Disclaimer: Persona 3 doesn't belong to me and I made no profit from this fic. Enjoy!
Deep, Deep Within the Forest
Witches -more powerful than ordinary man- were cursed with isolation and madness.
Secluding themselves, untouched by civilization and spent the rest of their lives hidden from humankind's curious eyes. There were many untold tales and adventures of those brave enough to lift the veil of allusion, only to return with bones and ashes. Curiosity turned into anger, anger turned into revenge and in the end, those who remained to tell the tales were haunted into silence and the sad bearers of dark power were hunted and burned in a stake, their defense flimsy against the fury of bereaved humanity.
Once again, Witches became an elusive entity. Hiding themselves deep, deep within the forests that enchanted hunters got lost into its wilderness that seeped their strength away and tall, entrapped towers. One of the old wives' tales warned the young generations that answering the call of a witch only led to an insurmountable despair.
He remembered one particular legend, told by an esteemed Scholar from the capital who married a common woman of their village. His daughter, whose name has a meaning that befitted one with an affinity to the way of the Spirits, became the prized White Mage of the village and one of his hunting companion.
A day before he disappeared from the face of Earth, he entrusted a tale to the village's youths.
I have traveled wide and far, witnessing with my own eyes of what the ten years-long Shadow War has done in its wake.
It began with our first contact with the Witches, drawing their powers for our own that led us to an age of prosperity! One that fell short to greed and shredded our country apart.
It was a dark time where heroes knighted by the King were slain as he stood.
It was a dark time where pale-faced children were taken from the street to hold a sword at hand, while we lost more men to survive day by day and the witches exhausted their gift from God, hunted, killed and burned by the Church's permission.
I wept because humans and witches are never that different from each other.
We are ignorant of our ways! The bitter taste of war has left a deep scar that not even after a hundred years passed could heal.
No one knows who is the victim, or who is the tyrant.
It was a terrible mistake, indeed.
Children! My greatest wish is one that would never be granted, mournfully.
Because only the dead can see the end of the war.
As a boy, sometimes he imagined of what treasures that slept deep within the forest. Of what belied the lush, thick rows of green within its core. But the villagers quickly hushed him, looking at the boy with a sharp edge that took roots from the tales handed to them generation after generation, encircling them into wariness. They scared him into a sublime trepidation but fear never gnawed him with its all-consuming cradle.
Rather, he found his mind wondering about what it would be like to bathe in the trickling blood of monstrous beast that could be found in the deep forest, to slay a Witch that terrorized the village and to be revered, praised for his courageous deeds thereafter.
He wished to be a hero.
Nothing can hold him back in the village, not even the snoring sound of a father who drank too much or the worried glance of his friend, a young Spirit Contractor closer to him than blood and family ties but separated by a wall of bedeviled envy.
So, on the day he found a flower on the beaten path leading into the unbreached forest in one winter night, he made up his mind.
It was unlike any other flower he had seen. Its red, spider-like petals grew healthily, held by a slender stem unchallenged by the frosty air. He noted with a shudder that reached his spine that the petals were tainted with drops of red darker than the shade of its colour. Then he froze, observing the landscape before him. Snow reached the lip of his boots and cold seeped through his thick coat. Not even a single tree was spared from the harshness of the season. But the blooming flower never disappeared from his gloved hands like an afterimage of haze-induced illusion.
It was real.
He whipped his face around the empty lot, hairs rising behind his neck and he heard the whistle of wind that went past his ears from afar. A white winter coat floated around the bushes, disappearing through the trees that has been stripped from their leaves. A red-haired figure flew, surrounded by burnt speckles like warm ember.
Witch, his disquieted mind supplied.
Before he can even stop to think about it, his feet dragged forward, breaking into a run to keep up with the girl. He kept his gaze above him, but eventually lost track of the witch. Puffs of cold breath escaped him and he only realized how worn out he had became. His lungs prickled after each gasp of icy inhale and his legs trembled from enervation. He realized his mistake and cursed.
The forest was darker than his imagination of filtered sunlight through the leaves. Far darker than the tales of hunters who never returned, swallowed by the forest. He was met by silence and he gulped, all of his brash courage trickled down like his perspiration. He had been too absorbed in chasing the white spectre to retrace his way back because his footsteps has been wiped clean by the thickening snow. He suddenly regretted ignoring his friend's explanation on how to read the stars, looking at how the clear the winter night brought forth the stars with the sky as their stage. He was like a blind man grasping at straws.
He couldn't stay in this deserted forest, without any covers from the cold and for fear of the threat of a snowstorm coming nearby. Then, with a wary heart, he began to walk northwest in a direction which he hoped against hope that it would lead back to the village.
He grasped behind his back, noting with relief that he never parted with Laevateinn from his side. The gleaming blaze sword that torched his surrounding was a ceremonial gift after his first hunt from the village's Chief, a man whose right eye was taken by a mighty Nemean Beast's claw during the Shadow War against the cursed creatures of darkness from another realm. The warmth produced by the blaze sword was naught but superficial, nevertheless the reassurance that he didn't went gearless and defenseless soothed the edge of his frayed mind.
Sword in hand, he broke from the farther left side of the road and walked in the middle of the forest path, approaching each steps with practiced caution. Slowly, his training as a hunter showed its result, steadying his presence of mind and moving his body around the center of his gravity. He strained his five senses outward, knowing that he couldn't rely on his eyes alone.
Luckily, no beast came his way but the night grew colder each second and he was left to greedily absorb the superficial heat that emanated from Laevateinn. At least fighting a beast would force his body to move, which would warm him up with the rush of adrenaline. He had been out in the wilderness for hours and he began to worry that no shelter ever graced his eyes. There was a weary fatigue on the brink of his weary consciousness.
He grasped on what little awareness he has left, determined to be out from this blasted forest by morning. He swore that he would even eat whatever the village's Divine Priestess cooked up if he can return to the village, screw the risk of food poisoning.
Hours later, when he couldn't feel his fingers again and his mind wondered whether it was a hopeless bet or not, his eyes caught a small flicker of an orange-hued glow. His body reacted with energized glee but his mind dreaded that he would have to keep his sworn oath to God. He prayed to whoever God that kept watch over him to never abandon this poor sod alone, whether from Witch or food poisoning. Amen.
He rubbed his hands together, the failing warmth ascertained him that he was out of options and he shrugged off his anxiety, coming to term with the possible death by poisoning. After all, he was the type that act first and think later, anyway. He marched off towards the quaint, wooden hut that seemed to blend in amongst the barren trees.
He was about to knock –his hands were trembling from both nervousness and relief at finding someplace warm- when the carved door that resembled tree roots that are woven together more than anything else unwound itself, roots zigzagging left and right to welcome him. He might've done more than gaping at the show of nature magic when a feminine figure stood at the door, waiting. The figure that was probably younger than him was silhouetted by the lit fireplace, reddish orange glow from the hearth giving way for him to notice that the inhabitant of the hut was the same red-haired girl he followed into the forest. Her russet eyes gleamed with otherwordly power unreachable by humanity.
The red alarms in his mind blaring through his head.
Despite him being frozen in place, the girl looked over him that he couldn't identify if she was examining a possible meal or an enemy. He was wrong and was ushered inside, puzzled. The clearer visibility lent him a way to voice his questions but the words were stuck in his throat as he chanced his eyes upon the girl with the same shade of red hair with the Village Chief's only daughter.
The Village Chief's daughter's hair has a perfect, wavy glow of a frozen red rose, and it veritably overflown like a river's creek when she splayed her hair over her fingertips. She was a wondrous rose with her own thorn, the edge not only complimenting her charm but also made her as untouchable as a Queen's hands. But as stunning the village chief's daughter was, her beauty was a mere sharp, human exquisiteness compared to the girl's ethereal features. He ought to worry that he was so charmed by the first Witch he had ever seen.
"I have to say, I was surprised you can make it inside," the girl turned away, probably heading to the small kitchen he saw from where he stood. At the girl's sentence, more questions popped upon his head.
"Huh? What do you mean?" he said, but winced when he heard his voice that was roughened by the cold air. There was a curious silence filled only the soft 'clank, clank' of a spoon. Then, the girl motioned for him to sit near the fireplace and offered a glass of tea to her guest. She turned her head to the door as they settled and he followed her gaze as he drank in the warmth.
"The door has a trap,"
He coughed, sloshing the content of his glass to the thick, wooden floor. She sighed and moved her hands in elaborate gestures, the spilled water turned into steam before disappearing into the thin air. After he emptied his lungs, he caught the girl's eyes with a watery gaze.
A slow grin was etched into her small, chiseled face. It looked wrong on her.
"Anyone who passed through the door with evil intention shall be wrapped in Earth's cradle for eternity," she chanted softly in a tongue familiar to him, only because it was the same language that everyone was taught since they were mere children. It was a language of magic to communicate with the Spirits. His wariness only grew by the minutes.
"How did you learnt of our chanting spell?!" he asked, ready to take flight.
The girl only raised an eyebrow, "Humans. All of you," Then, with a more wistful note, she whispered, "It's not like you who lived in the surface will understand."
She got up to leave, but he interrupted. "Why? Explain to me!" His voice hadn't raised into a shout yet and he grasped her white sleeved hand, prompting her to look at him but she winced and let out a soft moan in pain. Despite his wariness, he surprised himself by the wave of concern he felt.
"Hey, wait! Your hand-"
"-Is not your business. What is it with you? I'd let you imposing on me for a day and I wish that you'll be gone by morning. Good night,"
"But you're bleeding, for cryin' out loud!" In his panic, he talked with the eastern, rougher accent that he picked up in his training as a hunter-to-be.
"C'mere, show me your hand. You have to put pressure on it,"
She stopped her struggle when she noticed a single flower pocketed in his coat, "...You're weird."
"Huh? What's that? Here I'm tryin' to save you and that's your reply?" he grunted out as he ripped a spare gauze that a silver-haired Gate Guardian threw to him in passing and his hunting dog by his side, before the younger man left the village to hunt. He'd have to thank the guy when he got back.
"I can heal myself," the Witch said as she separated her bleeding wrist from his warm grasp and touched the wound with deft fingers.
She took a deep breath and shakily sang the first few words. The overflowing words were soft and haunting to his ears because they were so familiar and it was supposed to feel wrong to listen the holy words from a Witch's tongue but he didn't pull himself away, mesmerized by each seconds that trickled down like sands from a hourglass.
The hymn was the same ancient words that the village's Songweaver recited, with the ancient language of grace and strength that blessed the land. He neither questioned how a Witch knew the song nor why the roots of human and Witch's chanting spell were the same, if not being originated from the same source.
He nearly sobbed like a child, then. Because it reminded him of the last time he heard that song. He had listened the Songweaver who became the current Ceremony Maiden woven the ancient song in three occasions. Once after his mother's cold body was six feet in the ground, then after the birth of a child who later became their village's most prominent spearmaster and the last was in the burial rites of the village's Vanguard.
He remembered that he was amazed, back then. That babies opened their eyes and the wounds of their fallen heroes closed shut as the final notes of the hymn were sung. It humbled him, the creation and conclusion of a tiny, insignificant life that began and ended with a song.
A bone-deep ache rippled through his very being when the song ended. He had ever thought that the Witches who were so feared and became the enemy of humankind could weave a tune so soft that the grief within her voice could touch him. The pure, raw emotion brought him to tears, the first teardrop landed in the closing wound and became one with the blood. He knew he should leave, should run away from this tiny, isolated hut and return to his village. But he had never seen someone so lonely, and being a happy person at heart, he wanted to banish those expressions from her face. The longer he stayed here, the more he wanted to expel that apathy from her face no matter what it took, to erase all the bitterness from her skin no matter what it took.
The Witch removed her hand from the wound and they could see that it was fully healed, not even any blemish left.
"Chidori," she said.
He replied intelligently, "Huh?"
"That's my name. I understood that you have no evil intention because you've passed the door with being crushed to death. I will let you stay here for a night and I'll warp you back to your home in the morning,"
He was awed for a second, "T-Thank you, you're... um, kind, I guess."
She shrugged off his compliment like a drop of water on a duck's back. "Trust me, I wouldn't want to be stuck outside at night." She said eerily, but then she turned to him again before she left him to rest in the couch. "You can keep that flower,"
He was reminded of that single flower, hoping that it wouldn't be crushed by his back. "What flower is that?"
"Something insignificant. I just saw a dying flower on my way back and made it healthy again. It's nothing special, although some did called us the Witch with that kind of power. You have powers too, don't you?" She lifted a hand and Laevateinn floated, denying gravity for a few mere seconds before she dropped it again to the floor.
"Well, yeah, I guess... But... That's about all I've got going for me. Without Laevateinn, I'd be nobody. I just talk like a big game, unlike this friend of mine whose powers speak for himself," he laughed foolishly at himself, but somehow the Witch... Chidori looked at him, looked past the chipped confidence and bloated ego he surrounded himself with and he offered her a grin.
Chidori flicked her long, flame-like hair and left him alone to sleep his exhaustion off. The scent of flowing lavender incense wafted through the small hut and laid his body to rest, a far deeper sleep than he ever had. That night, he dreamt of a red-skinned deity blazing in endless fire, her crown made from the red, spider like flowers he found in front of the unbreached forest. Her laugh coiled anyone within close vicinity into the madness of a Witch that was cursed in seclusion.
Came the next morning, he was abruptly awaken by Chidori. He couldn't admire her features that became more vivid in the morning when she said something hastily.
"They've returned," she said, still unruffled but with a hint of fear in her voice.
"Who? What?"
"There's no time, Medea told me that they've returned,"
Chidori grasped his shoulder and it might be just his imagination but he could feel the tingles in his skin where she touched and with a flash, they disappeared from the hut.
They materialized at the end of the forest and he was too stricken to say anything, especially since he had just experienced a navi magic which he heard that not even the spellweavers of the capital could figure. He moved his head around and his surprise was alleviated by the familiar buildings of his village. "This is where we part ways," Chidori said, clutching her hand to her chest. She looked tired somehow and he wanted to make sure that she was okay when she continued.
"You're so weird... You're a human yet I didn't mind you that much. It was only a short time and I have... enjoyed your company, as abrupt and coincidental as it was for you,"
He only smiled back and his fingers touched the tips of her scarlet hair. "Can I... see you again?'
Chidori laughed softly, her voice unused to such gesture. "I am cursed with seclusion and madness until something else binds me to life," the Red Witch whispered, gentle eyes fixing on him. Suddenly, he closed the distance between them, coarse lips meeting soft, dry ones and a gentle, trembling hand rose to keep her head in place as the human hunter drew her closer.
He felt eternity in this, as wrong as it was to touch a cursed Witch. He opened his eyes only to met her half-lidded ones and everything he had believed about a Witch since he was a child fell apart and it dawned on him that he was going to let it be.
He broke the kiss and whispered softly for her ears only, "'Chidori..."
The Red Witch felt a tremor of something unknown that grew from her chest. It made her weak and Witches were supposed to be feared by humankind but not this young, naive human. He was smiling, but hidden beneath that smile was the same grief he felt from listening to the ancient song she woven, back in that warm, quaint hut.
"Go, return to your friends," Chidori said, gesturing forward and she disappeared from his line of vision before he could say his gratitude.
He realized a day too late that she never answered his question.
Later, when he twirled the red, spider-like flower between his index finger and thumb, the village's White Mage he passed in the road told him of the perpetual, sad meaning of the ancient language of flowers, one older than the civilizations of humankind and Witch alike.
She recited a sombre voice, "Never to meet again."
21th January, 2010
Junpei was running, uncaring of the nurses and crippled patients he ran over. He had to see her right now, to see with his own eyes of the possible miracle. In his mind, he knew that it was impossible. Junpei knew that it could easily be a spur of too imaginative hope, that the doctor only played a sick joke to amuse himself. The Fall was near and SEES has decided their course. It would only be a weight that he understood with stupid, almost optimistic certainty that he would fight to the last drop of his blood to see what the future would bring, with or without Chidori.
The news from Mitsuru had threw him off his balance and he would've briskly walk away and called it another lie if only Minato didn't gave him an encouraging nod with a genuine smile on his face. For one, Junpei didn't believe in luck, didn't believe that everything would suddenly fall in place if he didn't fight hard enough.
Junpei whipped open the door and the familiar scarlet hair stunned him. Everything stopped; his breathing, his thought, his movements and suddenly hope overflown from each pores of his body.
His voice cracked, "...Chidori..."
His grip on the door handle loosened and his legs wobbled almost imperceptibly. His energy drained, just enough to bring him closer to the revived girl. Junpei ran his fingers over her hair, temple, eyelids, nose, jaw and finally rested in her cheeks, feeling the realness of skin and flesh.
Junpei tucked his head on Chidori's (Chidori, his Chidori) shoulder and couldn't lift it up again –He was crying. He squeezed Chidori tightly in his arms and closed his eyes, refamiliarizing himself of the smell of fire and red spider lily.
"Why are you crying when I'm not even crying? You're such a softie... Junpei," the last part was said in a trembling voice and the Red Witch dropped her forehead to rest against his shoulder. Mitsuru and Minato smiled to each other and left the hospital room quietly, letting the two to share each other's presence.
Author Note:
Laevateinn is the fused double-handed sword you can get by fusing Surt with a blank weapon. I kinda get too attached with the idea that it's Junpei's ultimate weapon.
I've always wanted to give these two a happy ending, because my wingman deserves it dammit and Chidori is cute, especially when she smiled. Reviving Chidori is canon, you can revive her and she'll be awake in the 21th January if you followed the walkthrough.
Thanks for reading this little piece^^