Persona M

by GalacticAttorney

In the medieval ages, the kingdom of Brilan exists under an oppressive caste system. Wymare Thiebaut, a quiet young man with nothing to his name, struggles to live as a member of the Scadarah, the lowest caste. It is on this path that he encounters unexpected allies and discovers an inner strength capable of reversing the world's disastrous fate: the power of Persona.

14. Chapter 14: Braving the Depths

Chapter XIV - Braving the Depths

"You know, there's a phrase in academic research that I've always paid mind to. 'Observe the subject once for your visceral reaction, and once more for your critical analysis.' This may be the strangest scenario that axiom has ever been applied to."

Merliad's eyes swept over the view of Shadow Clerebold's prison camp available to them from the grassy field laid out before its entrance. They drank the sight in with all the enthusiasm an intrigued researcher could muster, their attention flashing from detail to detail as their mind spilled over with theories and questions.

"Not a bad saying. Something you gleaned from one of those old books on magic theory?" Wymare leaned on his axe as he watched the white-haired caster absorb their surroundings, his arms folded over the bottom of the handle while the blade sank into the soil beneath.

"Oh, Gods no," Merliad said, shaking their head. "That was from a lecture on the root principles of qualitative research. Working up to the position of a research fellow at the Mage's Guild starts with the very basics, after all."

"Say, Merliad," Yselt piped up, standing on Wymare's left where Merliad was on his right. "I've noticed you say 'Gods' quite a bit. But here in Brilan, everyone I can think of just says 'Bahamut'. Why is that?"

"Well, that's simple. The platinum dragon this kingdom follows isn't the only deity in the world. At least, not if you were to ask those from the far-off nations Stézar does business with."

Yselt tilted her head to the side, puzzled. "So... they have their own gods? What about the tale of how Bahamut and the Black Bull shaped the world? They don't believe that either?"

"With every pantheon that exists out there, there's a unique story for each element in our world's genesis." Merliad gestured with their sphere-topped staff as they elaborated, and Wymare perceived their movements to emulate those of a professor in the throes of a class. "The only commonality you'll find between all of them is that mankind is the ultimate achievement of the divine - a testament to our self-centered perspective on life. In fact-"

"Sorry, but let's maybe table this very enlightening discussion for another time." Wymare placed a hand on his axe and pushed himself back with it, grabbing the hilt with his other hand and spinning the weapon up to his shoulder. "We have work to do, after all."

"Right," Yselt agreed. She shrugged her shoulders and brought her arms up to stretch, the spiked head of her flail dangling beside her as she held the weapon's handle and chain in her hand. "Our first and only objective is discovering how to reach my brother. Given how his Shadow has presented itself, I think it's a fair assumption to make that he's taken residence up there."

Yselt pointed to the central tower that loomed over the other sentry posts positioned in the far corners of the camp. It seemed rather obvious for that to be where Shadow Clerebold would lurk, Wymare thought. But then again, the supervisor's hidden self seemed to have little love to spare for subtlety.

"You're most likely right," said Merliad. "However, I doubt we'll find it easy to locate the entrance, what with the winding interior of that place. Best to view this as more of a scouting operation than a frontal assault."

"But we're prepared for battle, should it come to that. Right, Wymare?"

Wymare's ruddy eyes looked to Yselt as she spoke his name. At first, he thought her question to be seeking last-minute confirmation of their plan, but something about her expression told him that wasn't the case. It took a second for him to grasp what she meant, but he realized she was subtly inquiring about if his injuries had been healed to completion, a revelation that made him clench his jaw. Maybe Yselt had been more perturbed by how bad he'd looked lying there in the nuns' medical office than he'd thought.

"Yes, of course," Wymare answered after a moment's time. "Don't worry about me. I'm as fired up for this as you are."

His answer seemed to satisfy Yselt, who smiled in response as she let the chain of her flail hang loose before swinging it around to refamiliarize herself with its weight. Despite the plan being to not confront Shadow Clerebold with a direct challenge just yet, embers of the determination Wymare had seen in her eyes two days ago were burning bright within her.

"Very well. In that case, I'll ask that you lead the way."

Wymare's head spun around again, this time regarding the caster beside him with slight surprise. "Huh? Are you sure? I'd thought you might want to explore and take notes ahead of us."

"Much though I'd like to, I don't think that's wise," Merliad replied. "I may have the practical knowledge of this realm, but I'm the least experienced in traversing it between the three of us. Besides, your Persona's power seems... How do I put it? Different somehow. It strikes me as adaptable, and when venturing into unknown territory, a flexible first line would be strategically sound."

"That seems sensible to me," Yselt chimed in. "And don't forget, it was your quick thinking that aided us in defeating that huge Shadow in the cafeteria. If you're okay leading us, Wymare, then I have no objections."

Wymare's thoughts raced for a moment as he was briefly overcome by the responsibility being entrusted to him. True, he'd been filling the position of leader up until then, but he hadn't thought of himself as such. It was more of an instinct, one that flared up when he'd felt the need to ensure the safety of those who found themselves at the mercy of Parallel Brilan. Now that those people were at his side with powers of their own, he hadn't expected them to continue deferring to him.

The more he thought about it, however, he came to realize that such an arrangement wasn't disagreeable to him, either.

"...Alright," Wymare answered after a period of deliberation. "If you're certain, then I'll take point. Yselt, you're behind me. Merliad, I want you in the back so you can cast magic at a distance, should the need arise."

"I won't slow you down," Merliad affirmed with a smirk. Hearing Wymare slip so easily into a tactical frame of mind only solidified their confidence in their decision.

Yselt smiled as well. "Then let's make tracks!"

With that, the team was off, falling in line with Wymare's established marching order as they entered the narrow, dark hallway built past the main entrance. The encroaching shadows of the corridor were alleviated by Merliad producing an enchanted flame from their palm, lighting the way with a dull glow as the three proceeded deeper. The same ethereal sounds of suffering as before drifted past their ears, and although the three's nerves were steeled, they couldn't help but feel a chill run down their spines as the disembodied groans and sobs grew louder the further in they walked.

Before long, they came upon the fork in the path that they had passed through during their last visit, the chairs from Claudas Academy still littered haphazardly about the space. Knowing the path to the right led only to the prison's mess hall, the group followed the route leading left, intent on seeing more of what the depths of Clerebold's mind had to offer.

The first change that Wymare noticed, being the front of the line, was that the sounds of misery were getting louder still now that they were making their way down the left hall. They echoed from somewhere in the compound, bouncing off the brick walls and the metal floor to reach the three Persona-users, and it seemed that this route was taking them in the direction of the source. Wymare tightened his grip on his axe, suspecting that this meant there would be Shadows ahead.

What hadn't changed, however, was the tiresome manner in which the halls of the prison had been constructed. The pathways zigged and zagged from one direction to the next, and the foundation was uneven in several places, slanting to the side or rolling up and down to form small rounded hills in the floor. This made the simple act of progressing a chore, but alone was not enough to deter the party from pressing onward.

Just as Wymare began to feel as though time was blurring more and more with every misshapen hallway they passed through, they rounded a corner to see a straight path with an open doorframe on the left wall at the end. The groaning voices were louder than ever, but more alarming than that was the fact that they were clear. They had been somewhat muffled up until then, almost sourceless in how they echoed through the camp from afar. But now the group heard them as though they were right next to whatever was making them, all but guaranteeing that they had found a location of great importance.

Wymare looked over his shoulder to Yselt and Merliad. The former seemed prepared, though spooked, and the latter was glancing back down the hallway they'd just come through. He thought at first they were checking to ensure they weren't being tailed by anything, but he instead realized they were just studying the bizarre layout of the place. Wymare tapped the metal head of his weapon against the brick wall behind him, getting Yselt and Merliad to look at him as he placed a finger to his lips. They nodded as they grasped what he was communicating, and the team stepped closer to the doorframe as silently as possible, weapons held at the ready.

When the three approached the entryway and stood just behind it to peek into the room beyond, they were astounded to see a truly gargantuan cell block, not dissimilar to the one that stood as a sort of vestibule between the twisted Castle Gornemant and the rest of Clerebold's prison camp. But compared to that one, this holding area was many times larger, with floor after floor of prison cells that lined the walls stretching up to a drab gray ceiling that was several stories above the bottom floor. The area was teeming with dark, withered Shadows that crawled up the walls and shambled about aimlessly, with even more of them sealed away behind the doors of the countless cells, reaching their arms through the bars in a useless grab toward freedom.

"By Bahamut..." Yselt mumbled, staring slack-jawed at the towering cell block. "Look at all those poor Shadows. Just how many of them are in there?"

"Far more than we could handle ourselves, were we to draw their attention," replied Merliad. "They may look emaciated, but they're the same monsters we've seen before on the inside. We must be cautious."

"Hey, look over there." Wymare pointed across the bottom floor of the towering chamber, where a large steel door with an intricate-looking seal was inlaid in the wall on the east side. "That's a rather ornate door for a room such as this. It could hold some significance."

"I think I see more hallways branching off from the higher floors, too," said Yselt. "Maybe they lead to other parts of the camp?"

"Perhaps, but let me reiterate: there are far too many Shadows here. If even a single one sees us, they'll all be on us in moments, and we'll have to either retreat or die trying. If you want to check that door, we need to draw their attention away first."

"Well, I have an idea, then. Let me try something."

As he eased his way into the center of the open doorframe, Wymare readied his axe in his right hand, eyeing one of the less populated floors and how high up it was compared to him. The dirt and grime on the uncleaned floor in his vicinity began to stir as green wind whipped up around his feet, concentrating underneath his clenched fingers. With a few moments of preparation, a ball of turbulent wind had formed around his axe hand, and Wymare lifted his other arm to line up the trajectory before swinging.

The instant the axe left his hand, the wind energy gathered with his Persona abilities exploded forth in a strong, though small, gust that propelled the axe farther and faster than Wymare could manage with his own strength. Spinning so fast that it appeared as little more than a blur, the weapon flew high into the room, eventually finding its target in the railing set up on the side of one of the cell block's higher floors. The metal poles, set up and installed to keep people from falling, caved inward as the axe's blade lodged itself into it, and the Shadows that were present on that floor all immediately snapped their gazes toward the loud sound of bending metal.

As soon as the noise rang out, Wymare willed his axe back to him. The weapon disappeared from the railing in a flourish of blue flame, reappearing in his hand as though it had never left. The three Persona-users watched as the Shadows of that floor let out a loud shrieking sound, and as they rushed over to the smashed railing to investigate, all of the other unconstrained Shadows began scaling the walls to reach the source of the distress signal.

"...Well, I suppose that works," said Merliad, impressed.

"To the door, then!" Yselt hissed, sneaking into the cell block before the others while keeping low against the perimeter of the bottom floor. Wymare and Merliad followed her over to the sealed door, rushing to inspect it before the Shadows filed out over the cell block once again.

In truth, what stood before the team could hardly be called a door. It could be better described as a slab of raw iron that had been sliced into the shape of a pentagon, with no obvious doorknob or handle that could be used to pull it open. Not only that, but it was obscenely large, standing a head taller than Wymare and a good foot wider than the three of them put together. However, the carvings on the front commanded far more attention than the door's size or makeup.

Etched into the ore was the visage of Clerebold's Shadow, arms spread in front of him and a plain-faced stare gazing ahead with blank eyes. Metal chains were carved into the background of the piece, spreading out from behind the warden like a spider's web. And held between Shadow Clerebold's metallic hands, protruding from the door further than the rest of the artwork, was a scroll with three spheres evenly spaced out on the unfurled parchment.

"This is a beautiful piece," Merliad remarked, casting their eyes over every detail. "You don't suppose one of those Shadows was dexterous enough to make this?"

"I don't think any of this place was built by hand," Wymare said. "It more than likely just... appeared."

"True, true." Merliad nodded along as they continued analyzing the carving. "The chains spread out from behind Clerebold, fanning out as if to ensnare everything around him... I wonder what its true meaning is."

"Um, evaluation of the arts aside," Yselt interrupted, "Why is this sphere cracked?"

Upon closer inspection, Wymare saw that Yselt was right. The sphere on the left of the sculpted scroll was fractured, with large cracks splintering out from its center that strangely stopped at the edge of its shape. The breakage almost seemed constrained to the orb itself, a detail that puzzled him no matter how he looked at it.

"Good question. It doesn't seem as though the rest of the statue is damaged, either. What could have happened?"

Now it was Merliad's turn to shift their attention to the sphere in question. Compared to their compatriots, though, they seemed to have a much stronger reaction.

"...I can sense a great amount of energy spilling forth from the cracks. Excuse me a moment."

The caster stepped forward, silver staff in hand, and leaned their Persona weapon's crystalline sphere down, holding it a few inches from the metal of the door. They focused their energy into the staff, and frost began to form on the metallic rod as Estraven's frigid essence coursed through it. The white orb atop their staff glowed a bit as the cold energy reached it, and in front of Wymare and Yselt's eyes, the low temperatures surrounding the caster's weapon revealed a faint mist that was leaking from the cracks in the carving on the door.

"Goodness!" Yselt gasped. "Isn't that..."

"I believe it is," Merliad nodded, pulling their staff back. "It's the fog from the cafeteria. Somehow, what happened in there affected this door, and this sphere in particular."

"That room projected a moment from Clerebold's memories, and then spawned that massive Shadow," Wymare recalled. "Maybe it was when we defeated that Shadow that this sphere began to break."

"So... the cafeteria and this door were linked?" Yselt seemed puzzled, asking, "Do we need to go back there again?"

Merliad shook their head. "On the contrary. There are two untouched spheres remaining in this carving. To me, that suggests there are two other locations within this prison that will reveal to us a part of Clerebold's psyche - and, more than likely, another powerful Shadow. If we find them, I hypothesize that whatever mental block this door represents will be opened, and the door itself alongside it."

"Of course, we can't be sure of what's past here," Wymare noted. "But it's a lead, and that's what we need right now. Let's-"

A blaring horn sounded off within the chamber at that moment, startling the three Persona-users. For a moment, they thought they'd been caught by the Shadows, but upon looking up to the cluster of Shadows surrounding where Wymare's axe had struck the railing, the ghastly creatures seemed equally skittish, chittering amongst themselves as they began to spread out in a frantic manner.

"What...? What's going on?" Yselt wondered aloud.

"Get to work, you lot of ignoramuses! There shall be no shirking of your duties within my domain!"

Shadow Clerebold's distorted voice reverberated through the room, shouting commands with an authoritative zeal. The cell doors all swung open at once as he spoke, releasing the imprisoned creatures from captivity. In response, the Shadows clawed their way across the walls, splitting off into different hallways that led out from the upper floors and disappearing from view. As the adrenaline of surprise faded, the team of Persona-users relaxed, seeing that the cell block was almost devoid of Shadows now that they had been called away to work.

"That was my brother's Shadow just now..." Yselt said, still processing it. "He wasn't in this room, though, was he?"

"No, I don't think so," agreed Merliad. "It seemed more like an autonomous alert to the Shadows - a system of sorts, to force them to do his bidding."

"Then I'll bet these Shadows represent... the labor unit as a whole." Wymare walked into the center of the bottom floor, staring up at the rows of cells that stretched far over his head. "He controls everything they do, and they have no choice but to obey."

"Regardless, this is fortunate for us." Merliad stepped up beside Wymare, identifying as many hallways out of this place on the higher floors as they could. "If they're all spread out across the compound, we can try to work at this stealthily. Explore, find those fog rooms, and pick off Shadows where we must."

"Let's not waste any more time!" Yselt declared. "I want to reach my brother as soon as possible!"

"Yes, but how are we going to get up to those corridors?" Wymare asked. "I don't see any stairs or ladders leading up."

Yselt smirked, energetic in her desire to rush ahead. "Why would we need those?"

Wymare and Merliad shared a confused look as Yselt took a few steps back, unfurling the chain of her flail as she did. With only a few inches between her and the steel door, she began to spin her weapon, charging up for whatever it was she was about to do. Then, out of nowhere, she broke into a sprint toward her teammates, leaving them confused as to why she seemed to be rushing at them to hit with her flail.

That was when Merliad's keen eyes noticed the cyan energy crackling from the organic-looking steel of Yselt's Persona weapon. She took a few more steps before leaping up, and Wymare brought his arms up, thinking he was about to be struck. Instead, Yselt smashed the head of her flail into the floor, and as she did, that bright blue power surged into the metal below her. A bright explosion of nuclear energy erupted from the point of impact, rocketing Yselt higher into the air while knocking Wymare and Merliad off their feet.

The force of her explosion propelled Yselt up to the second floor of cells, where she landed with a bit less grace than she would've liked. After righting herself, she leaned over the railing and looked down at Wymare and Merliad, who were still recovering from being caught in the blast's resulting wave of force. When they looked up, they saw that she had landed right next to a branching hallway, looking rather pleased with her stroke of ingenuity.

"If there's anything I've learned from you two, it's that Personas are good for a lot more than combat! Now, let's go!"

Merliad shook their head in disbelief, chucking a bit as Yselt turned to secure the hallway. "For as meek as she may seem on the surface, that girl is quite a handful."

"You should try sharing a room with her." Wymare smirked before channeling his own Persona's power once more, lifting himself off the ground with a sustained current of wind that carried him to the second floor.

Merliad sighed, though the exasperated sound didn't match the smile on their face. These two had no social standing and were far less refined than the stuffy old guard of the Mage's Guild, who they were so used to appeasing and changing themselves for. And yet, here in the pits of a dangerous reality, they were enjoying themselves far more in their fellow Persona-users' midst.

They tapped their staff on the floor, forming a small ice staircase that they began to climb. They could get used to this kind of company, they decided.

. . .

Time was a difficult thing to maintain a grasp on in Parallel Brilan. With no way to measure the seconds, minutes, and hours that may or may not have passed, one could be fooled into thinking that the flow of time itself was different compared to the real world.

This was something that troubled the party of Persona-users the longer they explored Shadow Clerebold's prison camp. They had tailed groups of workers, infiltrated various rooms, dispatched aggressive Shadows, and covered a lot of ground as they explored the various nooks and crannies of the compound. But for all their efforts, they had failed to turn up even a single room projecting Clerebold's memories like the cafeteria, eventually leaving them irritated and somewhat tired.

"Ngh... How long have we been at this, exactly?" asked Wymare, sitting against a wall to catch his breath and rest his body.

"I wish I knew," Yselt replied, a sour look on her face as she stared at the floor. "We've been through so many kinds of rooms I didn't even know a prison needed. I mean, why else would there be an amphitheater if it's not got memories in it?"

"Considering there was a single seat in the audience, I'm fairly sure it exists for the warden's entertainment alone." Merliad brushed off the edges of their robes, which had been dirtied a bit by splattered Shadow remnants. "But look at it this way. The more locations we confirm as ordinary, the fewer there are that could be what we seek."

"...I appreciate the intent there," Wymare said. "But that only makes me think about how many more rooms there could be that we haven't come across yet. For all we know, we haven't even found half of them."

"This is ridiculous!" Yselt exclaimed, stomping her foot on the floor in a fit of frustration. "Clerebold used to be such an open book, I could tell how upset he was by how hard he would kick the dirt. Why does his mind have to be a complicated maze now!?"

"Settle down, Yselt," said Merliad, waving a hand in her direction to encourage her to stop. "It's only natural that the sort of memories we're after would be buried deep in his subconscious, far from anywhere he'd want a person to find. We must approach this with cool heads if we're to find it."

"...I know you're right, Merliad. I apologize," Yselt said, her anger subsiding to make way for a downcast expression. "I just wish I knew where to look. For all of his posturing about leaving me behind, being his sister has to count for something... right?"

Yselt's previous energy for their mission seemed to have died down as she crossed her arms over her torso to hold herself. She stared blank-faced at the floor, rethinking all of the time she'd spent with Clerebold growing up. Had none of it meant anything? Was this side of his personality always there, and she had somehow failed to notice it for all sixteen years of her life?

Sensing his teammate's anguish, Wymare moved to get up and go to her side. As he shifted out of his seated position, however, his elbow bumped into the metal wall he'd been sitting against, creating a low, long bang that seemed to linger in the metal longer than it should have. He turned as he stood up, facing the wall with a curious look, and it didn't take Merliad long to notice.

"What is it, Wymare? Have you found something?"

Wymare had a suspicion, but he needed to be sure of it first. He turned and stepped across the hall to stand next to Yselt, but rather than comforting her as he'd first intended, he tapped on the wall next to her with his fist, listening to the sound it made. Yselt looked up at this, her sad eyes following him as he made his way back to the other wall and struck it again. This time, he nodded, now certain of what he'd deduced.

"This wall is hollow."

"What?" Yselt was quick to join Wymare in hitting the wall, feeling the vibrations from the impact rattle for a second or two before fading.

"And yet there are no doors leading to a room on the other side... How strange," Merliad remarked.

"At least, none we can see." Wymare began to walk down the hall with his hand on the wall, his palm sliding across the cold steel structure with each step he took. Yselt and Merliad watched him closely, waiting in hopes that he would stumble upon a breakthrough in their investigation.

After a handful of tense seconds where his teammates stood by with bated breath, Wymare's hand suddenly slipped into what looked like an ordinary segment of the wall, pushing in until he felt an old, rust-covered door behind the illusion. The fake wall shuddered and flickered as his body passed through its non-physical form, jittering and spasming before it abruptly vanished to reveal the door beneath.

"YES!" Yselt cried, sprinting forth and throwing her arms around Wymare. "You're a genius, Wymare! Thank you so much!" It took a moment before her thoughts caught up with her movements, and once she realized her arms were around him, she was quick to disengage from Wymare, looking a bit red in the face from embarrassment.

"Well, it was just dumb luck, really," said Wymare, sidestepping her praise without paying much mind to the hug. "I'm more glad we've finally found something than anything else."

"Found 'something', indeed. Take a look at this," called Merliad, the caster having stepped in front of the revealed door with a curious look.

Joining their teammate, Wymare and Yselt saw that there was a notice affixed to the front of the door, metallic in nature and partially consumed by the rust that plagued much of the rest of the entryway. The reddish corrosion made some words on the board harder to discern than the others, but it was still legible for the most part, allowing them to read over it without issue.

"Attention all slaves," read Yselt. "Beyond this door lay only the remains of the warden's ascent to glory. Like that which rots within, this place must be left to the elements of time, relegated to the status of a mere footnote in his history. We shall disturb this slumbering graveyard no longer."

"A notice on a door already hidden by a clever mirage... What does this suggest to you, Wymare?"

"Huh?" Surprised by Merliad's question, Wymare floundered before managing to answer, "Umm... The warden doesn't do his own messaging?"

"I... suppose, yes," the caster replied, seemingly a bit disappointed by the answer given. "However, this has a much loftier implication. This message is a part of what I would call this prison's internal consistency, similar to the alarm we heard in the cell block. But it would be made redundant if there was going to be a false partition installed in front of it after the fact. What we just dispelled was, in my belief, a mental blockade formed by Clerebold himself... to keep whatever's in here locked away, hidden in the furthest corners of his mind."

"In other words, it's just the sort of thing we're looking for," Yselt summarized. She took a deep breath, raised her arm, and went for the doorknob.

"Wait, Yselt," Merliad said. Yselt froze, although she did not retract her hand. "We need to be ready for this. Such a secluded area of his consciousness may be... unstable in ways that are hard to anticipate. Are you sure you're prepared?"

"I'm fine," was Yselt's blunt reply. "We can't waste our time hemming and hawing. Let's go."

Despite neither of her teammates seeming to buy her answer, Yselt grabbed the rusty doorknob and turned it. The knob took a few tries before it gave, the door screeching as it swung open to reveal a room consumed by darkness. Only the glowing candlelight from the hallway the three Persona-users were standing in illuminated a small part of it, showing a tile floor that stretched into nothingness.

Noticing a candle affixed to the wall on their right, Merliad stepped ahead and entered the dark room first. A bright orange ring of runes sprung up from their palm, a small flame apparating above the sigils that Merliad used to light the long-dead candle wicks and give the room some much-needed visibility. The air in the decrepit room was unnaturally cold, causing Wymare and Yselt to break out in goosebumps as they followed their white-haired ally in and closed the door behind them.

To their left, just barely visible in the glow of the candlelight, was a wall of what seemed to be large containers of some sort. The doors to them were huge, with a handle laid horizontally near the top of each to open them with. The metal of these containers appeared to have aged differently than the door to the room, having lost its original luster but showing no signs of rust or decay. Despite that, there was a lingering smell of mildew that hung in the air, unsettling the Persona-users as they looked around the smallish alcove.

"It's... smaller than I had expected," said Wymare, his eyes darting from one side of the room to the other. "But what is it, exactly?"

"Well, the s-sign said it was a graveyard, didn't it?" Yselt replied, her voice shaking as her skin bristled.

Merliad said nothing. Their curious gaze was fixed on the wall of containers, recognizing what this arrangement reminded them of. They stepped up to one on the far side of the room, looking back to their teammates to ensure they were watching before they grabbed the handle of one of the containers and pulled it down.

At first, nothing could be seen on the inside of the now-opened space. However, that changed when Merliad reached in and grabbed something before pulling back. A flat tray, attached to the inside of the container by a set of wheels, rolled out to its full length of ten feet before stopping. There was a small mass of black matter sitting on the tray just past the open door, and Wymare and Yselt saw it twitch for a moment before Merliad brought their staff down on top of it, freezing whatever material it was before it had a chance to do anything.

"This is no simple graveyard. This is a morgue."

Realization hit Wymare and Yselt's faces the instant the words left Merliad's mouth, and looks of fear were not far behind. Neither were strangers to death, but a place such as this would be unnerving enough in reality. Here in the demented dregs of Parallel Brilan, they could only imagine what horrors could be birthed from here. Merliad, on the other hand, seemed comparatively unfazed, rolling the cold locker's body shelf back in before closing the door.

"I can feel a similar energy about this place as there was in the mess hall," the caster said. "Wymare, guard the exit. Yselt, stand by the candles. Whatever's going to come our way in here, we want to be ready for it."

The two Scadarah nodded and assumed their respective positions across the morgue, weapons in hand. Feeling secure, Merliad continued to roll out the trays of the mortuary cabinets one by one, cautiously inspecting each one as they checked for Shadows or traps. Finding none, they continued across the wall from right to left, with the anxiety in the room creeping higher with every empty container opened. To the team, it felt as though they were trespassing on the resting grounds of an unseen and unknowable presence.

Pressing on despite the cold sensation that gripped their heart, Merliad closed another storage unit and moved to open the next one, crouching down to reach the handle as this unit was close to the floor. However, Wymare and Yselt heard the caster's breath catch in their throat, and they saw Merliad freeze mid-movement before slowly turning their head around to look toward Yselt with a wide-eyed stare.

"...Yselt... Did you say something just now?"

Yselt blinked, confused by the question. "Huh? Umm... N-No?"

Merliad's pupils dilated as the thumping of their heartbeat began to intensify. This was evidently not the answer they had hoped to hear, but they pushed forward, turning back to the mortuary cabinet and grabbing the handle before gingerly cracking it open.

"Brother? Where are we going to go today?"

A familiar feminine voice rang out in the room, sourceless and resonant. Spooked, Merliad jumped back, letting the door to the storage locker fall open on its own as the morgue's color began to distort and drain.

"I'm hungry, brother. Can we eat from that delicious bakery again?"

As the voice echoed once more, Wymare and Yselt recognized the distortions happening around them. It was the same phenomenon they had witnessed in the prison's canteen, meaning they were on the cusp of witnessing another critical memory of Clerebold's. However, both of them seemed appalled rather than ready, for they also recognized whose words those were.

"It's a lovely day we've been given. Shall we go on a walk together?"

The shelf within the opened locker began to roll out on its own as the room continued to warp. The team was only just able to witness the shelf roll out to its full length before the morgue transformed into a black-and-white recreation of what seemed to be a Rìo Ghaile alleyway, and where the container shelf had stretched over the floor, the image of a young girl dressed in dirty rags appeared, with a Clerebold in his late teens crouched next to her. Just as before, Clerebold was in color while everything else was devoid of it, but Wymare and Merliad needed no shading of the memory to realize who the girl was.

"Hush now, Yselt. I'm afraid... we can't be doing any of that today."

The shorter, younger vision of Yselt folded her dirt-smudged arms and pouted. "But why not? The sun is shining so bright today! I want to explore the city some more!"

"Haven't we seen enough of it?" asked Clerebold, a bit of pain visible in his expression. As the memory played out in front of them, Wymare glanced in the real Yselt's direction, concerned for her well-being in the face of what they were seeing. The black-haired girl was frozen in place, staring with abject terror at her younger self. It was plain to see: she knew exactly what event was transpiring in this scene.

"There's always something new to discover! And besides, we need to find a new place to sleep. I don't think the bookstore owner was pleased that we used the canopy of his shop for shelter."

"No, he certainly wasn't," Clerebold agreed, a sad smile spreading across his face. He reached out, placing a hand on the colorless Yselt's shoulder and looking her in the eyes before continuing, "Yselt... there's something I need to tell you. And I need you to listen closely, alright?"

"Okay!" replied the young Yselt, wiping her nose with her arm before shifting in her seated position to face her brother with a smile. A bit of grime had smeared across the folded bridge between her nose and her upper lip from her arm, a detail that only seemed to strengthen the sorrow in Clerebold's eyes. The younger version of the supervisor closed his eyes as he took in an unsteady breath, steeling himself for the conversation that was about to follow.

"I... I always want you to be safe and happy, sister. There is a light inside of you that shines brighter than any morning sun. Mother and father could see it, and I can as well. I want you to be able to share that wonderful spirit of yours with the whole world. And that's why..."

Clerebold trailed off, visibly struggling to get to the point of what he was saying. The barely teenaged Yselt seemed a bit confused by her brother's words, but they sounded complimentary enough, so she continued to beam as Clerebold collected himself once more.

"That's why... I'm going to join the royal labor unit. In Castle Gornemant."

The younger Yselt's smile widened at this, and she gasped. "We're going to live in the castle!?"

"N-No... no," Clerebold said, shaking his head. "I'm going to live in the castle. You... have to stay here."

Clerebold's words seemed to stun his sister, her joyful excitement fading into confusion. "Wh... What?"

"I'm going to go work hard, sister. I don't care how long it takes. I'm going to work myself to the bone until I can get the life we lost back. But if I'm going to do that, I can't bring you with me."

"But... But that's not fair!" Yselt protested. "I don't want to live out here without you!"

"We don't have the means to put you up anywhere. This is... just how it has to be. I'm sorry."

The Yselt in the memory seemed to be struggling to comprehend the magnitude of what her brother was saying. Meanwhile, the real Yselt had tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, her chest puffing in and out as she came dangerously close to hyperventilating. She was panicking, and though Wymare and Merliad wanted to go to her, they found themselves unable to pull their attention away from the memory playing out before them, drawn to it like onlookers to a tragedy; moths to a flame.

"Don't be sad, sister," whispered Clerebold, wiping a hand across the young Yselt's cheek to dry the tears that were starting to form. "Once I've worked up to have the ability, I will come back and save you from this life. I promise I will."

"...P-Promise?" repeated Yselt, barely able to form coherent speech with how much she was starting to cry. "Y-You won't forget a-about me?"

"I could never forget my family," answered Clerebold, pulling his sister in for one last hug. Her arms wrapped around his torso in a vice-like grip, desperate to cling to him as her sobs began to further stain his already filthy shirt.

"You're strong, sister. You'll be okay."

The embrace lasted about ten seconds before Clerebold forced himself to pull away, breaking free from Yselt's arms in spite of how little she wanted to let him go. He turned away, his face tense as he fought to keep himself from breaking down, and he stepped out of the alley, disappearing around the corner of a building and taking the last trace of color in the memory with him.

Left alone in the alley, the image of Yselt's younger self curled in on herself, more and more tears welling up and streaking down her face. However, the emotional sight didn't last long, as Wymare noticed the abandoned Imbertus sibling beginning to convulse and contort in the same way Miss Arlene had in the cafeteria's memory. Her tear-filled eyes glossed over and transformed into twin orbs of red, and as she threw her head up to the sky, her jaw unhinged and her mouth opened far wider than it should have.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

The three Persona-users' hands flashed to the sides of their heads as Clerebold's memory of Yselt let out an ear-splitting scream of sorrow. The image of the alley folded in on her, and the figure exploded in a familiar shower of black and red, revealing its true nature as the memory took on physical presence in the form of a Shadow. Sitting upright on the rolled-out morgue container shelf was a young-looking feminine humanoid with pointed ears and long turquoise hair, dressed in an elegant white gown that flowed down to its ankles. With the Shadow's head hung low and its hair spilling down, it was impossible to see its face, with only its general features visible thanks to the candles glowing on the other side of the room.

Although this entity was less monstrous in appearance than the last Shadow spawned from Clerebold's memories, Wymare still clutched his axe tightly, not willing to let his focus falter. He looked to his teammates, and while Merliad seemed similarly on guard, Yselt seemed to be in a state of shock, her defenses broken down by the emotions brought on by the vision of her and Clerebold's past.

The Shadow raised its head up, appearing to look in Yselt's direction despite its hair continuing to obscure its face. It stared at the black-haired girl for a moment, sizing her up as she gripped her flail with shaky hands.

And then it began to laugh. It was high-pitched and juvenile, rising in volume as if someone had just told an amusing joke. Watching its shoulders shake with every laugh that came from it, Yselt's despair evaporated in the blink of an eye, leaving boiling-hot rage in its place. In a flash of movement, she sprang toward the Shadow and swung her flail with all of her strength, only for the Shadow to leap up and dodge to the side, its laughter growing to an insane cackling. Yselt's flail went wide as a result, smashing into the storage shelf and denting it beyond usability as she turned to glare at her new foe.

The fair-skinned Shadow's petite face was twisted into a sick grin, fanged teeth visible past its stretched-out lips. Not caring to take in further details, Yselt brought her flail back and tried again to strike, but the Shadow was too quick, backing up to the wall Wymare was close to and leaping off to reposition itself in the center of the morgue.

"NIKANJ!"

Yselt's Persona appeared at her behest, swinging at the Shadow with its thick legs without a moment's hesitation. Wymare and Merliad followed her lead after recovering from the surprise of her initial attack, summoning Gawain and Estraven to join the battle. Despite the combined efforts of Nikanj's appendages, Gawain's sword, and Estraven's hook, the Shadow was a slippery target, darting between the incoming attacks while moving around the enclosed space with unnatural speed. Leaping back and darting past Merliad, it continued to laugh as it sank into the darkness of the unlit corners of the room, fading from sight.

Yselt growled, angered by the Shadow's evasiveness. "Where did it go!?"

"It's a fast one. Stay on your toes," Merliad warned, trying to spot some flicker of movement in the shadows that would give away the enemy's position.

A muffled sound of surprise alerted Merliad and Yselt to the enemy's presence behind them. They whirled around to see the pointy-eared humanoid perched atop Wymare's shoulders, covering his eyes with one hand and his mouth with the other. Blind and smothered, Wymare stumbled around as he flailed his axe in an attempt to cut away the creature jockeying him, the Shadow's laughter ringing in his ears all the while.

"Get off of him!" Yselt commanded, extending a hand in her ally's direction. Nikanj's tendrils quivered as it charged up a blast of nuclear power, preparing to sear its target while it was occupied with Wymare.

"No, Yselt! You'll hit Wymare!" Merliad cried. Yselt hesitated at this warning, and in that moment of weakness, the Shadow pulled open one of Wymare's eyes and stared into it, emitting a strange energy that pulsed around Wymare's head. The red-haired Wild Card's body went lax as the Shadow's attack took hold, and the creature jumped from his shoulders as he fell to the floor, trapped in a deep sleep. With its user's consciousness forcefully stripped away, Gawain flickered and vanished, leaving Nikanj and Estraven as the only Personas on the battlefield.

Enraged by the attack on Wymare and angered that they had let it happen, Merliad pointed their staff at the Shadow, shouting, "Bufu!" Acting on their command, Estraven exhaled a chilling breath that enveloped the Shadow's location. As frost began to form on the floor, a collection of sharp icicles shot out from it, puncturing the Shadow's right leg. The humanoid screeched and hissed at the caster as it tore itself free from the subzero skewers, with the severity of the wound left behind revealing to Merliad that the Shadow's quick movements were compensating for its low durability.

With its speed lowered by its leg injury, the Shadow shifted its focus away from the Persona-users for a moment, glancing at the candles that illuminated the morgue's interior. It grinned as it lurched forward, planting itself on the candle-bearing wall before dashing along the vertical surface. The fast movement created a brief vacuum in the Shadow's wake, and with no air to keep their flames burning, the candles were extinguished, plunging Yselt, Merliad, and the sleeping Wymare into total darkness.

"Agh! Merliad, can you light those again!?"

"Of course; give me a moment." Merliad's magic flame cut through the darkness as it appeared in their hand, illuminating their figure and Estraven's as they approached the smoldering wicks. But before they could reach out to light the candles again, the Shadow descended on them from the darkness, screeching and letting out another haunting cackle.

Merliad's light went out as Yselt heard the sounds of the caster struggling, much in the same way Wymare had moments earlier. Before long, they, too, fell silent, and she heard the sound of Estraven dissipating as Merliad collapsed in a sleeping mound, their staff clattering against the floor.

Unable to see through the dark and with the Shadow's cacophonous voice ringing in her ears, Yselt started breathing heavily again. The words on the notice they'd read rang in her mind: 'We shall disturb this slumbering graveyard no longer.' She thought of how the Shadow had put her teammates to sleep with but a glance, and her mind made a disturbing connection. Was this what the notice had meant by 'slumbering' graveyard? That those who entered would sleep forever in a cold, lightless void?

As a seed of fear rooted itself in her chest, Yselt's breathing pattern only worsened. Gripped by the darkness and a sense of isolation, she fell to her knees, dropping her flail and covering her ears as she started tearing up again.

"Shut up... SHUT UP!"

Despite her pleas, the Shadow's cackling only continued, impossible to place in the room given the doused candles and the echo provided by the hard surfaces of the walls, floor, and ceiling. Yselt felt herself returning to the memory she had just borne witness to, deserted in the streets of the capital with nobody to hold her and dry her eyes. She was alone then, and she was alone now.

"There is a light inside of you that shines brighter than any morning sun."

Yselt's eyes snapped open as her brother's years-old words surfaced in her head. To her surprise, she could see, and when she looked up to find the source, she saw Nikanj's energy tendrils brimming with cyan energy, illuminating the space around her as the alien Persona stared at her with its featureless, sunken face.

With a wrathful chittering, the humanoid Shadow dropped from the ceiling in front of her, drawn to her location by Nikanj's bioluminescence. The creature pounced with its arms outstretched, its fanged smile open wide as it moved to finish the last of its quarry.

"You're strong, sister. You'll be okay."

"Pulinpa."

The word left Yselt's mouth without her making the conscious effort to do so, her own voice catching her by surprise as she uttered the command. Nikanj turned its focus to the Shadow, and a small cluster of energy spheres burst forth from its orb-tipped tendrils, encircling the attacker's head before emitting a blinding flash. The beast's laughter finally stopped as it let out a dazed cry, faltering in its pounce and landing a few feet in front of Yselt.

Staggered, the Shadow scrambled to stand up and face its foe. But when it opened its eyes to locate its prey, its vision was blurred and hazy, seeing the form of Yselt in at least five different places at once. With no way to tell which one was real, it looked back and forth as it tried to blink away the confusion instilled in its senses by the Persona skill, some fear of its own rising through its bestial instincts as Yselt grabbed her flail once more and rose to her feet.

Her target was wide open. Yselt unraveled her weapon's chain, took a step forward, and swung.

The flail's spiked head slammed into the Shadow's ribcage area, tearing through its pretty dress and its soft skin the moment it struck true. With a great deal of force and momentum behind it, the head pushed on the humanoid's torso, carving out and exploiting gashes in its false flesh until the entire upper torso was ripped free from the rest of its body. The Shadow let out a final dying scream before it fell silent at last, its disemboweled upper half flying through the air before slamming into the morgue entrance with enough force to knock the door open. The Shadow's hips, waist, and legs were all that remained of it in the morgue as its top half slid to a stop in the hallway beyond, a trail of Shadow viscera marking the floor beneath its trajectory.

Consciousness returned to Wymare and Merliad as the light from outside lit up the room a bit, the death of the Shadow freeing them from the spell it had placed upon them. The two roused and looked up to see Yselt standing above the lower remains of their attacker, flail hanging by her side as she stared ahead of her with a stoic, though tear-stained, expression. At that moment, the Shadow's remains convulsed, floated into the air, and burst open, unleashing a hazy replication of Clerebold's recollection of leaving Yselt behind that lingered in a familiar cloud of fog.

Yselt looked into the images of the memory that now floated in front of her. For the first time, she could see her brother's face as he turned away from her and left for Castle Gornemant on that memorable day. She saw the pain of his decision written in the lines of his face as he scowled, fighting to keep himself from breaking down where his sister could witness him doing it.

She took her time to sit comfortably on the floor, crossing her legs over one another as she clutched her flail in her hand. And she wept.