Aftershocks

The events following Nyverak's downfall Yu could only remember in pieces, mostly to do with the fact that he had passed out soon after. As such, most of what later occurred had to be retold to him.

The city was safe, was the most important thing. The elementals had been driven out, and while their had been losses, they weren't gratuitously overwhelming. However . . . there was one loss that shook the city to it's core.

Tiruviel had not survived. To the shock of many, not only had her soul disappeared, but her body as well, vanished with the fading night. Not even Ylvaria could find her, her prayers going unanswered, a silence that unnerved many.

He felt no small amount of regret for her loss, and no small amount of guilt for the part he had played in her demise. Perhaps it was foolish, but it was not something he could help. Maybe that was why the victory he should have been rejoicing over felt hollow, why his achievement in summoning his persona in full fell short.

Tiruviel had helped him back on the bridge, he realized that now. She'd helped them all find the spark they needed to summon their powers, at the cost of her life. It made him sad to think that the dragon's voice in his head would be the last he would ever hear from her, of her wisdom.

He still had the fractured pieces of the diamond she had given him, long ago. He didn't know if it could ever be repaired, but it was nice to have a memento.

"Care for some company?"

He looked up, tearing his gaze away from staring sightlessly at the lake to find Yalathas leaning against the column just before the balcony he sat in. The paladin was out of his armor, a dark shirt and vest with dove white trimmings and comfortable leather shoes, and his silver eyes were glazed with sympathy as he offered a kind smile, "If not, I understand."

"No," he replied, perhaps a little too quickly. He looked away again, "I could probably do with some company, actually."

He could hear cloth rustle against stone as the other man sat down, voice hushed with concern, "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Yu replied. It had been roughly two days since the attack, most of which had passed him by while he was unconscious. And after he'd awoken, sleep had not come easily, "I didn't think summoning my persona would be that draining. It never was before."

"You summoned it with nothing but your own force of will into the material plane. To be honest, I doubt many would be capable of such a feat at all, not without sacrificing their lives in the process," Yalathas' eyes drifted to the lake as well, a note of wonder entering his tone, "I've never seen anything quite like it, what you and your friends did. It was very impressive."

Yu shrugged.

"You know . . ." Yalathas continued, "The knights have been talking about you, and stories have circulated amongst the citizens about what you did. They think you summoned archons to fight for us. They all want to know who you are."

Yu sighed, feeling one too thrilled at the prospect of being thrust in the limelight, "Well, so much for keeping our identity secret."

He imagined the paladin furrowing his brow as he inquired, "I know much has happened since yesterday, but can you tell me what is bothering you? What I can do to perhaps help?"

A sad, melancholy note entered his voice, "Is it Tiruviel?"

"It's . . . " Yu sighed again, shoulders sagging. He was being unfair. Yalathas was undoubtedly hurting worse over the golden dragon's death, for they had been friends far longer than he had been, "It's not just that . . ."

He looked at the other man, tucking his hands together out of habit as he tore over what to say. Because there was another thing that was bothering him, one that might seem stupid to the paladin. But the earnestness in the other's eye's made him relent, and he bowed his head, "You know, my persona is basically an extension of myself. To some extent, I can feel what it feels. Whenever we fought shadows, we could feel the fight ourselves. If our personas were hurt, we would hurt. If they landed a blow on an enemy, we would feel it too."

"Yes?"

"And . . ." Yu gnawed at his lip, then took a breath and let the words tumble free, "And last night, my persona was the one who killed Nyverak."

That was all he needed to say, because then Yalathas was humming in understanding, realization undoubtedly clicking for him as he softly spoke, "You feel guilty."

"I know I shouldn't, at least not as badly as I do . . ." Yu said, unable to tear his eyes from the ground. Ever since waking, it had been a memory that plagued him. And his friends, though wonderful, wouldn't understand, because they hadn't experienced it. The sensation of bone grinding beneath his fingers, of hot blood scoring his palms. Sometimes, he could almost imagine that if he ran his hands together, they would come away wet and red, "Because I know I would have done the same thing if it would have saved Tiruviel. But . . ."

"Maybe you didn't save Tiruviel . . ." Yalathas interrupted, not unkindly even if his voice was strained, "But you did save many, many others who would have suffered under that dragon's cruelty had he escaped, and avenged thousands more besides. I know it does little to ease the ache of guilt, but never doubt that you did the right thing, Yu."

Was it? he wanted to ask, but he knew better. Yalathas was a paladin, a man dedicated to destroying evil wherever it may be. Of course he would not feel as conflicted over their deaths.

Instead, he looked back out to the lake and asked, "So, what will happen now?"

"Now?" Yalathas echoed, following his gaze, "Now, we need to find answers. We have to discover what that woman and her . . . companions, are after, and what the Night of No Stars is."

Yu nodded, understanding. Of course, that was the most logical course of action.

"But first . . ." he felt Yalathas give him a gentle, but urging nudge, and when he looked, the man had a sly half-smile on his face, eyes sparkling conspiratorially, "I happen to know a pair of cats who just so happened to have a litter not that long ago. Do you want to come with me to check on them?"

For the first time upon waking, Yu smiled in true, sitting up a little straighter as he replied in gratitude, "I . . . think I'd like that a lot."

(*)

Yosuke huffed and dropped onto his back, ignoring the sweat clinging to his skin as he stared up into the sky. His daggers lay at his sides, forgotten for the time being as he allowed himself a break. The tiny, open bailey was empty of people, and a nice place away from prying eyes as he got to work. Ever since that terrible night's end, he'd thrown himself into training on his own. His friends kept telling him to stop, to quit pushing himself so soon after summoning his persona, but they didn't understand!

It wasn't about trying to be a bigger badass than before. It wasn't about trying to look cool when everyone else was down for the count.

It was about getting better so he could be stronger.

How many people could they have saved if they'd been able to summon their personas sooner? How many more if they didn't pass out every time they did so?

Yosuke knew what to do now to bring Takehaya Susano-o to the surface again, and he was determined to learn how to wield him as fluidly as he'd done in the tv world no matter how exhausted it made him. He was never going to sit by helplessly again, not when innocent people were threatened. Not when his friends were threatened, where dragons could snatch them up with nothing standing in their way.

He was never going to be weak again. Even if the others didn't understand.

He threw an arm over his face, tired but refusing to stop. He had to keep going.

That was when he heard a hiss, and something suddenly landed on his chest, drawing out a startled (and totally not girly) scream.

He jolted upright, a flash of viridian green rolling into his lap with a disgruntled squeak. With a start, he saw that Aife was the one who'd leapt on him, the tiny fae rolling back onto his feet and curling up in his lap. Yosuke quirked an eyebrow, but the little creature wasn't going to be giving him any answers.

"So, are you planning on taking a break anytime soon, or do you plan to do this until you pass out?"

Yosuke rolled his eyes, looking up to where a certain sylph was hovering, "What does it look like?"

"Lots of sweating, if you want me to be honest," was the other's smartass reply.

Yosuke rolled his eyes again and turned to stare at a very interesting crack in the floor where tuft of grass was growing. When he'd first met Yvir, it had been strange. Stranger than even meeting his Shadow, in some ways. But he hadn't had a whole lot of time to talk with him since, and right now, he really didn't' feel up to doing some stupid, story-book bonding.

Yvir seemed to think otherwise, air brushing over his side as the man came to sit beside him, voice a tad softer, "You know, I'm all for self-improvement, but don't you think you're trying a bit too much too soon? You still need time to recover-"

"And what's sitting on my ass going to accomplish?!" he didn't mean to snap, not really, but he was just so agitated for reasons he couldn't even adequately explain, and they wanted something to lash out at, "If we'd been able to do this from the beginning, we could have stopped that dragon a whole lot sooner, and things would have been fine! How can everyone keep telling me to relax when I still can't control my persona like I should?!"

Yvir didn't say anything at first, and he felt a smidge of guilt for yelling.

Then, "You know, I tried to rush results once. Let me tell you, it didn't work out too well for me."

Yosuke side-eyed him, curiosity bubbling up even though he tried to quell it. But the sylph had already seen, and continued speaking, "It was years ago, back in Dresden and when the war was still going on. There was a surprise attack from within the fortress that caused a lot of casualties, many of which could have been prevented if we hadn't wasted our time hunting a false lead. A lead that I had told everyone to follow."

Whether he wished it or not, Yvir now had Yosuke's full attention.

The sylph idly plucked up some loose grit from the floor, dropping them in his palm one by one as he talked, "There was an explosion at one of the central bastions, and I tried to quell the damage with a spell backed by my mythic. Except it went haywire. And people got hurt instead."

Yosuke's eyes widened, losing some of his tense posture to face him more fully.

"After that, I began to practice day and night. I practiced so much I'd forget to eat sometimes. You've felt how draining mythic can be in just a short bursts, so imagine trying to keep it active for prolonged periods of time like I tried to do?" Yvir shook his head, looking sheepish, "So when a real fight came, I collapsed. And when I woke up, Yalathas chewed me out. I'd never seen him so angry before."

He held up his hand, the one carrying the grit, crunching them down into finer motes of dust with his opposite fingers, "The point I'm trying to make is, instead of wringing yourself dry trying to do something big, try something smaller instead."

The brunette tilted his head, "Like what?"

"Like instead of trying a full summon, just channel your persona's power through your body like you were doing in practice," Yvir replied, "Its a good start. And, as you get stronger, you'll be able to do more things with it. But take it from someone who learned this the hard way; you have to give it time to grow."

With a soft exhalation of breath, the sylph gently blew the dust from his hand into the air, and Yosuke watched as the finer motes began to glimmer with golden light. They twisted and danced together in the sky, until, with a final spin, the particles rearranged their hapless order into a single, uniform creature born of dust and light. A bird, with shimmery feathers of minute particles, each as individual and defined as real bird's even if it's body was only a loose conglomerate of dust.

"Whoa . . ." he breathed, watching as the tiny creature flitted around the courtyard, until the magic ended and it dissolved into a brown plume of earth that floated to the ground.

" . . . you know, maybe you didn't have to do all that to get me to take a break," Yosuke finally said, feeling embarrassed and unsure as to why.

"Oh, no, I did. I know how stubborn I can be, even when I don't want to admit it," the sylph said, rising to his feet. Aife rose to his own as well, hopping to Yosuke's knee, then shoulder, then scrambling up the hem of Yvir's pant leg. He found it annoying, but the sorcerer only smiled fondly and stroked the underside of the fae's jaw, "Well, I'll leave you too it! Try not to get lost on the way back."

"Hey, w-wait a second!" Yosuke scrambled up as well, "There's something I wanted to ask!"

Yvir turned back, eyebrow raised but receptive, "Yes?"

For a few seconds, Yosuke wondered if it was alright to bring it up. But at the same time, it might be crucial later. No, it would be. So . . .

"That night at the party . . ." Yosuke noticed the way Yvir's eyes flashed, the way his head tilted a bit more sharply in his direction. The sylph already knew where he was going with this, "Who was that woman? You called her Laila, I think."

Yvir turned away, so sharply Yosuke thought he wouldn't answer him at all. He hovered there, and he saw the older man cross his arms over his chest, suddenly pensive. And when he finally did speak, it was a good deal softer than he'd grown accustomed too, reticent and sad, "She's . . . someone I used to know."

"Bu-"

"And it's not something I want to talk about," Yvir interjected with a raise of his hand, still not looking back. With a sigh, he dropped it and added, "Look, you're a nice kid Yosuke, but my personal problems aren't yours. I'd rather keep them separate."

"But they aren't separate anymore!" Yosuke protested, "I don't know the history you have with her, and I won't ask you to tell me, but we need to know what she can do! What all of those guys can do!"

Yvir was silent for an entire long, sluggish minute, a minute that had Yosuke fidgeting. Then he finally, quietly, replied, ". . . Later. Now go get some sleep. You need it."

And he left, and all Yosuke could do was watch him depart.

He was right, he thought, frowning, At the end of it, we're both pretty damn stubborn.

(*)

Chie didn't know a lot of things, at least not to Yu's or Yukiko's level, but she liked to believe that she knew her weaknesses well and when she had to improve upon them.

After the battle for the city, and even after kicking that black dragon's ass, she knew she still had a lot to work on.

Which is why she had now backed Cahira into a corner and was demanding, "I need to learn how to use mythic better!"

Cahira cocked an eyebrow, but she her smile was only a small one, not as big as Chie had become used to, "Well, I get the reason why, but training's going to have to wait."

"I know, I know!" Chie ammended, nodding, "There's the city, and the kings and queens, and I'm still not tip-top, I know! I just . . . wanted to let you know that when we do get back to it, I need to learn that stuff."

"And I know you need to," Cahira said, sliding out of the corner Chie had pinned her in, "Just not now. We'll get there, though, I promise."

Relief coursed through her, and inside, Haraedo-no-Okami nodded in approval. It was so nice to have her persona back, and she couldn't wait until she could use it without having to worry about taking herself down in the process.

Chie trailed after the monk, matching her pace easily even though she knew the monk could run at speeds she couldn't even dream of achieving. With a bit more sensitivity put into it, she asked, "So . . . how's the city doing?"

"Better, but the elementals did a lot of damage. People are frightened, scared that another attack will come from the lake that used to protect them," Cahira's face became downcast, "So many wounded and killed . . . if only we had seen this coming . . ."

"But how could you have seen this coming? How could anyone?" Chie slammed her fist into her hand, scowling, "It's those guys fault! Whoever they were, they're the ones to blame for everything that happened!"

". . . Yeah. You're right . . ." Cahira's quiet agreement was only half-hearted, face as cool as a still pond. For all the things they shared, Cahira seemed to have mastered a certain control of her emotions that Chie sometimes envied.

Chie gnawed at her lip, eyes glancing from the ceiling to the floor to the walls before darting back to Cahira, unsure if she should ask the question that really plagued her.

But like every great warrior and master, Cahira saw right through her, "You're wondering how I know Tabris, aren't you?"

"Um . . ." she looked away, cheeks flushing with heat.

"It's okay," the woman told her, "You're not wrong to be curious."

Chie nodded, idly twiddling her fingers together before finally blurting it out, "So . . . who is she?"

"Tabris and I once trained together when we were both apprentices," Cahira replied, "We both lived at the same temple and trained under the same master. She was my friend."

"What? For real?" Chie could not believe that for a second, "Then, why was she with the bad guys?!"

At that, Cahira's face hardened and she looked down, "I don't know. Tabris chose to leave the temple years ago, and I haven't seen her since. But I never thought she would-!"

She stopped herself, inhaling strongly before breathing out. Even so, she still looked pained, and Chie wished there was something she could do. Deeper inside, she felt a simmering anger begin to rise. Tabris had been Cahira's friend, and whatever her reasons for joining with those strangers, she was still clearly hurting her new master. And how could she do that anyway, if they'd once trained together and learned the same values and morals? Didn't that mean anything to the pale-haired woman?!

Obviously not . . . she thought bitterly, grinding her teeth together to focus on something other than her angry feelings.

Once again, Cahira noticed, her eyes softening, "It's alright. Don't worry about me. Just focus on recovering for now."

Chie frowned, "Sure. But when I'm better, Tabris better watch out, because I'm going to kick her butt and drag her back to you so she can apologize!"

Cahira seemed startled by this. But also . . . she looked touched, "You'd spare her just so you can force her to apologize?"

"Well, yeah? Maybe she's doing something stupid now, but she used to be your friend, right?" Chie thought her answer would be obvious. But maybe she had been wrong.

Cahira smiled ruefully, "You really are a good kid, Chie. Now get back to your room, huh? Maybe open a few of those scrolls Nyras gave you."

The last part was said with a brush more humor, and happy to play along, Chie groused in reply, "Ugh, homework . . ."

Cahira chuckled at that, and while it wasn't as boisterous as usual, it was still genuine. And in light of what she knew now, that was all Chie could ask for.

(*)

Yukiko laid back on her bed, the room empty save for just herself. She didn't know where the others had gone except Chie, who'd told her she'd gone off to find Cahira, and it was becoming rather lonesome.

Even if she was tried, it felt wrong and lazy to sleep all day. But it felt like that was all she'd been doing ever since the battle ended. And the quiet afforded her a lot of time to think and reflect.

Yukiko sighed. Reflection could be one of her worst traits, sometimes . . .

Inside, she felt a stirring, and she smiled in the warmth Sumeo-Okami's comforting and familiar presence.

The sound of her door opening drew her attention, and she blinked when she saw Ylvaria step through the threshold. She was dressed on comely silks of red with her hair undone and tumbling freely down her back, a lovely picture of elven beauty, and she tried not to feel too jealous.

"How are you feeling?" was Ylvaria's habitual question, one she'd repeated a number of times on her daily visits to check up on them.

Yukiko sat up, self-consciously running a hand through her bed-worn hair, "Fine. I don't know where anyone else is, though, so you might have to hunt around for them."

Ylvaria shook her head as if in exasperation, but her smile was an amused one, "I told them, bed rest for at least a three days, but I suppose it's hard to ask children to stay still for more than one."

"Well, its hard for anyone to sit still when there's work to be done," Yukiko said, shrugging. After a moment, she met Ylvaria's eyes and asked with a touch more solemnity, "Have you . . . had any luck?"

The elf didn't need to ask to know she was talking about Tiruviel, and just the same, the sad look on her face was all the answer Yukiko needed even as the other woman spoke, "No, unfortunately. However, I don't want you to feel guilty over that. She chose you for a reason. That was her choice, the same as this silence."

Yukiko nodded, allowing stillness to fall. She was still picking at her hair in the quiet that followed, and it was a motion the elf quickly noticed, "Having trouble? Here."

To her immense surprise, the cleric came and sat beside her. From her sleeve, she withdrew a comb of as beautiful as she was; it was carved of nature itself, polished redwood with teeth of smooth black pearl and a sunburst crest etched into the corner with delicate care.

"Do you trust me?"

Yukiko stared, puzzled by the strange question, "Of course I do."

"Then turn around," Ylvaria instructed her, much to the girl's growing bemusement. But she obeyed anyway, and with careful tenderness, Ylvaria began to run the comb through her black locks.

Yukiko tried not to fidget. She liked and trusted the woman, she hadn't lied, but it was strange to have her do something so . . . intimate.

"You know, in the culture of my people," Ylvaria said as she worked, "It is customary to wear our hair long in honor of our Elven Father. To be allowed to comb or braid another's hair is a sign of trust and companionship."

Yukiko listened intently. She'd always liked learning, especially about other cultures and their traditions. She supposed it wasn't surprising Ylvaria had picked up on that.

"That's nice," Yukiko said, folding her hands in her lap, "Do even the men follow those traditions?"

"They do," Ylvaria replied, "And while some can be reluctant to let their guard down around another, it is still practiced often. I've always liked this tradition, but its hard to find others who agree in the outlands. Cahira's the only one who will perform it with me."

Well, of course. Cahira was her best friend, after all, a universal truth.

The elf's gentle strokes came to an end, "There. Finished."

Yukiko pursed her lips, wringing her hands once before quickly speaking out before courage fled, "Do you want me to comb yours too?"

It was only fair to pay her courtesy back, right? Being polite was one of the biggest lessons her mother had drilled into her.

Ylvaria seemed to have not been expecting that, for she didn't respond right away, and Yukiko began to fear that maybe she shouldn't have said anything. Who knows what could be a slight in elven lands, unintentional thought it was.

Then, the comb came into her view, offered by a pale hand and with a smile, "I would like that very much."

Slowly, she took the offered comb, the wood warm beneath her hands as she turned to face Ylvaria. Her hair flowed like silk beneath the teeth, only catching on a few knots, and the repetitious motions were relaxing.

Idly, she asked, "This is a very pretty comb. Where did you get it?"

She hadn't expected Ylvaria's shoulders to tense, making Yukiko pause.

" . . . it was a gift. From a long time ago." Ylvaria finally said.

"Oh," was all she could reply with. Swallowing, she continued. What had she said wrong? It had seemed an innocent question, but maybe she'd inadvertently touched a sore spot? Oh no, that was exactly what she'd done, wasn't it?

She didn't ask any further questions. Instead, she just brushed.

When she was done, Ylvaria quietly collected the comb and stored it away, but even as she turned back to the door, her voice was grateful, "Than you, Yukiko. Its nice to simply relax every now and then, and remember traditions."

"O-of course," she said. The awkward atmosphere she had accidently created with her question was still present, palpable.

For a few moments, Ylvaria hovered in place, when she abruptly turned around and bent to a knee. Taking one of Yukiko's hands in hers, the elf looked her in the eye with a seriousness that caught Yukiko off gaurd for the third time that day and said, "From this point onward, things will change. And I suspect they will undoubtedly get worse before they get better. You and your friends will want to help, I'm sure, but there is one thing I would ask of you. A promise."

Yukiko glanced to her right as if an answer for this sudden, strange behavior would materialize there. When nothing happened, she looked back and shakily nodded, "A-alright . . . ?"

The cleric continued, "The enemies we will be facing will be like none you've fought before. You saw them at the gathering . . ."

"You knew one of them," Yukiko said, almost without meaning too.

Ylvaria winced, "Yes. Phaedra. Our two families have had bad blood between us for a long time, a war that goes back generations, but my tie to her is to a personal extent. And because of that, if ever you find yourself against her, without me or one of my friends present, there is something I want you to do."

Ylvaria was many things, things Yukiko admired. One of the biggest was her strength in the face of adversity, her willpower in the face of loss. So when she saw the glimmer of tears in her dark eyes, Yukiko was floored.

"Because of our history, if she should ever catch sight of your face, it will not be you she sees. And because of that . . . " Ylvaria said with the utmost of gravity, " I want you to run as fast and as far as you can, and never look back. Can you promise me?"

She really, truly meant it. And of what she'd seen that night of the horrific hybrid of woman and spider, she couldn't even imagine what she'd do to her without shuddering.

And to be plain about it, she wouldn't stand a chance against such a foe now. So, with a nod, she truthfully swore, "I promise."

Ylvaria looked relieved, and with one final twist for the day, she leaned up and planted a kiss on Yukiko's brow. When she pulled back, she mumbled words beneath her breath in the lyric tongue of her people, something Yukiko couldn't quiet catch. But the place the elf touched burned warmly against her skin, and when night fell hours later, she never slept more soundly.

(*)

Kanji would walk through hell for his friends, that was a given. He'd brave as many shadows, monsters, and dragons as need be to keep them safe.

When Takeji Zaiten had awoken inside him once more, he'd been elated, because now it meant he could fight back. It meant he could protect like he once had in the tv world.

So imagine his frustration when, after only one measly summon, he'd passed out like a five year old on a sugar crash.

Ugh . . .

In the time since he'd awoken from his unwanted slumber, he'd taken to brooding over it on his own. What could he do to improve this situation now? He was so damn tried of being patient, of having to claw himself back up from square one with something that was supposed to be easy!

Kanji gave an audible sigh, when a large hand on his back made it catch in his throat as he shot up straight, a very ungainly sound escaping instead and making him flush.

Turning around, he snapped, "Hey, who the hell said I wanted- . . . !"

He trailed off as Korval gave him a look that screamed 'really now?', and while the half-orc was dressed in more relaxed vestments, it didn't take away from his intimidating factor all that much. Not that he was scared of him, Kanji liked his counterpart a lot. It was just . . . the barbarian had caught him at a less than swell time.

Quickly, Kanji turned around and went back to leaning on the table, mumbling, "Uh, sorry . . ."

Korval didn't answer, instead pulling out a chair at the small dining table he and his friends had been using since their arrival in the castle. Once seated, the big man pulled out something Kanji couldn't quiet see and laid it out on the table.

It was a familiar rolled up leather swath, and as Korval undid the knots holding it closed and gently pushed it open, Kanji couldn't quite stop the little gasp he gave when he saw what lay inside.

Sewing utensils, but of a quality he had only dreamed of owning himself. Each one was solid onyx, with perfectly curled hooks, sharp, paper-thin needles, and wonderfully honed scissors with blades so sharp and thin they were transparent, and he had to really try not to be grabby as he took them all in.

Korval smirked, "Thought you'd like that."

"Damn, where'd you get these?" Kanji asked, lightly tugging the corner of the leather swatch closer.

"Got 'em as gifts. No guesses as to who," Korval replied. Reaching over, he lightly nudged him in the shoulder, "Go on, you can touch 'em."

Unable to restrain himself any longer, Kanji pulled one of the needles loose and held it up. It was almost liquidly smooth under his fingers, cool and without a seam, "Whoa . . ."

He looked at each and every one, reverently placing the ones he was done with back in their assigned places. God, he'd almost forgotten what it was like to hold these!

Korval's surprise wasn't quite over yet, "I also brought some cloth, if you want to give that a spin."

"No way!" was his immediate reply, head snapping around so quickly his neck popped.

Korval chuckled, dropping a small woolen back on the table. Inside, Kanji could see a shimmer of color. Grinning hugely now, he reached over and plucked out a roll of pale green cloth, the fabric of braided hemp under his fingertips.

"There we go!" Korval sounded satisfied, "Thought that get you out of your mood."

Kanji's smile wavered just slightly, and he rubbed the back of his head, "Yeah, well . . . it kinda hasn't been a real good couple days, know what I'm sayin'?"

"No, I know," the half-orc agreed, choosing a roll of velvety red fabric, "It's tough, tryin' to get mythic down."

Kanji sighed, "Yeah, I get that. It's just . . . in the past, this stuff used to be so easy, you know? It's like someone hit a reset button and now we have to start all over again to be good at anything anymore. And if we're going to be fighting those guys who crashed the party, I need to be strong enough to fight 'em."

Korval's lips twitched into a hint of snarl, "Yeah . . . but those guys ain't your concern. We're the ones who've got a bone to pick with 'em."

Kanji glanced at him. He hadn't forgotten the heated and bloodthirsty exchange between Korval and the terrifying orc who'd called himself Grumack. He just didn't know if he should ask. It seemed . . . far too personal an issue, and Kanji knew he wouldn't anyone shoving their noses in his business like that if that were the case with him.

Korval noticed his look, and reached over to drop a heavy hand on his head, "Hey, don't worry about that. You just keep training, get that persona of yours in top form."

He plucked the scissors from their perch with a delicate care belying his ferocity on the battlefield, large fingers wielding them as if they were blown glass, "You'll get good again. Ya just gotta work at it until you are. Until then, I bet this is something you're still good at."

Kanji smiled, the fabric warm under his fingers, "Yeah. I am."

"Well, grab your weapons, warrior! Show me what you can do!"

Kanji happily obliged him. Man, how long had it been since he last got to do something creative with his hands?

(*)

Rise was quite happy.

True, she and her friends had some work to do before their persona were at their beck and call like in the tv, but a first step was still a step. And with Kouzeon at her side again, she felt like she could finally do something other than dither uselessly on the sidelines with a weapon she didn't know what to do with.

Something that could save people . . . and stop disasters.

If only she'd had her persona sooner, then maybe . . . Tiruviel would still be with them.

. . . alright, maybe she wasn't quite as happy as she could be.

But with as gloomy as everyone had been lately, someone needed to put on a cheery face to help lift their spirits.

If she could find anyone, that is.

She'd been wandering around in their tiny corner of the castle, searching for a familiar face and having no luck, when she heard it. A tuneful, quiet song in the distance, out and away from the section she and her friends were supposed to stay in.

Though the lyrics and language were different, Rise recognized her own voice well enough. More troubling, she heard sadness strewn within the words, and that did not sit right with her at all.

She debated the potential consequences of breaking the rules for only a handful of seconds before she crossed over in search of the voice's owner.

Rise had to backtrack several times and was nearly seen by a small group of nobles whose purpose for being there she couldn't even begin to guess, but at last she tracked the song all the way to a small, sequestered room dusty with old linens and furniture. A single window slit was the only thing that offered light, the mosaic glass pouring gold into the room and lighting up the numerous motes that hung in the still, stuffy air.

Rhysana was sitting on a covered chair, her sad song coming to an abrupt end at the sound of the door opening, startled eyes falling on Rise. Her hood was down, the bard's moon pale skin looking significantly darker in the gloom.

"Oh . . . Rise," Rhysana said, rising to her feet and brushing dust from her breeches, "I didn't hear you coming."

"Sorry," Rise replied, dawdling uncertainly in the door. Rhysana had always been a sort of enigma to Rise. She always acted confident in everything she did, she was beautiful beyond compare, and her voice was the stuff of angels. Throughout their adventure, the bard had been nothing but a wellspring of cheer and comfort in their darkest days, unflappable even in the face of catastrophe. But now, in this dark, dingy space, she looked far and away from any of that. Rhysana looked older and more tired than Rise had ever seen, and her usual liveliness and motherly smiles were gone. It threw Rise for a loop on what to say, "I just . . . wanted to check to see if you were okay."

And that was true. Whatever the issue (though she thought she could guess), she genuinely wanted to help. Counterpart or no, Champion or no, no one deserved to be alone when they were sad.

Rhysana smiled wanly, "I'm sorry. I haven't been by to visit, have I?"

No, she hadn't, and Rise had begun to worry if something had happened. And something did, even if Rise knew nothing about what.

"No, that's . . . that's not it. You just," Rise bit her lip, looking down, "You just sounded so sad."

Rhysana didn't reply, and Rise braved stepping inside, allowing the door to swing shut. Rise found she didn't like it, this silence. She wanted the usual Rhysana back, more strongly than she could have imagined, "I know it's . . . probably stuff you don't want to talk about . . . but I'll listen if you want. Whatever it is. You've done so much for me and my friends, there must be something I can do to help you in return."

She heard the bard come closer, footsteps so light they only whispered over the stone. When at last she stood in front of her, Rise caught a subtle whiff of roses, and a hand on her cheek drew her face up.

Rhysana was still smiling. But it wasn't a happy one, "I know you mean that. You're a very kind, sweet girl, Rise."

The woman's eyes flicked to the left, something akin to guilt flashing as she dropped her hand, "I'm a bard by trade. You know that. I love to tell stories, epic, romantic, it doesn't matter to me . . . if someone asked, I'd spin them a tale they would love," she looks back down at Rise, and the sadness reflected within her eyes almost overwhelmed her, "But there's one story I will never tell, and that's my own. So please . . . leave it alone."

Then Rhysana walked passed her, taking her roses and her sorrow with her, the door creaking open, then clicking shut.

. . . no, no . . . Rise really wasn't as happy as she could be.

But for everyone else's sakes . . . someone had to put on a cheery face.

(*)

Everyone seemed to get over everything so fast. At least, that was what it looked like to Teddie.

Everyone was always rushing somewhere, doing something, yelling and talking and barking orders, but no one ever seemed to slow down. And no one seemed to remember.

Remember that people . . . that people were gone. That Tiruviel was gone. So much was just gone, and nobody seemed to care! Not even his friends seemed to care as much as he did, because they were always running off too, never sitting still, never remembering! And even when he'd ask, when he'd try to talk about it, he'd be shut down.

Kamui-Moshiri squirmed restlessly in his heart, and though it was nice to have his persona back, it did nothing to ease the ache of what he'd experienced on the bridge that night.

It was supposed to have been a party . . . it was supposed to be fun . . .

Then those monsters showed up . . . and everything went wrong.

Teddie shuddered and buried his head between his knees, burrowing deeper under the blankets he had accosted from the other beds. No one was here, so it was fair game.

No one was ever here, it felt like . . .

"Oi."

Teddie yelped, starting so hard his knee slammed against his cheek on accident, "Ouch!"

There was a laugh, one he knew well, and the bear hung his head as he nursed the sore spot. He really didn't want this right now . . .

But of course, Tirin would not leave him alone, hopping up on the bed like he owned the thing and crossing his legs as he peered at Teddie. He tried not to squirm under it, to let it show that the man got under his fur.

"So!" Tirin started, smiling, "Haven't seen you anywhere lately, even though all your friends are up and about! What's up with that, cub?"

Teddie didn't answer. He didn't know why, but unlike everyone else, he and Tirin just didn't seem to click. Tirin was always teasing him and giving him a hard time, and when he wasn't being mean, he was being elusive. And not like the way Yosuke was, because he could still tell Yosuke cared. Tirin just came off as condescending most of the time. He . . . would have liked to have been friends, but at this rate . . .

"Hey," the rogue said, this time a bit more forcefully. Fingers tapped the underside of his chin, making him wince, "Come on, eyes up."

When Teddie didn't do as instructed, the other man sighed, "Look, wallowing around in your room all day feeling sorry for yourself is all well and good, but eventually you're going to get sick. Get some fresh air, eat some good food! You'll feel better!"

Even when he was playing at being concerned, it sounded mean.

As if to prove his unspoken point, Tirin added, "You can't change what happened. She's gone. You have to understand that and move on, so you can help the people who are still here."

". . . how can you say that?" a deep upset was flaring within him now, and he finally looked up, glaring even though tears were pearling at the corners of his eyes, "Tiruviel was our friend, how can you say that?!"

"Tiruviel was my friend, too. That doesn't change the fact that she's gone," Tirin defended, as if that somehow made what he was saying better, looking so frustratingly blasé it made Teddie want to shake him, "Now quit crying. Crying won't bring her back."

That just made him cry more, "How come you're like this? Why do you act like it doesn't matter? What made you so heartless?!"

That seemed to hit a nerve, because several expressions flitted over Tirin's face; shock, anger, frustration, and even, maybe, possibly, a tiny, tiny hint of hurt. The rogue then sharply looked away, and silence fell around them save for Teddie's soft sniffles.

He didn't understand it. Why were they so different? Why couldn't they comprehend each other like everyone else did? He wanted to, he wanted to, but it was so hard when Tirin said things like this that made him sound so awful!

He didn't know if he'd ever understand . . .

"Have you ever hated anyone?"

The question came completely from left field, and Teddie stared, "Huh?"

"Have you ever hated anyone?" Tirin repeated, not looking up from the floor, "A person, someone who's very name makes your blood boil?"

Teddie knows what hate means. He's pretty sure a number of his friends hate Adachi for what he did. He knows Yosuke does. But . . . but he doesn't think he's ever felt it. He's felt sad. He's felt lonely, and upset, and frightened, and maybe even angry. But hate . . . ?

"I . . . I don't think so," he finally said, voice trembling.

Tirin let out a soft, mirthless chuckle, "Yeah, didn't think so. But I guess that's the difference between you and me."

Teddie continued to stare, a sad, troubled frown on his face, "Do you really hate someone?"

"I do. More than anyone else in the world," his voice was hard as he spoke, and cold. But when the older man finally looked at him again, those blue-gray irises were unusually sincere, the hardness disappearing, "You know, cub, you're a really good-natured person. Naive and puerile . . . but good-natured. And also . . . very innocent. I'd rather keep it that way. So no more questions about my hang-ups, huh?"

That was . . . the first time Tirin had said something genuinely nice to him before. To say Teddie was a little speechless was an understatement.

Tirin was more than happy to do all the talking, "Anyway, sorry about what I said before. I do miss her, really, even if I don't act like it. That's just . . . how I am." he laughed a little, though it didn't sound as happy as a laugh should, "I keep forgetting that while you're lucky enough to share my face, you don't really share a whole lot else with me. I guess . . . maybe you're a little lucky in that regard, too."

Now Teddie was beginning to feel bad. So, swallowing his pride, he said, "I'm sorry too . . . about calling you heartless." Then, a little more slowly, a little more tentatively, voice falling to a whisper, he asked, "Can we be friends, even if we don't share a whole lot?"

At that, Tirin huffed a laugh, "Really? I thought we already were friends, cub!"

The older man reached over and hooked an arm around his neck, ruffling his hair even as Teddie whined for him to stop.

Still . . . it was much better than being alone.

(*)

The hallway was quiet, so quiet Naoto could easily discern the activity in the distant parts of the castle. She ignored it all, set on her destination. After a helpful suggestion from Ylvaria, of course, who gave her directions as well.

She walked slowly, so she didn't upset the tray she carried in her hands. A cup of steaming tea sat upon it, smelling faintly of honeysuckles, a brew given to her by the aforementioned cleric.

She found the room quickly enough, steeling herself as she made her way to the door. She was a little startled when it opened on it's own, until Korval stepped out into view. He saw her instantly, took note of the tray she carried, smiled, and politely held the door open for her.

Trying very hard not to look at him and keep her mind on more reasonable thoughts (and ignoring the burn on her cheeks), Naoto quickly ducked inside.

The room she found herself in was the old map room she and her friends had arrived in when they'd come to the castle. A chair had pulled up to the old oak table, it's lone occupant hunched over a large manuscript undoubtedly older than she was.

Nyras did not turn to acknowledge her presence, instead flipping another page with a crinkle of aged paper. Taking a quiet breath, Yamato Sumeragi a comforting presence in the back of her mind, Naoto stepped forward and gently placed the tray on the table beside her. Over the cloaked ranger's shoulder, she caught a glimpse of the page Nyras was reading, running with words she could not understand. They were written in red ink so dark it was near black, glossy in the heady candlelight, and something about the unknown scrawl made Naoto highly uncomfortable.

Instead, she focused her eyes on the back of Nyras' head, "Ylvaria-san told me you haven't left this room in nearly two days."

"Mm," was the only reply she got.

She narrowed her eyes, but had expected such an answer. When she was neck deep in an investigation, it took much to pry her away from her work. Rise had been stalwartly efficient in breaking that habit, and thought that maybe . . . she could try to do the same with her counterpart.

Or, at least, lighten the load.

So, after a breath, she got right to it, "I know it has only been a few days since the attack, but I thought perhaps I might help you with your search, Nyras-san. Finding answers for this 'Night of No Stars' will be difficult. The more hands we have researching the subject, the more likely we are to find a clue."

For the first time, Nyras glanced her way, "The Night of No Stars?"

She sounded genuinely puzzled, which in turn confused Naoto, "Yes? The calamity our attackers spoke of. Were you not researching it?"

"I . . ." Nyras looked away again, eyes falling to the page but not reading, "No. I was not."

Now she was really perplexed, "What? Then, if not that, what?"

Nyras' jaw tightened, a hard frown eking the corners of her mouth down, "A personal hunt of mine."

In Naoto's mind, she recalled fangs and fire, eyes that burned like brimstone and horns as black as pitch. She was no fool. She realized full and well that Nyras and that . . . beast, had history. What sort of history, well . . .

How's mommy and daddy?

The words made her shudder even now.

"Astaroth," she said, not a question but a statement.

Nyras' hand clenched into a fist, eyes flashing with a hatred so severe that, if Naoto was being honest, slightly scared her.

"Yes," the woman hissed, a snarl edging through her usually collected exterior.

They sat in silence for a while, Nyras seething in her seat as Naoto looked on uncertainly, honestly lost on what to do. Until her eyes fell on the tea cup.

Slowly, she nudged the tray a little closer to the woman, saying, "Perhaps . . . a drink might help?"

Nyras looked at it, then her, then back to it. But slowly, the fury in her eyes abated, until at last, with a breathy sigh, she reached over and picked it up. She took a sip, savoring it for a few moments, then nodded, "Jasmine. Ylvaria told you to make that, didn't she?"

Naoto nodded, "To an extent. It's a decent natural relaxant, and helps soothe anxiety. I've used it myself from time to time . . . back home."

"Your favorite?"

She gave a wry smile at that, "Yes, it is. And I take it it's yours as well?"

"You've already answered," Nyras replied, a hint of a smile, but a smile all the same, tweaking at her lips.

Naoto glanced at the heavy tome resting on the table, "You know . . . Rise is always reminding me to take breaks during my cases. 'Your mind's only as healthy as your body', is what she tells me."

To her dismay, Nyras' smile faded, "Rhysana is always telling me the same. And . . . I appreciate your concern. But this . . . this is far too important to me."

"Then-"

"And I do not want your help," the ranger cut her off before she could speak, tone curt, "As I said, this is a personal hunt. And it shall be done, personally."

Nyras set her cup down, turning back to her book with a renewed intensity burning in her eyes, "Now please leave."

Her tone was one of absolutes. There was no swaying her from this path now, Naoto knew. Still, her heart weighed a little heavier as she slowly took a step back and ambled to the door, the iron-wrought handle cold beneath her fingers when she clutched it.

"Naoto?"

She looked back, questioning. Nyras did not turn around, gaze fixated on the book . . . but her voice was soft and sincere, "Thank you for the tea."

Even if the ranger didn't see it as she opened to the door to leave, Naoto nodded all the same, "You're welcome."

(*)

She could smell the smoke before she saw it, tasting of ash, acrid on her tongue. Her retinue halted at the top of the hillock, the smooth stone path before them twining for some miles until it reached the city still far distant. Great plumes of smoke drifted from the dark towers like the banners of a royal house, staining the crystal sky with sooty lines of black, and the shadow of the castle loomed long upon the lake. She frowned as her pale gelding whickered nervously, hooves stomping along the ground. This was not what she was supposed to find.

Beside her, in the wagon wrought of cold iron and steel, a face pressed against the thin slot that allowed his only light, grin gleaming white in the shadows of his prison, "Oh, looks like we just missed the party. Shame, it would have been a break from all this dull scenery."

One of the wagon's guards slammed his mailed fist against the hull, barking, "Quiet you, unless you want me to cut out your tongue!"

"Stop, Ser Tevran," the woman said, glancing sharply his way, "He is our prisoner, but he will not be treated cruelly, do you understand?"

The man, mollified, bowed his head, even if he did still cast the prisoner a dark look, "Yes, My Lady. As you say."

Inside the wagon, the prisoner snorted, but sat back into the confines of his cage. As she turned to face the burning city, her eyes met his for just a moment, amber gold to hellish red. His eyes seemed to smile, even though she could not see his face, and a familiar swell of sorrow rose up within her.

But then their connection broke, her gaze finding the city again, and she urged her retinue on.

She had a royal delegation to meet.

More importantly, she had family.

I'll see you soon, brother.

Who dat?

Almost done. :)