"To find the one true path, one must seek guidance amidst uncertainty."

Nyx Avatar, Persona 3

Their little group decided to meet up in Rosch's place, a sense of shame smothering all manner of conversation as they headed out of Kiel's school. Stocke sat next to Rosch as his friend drove; his jaw was set tight, and there was a hint of something cold, something frightening even, in his usually kind blue eyes. In the seat behind them, Sonja was quietly sobbing. Raynie was rubbing her back to comfort her. Still, Stocke sensed that she herself was barely keeping her emotions in check; he felt as if Raynie was just waiting to be alone so she could scream and let all of her rage pour out. As for Marco—

Stocke felt a chill down his spine. Marco had not said a word since he had climbed into Rosch's car. His face showed no emotion, and he held his body in a stiff, unsettling way. Somehow, the blank look in his eyes seemed more wrong in Stocke's opinion than Rosch's horrified silence or Raynie's anger. Through the rearview mirror, Stocke sent him a worried glance. Marco was staring at the passing scenery, seemingly unaware of his friends' distress.

Thankfully, Rosch's parents were not home, and so they made for his room without anybody asking awkward question. Sonja let out a sniff as she sat down on Rosch's bed, but otherwise her eyes were now dry. Next to her, Raynie was clenching her fists, looking like she was struggling to keep herself from shouting at the top of her lungs. Rosch went to look at the cityscape through his window. He seemed as if he was staring toward something far away without seeing what was really in front of his eyes.

A thick silence hung in the air for a while. Finally, Sonja spoke, very quietly, "Why kids? Why does the Black Chronicle only target schoolchildren?"

"Who knows?" Raynie said, spatting out the words like a curse. "I bet it's because that guy who stole it is a goddamn coward. It's easier to hurt children, isn't it? Since they can't fight back and all."

"That must be it," Sonja said. "Children are more vulnerable." She buried her face in her hands. "How… how vile."

"Dammit!" cried Raynie. "It's almost like that sonuvabitch is taunting us, y'know? What a piece of shit! I swear when I get my hands on him, I'll—"

"What are we gonna do?" Marco interrupted her, his voice strangely void of any intonation. "When we'll catch him, I mean. What are we gonna do then?"

"Well, we'll make him pay, the rotten bastard—" Raynie sputtered.

"How?" said Marco. "It's not like we can drag him to a court of law after we catch him. How can we prove that he's behind all those weird comas? Are people seriously gonna believe that soul-sucking monsters were involved in the whole thing?"

His words were followed with more silence. Then, Raynie said, "What are we supposed to do? We can't exactly let 'im go with just a slap on the write, can we?"

Rosch was looking at Marco. He frowned slightly, but still said nothing.

"Of course not," Marco said, decisively.

"We can always go to the police," Sonja proposed. "It's not too late. Maybe it would be for the best, really."

"And pass for a couple of lunatics?" Raynie said, incredulous. "Marc's right, they're never gonna believe us!"

"Then what?" Rosch finally said. His voice was even colder than Marco's. "When we get our hands on him, what next?"

Marco met Rosch's gaze unflinchingly. A moment later, the younger boy turned his gaze toward Stocke. The latter struggled to not let any of his discomfort show.

"We don't have a lot of options, do we, Stocke?" said Marco. "It's up to us, now. We gotta do this. For Kiel's sake. And for…" His eyes were strange, their dark depths empty of their usual warmth. "And for Mimel's."

Stocke's mouth had gone dry. Despite a growing sense of horror, he found himself saying, "Of course. You're right." He ignored the look of distress Sonja sent him and tried not to think of how Rosch had nodded in approval at his words. "We can't let him get away with this. We have to take things into our own hands. It's the only way."

He hoped that they would remain unaware of how hollow his words rang.

The next day was Saturday. Stocke greeted the cold grey November morning with even less enthusiasm than usual, so little in fact that his mother immediately asked him what was wrong during breakfast. Throat tight, Stocke told her that Rosch's cousin was in the hospital. As he'd expected, she reached out across the table to squeeze his hand, while Eruca blurted out a series of questions, clearly freaking out. Stocke answered her interrogation half-heartedly, and thankfully she soon stopped. He left not long afterwards, telling his mom and sister that he had something planned with his friends. Something, of course, that involved breaking into a monster-infested school, which was certainly not the wholesome activity Stocke had described to Sophia.

Still, on the outside Alma Middle School looked nothing like the twisted hellscape Stocke knew it truly was. The courtyard was covered in white, and a lone snowman was guarding the school gate, its face melting into an eerie grin. Still, the hair on the back of Stocke's neck stood on end. Occasionally, a dark shape would materialize to peer curiously at the five teenagers waiting in front of the school. The Shadows seemed to pay them little mind, but Stocke did not let his guard down. These creatures had attacked a defenceless boy and left him to be tormented by never-ending nightmares.

"So," began Rosch, "what are we waiting for? Let's see what's up with those bastards."

"You're sure you're okay with this?" Sonja asked him. "You can always sit this one out and get some rest. Kiel is your cousin, after all, it's understandable if—"

"I'm fine," Rosch said gruffly. "I wanna get to the bottom of this. And make whoever's responsible pay."

"Yeah!" said Raynie, as Marco nodded grimly beside her. "Let's get this asshole!"

"Alright," Stocke said. "Just be careful, everyone. I've got a bad feeling about this."

Sonja sighed, and behind her came the shimmering form of Hlín. Soon, Stocke felt a strange pulling sensation, as if an invisible force was tugging on his guts. As always, the transition to the Shadows' dimension left him somewhat nauseous. The ambient lighting seemed to have grown dizzyingly brighter, the pale grey sky now sporting an eerie greenish hue. The shadows on the ground had deepened to darker shade of black; they twisted and shrank and grew, disregarding all laws of light and physics.

Stocke breathed deeply as he took his first step toward the school. Behind him, the sound of snow crunching under boots told him his friends were closely following him. Usually, their presence would have given him a boost of confidence. Now, he wasn't so sure.

Inside the school, Stocke's surroundings very much reminded him of the Shadows' distorted version of St. Noah's High. Flyers on the walls showed harsh scribbles rather than text and pictures, while the lights flickered ominously. Again, a strange black ooze bled from the shadowed corners of the school entrance; some of the stuff even dripped from the ceiling, making Raynie swear loudly.

Through the gloom, several pairs of golden eyes were watching Stocke and his friends. The lesser Shadows still appeared as black, misshaped lumps. Soon, however, their mist-like forms fluttered in the air, taking humanoid shapes. Now, three soldiers with silver masks were pointing guns at them. Bright halos shone above their heads and small wings quivered behind their backs.

Behind the soldiers, however, there was a tank.

"Holy shit!" exclaimed Raynie. "It's about to—"

She never had the time to finish her sentence. An ear-shattering boom tore through the room, and Stocke had all of one second to see what seemed to be a large projectile made of pure light hurtling toward them. Sonja and Marco both screamed, but thankfully Tyr sprang into existence, jumping in front of everyone to take the brunt of the impact. Still, Rosch himself was knocked off his feet. As Tyr dissipated, he began to pant heavily, obviously winded out by his stunt.

"The Shadows!" Sonja suddenly shouted, startling Stocke. "They're about to shoot, watch out!"

Stocke grit his teeth, grabbing the arm of the person nearest to him—Marco, in that case—and dragging the both of them out of the Shadows' field of vision. As the bullets flew by him—far too close for comfort—he was relieved to see his friends rushing inside the locker room after him. Still, Rosch and Sonja's faces were twisting in pain, and Stocke dimly realized that they were sharing their Personas' agony.

"What now?" Raynie said, after the hail of bullets was over. "How are we supposed to be beat those things?"

"M-Magic," stuttered Sonja. "T-That's your best bet."

"I'll provide cover," added Rosch. "Marco, you think you can give me a boost in defense?"

"S-Sure can," said Marco. He was trembling from head to toe, and Stocke could spy tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

"Right," said Stocke. "Raynie, you're with me."

She flashed him a bright grin. "Yep! I've got your back!"

Tyr and Byggvir reappeared not long afterwards, the former being enveloped by a bright light as Marco cast his defense-boosting spell. Tyr then soared out of the locker room; hiding behind a corner, Stocke saw that he was facing the gun-toting Shadows head-on. The creatures opened fire, but their projectiles—also made of light, it seemed—now bounced harmlessly on Tyr's shield. Still, sweat beaded on Rosch's brow, and Stocke knew his friend would not hold for much longer.

"Raynie!" Stocke called out. "Now!"

Both Baldr and Sigrún appeared in a scatter of blue light, before flying toward Tyr. Stocke felt the power coursing through him when Baldr swept his sword, setting his enemies on fire. The creatures screeched as the flames, fanned by Sigrún's helpful wind spell, burned them to a crisp.

And now, only the tank remained.

"Aw, c'mon!" cried out Raynie. "How fair is it that a Shadow can turn into that? How are my Garu spells s'posed to do anything?"

At the same moment, there was another deflagration. Stocke's breath caught in his throat as the great ball of light barrelled toward Tyr. To his great surprise, however, there was a blast of green light, and the projectile was pushed off course by an invisible force, hitting the wall with a great crash that reverberated in Stocke's bones.

"Oh," Raynie said simply. Next to Tyr, Sigrún was twirling her spear in a cocky way. "I guess my wind spells ain't totally useless against that thing."

Stocke could not help but return Raynie's smile. "C'mon. Let's kick its ass before it fires another of those things."

"You got it!"

The poor tank never stood a chance. The force of Sigrún's Garu spell sent it flying, where it was soon caught in a pillar of fire brought about by Baldr. For good measure, Tyr then called lightning down its twisted, blackened form. All that was now left was a cloud of dust as dark as soot.

Stocke moved out of the locker room, Raynie letting out a whooping cheer as she sauntered after him. Still, Stocke soon realized he could not share her relief; within the haze, a few lengths away, he could see a figure moving.

"There's still something else!" he shouted, holding up his arm to stop his other friends from advancing.

Sonja gasped. "It's not a Shadow! It's a Persona!"

Immediately, Stocke willed his Persona forward. Heart pounding, he found himself racing behind Baldr, even though the logical part of his brain was screaming at him to stay put.

The mysterious figure raised his arms in front of him, as if he was frightened by the Persona now barreling toward him. Forseti! an unknown voice suddenly filled Stocke's head. It was enough to stop Baldr in his tracks. Help me!

Stocke skidded to a halt. In the gloom ahead, he could see the unknown figure moving back slightly. Before Stocke could react, however, he heard the telltale sound of glass breaking. He opened his mouth to warn his friends, but then a light flared, brighter and hotter than any of Baldr's flames. Stocke squeezed his eyes shut to shield himself from the glare, but it was too little, too late. He screamed as a sudden pain burned through his body. Under him, his feet gave away, and he fell to his knees, shaking from the agony.

"Stocke!" he heard someone shouting from the distance. "STOCKE!"

Stocke could not move a muscle, could not utter a word. He had gotten limp as a ragdoll when he felt someone hoisting him up to his feet.

"Get out of there!" a feminine voice cried out. "It's about to do one of these light attacks again!"

Two people were carrying Stocke back toward the entrance; he himself was so weak his feet just dragged along the ground. A groan of pain escaped Stocke's mouth they rushed out of the school, the daylight hurting his sensitive eyes. Snowflakes were falling lazily from the sky and melting on Stocke's cheeks. They had gone back to the real world, he realized belatedly.

"Let's get you out of here, buddy," Rosch's voice sounded from Stocke's left. "You stay with me, you hear?"

"Sonja, can you heal him?" asked Raynie. She was the other person helping Stocke to his feet, it seemed.

"Yes, yes, give me a moment!" came Sonja's panicked reply. They were heading toward the parking lot where Rosch's car was faithfully waiting. Or at least, so Stocke believed; it was hard to form coherent thoughts in his current state.

Thankfully, a soft green light embraced Stocke, and a sense of relief as welcome as rain in the desert came washing over him. Not long after, his vision had cleared up. Yes, Stocke's friends were moving toward a certain pick-up truck. The five of them rushed inside, only pausing to gather their breath when Rosch locked the doors.

"Did anyone follow us?" Marco asked in a shaking, high-pitched voice. "I didn't think to look behind me…"

"No," answered Sonja. "Whoever it was, they stayed behind inside the school."

"Then, let's get the hell outta here!" said Rosch.

"Wait!" said Raynie. "Aren't you overreacting? That was a Persona, right? That might be our guy!"

"You don't understand," whispered Sonja, "that wasn't just a Persona. There were two of them."

"Two Personas?" said Marco.

"Two Personas," Sonja confirmed. "And one of them nearly killed Stocke with just one attack!"

"Holy shit," said Raynie. "That light attack thingie was that powerful?"

Stocke winced, clutching at his chest. His head seemed about to burst, and he was still short of breath. He was starting to realize with astounding clarity that he was about to faint.

"Stocke is in no condition to fight right now," Sonja said sternly. "Rosch, get us to safety, please!"

It was the last thing that Stocke heard for a while; a comforting darkness came to claim him then, and he did nothing to fight it.

Still, Stocke came to his senses not long afterwards. Immediately, his friends bombarded him with words of concern and (almost hysterical) inquiries, so much that he almost wished to go back to unconsciousness. When Rosch, still at the wheel, asked him where they should go now, Sonja butted in, cutting off Stocke before he could answer.

"Wherever we go now, Stocke is not coming with us," she said. "He needs to go back home to get some rest."

"'m fine," Stocke muttered. "I'm not made of glass."

Sonja scowled. "Didn't you hear a word of what I said back there? That Persona nearly killed you! Whoever it was, they're a great deal more dangerous than anything we've faced so far!"

"Is it the same Persona as from before?" asked Marco.

"No," said Sonja, "it's not."

Rosch suddenly put on the breaks, giving everyone a start. Stocke groaned, massaging his temples. That hadn't helped his current headache…

"Wait, wait, wait, hold on!" Raynie held up her hands in the air. "You mean to tell me that there's like three different Personas running around the place? And we know nothing about these guys?"

"Well, I kinda heard something," Marco blurted out. "I mean, before Stocke got hurt by that light bomb attack, there was this voice—"

"Oh, yeah!" said Raynie. "I heard it too! I thought I'd gone crazy for a sec!"

"Forseti," Stocke muttered. "That's what it said."

Rosch let out a grunt of annoyance. "Who the hell is Forseti anyway?"

By now, they had reached a very familiar neighbourhood. Stocke recognized his house at the end of the road. He frowned. "I haven't said anything about me going home. There's still a lot we need to discuss."

"And the four of us can choose the next course of action while you get better," said Sonja. "We'll keep you up to speed on any new development, don't worry."

Despite Stocke's protests, he was all but pushed out of the car. Head swimming, he wobbled toward the door. As he swung it open, it dawned on him that Sonja was probably (partly) right on that count. He really did feel terrible.

"Hi, Ernst!" he heard his mother call out from the kitchen as he took slow, precautious steps inside the house. "You're already back?"

"Myeah," Stocke mumbled. Somehow, his mind could still not yet process that he had been hurt rather badly not even an hour ago. Still, he knew perfectly well that it was in his better interest to keep his recent brush with death a secret from his mother.

"What's that?" Stocke could hear her coming closer, and he swore under his breath. Soon, Sophia had reached him, raising a hand to touch his face. "You seem a bit peaky, dear. Maybe you've caught a cold?"

"Probably," Stocke said. "It's the right season, after all. I think I'll just take it slow today."

"Good idea! Call me if there's anything you need!"

"Sure," Stocke replied, evading her insistent gaze.

Before she could place another word, he climbed up the stairs and made for his room, again dragging his feet along the way. The moment his head touched his pillow he fell asleep. Still, his nap was dogged by a vague sense of creeping doubt and the haunting pleas of a woman begging for his help. When he woke up, hours later, Stocke still felt as if his head was stuck in a vise. The subject of his nightmares remained fuzzy, annoyingly so. He rose from his bed with a groan, telling himself that a bit of food would probably make him feel better.

Sophia was humming along to the radio as she busied herself in the kitchen. Stocke belatedly noted that it was just past four o'clock; not the time for supper, then.

"Hello, sweetie!" Sophia greeted him. "Are you feeling better now?"

"Yeah," lied Stocke. "What is it that you're making?"

Her eyes glistened with mischief. "O-ho! I knew the smell of my cooking would wake you up! I'm making some soup. Your uncle dumped on us a crapload of butternut squashes from his garden, see?" She pointed to the kitchen counter, where indeed he saw several bright orange gourds. "You feel like helping me with these?"

"Hmm," said Stocke, taking a knife in hand and reaching for the nearest squash. His mother prattled on as they worked, and he found a strange sort of comfort in the sound of her voice. Still, a niggling feeling remained, one that soured this sense of relief. Finally, he gathered his courage to ask the question that had been lying heavily on his mind as of late.

"Mom?" Stocke ventured, not sure of how to broach the subject. "Is there anything about your life that you regret?"

She turned to stare at him, clearly taken aback. "Where does that come from, sweetie?"

"I was just wondering," Stocke said with practised indifference.

Sophie frowned, looking away. "Well, of course I have regrets. Who doesn't? Especially at my age."

"So if you had the chance to redo it all, would you change anything?"

"Well, it's true that… maybe, there are some…" She sighed, shaking her head.

"For example," Stocke said softly, "did you ever regret dropping out of university to have me?"

Sophia opened and closed her mouth in quick succession. "How did you…? Who told you that?"

"It's simple logic. You were in your early twenties when you had me. I knew you went to college in Granorg but never completed your degree. You only finished law school when we moved to Alistel, after all." A surge of affection and pride rose from within Stocke as he thought of his mother—recently divorced and stuck with two young children to raise—struggling to make ends meet while studying to get her diploma. He didn't sing her praises nearly enough, he suddenly realized.

Sophie looked miserably at the ground. "I wanted to take things slowly, you know. Get my degree first before getting married and all. Vic thought otherwise. He kept telling me he would always have enough money to support both of us. Why bother with going through school if I would never need to work anyway?" She gave him a wry grin. "You were a surprise, that's for sure. Your father was ecstatic. He proposed to me the moment I told him I was pregnant. Me on the other hand… well, I freaked out for a bit. I was just in my first year of college, I didn't know what to do. Finally, I said yes… I thought, hey, maybe he was right, maybe I didn't need to worry my pretty little head, maybe I just had to let him take care of everything. That's what my family thought, you know. He had my parents wrapped around his little finger. No wonder they took his side when things got rough."

Stocke ground his teeth together. So his grandparents on both sides of the family were awful. Great. "Yeah. Talk about supportive." A strange sort of melancholy then swept over him. "So, if you hadn't ended up pregnant with me, then…"

"Oh." Sophia cupped Stocke's face with both hands. "Oh, no, no, no, sweetie, don't you dare think that…"

Stocke felt himself smiling. "I haven't said anything, you know."

She pinched his cheek. "But you were thinking it. Oh, Ernst-boy, all the awfulness that happened to us is all your father's doing and none of yours. Hell, for the longest time, I've carted around my own share of guilt over all that sorry business."

"Mom—" Stocke began sharply.

"Don't you worry, I know better now." A hint of wistfulness showed in her eyes. "Back then, your father was charming and wonderful and all that mushy stuff teenage girls say about their crush. Everybody kept telling me what a catch he was, no one knew any better." She snorted. "Well, except for your uncle Heinrich, that is. We had a huge fight about it, you know? I thought he was just throwing a hissy fit because he was jealous. Then, he went and disappeared right before we graduated from high school! He just dropped off the face of the earth without telling us anything. It's silly, but I kinda felt... betrayed. Vic told me he was a weirdo who didn't deserve any of my time and I just…" She sighed, glancing to the side. "Well, I just believed him…"

"He is a weirdo," Stocke said with disarming honesty.

"Definitely," Sophia folded her arms across her chest. "So you see now, kiddo? I've got some regrets, sure, but I've worked through them. I learned to live with my choices. It's not like I can go back and change the past, you know?"

"Yeah," said Stocke. This time, his smile was genuine. Still, it was short-lived; another thought had crossed his mind, one that made his skin crawl in disgust. "Aren't you angry, though? That Dad got away with what he did?"

Her own grin flittered away as well. She seemed unable to answer, and Stocke felt a stab of guilt as he watched the blood drain from her face.

"Does it matter now?" Sophia said, quietly. "He's far away, he can't hurt us anymore. Back then I wanted him to pay, oh, I wanted him to suffer, but now… now if I'd be fine if I could just pretend he doesn't even exist. I just want to live the rest of my life in peace, with you and your sister safe and happy. Is that too much to ask?"

"I don't think so," replied Stocke.

"So maybe that's naïve of me, but I don't care what he's up to, as long as he doesn't bother us anymore. You get what I'm saying?"

"Yeah," Stocke said. "I'm the same." The lie sounded evident to his ears, and he prayed she would not see through his deception.

Sophia squeezed his shoulder. "That's the way to go, honey. I'm glad you were honest with me. I'll always be there if you need to get something off your chest, never forget that."

Stocke nodded, a rising sense of guilt making this usually simple movement painfully stiff. "Okay. Thanks, mom."

"Now, are you helping in the kitchen or what? If you feel like having some delicious soup to bring at school for lunch, then…"

Stocke rolled his eyes in a good-natured manner. "Alright. You had me at delicious soup."