply. Shockingly, it scalds your tongue and throat, leaving your eyes stinging with tears of pain. Mochizuki practically leaps from his seat to comfort you, asking a nearby waiter to please get some cold water for you to drink. It’s weird and awful, yet you can’t help but feel a slight sense of enjoyment at his touch.
It’s not a date. You’re totally firm on that. But as he helps you take the water, you decide that if it had been a date, you probably wouldn’t have minded it at all.
·· ·-·· --- ···- · -·-- --- ··-
For all his honesty to you, you’re a liar to yourself. No, you don’t like him that way; no, it wasn’t a date; no, you’re just friends. But even with all your denial, some things slip. You feel so comfortable with him, far more than someone you’ve only known for a month has any right being.
But whatever you say, that doesn’t change the fact that you’re now both sitting on your bed, and you’re acutely aware of how close he is to you. Your hands are almost touching his as it is. The moment feels weird, too—familiar, as if you’ve already sat with him in this room, talking the afternoon away. But it’s a hazy thought, as if it happened in a dream. He thinks that, too.
“Isn’t it romantic that we shared dreams of each other?” he teases.
His hand then slips over yours, and it’s warm, warm, warm, so wonderful. And before you know it, he’s actually holding your hand and you’re leaning against him, and it feels so comfortable, so right. You sit together like this for what feels like ages, enjoying the amiable atmosphere that fell upon the room. Sometimes you talk. Quiet confessions of liking each other fill the silence, and he never seems to run out of things to say about you. He’s smitten, so much, and under your amusement, you think it’s cute.
It’s a while before he makes a move, though. With a gentle hand, he tilts your head up to press his forehead against yours. Your noses are almost touching in this position, and to your surprise, you don’t mind the intimacy. You note he smells vaguely of citrus and vanilla—a nice sort of scent, your favorites. It’s nice. He then reaches to gingerly cup your face, as if he’s afraid you’d pull away yet willing to let you go if you want. But you don’t want to pull away. You want to stay. As you meet his eyes, his gaze seems to search yours for feels like eons, but you can count the heartbeats it lasts with a single hand. He must have found his answer, though, and his almost serious expression melts into a small smile.
“I love you,” he finally whispers, moving to give you a soft, hesitant peck, as if he’s testing the waters. But when you close your eyes and return the favor, greedily holding onto the warmth he brings to both your lips and heart, he sheds the hesitancy, leaving you with no doubt about how fiercely passionate he is about you.
So that’s what it is, then, you realize dimly over the heat and passion. Romantic love, the kind you abandoned all hopes of having.
And now that it’s in your grasp, you think you like it.
You won’t let it go.
·· ·-·· --- ···- · -·-- --- ··-
Love is like a butterfly: fragile, fleeting. But they also say a flap of a butterfly’s wings could eventually lead to a tornado’s formation. Is love really that different? No matter how small its effects seem to be, how transient its existence is, it leaves its impression on one’s life. It is determined, strong, brave, persistent—everything you want to be, you need to be. It is beautiful, gentle, welcoming.
Yes; that’s what love is. And Mochizuki—no, Ryoji—is your little blue butterfly, sitting in your hands and blessing you with the touch you’ve yearned for so long.
It’s beautiful.
·· ·-·· --- ···- · -·-- --- ··-
But love is cruel and so is death, for now on New Year’s Eve, Death sits on your bed and smiles with such pain that your heart hurts. “You have to kill me,” he says.
Yet death is less cruel than you want to admit, because it’s still Death on your bed, and it’s also Pharos, Ryoji, the boy you kissed in this very room not that long ago. Weren’t you happy then? You’re not sure, because the dull ache of shock has turned into searingly raw pain of grief and hurt, overwhelming nearly every other thought you have. Why was it happening? Why should it be happening? You’ve known it was coming for nearly a month. You shouldn’t be feeling like this now.
But you are. While he’s waiting for an answer, for you to turn his scarf into his noose or stain your weapon with his blood, you’re hurting, aching, breaking. Your mouth is dry, your throat tight.
You shake your head—no, you won’t kill him. You can’t.
Ryoji stares with the judgment of a parent who thinks their child is about to do something incredibly stupid and rash. But you’re no stranger to judgment of that sort, both from those around you as well as yourself, and you’ve learned stubbornness. As you meet his gaze, he grows uncomfortable, shifting where he sat with an expression that looks almost apologetic.
“I’m sorry. I just don’t understand,” he mumbles. “If you kill me, it’ll delay the Fall a little bit. You won’t remember any of this. You’ll get to live in peace, without fear, until the end. And I don’t want you to suffer. It’ll be quick, I promise.”
You won’t remember any of this.
If there was a shred of doubt in you, it’s gone now at those words. You don’t want to forget; you don’t want to live a lie, even if it’s a happy one, leaving you with no regrets, no wants, because you’ve forgotten them all. There’s no answer to give besides “no,” and Ryoji sighs.
“If that wasn’t enough to convince you… well, I didn’t want it to come to this, but...”
He transforms in front of you, melting and melding into a new form like any Shadow does before a battle, and your breath hitches at the sight of the new form. His metal mask glints dangerously. His cape of coffins waves gently around him. It’s dangerous, standing here; every part of you wants to run, or fight, to live. But he’s not moving to hurt you. He wouldn’t. You know he won’t.
“See…? I’m not human,” he says. His voice is distorted, yet so quintessentially Ryoji. “I will bring death to this world until I am finally satiated. Do not hesitate to kill me.”
But you’re not hearing his words. No; of course you recognize this form, the slight vacancy you can feel in your heart. The pieces fall into place; he protected you from that Shadow, the night you first summoned Orpheus. He’s been with you the entire time you’ve been at the dorm.
You feel so stupid for never realizing it.
The name of your Persona—Thanatos, the god of peaceful death—slips out of your mouth, and before you can even think, you’re reaching up to rest a hand on his mask. Ryoji flinches slightly under your touch.
“I’m not your Persona… one time, perhaps, but certainly not anymore.”
Ryoji never lies. You know him, you trust him, and this time’s no different. He’s not your Persona, not the Thanatos you summon, even if it bears a little bit of Ryoji. But the void he leaves in your heart is the same, the same as the fleeting moments when you pull the trigger and your soul shatters like glass, leaving a fragment that forms your Persona behind. It’s never permanent, those times, but with him, it’s persistent, like you’re meant to be—to stay—together.
I am thou, thou art I...
You look him dead in the eye.
You won’t kill him, and you make that abundantly clear.
Ryoji melts back into human form. His lips are pursed as his gaze searches you, but he soon drops it to the floor.
“So you’re really going to try to face death...” He laughs quietly, wryly, fidgeting with the ring on his finger. “It’ll be impossible… but if there’s anyone who could do it, it’d be you. And I wish I could be there by your side when the day comes.”
He slips off his ring, taking your hand in his with a quivering smile.
“But I think I’d feel a little better,” he says shakily, “knowing the last evidence of Mochizuki Ryoji’s existence rested in the hands of his beloved.”
He presses the gift into your palm. The metal feels like ice, just like his hands do, a stark contrast to the warmth he had at the start of the month.
With a careful hand, he brushes your hair away from your face, caress ghosting over your skin.
“I’ll cheer for you.”
It finally—finally—registers that this is the last time you’ll see him as he is now. Your hands tremble as you take the ring and put it on. It fits snugly, like that’s where it was made to be.
Ryoji stares at his ring on your finger as if it’s the only thing in his world, but his gaze soon moves back to your face. His Adam’s apple bobs. His smile is crooked, slightly strained like he’s about to cry, but he’s never one to lie about how he felt, not even with his expressions. Tentatively, he leans closer.
It’s a quick kiss, hardly a brush of his lips on yours. But it’s still his touch, even if he pulls away to stand up.
“I guess we’ve got to talk with the others, then,” he says quietly. You nod, and you both head downstairs to plan for doomsday with the rest of SEES.
·· ·-·· --- ···- · -·-- --- ··-
It’s almost midnight. Ryoji stands up.
“I think… I think I want to leave while I still look like this,” he mutters apologetically, gaze flitting to you. “I’ll see you on January 31st.”
And then he leaves. There’s a moment of hesitancy at the table, a moment far too long for your liking. By the time Iori’s getting up—they’re friends after all—you’re already slamming the door open. Ryoji pauses in his step at the sound of you being there, glancing over his shoulder with both sadness and adoration in his eyes.
You want to speak, but it’s the cafe all over again; all the words—three words most of all—are stuck in your throat because you want to say so much in so little time. But what can you say? What can you do? Nothing will change what happens tonight.
The moon is bright. You can practically hear the seconds ticking down.
Ryoji turns to face you properly, one hand stuck in his pocket. With the other, he blows you a kiss, a faint smile on his face.
“I love you,” he breathes.
It strikes midnight. The sky turns green, the water into blood, and Mochizuki Ryoji is no more, leaving you all alone on in the night once again.
·· ·-·· --- ···- · -·-- --- ··-
In the dark of the hidden hour, though the grief is still fresh in your heart, you and your friends huddle together in the dorm’s lobby. There’s only a week to doomsday now, but everyone’s too tired to make any last-minute training runs. Instead, you talk about a future—the one that might never happen if you lose the fight. No one lingers on the idea, though; you’re all determined to make it through, together as friends.
You all make a promise to meet up on the rooftop of the school on graduation day, March 5th. No matter what, you’ll be there.
-·-- --- ··- ·- ·-·· ·- ·--· ···· ---· -· ·· -··-
It’s January 31st, 2010. The full moon hangs low in the sky. The end of the world is nigh; if you fail, if anyone here fails, there are no second chances.
Your head hurts from the countless Evoker shots you’ve made tonight. Your breaths come ragged, each one grating against your throat like sandpaper. Each limb aches from the hundreds of stairs you’ve climbed in your ascent to the Tartarus’s final floor. The others sound like they’re hardly faring better. You wish you could offer them a break, but it’s a luxury you just can’t afford; time is quickly slipping by, and you refuse to leave this world be.
Strega hardly poses a threat against you and your team. The two of them are just barely more of a bother than the Shadows on these floors, though you feel a glimmer of regret that you could have maybe prevented Shirato’s death. But he chose his end, and you chose yours as well. There’s no time to dwell on that; actions have consequences, and if his soul isn’t at peace wherever it is, that’s on him, not you.
After crushing Sakaki and perhaps enjoying it a little too much—God, you hate him—there’s only one floor left, the one open to the heavens. There’s a little bit of time to catch a breather, and the team’s making the most of it. But you’re never able to really relax; you can hear the Shadows growling on the floor below, though; they’re growing bold. Yamagishi must sense them; she glances about like a frightened mouse in the open, stealing glimpses of the patch of sky—the moon—that’s visible from her spot. Kirijo is hardly better. Her rapier taps impatiently on the floor as Takeba and Amada make sure everyone’s at full strength.
“We should hurry,” she says curtly, and she’s right. Everyone picks up their weapons and begins the final ascent.
-·-- --- ··- ·- ·-· · ·- ·--· ···· --- · -· ·· -··-
It’s here.
A cruel, cold, empty mask of a face returns your stares with the hollow smile carved into it, a pale facsimile of Ryoji’s. Takeba recognizes it as such, too, her aim faltering a little as she calls out to him.
“That was once my name,” it says. Somewhere in the voice, you can still hear Ryoji, and bile rises to your mouth. It drones on about the futility of fighting death; after all, it is inevitable. Your grip on your weapon tightens. Behind you, Shadows claw their way up towards your team. Kirijo barks an order for the reserve members to focus their efforts on keeping them at bay.
But you’re the field leader, the one always on the front line. You lunge for the avatar, Evoker pressed to your head, and it laughs.
This is the final battle; you’ll give it your all.
“Come! Thanatos!”
-·· · ·- - ····
“Yes, the Arcana is the means by which all is revealed.”
Fool to Magician to Priestess, to Empress, Emperor, Hierophant, Lovers, Chariot, Justice, Hermit, Fortune, Strength, Hanged Man. You know them, you know the Arcana, their meanings, their weaknesses and strengths. And as Sanada unleashes a final Ziodyne on the avatar’s twelfth shift, you’re already aware of what’s up next.
“Beyond the beaten path lies the absolute end. It matters not who you are...”
The thirteenth Arcana, XIII. You tell everyone to stay on guard as the avatar raises its blade and summon Thanatos yet again. The avatar seems to waver a moment at the sight of him, but it completes its speech as smoothly as it started it.
“Death awaits you.”
The air whistles as it slams its blade into the floor. You barely dive out of the way as Yamagishi practically shrieks over the discord.
“Death! Nyx’s Arcana is Death! Careful, it’s very strong!”
No shit.
But she hadn’t been kidding. Infernos ignite and gales tear; lightning crashes and ice shatters, but it hardly leaves a dent. It reflects all attacks with its shield—its gown—of moonlight. It doesn’t last long, but it drags on the fight even more. So you’re left to settle with this slow progression, punctuated by calls for healing and ailment cures. Still, the avatar is slowly being worn down. After the umpteenth strike, it begins to teeter with each lucky critical, its wings sagging under their own weight.
It must be close to the end now. You ready your weapon, but you waver before the blade makes contact. Yes, your will is strong, but now, when the avatar’s close to defeat, your heart is weak.
But it’s folly to doubt, to hesitate at the brink of doomsday, just because there’s a sliver of hope that maybe, maybe, maybe Ryoji’s still in there, more than a voice and a memory. You’d never kill him. You can’t. But I am thou, thou art I—you’re just as much a fool to love as Orpheus had been, and for that, you’ve left yourself wide open. You’re just a little too slow to shield yourself from the avatar’s Almighty Attack, and the damage is too much for you to handle; as the others cry out, scream your name, you collapse onto the floor.
·· ·-·· --- ···- · -·-- --- ··-
Death is a hunter, yet it is a companion of life, entwined so tightly they cannot part. Without death, there cannot be life, just as death cannot happen if there’s no life to snuff out. Anything that breathes knows of its claws, its teeth, its viciousness and cruelty. You know it better. It may bring pain and despair, but it is neither cruel nor kind in the human sense, nor just. But it allows change to occur, new life to bloom from the ashes. It brings resolution, determination, and it gives hope a chance to shine through the pain, like the morning sun after the frostbitten night of the winter solstice.
Alas, the spark of life that flickered in your chest is snuffed out like a candle flame, never to light again, remaining a tale left unwritten.
-·· · ·- - ····
But you heard this all already, haven’t you?
You’ve always been a smart one. Stubborn, too. Death could never stop you, if you put your mind to it. In this fight, you’ve given it your all; you made a little mistake—got unlucky. But you’re stronger than this.
Come on, then; you’ve got to wake up, my dear. It’s almost over, and I know you’ve got more fight left in you.
I’m still cheering for you, after all.
-·-- --- ··- ·- ·-· · ·- ·--· ···· --- · -· ·· -··-
The sounds of a heartbeat—your heartbeat—fills your ears, alerting you to the fact you’re definitely not dead. There’s a distinct feeling, indescribable, that it shouldn’t be the case; you should have definitely died. But you’re not. You’re alive, even if barely. You can work with that.
Everything’s still fuzzy; you can hear your friends still fighting the Nyx avatar, but it’s as if there’s a wall of cotton between you and them, muffling the noise. Everything’s a smeared blur as well, but the avatar’s face shines like a beacon. You can definitely still target that.
It takes a tremendous effort to struggle back to your feet, and your body screams for you to stay down, to accept doom. But if you’re given the chance to continue, you’re determined to make use of it. You will protect your family no matter what. Over the startled cries of the others, you manage to limp closer to the harbinger of death, raising your Evoker as you face death down.
At that moment, something in you feels like it clicks together, two halves making a new whole.
·· ·-·· --- ···- · -·-- --- ··-
Once upon a time, many months ago, there was a new Persona user, who doubted that one’s hold on life and love could surpass death.
And frankly, you never did change your mind.
But in a way, you also had. Thanatos stood for death, the grief and acceptance that comes with it. Orpheus stood for life, the one you’ve made here. Both could be kind, both could be cruel, but they are always there in your heart, representing your friends, your family, your world. You accepted them both as a part of you, and in turn, they led you to a meaning in this world when you thought you lost it all. They are your love, your life, your death, your peace.
They are your guardians, your mended wings.
And here atop the tower of Tartarus, facing the avatar of the Fall, you finally get to spread them.
You point the Evoker at your head, the name of your new Persona spilling from your mouth as you shoot, summoning Judgment into the world by the hand of one who once would have forsaken it.
“Messiah!”
·· ·-·· --- ···- · -·-- --- ··-
For the thirty seconds you’ve known Messiah, he feels like a friend you’ve known all your life. He’s beautiful, too, in some weird twisted, ethereal way, bearing Orpheus’s face and clinging to the chains that once made Thanatos’s cape as he spreads out the wings folded at his waist.
As the air hums with magic, you can’t help but note the sight is stunning— stunning in the way a volcanic eruption might be. Quite in fact, the sheer power of Messiah’s Megidolaon sends the tower shaking. The Nyx avatar actually falls under the force, feathers flying as it crumples to its knees, face turned towards the sky
For a moment, you really believe you’ve won.
But that’s not true, not yet. Limp as a ragdoll, the avatar is drawn back to the moon.
“Such a pity...” it almost whispers. “You understand fate, yet you still fight against it with all of your will... If more people were like you, then perhaps the Fall could have been prevented... but it's too late now."
The moon cracks open, and it feels like your limbs are lead.
Sakaki, the raving lunatic who must have crawled up to this floor despite his injuries just to see the world end, laughs as you crumple to the ground despite all your efforts to stay up. Your friends struggle for a little longer, but they soon follow suit.
This is it.
It’s over.
·· ·-·· --- ···- · -·-- --- ··-
…
. . .
. . .
You wake to blue and long noses, pale smiles and the gentle rumble of the elevator’s ascension. Igor is quick to assure that you’re not dead—not yet. You’re here for a different reason. It sounds like it’s its own sort of final gambit, relying on the bonds you’ve made, the strength they could lend to you.
“Can you hear their voices? Can you feel them reaching out?” Igor asks, and you strain to listen.
The sounds are faint, but the answer’s clear.
Yes.
Yes, you do.
All the voices of your friends and loved ones reach you, whispers of encouragement and hope in the face of doom they must all be seeing. Here at the end of the world, they’re thinking of you. And under their voices, it sounds like Ryoji’s there too, cheering you on as well.
That is the strength you’ve built over your time here.
A card forms in front of you, and it resonates with you, deeper than any Arcana you’ve ever seen. It’s you, it seems to whisper, it’s you. You reach to take it, flipping it over in your hands to see its face. Instead of the Fool, a card you’ve never seen before greets you. It comes as a surprise to even Igor. He tells you that the card represents the power to bring about a new beginning or the ultimate end, opening the path to do the impossible. In your hands rests the card of the Universe.
As you clutch it close to your heart, it dissipates into light. All around you, you hear the elevator slowing, grating to a halt, and it occurs to you that this is the last time you will be here.
“This is your destination,” Elizabeth tells you as the gates shudder open, and you’re certain of what lies beyond.
So this is the end. You stand up from your seat, stepping towards the exit as fear pulses in your chest. Now that it’s laid out in front of you with such finality, you’re trembling. But you march on firmly into the light beyond without a shred of hesitation.
You are the wild card, a Fool, once a holder of Death and now the Universe.
You accept your fate.
-·-- --- ··- ·- ·-· · ·- ·--· ···· --- · -· ·· -··-
It doesn’t feel heavy anymore. You get back up to your feet, swaying slightly as dust swirls around you. Some of your teammates struggle to look up at you, confused or scared as they call out to you. As much as you love them, they aren’t your focus.
You look up to the moon, the prison it held inside. It calls your heart, beckoning it, urging it to spread its wings. You let it.
Your feet are no longer on the ground as the sky welcomes you home. Somewhere down below, you hear your friends crying, shrieking, sobbing. But this is for them, it’s for them, everything you do now will be for them and everyone else you’ve ever loved.
Stars glitter as you ascend, space shifting far beyond. As the faint colors fade all to black and you continue deep into the prison, a light glows bright at the end. The part of you that held death for so long recognizes it as kin.
It calls you with its kind whispers of promises, that it would make sure you would not fear, would not hurt when death befalls your world. It doesn’t lie. It isn’t the kind to.
But as your feet touch the cold surface of its prison, your resolution is firm. You raise up your weapon to fight. The light—the cocoon that is Nyx—disapproves, taking your hit as if it were nothing, then dropping hell upon you.
You barely cling to life as the shockwave passes. How you’re still on your feet is a mystery, even to you.
You lash out again, and Nyx reacts in turn. Already weak from the first attack, you fall to your knees. Black spots dance in your vision. Nyx beckons you into its dark embrace, the peace behind the veil.
But you refuse.
And you’re not alone, either.
From the Earth far below, the voices of Amada, Sanada, Kirijo rise to your ears. They believe in you, lend you their strength, trust you with their lives. Encouraged by their call, you struggle back to your feet, choking down the agony coursing through your veins.
The mother of the dark tuts and it rains death upon you. Yet somehow, it misses completely.
Takeba, Yamagishi, Iori. Your closest friends’ wishes join the fray, too. They won’t let you die. A little more strength returns to you, and you slash yet again.
Why do you prolong the inevitable? the light whispers as it tries to attack you once more. But even as you stagger back from the force of death, you’re not harmed.
Koromaru, Aigis, even the echo of Aragaki. All of your team is standing behind you even, even if only in spirit. But it’s more than enough. Your wounds mend and you stand steady, staring defiantly up at Nyx. You won’t back down. You refuse to.
And deep in your soul, you feel a path open, and a new spell is at your final disposal.
-·· · ·- - ····
Now that you think about it, death had brought you a chance at love and life. It’s ironic in a way, but you’re glad for it.
But it is a debt you never managed to pay. Yet here at the end, you have your chance. If death had given you so much, why shouldn’t you be able to give the same to everyone else with your own?
-·· · ·- - ····
Echoes of a heartbeat fill the void. Your friends are still cheering you on from below, the faint whispers of their voices betraying how terrified they must be. Yet they’re clinging to the thread of life, to the impossibility of victory, to hope. There’s only one more step. You can’t fail them.
The ring on your finger seems to gently pulse. You raise your hand to the heavens, the place your battered wings finally took you. With every scrap of energy you could muster, every piece of your heart and soul, you cast the final spell on Nyx. It burns, hotter than even the worst hellfire you’ve felt. But as quickly as it started, the pain fades and it’s all over. You can’t tell from here, but you know it instinctively: Nyx is sealed.
Now it’s like something’s missing from your chest. Maybe it’s your heart. But nevermind that; you’re tired, hurting, aching, weak all over. You try to take a step back, but your knees give out from under you.
You’re out cold even before you hit the floor. But for the briefest moment, right before you crumple to the ground, you could have sworn you saw Ryoji kneeling in front of you, tears streaming down his face as he beams at you in pride.
It makes you so irrationally happy.
-·-- --- ··- ·- ·-· · ·- ·--· ···· --- · -· ·· -··-
Hey, do you remember when you told me life was like a bird? Well, if that’s the case, then yours is a phoenix: powerful, beautiful, and brilliant as it rises up from the ashes. You’ve triumphed over everything that’s hurt you and came out stronger than before.
That’s why I got you that feather, once upon a time. You’re truly something special. Nothing could hold you down forever
I’m glad we had the chance to meet each other.
-·-- --- ··- ·- ·-· · ·- ·--· ···· --- · -· ·· -··-
By some miracle, you survived that night. You remember staggering out of the remains of Tartarus, the tears of your friends greeting you as they rushed to hold you close.
You cried, too.
And now it’s March. Cherry blossom petals rain from the trees lining the school entrance. The not-quite springtime air is filled with new life and excited buzz of graduating students. There is nothing to be scared of now; here, there’s only tranquility, no world threatened by its imminent demise. But no one remembers anything about the stranger events of the last year, either—no memory of Shadows or hidden hours or death raining down. It leaves a pain in your heart, but they’re living a good existence, you think, even if they might forget the promise.
It leaves you with contentment. Now you close your eyes and bask in the sun’s rays as you trail behind Iori and Takeba, Yamagishi stepping in time with you.
For your inattentiveness, you end up colliding with Iori, who had suddenly stopped, sending the both of you sprawling onto the pavement. Yamagishi gasps and Takeba lightly insults Iori as you get up and help him do the same.
“What even made you stop anyway?” Takeba asks. Still half-supported by you, Iori gestures to the trees and you glance in that direction. A girl stands behind the trees, watching you with a cautious sort of intensity, one you’ve grown to know very well with all those times she stuck by your side.
Your eyes meet and she gives you a sort of nod before running off. You watch her go. Surely it’s too much to presume, but...
“You know her?” Iori asks, jolting you out of your thoughts.
You do, you did, but you don’t know if she remembers. You shake your head, fidgeting with your ring, and the four of you continue to school without a second thought.
-·· · ·- - ····
But she does remember. Aigis remembers everything. She comes to your room just to talk to you about the events that happened last night, as if you had forgotten them too. You haven’t. But until now, you hadn’t realized how much you missed her. For that matter, you hadn’t realized how much you missed everyone, bonds forged from weathering the same struggles together.
You’re too tired to talk much about it, though, and it’s hard to react when she clasps your hands..
“I’ll see you on the roof. We can wait there for the others.”
You agree, and she smiles as she leaves. By the time you close the door behind her, your legs nearly give out under you. You sink to the floor, letting yourself a few moments’ rest before forcing yourself back onto your feet. You have things to do today.
As you get ready for the school, you glance out the window and your thoughts flit to Ryoji. It’s too bad he never got to see this.
-·· · ·- - ····
It’s weird, being at school but still kind of playing hooky. After all, you had been as close as a “perfect student” as you could possibly be all year. Yet you’ve already lied to your friends—you just had to go use the bathroom, it’s okay to go to the auditorium without you, so on and so on. They leave after a while, Iori seemingly wanting to wait for you regardless. For once, you’re actually glad Takeba could strong-arm him into leaving anyway. As their voices fade away, you manage to slip out of the bathroom. The sounds of your breathing are your only company as you make your way to the stairwell.
You never realized how many steps are between the ground floor and the roof before. But now you’re counting every single time you have to lift your foot, each step feeling more treacherous than a whole floor of Tartarus. But unlike those ventures, no one’s here to help you.
By the time you’re at the top, your legs tremble, feeling like lead. You lean against the wall, panting for breath, cursing your weakness; the stairwell only has about thirty-six steps, but you’re more exhausted than you’ve ever felt before.
But you’re so close. Gritting your teeth, you shove yourself away from the wall and stagger towards the door, pushing them open with as much strength as you can spare.
Aigis is already there. You almost sigh from the relief of seeing her and take a step forward, only to trip. Aigis manages to catch you before your head hits the concrete, eyes alight with worry.
“Let me help you,” she says, and you don’t argue with it.
-·· · ·- - ····
After she helps you onto a bench, the both of you fall into a comfortable silence, punctuated only when you decide to lay your head on Aigis’s lap. Branches rustle somewhere below, and birds sing their odes to spring. She runs her hand through your hair as she gazes up at the sky. It’s her first time experiencing spring, she tells you, and you think it’s nice to see that silent awe she has for the world, the little joys of life.
The others must be at the graduation speech now. If Kirijo had known you weren’t there for it, maybe she would have flayed you alive. You voice the idea to Aigis, who’s only confused at your words.
“She would never inflict that sort of injury on you,” she tells you, and you almost laugh. It comes out more like a cough, and she looks at you with worry again. You assure her you’re fine—just tired.
It’s not a lie. Exhaustion weighs heavy on your eyes. The warmth of the sun tries to lull you to sleep. But you just have to hold on a little bit longer. Just a little bit longer. You twist your ring around, trying to occupy yourself from the siren song of dreamland. It shouldn’t be long now. It can’t. If Aigis could remember, so could the others. And then, surely…
Surely they’ll come. You will be awake to see them again.
As the minutes tick by, the breeze picks up. Petals sweep up into the sky, dancing in your vision like little stars. You try to follow them with your eyes, but it’s all starting to blur. But even so, it’s beautiful.
“I think I finally understand now,” Aigis tells you, breaking the silence with a voice soft as down. “The strength that let all of you face the end with hope in your hearts, even knowing it was inevitable… I understand. And I’ve found it, too—my reason for living, my purpose for living.”
She settles her gaze back down to you. Her hand moves to rest over yours, and you stop your fidgeting as not to disturb her.
“I want to protect you. Forever.”
She continues to stroke your hair, falling back into silence. Within it, you faintly hear the sounds of footsteps echoing in the stairwell. Aigis tilts her head to stare at the door.
“The others are coming soon. You have nothing to worry about.”
You hear a familiar voice call out a greeting. As you barely manage to turn your head to see, people spill out from the doors, and even if you can’t see them clearly through the haze of weariness, you know exactly who they are. They’re calling out your name, voices cracking on the syllables. You know them so well. You can hear it; all of SEES is here.
“You can rest now,” Aigis whispers over everyone else’s words. “We’re all here with you.”
And yes—yes, they are; you’re all finally back together, a team. You’re so glad that they remembered, that you all kept your promise, that you could spend this moment with them after all. You think you might be crying again, but you’re too tired to be sure.
“Thank you,” you manage to mumble, words swept up by the breeze like the petals. And as you close your eyes and let sleep embrace you, you never learn just how bright—how beautiful—your last smile is to the friends by your side.
-·· · ·- - ····
You dream of nothingness, a sea of cool white, void of memory. But it isn’t completely like that. There’s a boy here, too, with soft eyes and yellow scarf that flutters in the nonexistent breeze. His gaze lights up when you meet his, and he rushes to hold your hands, his thumb brushing over your ring.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he says with a sort of familiarity that gives you a sense of deja vu. You feel like you’ve heard his voice before, pleasant like wind chimes and birdsong, but you can’t quite place it right now. Still, you feel like you can trust him.
You don’t know his name, though. You ask, and there’s a quiet sort of sadness alight in his eyes as he continues to smile.
“You’ll remember everything soon enough,” he assures you. “But I don’t mind introducing myself again.”
He gently squeezes your hands, leaning a little closer, and you faintly recall sitting in a bedroom with this boy beside you, his lips on yours.
“My name’s Mochizuki Ryoji. I’m sure this sounds really cliché, but... I think I’m meant to be with you.”
-·-- --- ··- ·- ·-· · ·- ·--· ···· --- · -· ·· -··-
·· ·-·· --- ···- · -·-- --- ··-
-·· · ·- - ····
I know for a fact, you were there by my side.
Always, always, always, you were smiling beside me.
Even if I lose you, I’ll get you back.
·· ·-·· --- ···- · -·-- --- ··-
-·· · ·- - ····
··-· ·· -·