"The Empress represents motherhood and the life it brings forth. The Emperor is an opposing card. It represents fathering and relates to leadership and decision-making skills"
Edogawa-sensei, Persona 3.
"Shit," Rosch said. "Shit, shit, shit!" He twisted himself out of Stocke's hold and limped forward, still swearing a blue streak.
Stocke easily caught up with him. "Rosch! Calm down. We're not going to help her much if we rush into things."
"So what should we do, then?" replied Rosch. "We need to reach her before that thing gets to her!"
"Maybe we should find some help." The words had barely left his mouth when Stocke realized it was impossible. They had stumbled around this hallway for far too long without meeting anyone else. Cold sweat beaded on Stocke's brow. Where had all the students and staff gone?
"Stocke!" Rosch pointed. A pair of figures with skin as pitch as tar lumbered towards them. One wore a dirtied lab coat, and its face was hidden behind a purple mask. The mask was identical to the one that had crowned the heads of the ghostly knights that had accompanied Rosch's Shadow. The other figure, dressed like a nurse, wore a crowned golden mask. The number three in old Imperial numerals was etched in the gleaming metal of the three-pronged mask.
Stocke pushed Rosch behind him. His throat tightened as he stole a glance at their surroundings. The lockers and the school posters littering the walls were gone. The paint had become a sickening shade of pale green; the colour seemed to grow even eerier under the dim and flickering light. Gurneys and wheelchairs littered the hallway. The muffled sounds of someone's voice on the intercom echoed through the empty air, although Stocke could not make out their words.
Stocke inhaled sharply. The sudden and unexplained transformation of his school was not what horrified him the most.
He recognized the place.
He knew that stomach-churning shade of green, he remembered the rows and rows of hospital beds cramming up the hallway. He could recall perfectly the faint odour of sickness that clung to everything like a second skin, and the stifling sense of oppression weighing down on his shoulders.
This was the hospital that Sonja's parents ran. The hospital where her brother had spent the last months of his life.
There was a sharp intake of breath behind Stocke; Rosch had come to the same realization. "What are those things?" Stocke could hear him say. "Are they… Shadows?"
"Lesser Shadows," Stocke replied. "There's a bigger one somewhere controlling these two. Let me take care of them."
The doctor and nurse Shadows cocked their heads as he spoke. Stocke scowled; their gesture was almost insolent. He hoped that Baldr would make quick work of them. His legs were already shaking with fatigue.
The two Shadows charged at them with a shriek. Pitch-black limbs stretched forward, their hands growing in the shape of razor-sharp claws.
"You're in our way!" Stocke snarled, gathering all of his strength to summon Baldr from the depths of his soul. "Get lost!"
The fiery figure of his Persona sprang out in a flare of blue light. Flames burst forth from Baldr's sword, setting ablaze the space between him and the two charging Shadows. The Shadow in the lab coat immediately caught fire. The other made a sweeping motion with its arm and something shimmered in front of the Shadow, almost like light reflecting on a panel of glass.
And suddenly, the fireball was rebounding off an invisible barrier... and heading straight for Stocke and Baldr.
Stocke's breath caught in his throat as Baldr raised his shield. Heat scorched across his cheeks as the flames exploded on Baldr's buckler. Behind him, Rosch swore loudly.
"What the hell was that? Did that Shadow just throw your own fireball back at you?!"
Stocke wiped the sweat from his brow, himself inwardly cursing. "It seems so." He turned to Baldr. "Let's just go with the sword, then."
Baldr flew towards the nurse Shadow, readying his sword for a downward slash. Before he could reach it, however, there was a green flash, and a gust of wind suddenly rose, stopping the Persona mid-air. Stocke fought to keep to his footing. Behind him, Rosch tumbled down with a yelp.
What the hell was that? Stocke wondered. His thoughts were suddenly wrenched away by a sharp sense of burning on his right forearm. Through eyes blurry with pain, he could see that the first Shadow—the one wearing the lab coat—had managed to crawl up to Baldr, and was raising a blackened hand to grab at the Persona's arm. As he watched, its spidery fingers encircled the limb in a vice-like grip.
"Stocke!" Rosch cried out in warning.
The second Shadow was casting another spell; out of the corner of his eye, Stocke could see the green light flaring to life beneath its feet. Baldr struggled against the other Shadow's hold, bashing its head with his buckler. Stocke tightened his jaw as the green-tinted gale swept past him and Rosch. His friend screamed again, but Stocke managed to stay on his feet, staring defiantly at the creature until the wind died down.
"Baldr!" Stocke shouted. "Now's your chance!"
His Persona glowed bright as a morning sun, and the Shadow that had been grappling with Baldr burst in flames from the sheer heat. The fiery figure paid it no further heed. In a matter of seconds, Baldr had swept over to the other Shadow and cleaved the creature in two with a downward stroke through its golden crown. The Shadows evaporated into black mist, and Stocke clenched a hand at his heart, panting. Finally…
His relief was short-lived, however. "We… we have to get going," Stocke said. "Sonja… we have to find her…"
Rosch walked up to Stocke. "D'you think she's still in the labs?"
"It's our best bet for now," Stocke said. "Let's go."
Strangely enough, despite the eerie décor, the general layout of the school didn't appear to have changed. On their way, Stocke and Rosch stumbled upon a few lone Shadows that were thankfully no match for Baldr's sword and flames. They soon reached the door that normally led to the school labs. Over the doorframe Stocke could read 'Palliative Care' written in a big, bold font. Rosch gave a soft curse at the sight of the two words.
"This is so messed up," he said. "This Shadow thing is doing all of that? Making the school looks like that, spawning all these freaky monsters?"
Stocke gave a stiff nod. "Your own Shadow managed to make you believe you still had your other arm. There's no telling what Sonja's will be able to do."
Rosch swore again. "It made us both believe that Rowan was still alive." His face was white with disbelief and horror. "She must still believe that he's alive. We're going to have to convince her that he's really gone, aren't we? How the hell are we supposed to do that?"
Stocke did not answer and only slid the door open. The sight that greeted him was not what he expected.
It was a hospital room, large and airy, with walls that were painted in shades of soft pastels. A few flowerpots had been put by the room's single bed, and they filled the air with a sweet scent. Light blue curtains caught into the breeze; from the open window, Stocke could hear the distant noises of the everyday city life. The walls were covered with family pictures, all depicting Sonja, her parents and a bespectacled young man with a wide grin. Around the family portraits were pinned the cheery, colourful scrawls of a child. All over the drawings were written the words 'get well soon, big bro!'
Sonja was standing by the empty hospital bed, writing something on her notepad. The shadow she cast on the wall was unusually large. As Stocke and Rosch rushed into the room, it sharply turned its head to face them and extended long tendrils in Sonja's direction.
"You bastard!" Rosch roared. "Get your filthy hands off her!"
Sonja gave a start, and she whirled to look at them, bringing a hand to her heart. "Rosch…?!" she gasped. "You nearly gave me a heart attack! Did you really need to scream?"
"Sonja, you've got to listen to us," Stocke said. He could feel the blood draining from his face as the Shadow's long, thin arms encircled Sonja's form, sinking into her chest. "Just… walk up here, please. Everything's fine. You don't need to be scared."
"What…?" Sonja scrunched up her face. "Is there something wrong? Why are you both acting so strange?"
"We'll explain after we're out of here," Stocke replied. "For now, just come over here. We'll get you home safe and sound."
"No," Sonja said, "I've already made plans with Rowan. He was coming after work to get me so we could go find something for my mom's birthday."
Stocke and Rosch exchanged a look of alarm.
"Don't worry 'bout that," Rosch managed, still pale. "We'll, um, we'll call him and say you're coming with us. He'll understand, right?"
Sonja herself was white as death. "But it's been so long since we've spent time together. He's so caught up with work these days. I was looking forward to it…" The Shadow's tendrils went a little deeper…
"Goddammit!" Rosch roared. To Stocke's great horror, he dashed towards Sonja, raising his fist in a futile attempt to strike the creature behind her. "Let her go, you bastard!"
There was a loud snap, and a gale of wind came rushing, knocking both Stocke and Rosch flat on their behinds.
Sonja cried out their names. "Oh my God, w-what's going on?" She brought her hands to her mouth, her eyes growing wide with shock. "Are you two all right?" The Shadow tugged on its tendrils, drawing her away from Stocke and Rosch. Sonja gave a gasp.
Stocke jumped to his feet, Baldr appearing in a sea of blue flames next to him. Sonja let out another little exclamation.
"Don't worry, Sonja," Stocke said. "We'll get you away out of there. Just keep your cool, okay? I think that thing gets stronger if you start to freak out."
His words did not have the intended effects. Sonja struggled harder against her captor's grip, and the black tendrils tightened against her. "What is that thing? Get it off me!" she screamed. "What are you?"
She looked at the mist behind her, and gasped when a pair of golden eyes suddenly appeared to meet her horrified gaze.
You want to change it, don't you? a soft, lovely voice resounded through the peaceful quietness of the room. You want to believe in my lies... I can see it in your heart…
"W-What lies?" Sonja said. Her voice was desperately tiny—childlike, even.
The words left Stocke's mouth before he could even think to stop them. "Sonja, your brother is gone. He's been dead for more than two years. Don't you remember?" He tried to sound soothing, gentle, but a hint of desperation still crept into his tone.
Sonja's eyebrows rose slowly. "What…? No…" She shook her head, her features contorted with disgust. "Stocke, that's a terrible thing to say! Why would you say something like that?"
"But it's true!" Rosch said. He reached out to Sonja with a trembling hand. "I wouldn't want to believe it myself, but it is. Don't listen to that crap! That thing's trying to hurt you!"
"NO!" Sonja cried out. She screwed her eyes shut and hugged her small frame. "Stop it! Go away! Just… just leave me alone!"
The clear, sunny sky outside of the window turned pitch black. The room seemed to shrink, the air growing heavy and oppressive. The family portraits and drawings hanging on the walls twisted and blackened, the pictures scorched by an unseen flame. And once again, the shadow on the wall was lost in a deepening black mist.
The wind rose once more, sending the flowerpots smashing on the floor and on the walls. Stocke would have fallen off his feet if not for Baldr's timely intervention. Stocke desperately clung to his Persona's extended arm, feeling the guardian's innate heat through the layers of his uniform. Rosch was not so lucky; he had barely made back to his feet when he was knocked down again. Stocke could see him twisting in pain on the ground.
"Rosch!" Stocke could not say more; the force of the wind was making him dizzy. He could barely see the mist dissipating from around Sonja. Squinting his eyes, he managed to make out the outlines of her Shadow. With a jolt, he realized that it was even more enormous than Rosch's Shadow had been.
The wind finally fell, and Stocke's mouth went dry when he saw what it left in its wake. Sonja's Shadow was completely draped in black cloth. Its hands were pressed together in a mockery of a prayer, her arms gleaming silver; they appeared more like the metallic limbs of a robot rather than something belonging to a living being. Beneath its veil, the Shadow's hair was longer than the length of its own body and black as night. It fell in loose strands over its shoulders, except for a few locks that writhed around Sonja, holding her limp body a few feet above the ground. Sonja's eyes were closed. She only seemed to be sleeping peacefully.
Rosch's anguished scream tore through the room. "No! She's not… she's not…"
A few figures materialized in front of Rosch's fallen form, and soon a dozen masked Shadows in lab coats and nurse uniforms were taking shambling steps towards him. Stocke's heart skipped a beat.
"Baldr!" Stocke commanded. "Protect him, quick!" Stocke himself ran as quickly as he could behind the Persona. Baldr glided towards the closest purple-masked Shadow, Stocke silently ordering him to stop its advance with a spell. As the heat of the explosion filled the room, Stocke slid to Rosch's side, heart pounding in his ribcage.
"You okay?" Stocke asked Rosch as he helped him back to his feet.
"Yeah," Rosch panted. "I'm good…" He flinched as a Shadow in front of them burst in flames. "How… how can we get to her?"
"I'll have to take care of the small fry, first," Stocke said, jutting his chin at the assembly of lesser Shadows standing between them and Sonja. "You must be still weak from the previous fight, so don't push yourself too hard—"
"Dammit, Stocke!" Rosch growled. "I've got one of these Persona things too. I can fight! I just don't know how!"
Stocke clapped him on the back. "I can't help you there. I dunno how mine works most of the time." Rosch gave him an incredulous look as Stocke shot him a wry grin. "Call on the powers of your heart or whatever."
Stocke's smile flittered away as quickly as it had come. Despite all of his best efforts, Baldr could not evade the onslaught of grasping, clawed hands. For every creature he cut down, another sprung out from the black material that veiled Sonja's Shadow from head to toe. The effort was soon too much for Stocke's already weakened body; he grunted in pain and his knees buckled from under him. Rosch caught him before he fell.
Another burst of wind gusted at Stocke and Rosch, and Baldr leaped forward to shield them from the brunt of the assault. Stocke's head was swimming. The pain was so intense he only wanted to close his eyes and—
"Stocke!" he could hear Rosch's voice shouting in his ears. Stocke could barely make out his friend's features from the blur in front of his eyes. Darkness swirled by the edge of his vision. "Dammit, Stocke, your Persona just disappeared! What do we do?! Stay with me, dammit! Stocke! STOCKE!"
Dark shapes loomed over the two of them. Stocke opened cracked lips, but only a small hiss escaped his mouth. Am I going to die?
He had died, once. It hadn't been that painful… He only needed to close his eyes and—
"Get the hell away from us!" Rosch was yelling. "You won't get him! Get lost!"
A hundred sets of claws rose above their heads, before coming down in a blur of black and white. Stocke could feel Rosch's rib cage shaking as his friend roared.
Blue light burst in front of them, bright like a midday sky. An armoured figure rose amidst a circle of lightning crackling on the ground. The red knight pushed back the incoming attackers with its shield and knocked them down with its lance. The creatures fizzed out of existence, leaving only Rosch's Persona—Tyr, yes, that was his name—standing alone within the now vanishing black fog.
"I did it!" Stocke heard Rosch say. "C'mon, now go get Sonja! Quick! Quick!"
Stocke weakly focused on the red figure soaring up above, its crimson standing in stark contrast to the deepening darkness of Sonja's Shadow. Black tendrils shot forward from under the Shadow's veil, sharp and thin as the edge of a sword. Rosch screamed as dozens of blades stabbed Tyr, but the Persona pushed onward, not stopping until it had impaled the main body of the Shadow with its lance.
With a screech, the creature retracted its long tendrils back to its body. Stocke could see the black locks slithering away from Sonja's torso. She gave the slightest of frowns as her body began to slide downward.
Rosch howled as her limp form plummeted to the ground. Tyr pulled out his lance from the greater Shadow and bolted towards Sonja. She was a hair's breadth away from a nasty crash that would have definitely crushed her skull when he scooped her with his arm, halting her fall. Rosch choked down a cry as the Persona glided over to them, carrying Sonja in a tight, but tender embrace.
It took all the strength Stocke still had to break out of his friend's hold so the Persona could lay Sonja in Rosch's lap.
"S-She's not moving," Rosch panted. "D-dammit, is she… is she…?"
At the sound of Rosch's voice, Sonja knitted her brows, a little whine escaping her lips. Warmth pooled in Stocke's gut; he had never been so happy to see someone's frown.
Rosch's cheeks were glistening with tears. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…"
Their happiness was short-lived. A sudden burst of wind sent ripples along the Shadow's cloak and chills down Stocke's spine. From the black fabric crawled out more monstrous nurses and doctors. Rosch let out a scrambled curse.
Sonja's eyes fluttered open. "W-What… what's going on? What… what are these… things?"
Stocke breathed in and out, slowly, trying to find the right words. "Nothing you should worry about," he managed despite his dizziness. "Rosch and me, we'll take care of it…"
"Yeah," Rosch trailed off. Sweat poured off his brow, mingling with the trails of tears along his cheeks. In front of him, Tyr dropped into a defensive stance, his large shield propped forward. Despite his size, he seemed dwarfed by the sheer amount of Shadows crawling towards him. "We'll... we'll do that."
Sonja looked at Stocke, narrowing her eyes. "Stocke can… Stocke can… heal us…" she mumbled.
"Wait, what?" Rosch said. "Whaddya mean, heal us?"
Sonja licked cracked lips. "Dia… yes, the name of the spell is… Dia…"
"Dia…" Stocke repeated in a murmur.
At the sound of the word, Baldr flared to life by his side with the sharp snap of breaking glass. A soft purple light enveloped Stocke, and a sudden warmth spread through his limbs. With a gasp, Stocke sprang forward. His vision was clearer than ever, and the ache weighing down his body was finally gone.
His heart gave a start as he heard Rosch choked back a yelp. Tyr was fighting to hold back the horde of Shadows, but he was faltering. Soon, his defenses would fail…
"Baldr!" Stocke commanded. "Cast Dia on him, too!"
The purple light surrounded Rosch. Stocke watched as his friend's shoulders squared and his spine straightened. Mouth gaping, Rosch looked at Stocke, his eyes cleared of the haze of fatigue and pain that had been plaguing him since he'd fought his own Shadow. "What the hell?!" he said to Stocke. "You can do that?!"
Stocke gave a weak smile. "Apparently." His head still ached slightly. "But I think I'm spent when it comes to spells."
Rosch's own face broke into a wavering grin as Tyr skewered the lesser Shadows with renewed vigour. "Alright! We'll just beat them up, then!"
Sonja stirred in Rosch's hold. "They're… they're weak to physical attacks, anyway…"
"Wait, what?" Rosch replied, sounding slightly bemused. "Like bashing in their skulls and stuff? How do you know that?" He then snorted. "Well, who cares? Let's get this over with!"
Despite the cold fear still flowing through his veins, Stocke answered with a determined "Yeah!"
The two red-clad Personas rose together and swept through the assembly of Shadows with their weapons, slashing and stabbing every creature that was unfortunate enough to crosstheir path. Rosch's roars of encouragement grew in intensity and confidence as more and more enemies dissolved into black mist, giving high-pitched screeches as their forms twisted in pain before disappearing.
Stocke wished he could share his friend's optimism. The shambling nurses and doctors fell to Baldr and Tyr's blows like flies, yet they kept on coming. And worst of all, Sonja's Shadow continued to loom over the whole of the room, its veil fluttering as if caught on an imperceptible wind. Sonja's breathing was erratic, and her face was white as bone. She was not watching the fight; it quickly dawned on Stocke that she would not even look in the general direction of her Shadow.
Of course, Stocke realized. It's obvious… how could have I been so blind? His chest clenched painfully as he recalled what the twins' words.
Much like a Persona, a Shadow comes from someone's heart, Lippti had said. To defeat a Shadow, you must first gain the assistance of the person from whom it was borne. Once they claim the Shadow as their own, its powers can be nullified.
Rosch had grown to accept the death of his dreams; how could Stocke convince Sonja to come back to a world where her beloved brother was gone?
Stocke inhaled deeply before he could find the strength to address Sonja. "Hey," he called out to her. "Sonja." She reacted a bit to her name, but did not move. "Sonja, look at me."
Both of Sonja and Rosch's gazes fell upon Stocke.
"Sonja, that thing…"
Sonja hugged her knees to her chest. "This is… this is just a nightmare… I'll wake up and this will all be…"
"No, Sonja," Stocke said gently. "This isn't a dream. This monster's real. And we need your help to defeat it."
"What…?" Rosch began but Stocke shushed him with a look.
"I'm sorry, Sonja," Stocke continued, "but Rowan's dead. I know you remember it." And how could she not? Rowan had wasted away for a good six months before the chemo and the transfusions and the marrow transplants had finally failed him. It was hard, sometimes, to think of the man and not see the bag of bones he'd become toward the end. Stocke was ashamed to admit what little he remembered of Sonja's brother faded a bit more with each passing month. It wouldn't be long, now, and he would not even remember the man's voice.
Is it going to be the same when I die…?
Sonja shook her head; the movement was so slight Stocke almost didn't see it. "Stop saying such horrible things, Stocke. Stop it."
"Stocke…" Rosch said warningly.
Stocke ignored him. "That thing doesn't want you to remember, Sonja. And it's not doing this out of the goodwill of its heart. Listen to me. It's hard, but I know you can do it."
He could not see the large Shadow's eyes from under the veil—did it have eyes to begin with?—but he knew the creature was watching him closely. Any moment now, it would realize the threat posed by his words—
With a shrill cry, the veiled Shadow went on the offensive. More black shapes oozed out its cloak, rushing forward to claw at Baldr and Tyr. The long tendrils of the Shadow's hair snapped at the two Personas like wire-thin whips, the sharp edges biting through Baldr's uniform and Tyr's armour. Stocke was biting down a cry of pain when he noticed the light flaring under Sonja's Shadow.
"It's about to cast a spell—" Stocke shouted, but it was too late. A violent gale tore through the room. Stocke ground his teeth together as Baldr endured, but Rosch and Tyr were not so fortunate. The armoured Persona was blown away, his large form breaking and scattering in a thousand bits of light. Rosch's hold on Sonja slackened, and he slumped on the ground, wheezing.
Sonja gave a little sound of distress. Stocke dropped to his knees to check on the two of them. "Rosch! You alright, there?"
Rosch's gaze was unfocused, but he managed a grin for Stocke. "'S fine. Never been better."
"Wind spells," Stocke heard Sonja say in a weak voice. "Garu… you're not good against Garu spells, Rosch."
Once again, Rosch gaped at her. "What's Garu? How do you know that?"
Stocke didn't care how or why Sonja knew that. Now, only Baldr remained to protect them from the ever-growing numbers of smaller Shadows, and Stocke knew his Persona's strength was starting to falter.
"Sonja," he said, "do the Shadows have weaknesses too?"
Sonja bit down her lip; Stocke realized she did not want to look at the creatures. Of course she wouldn't, Stocke thought, disgusted with couldn't begin to imagine the shame and loathing Rosch and Sonja must have felt at the sight of these things. I wouldn't last ten seconds against my own Shadow...
"It's…" The words were said so softly Stocke could barely hear them. "It's lightning. She's weak against lightning. Zio."
"Lightning?" Stocke said. His heart was pounding in his ears. All his hopes were going down the drain. "Baldr can't cast lightning spells."
"But Tyr can," said Rosch. He gently pushed Sonja into Stocke's arms. "I'll take care of this. I'm tired of being so damn useless."
"Rosch—" Stocke began.
"I know what you're gonna say, man," Rosch replied. "And I'm gonna prove you right." He rose to his feet and shouted, "Tyr! Give 'em hell!"
In a flash of blue, the red knight was back, twirling his great lance in one hand with a dexterity that Stocke wouldn't have thought possible of one so huge. The smell of ozone filled the air. Arcs of lightning sprang from the weapon, racing down the length of the room. The blue energy caught the Shadow in the chest, sending bolts of azure across its body. Stocke could see the light reflecting in Sonja's widening eyes as her Shadow twisted in pain.
While Tyr prepared another spell, Baldr hacked and slashed every Shadow that tried to approach him. Amidst the noises of battle, Stocke heard a soft sob. He looked down at Sonja, an invisible hand squeezing his heart.
"That thing," she said softly. "I created it, didn't I? This is all happening because I can't get a grip on myself."
Stocke shook his head. "You did nothing wrong. It's not your fault."
Sonja's Shadow let out a shrill wail as another bolt came down on its now writhing form.
"It's been so long!" Sonja whispered. "I thought I'd already gone through this. Why can't everything just go back to normal? It's been long enough. I've got other things to worry about, like keeping up good grades and doing good on the entrance exams and—" She made a small noise of disgust. "I can't spare any time to go through the motions again. It's been long enough."
Stocke had nothing to say. Back when he lived in Granorg, he'd been filled with so much rage and shame (and fear, yes, though back then, he wouldn't have admitted it in a thousand years) that he'd often felt like nothing else could squeeze in - not the things he'd learn at school, not the simple everyday joys he'd often taken for granted, nothing. He could not count the numbers of times the teachers had called his mother, griping to her about his grades and how inattentive he was in class and have you considered therapy?
"Give it some time," was all Stocke could think of. "You've been doing great." Is that the best I can do? Spout that kind of inane crap at her…?
"I've worked on my grief." Now Sonja sounded angry. "I did everything I was told to do. So why am I still stuck in Stage 1?"
"I don't know," Stocke said, and it was true. "I've wondered the same thing myself."
Somehow, his words seemed to have struck a chord within her. Sonja looked up at him, her lips slightly parted. Stocke could almost see the cogs grinding in her head.
"Me too!" Rosch shouted to them, panting. Throughout Stocke's conversation with Sonja, Tyr had battled with the horde of Shadows. It seemed to Stocke that their numbers were dwindling. "I'm the same! I mean, sometimes I feel like I've made some progress, but then it turns out that I've just gone back two steps."
"Me too," Stocke echoed Rosch's words. "You've done better than I would have done in your shoes, in any case."
"Yeah!" Rosch agreed. "You're the smartest, nicest, prettiest girl I've ever met! You'll get through this! I know you will!"
Sonja was silent for a moment. Then she said, "Stocke… can you help me up?"
"Of course." He supported her as she rose to her feet. Stocke remained close as she wobbled towards her Shadow. She barely flinched when Baldr dispatched the last nurse with a quick jab. She waited until the black mist was fully gone before finally raising her eyes to the veiled creature standing before her.
"I guess I've been lying to myself all this time, haven't I?" Sonja said. "I'm just so… tired." She sighed. "Last year—and the one before that, too—well, everything was just horrible. I just couldn't do anything right… it felt as if just getting out of bed was enough to drain all of my energy. I thought that maybe if I just shoved everything behind me and pretended it wasn't there, it would help. I thought it would make me able to function normally." She looked a little contrite. "It was just too much to ask, huh?"
Stocke shrugged. "I wouldn't know."
"Me neither," Rosch said. "But maybe you're just too hard on yourself."
"Maybe," Sonja said. She looked at the Shadow, her expression part resentment, part defiance. "I miss my brother and I wish he was back. There, I said it. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
There was silence, then: But… don't you want to change it? The Shadow's voice was gentle, sorrowful.
"I can't, now, can I?" Sonja said. She pinched the bridge of her nose and inhaled deeply. "Even if I wish things were different a thousand times over, it won't change anything. I can only go forward." A funny little smile played on her lips. "Even if it means taking detours to get where I want."
"Exactly!" Rosch said. "It doesn't matter how long it takes you as long as you get there. I would know. I've been taking things slow enough myself."
Sonja patted his shoulder with a fond look. She then turned to face her Shadow, her lips drawn in a thin line.
"It's funny, isn't it?" she said. "If I apologize to you, I guess it's as if I apologize to myself. So… I'm sorry."
Already the Shadow was bathed in a soft blue glow. For a moment, the glare grew so intense that Stocke found himself squinting. Finally, the light diminished.
Sonja's Persona was dressed in flowing white robes that were cinched at the waist with a red corset inlaid with bronze trimming. Her face was covered by a veil held in place by a gleaming circlet. Instead of hair, her head was covered by roots tumbling down her shoulders and back. Flowers and leaves were weaved through the wooden tresses. Her hands met together in front of her heart, clasped in silent prayer. Her arms gave a metallic sheen as sunlight caught on her bronze skin.
"Hlín..." Sonja breathed as the figure scattered in hundreds of bits of light. She spun her feet to look at Stocke and Rosch. She seemed so giddy Stocke couldn't help but smile back at her. She was giggling when her legs gave away under her.
Both Stocke and Rosch leaped to catch her before she fell. Tears were coming out of Sonja's eyes, but she continued to laugh. Soon, even Rosch was letting out a few tired chuckles.
The three of them sat huddled on the floor, Sonja seated between her two friends. Stocke's gaze never left Sonja and Rosch as the two cried and laughed themselves to a stupor. At the edges of his vision, something shimmered. Stocke swept a glance over his surroundings; the hospital room was gone. Instead, he found only the high counters and sinks of the school science labs. Everything was back to normal.
Sonja grabbed Stocke's arm, humming softly as she brought him and Rosch into a hug. Stocke was relieved to see she had stopped crying.
"Thanks, guys. I always knew I could count on you both."
"Of course you can," Stocke said, just as Rosch exclaimed, grinning, "Hell yeah, you can!"
There was a hint of something mischievous gleaming in Sonja's eyes. "Prettiest, huh?"
Rosch turned scarlet. "Of all the crap we said, that's the thing you bring up?"
"Let a girl have her moment, Rosch," Sonja said, giving him a coy look. Stocke pointedly looked away. Poor Rosch looks like he wants to crawl under the floor. And of course she was enjoying every second of it.
Before Stocke could attempt an escape, the door slid open. Fennel, the science teacher, wheeled himself in, stopping to gape at the three teenagers sitting under the window by his desk.
"What on earth?" the man said, pushing his glasses up his big, potato-shaped nose. He was the oldest of the faculty, with a bald head that shone with sweat and a double chin that wobbled every time he talked. "Ms. Silverberg, Mr. Stocke, what are you doing? Sitting on the floor is hardly proper lab protocol." He hadn't recognized Rosch, of course. It was known among the student body that Fennel didn't remember the names of most of his students; only those who happened to be in his advanced courses had this dubious honour.
Stocke didn't know how to answer. Next to him, Sonja gave a little wheeze, then a giggle. It didn't take long for her to be lost in laughter again.
"Is there…" Fennel began, "is there something wrong? Why is she laughing?"
Rosch was still red as a fire hydrant. Sonja was making these cute little snorts as she laughed. Stocke looked quickly from one to the other and concluded he'd have to take control of the situation. He hoisted Sonja up to her feet and turned to address Fennel.
"She's been feeling pretty beat up these days," Stocke told him. "The upcoming exams worked up her nerves a bit, I think."
Rosch stood up as well. "Yeah! Yeah, that's it!"
"Heehee!" Sonja said. "Y-Yes, w-with some r-rest, I'll b-be fine."
"Sorry for bothering you, sir," Stocke said. He then murmured to Sonja's ear, "Let's get you home before the guy thinks you're high on some illicit substance."
Outside the labs, everything seemed to be the same as usual. Classes were over for the day, but the occasional straggling student or staff member still roamed the school. They gave strange looks to the trio standing with linked arms in the hallway outside the labs. Stocke didn't care. From the windows, the late afternoon sun shone brightly, bathing the school courtyard in a warm glow. And nowhere in sight could a Shadow be found.
A part of Stocke wanted nothing more to go back home and lay down in bed for a well-earned rest, homework be damned. The other part… well, he wasn't so sure, but it seemed to be content with just standing there with a blissfully stupid smile.
"You two," Sonja said, squeezing both of their arms, "you're both coming with me. I'm so gonna buy you dinner."
"Sonja—" Rosch said.
"Tut-tut!" Sonja cut him off. "Where would you like to go?"
"If you let Rosch choose," Stocke said, "we're gonna end up at the cheapest hamburger stand on the block."
Sonja scrounged up her nose—she was one for salads and tofu. "Well, if that's what he wants…"
"Dammit, she really is serious!" Rosch said with a grin. "Who knew that a narrow escape from death would be the thing to make her fall under the sway of evil fast food corporations?"
Sonja swatted Rosch's arm, but she was smiling. "I'm encouraging them just this one time. I'm not making a habit out of this, not even for you."
Stocke snorted. These two were dumb, sometimes. Most of the time, even. "That's fine by me," he said. "I wouldn't mind a hot-dog or two."
Stocke didn't even really like hot-dogs; he just knew he'd be happy to eat about anything if it meant being with these two.
Author's notes: I must really thank quicksilver-ink for making this chapter less of a mess. Oof, why is English so hard...?