A/N: So yeah, this became a thing somehow. Apparently, P3 Reloaded and Volume F decided they should to join forces to roundhouse kick my muse out of retirement. Damn, kids.

…this is exactly what it looks like. Yes, I'm aware of what kind of reputation this series has. And I couldn't be happier with how unapologetic the dev team is. I don't have any intentions of censoring that aspect. In fact, I should probably openly confess here and now:

I laugh at cute and funny memes. A lot. Sometimes ironically, sometimes not.

So expect to see a couple of those referenced from time to time. Though that's kind of inevitable considering Hanako exists. And I adore her. There's just something about her open and unrepentant degeneracy that's become a staple of the BA community as a whole, and I can't help but admire both. But then before you know it, you're an active participant, and the police don't believe you anymore when you insist the girl tucked under your arm only looks like this because of a de-aging potion…

Police I swear to God…

Thanks a bunch, Shun.

And now some of you are confused. No worries, that just means you've managed to avoid the more questionable side of this fandom, which is probably a compliment as far as your status in society is concerned. Speaking of which, C-man, if you really exist, and you aren't just a figment of my fever dreams:

Hi. Looking forward to your next video.

Anyway… Izuna is cute and I want to fluff that tail until the end of time. Enjoy the 'fic.

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Until It Is Done, Dreamer
Chapter 1
The Promise (I) – Where All Miracles Begin

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He hated death.

Not exactly the most profound statement, but he'd never developed a talent for more flowery speech. Or speech of any kind really, now that he thought about it. He'd always viewed it as more of a strength than a weakness, and considering how many of his friends reached out to him specifically when they needed to talk about something close to their hearts, he wasn't the only one to think so.

Time and again, the remarkable people surrounding him had shown they were capable of solving their own problems. The only thing they'd needed was that one person who would listen. And who cared enough to act once the time for listening was over. While his time with SEES had been life-changing in so many ways, whenever he reflected on the past and the vacant boy who'd transferred into Gekkoukan High so woefully unprepared for what lay ahead of him, perhaps the greatest difference that separated them was a conviction in the potential one voice had to change the world around them. For better, or for worse.

It'd been nearly a year since his silence had been indicative of his apathy.

Even now, as he stood as the sole bulwark against the very concept of Death itself, his silence was due to a struggle he was failing to overcome with a very profound and nearly all-consuming sense of wanting to muzzle the invasive voice in his head by stabbing his blade through her face.

He was not ashamed to admit he lost that struggle.

Foolish Child.

It was an arrogant voice that replied in kind, as if to spite the blade that was now stuck through her singular eye up to the hilt. Which, considering said eye now bordered on the size of the moon itself, wasn't all that surprising. The gaze of Nix looked down upon mankind, had found them wanting, and now descended to deliver her final judgment.

Why Do You Continue To Struggle So?

Do You Not See That The Arcana You've So Carefully Built All Lie In Shambles?

Do You Have No Sympathy For The Constructs Of Thought You've Cast Aside For Your Hubris?

Disregarding the throbbing headache at the back of his skull, and careful to avoid direct physical contact with his opponent, he discarded his rapidly deteriorating blade and maneuvered to evade the invisible tethers attempting to spear him through. It may have been true that defending against mental attacks during the Dark Hour was a challenge he'd faced before, but it was his first encounter in which he needed to ward off assaults from an opponent who could just as easily cripple his psyche as she could cut him in two, and he was forced to acknowledge his lacking experience in addressing the former. Reliant on a mixture of foresight and instinct, his body was left to move of its own accord. Meanwhile, his full attention was directed at the growing desire that was his and yet wasn't, to lie down and wait for the end.

For the ego of a separate entity to be capable of invading a person so brazenly at such a depth? To inject thoughts not their own in the one place a person should've been entitled to their privacy? The mere idea should've terrified him, let alone the reality of it. Yet instead, well…

"My soul is not your plaything, Witch."

The anger and rage he felt in response was nearly overwhelming. Ironically, it had the added benefit of dispelling the encroaching darkness that'd begun to impede the edges of his vision. Taking advantage of the short reprieve he retreated further, to a perimeter where Nyx's influence, while still overbearing, was at least manageable. And throughout all of this, the taunts continued.

You Are Alone, Child.

Do You Not Understand That Help Will Not Come To You In This Place?

Put An End To This Meaningless Cycle Of Defiance And Sacrifice.

The egg-like catalyst punctuated her demands with yet another explosion he'd designated as death made manifest. It was a Magidolaon of such overwhelming magnitude that he could only assume it must've been some higher tier of spell entirely. Knowing from prior experience how futile it was to attempt evasion, he crossed his arms in a manner meant to protect his head and other vitals, bracing his legs to withstand an impact that would undoubtedly force him to his knees.

And then his world was fire.

Yet, contrary to his expectations, he remained standing.

Once the ringing in his ears abated, he did a quick mental check of his injuries. It went without saying that everything hurt, but under these circumstances, pain was a good thing. The pungent scent of burnt cloth was also a decent indicator his other senses were still in working order too, though his uniform was no doubt in tatters at this point.

"Dia."

The comforting green sheen of the spell he could practically cast from muscle memory did its best to heal his more severe injuries, but the effect was limited. He had neither the time nor the energy to spare for a more complex solution. The pain relief would be brief, but it would have to do. Perhaps, if he could've called on a Persona that was specialized in recovery magics the situation would've been different, except…

What she spoke was truth.

Nyx and her powers were absolute. She had no use for malice, lies, or ill intent. There was no purpose in deceit when your simple existence brought forth the ultimate end.

"For both myself and you, this is the last power."

"The power that started it all, as well as the power that will end it all."

His Persona were nowhere to be seen. His summons refused one after another. Even Thanatos, his ever-watchful guard dog, refused to answer his call. Whether because his contract with Igor was now complete, or his powers had become something new altogether, his connection to the Arcana and the rest of the Sea of Souls had become distant and murky. Like trying to see the bottom of a pool of stagnant waters. For the first time since all this Dark Hour business had begun, he stood alone in the truest sense.

But that didn't mean he was powerless.

"Sukukaja."

He moved with neither the grace of Mitsuru, nor the aggression of Akihiko, yet move he did.

He took a step, and suddenly, one step became five.

What Do You Hope To Achieve Here, Child Of Man?

From The Moment Man Devoured The Fruit Of Knowledge, He Sealed His Fate.

That Includes Yours, As Well.

He was on borrowed time, and they both knew it. He and the rest of SEES had scaled the entirety of Tartarus in a single night. They'd challenged and overcome Shadows, Strega, and Ryoji to get there. And now he dared to challenge a figure no other human in history had overcome. He couldn't explain how he was still standing, could continue to offer up resistance of this scale.

Yet every time he entertained the thought of giving up, that this was too large to be a single boy's burden, that he'd done enough and had the right to pass along the torch to someone else, the support of his friends would filter through his doubts to push him forward another step. Calling his sanity into question as the fight dragged on, he could no longer discern whether their voices originated from reality or his own shattered ego, but a figment or not, the effect was the same. Regardless of whether they could physically reach him in this realm, despite their bond being splintered as it was, he knew through what he shared with them that the trust his friends had placed in him remained unwavering. And while it might've been clichéd, as long as he knew his friends believed in him, then he could continue believing in himself.

Because they'd taught him what kind of trials that level of trust could endure.

And as his adversary had so eloquently put it: He was a fool. He was a child. Who persisted on flawed logic built off of idealistic notions founded on faith in one's friends and man's inherent desire to chase the heroes of yore.

Ideals Nyx sought to bring to an end.

"I don't hope to accomplish anything. Humans just have a bad habit of letting their emotions dictate their actions."

He hated Death.

And his body moved into utilizing that hatred through the most productive means it knew how to, unsheathing the spare blade he still had at his hip.

It had been a gift from Elizabeth to help in his final battle against the Avatar. Yet Ryoji's attacks had been so rapid he'd barely had enough time to switch Persona, let alone other actions. As if to say the sword was meant to aid him under more dire circumstances. He chose to believe enough of his friend remained that it was more than just coincidence.

Meanwhile, his evasive movements had resulted in Nyx's follow-up missing a direct blow, but that didn't mean much when he was still very much within the blast's radius. Still, as the tendrils of flame reached for him, he saw his opportunity.

Gripping the sword with both hands, a power that was holy by nature began to visibly coalesce along its length.

"Heaven's Blade."

Fire. Space. Time. It all gave way to this one strike. A vertical slash meant to bring down the very sky itself upon those who would dare oppose its master. A decree worthy of the original owner of this blade and the firmament he hailed from.

And like Moses' mythical parting of the Red Sea, a path to safety was opened.

A second later, Deus Xiphos shattered in his hands like glass. Its purpose fulfilled, but at the greatest cost. The consequence of his vanity.

It was enough.

Enough to buy him another minute in this fight.

Your Faith Is Misplaced. Your Love Unrequited.

It Was Not My Will Which Demanded An End To All Things.

It Was Humanity Which Sought A New Order. Freedom From Their Suffering And Woes. I Merely Bring To Them Their Answer.

What Right Do You Have To Deny Them This?

Peace In My Everlasting Embrace.

A Paradise Which Will Know No End.

For There Is No Paradise More Permanent Than Death. You Know This.

…but not a minute more.

As if to punctuate that their game of cat and mouse was at an end, the darkness that dominated this realm descended upon him yet again. This time, the weight of it was too great for him alone to bear. His arms and legs grew heavy with fatigue. Shadows clung to the edges of his vision, then claimed it entirely. His legs gave out from beneath him, with his arms following shortly thereafter. With a speed that embodied her influence, although the immediate danger had passed, he now lay prone at the mercy of his foe. Helpless. Powerless. Lifeless.

Yet his thoughts focused on the contingencies he'd prepared before.

He knew from the beginning that this would happen sooner rather than later. Knew that what he was doing was futile. Knew that in the eyes of anyone else, what he sought was impossible. Nyx was a concept, not another Shadow he could dispatch with enough power. Their fight had always been one of attrition, one he was all but fated to lose…

But from the beginning, he'd been waiting for something. Driven by instinct to fight for something he didn't yet understand.

Through the darkness, he heard the telltale signs of his opponent readying another attack. The killing blow.

Your Efforts Were Valiant, Though Ultimately, Pointless.

Yet No One Else Has Come This Far. As You Did.

Child Who Would Destroy The Order Of This World.

You Who Treads The Void Between Realities. Who Grasps At Nonexistence.

Who, Even Now, Rejects Your Brethren To Guide Them Down A Different Path.

In Recognition Of This Truth, I Leave With You A Parting Gift.

My End. Your End.

And A Title For That End.

A Shame You Never Found Your Flock, Dream Shepherd.

The shroud of shadows parted, his sight returned, and the eye of Nyx was revealed in all her sickening glory.

Not a manifestation of thought as he'd once assumed, but something more altogether. A Colossal on a scale no human would've thought possible. A genuine celestial that could rival the planet he called home.

It was no wonder why his Persona had been swept aside like chaff. Why the Arcana had reeled in the sight of her presence before collapsing into dust. For what legend in the annals of history had challenged and conquered something as incomprehensible as this?

The moon continued its descent. It brought with it enough gravitational force to crush any ordinary man. And within its pupil, a new star was born.

Then a second woke to challenge it.

"Magidolaon."

He threw everything he had into this response. The energy he'd held in reserve. The hopes he nurtured in his heart. The bonds he treasured above all.

And this time, it was more than enough.

The two almighty powers met evenly between them, creating a tempest that contrastingly sought his destruction and preservation. A stellar collision in all but name, along with all the consequences that entailed. With the two cosmic entities fighting for dominance, the gravitation forces at play experienced a complete reversal, and suddenly the pressure that had threatened to turn even his bones to dust was now trying to split him in half at the atomic level. Then, a brilliant spark illuminated the two stars even further at their point of contact, a moment of dazzling radiance that would go on to be unwitnessed as he was forced to close his eyes or risk going blind entirely. The ensuing shockwave left him deaf, the pain that followed confirming his eardrums had burst.

When he felt it safe to reopen his eyes, he found himself faced with a figurative embrace on a cataclysmic scale, further shockwaves rippling outward from their point of contact, like cosmic waves crashing on a stellar shore. Lacking the terrifying mass of real celestial bodies, the immense energy nonetheless formed swirling contrails that were a breathtaking imitation of ejected plasma and other materials. Nebulae of superheated air as well as other gases emerged from the chaos, their vivid hues painting a canvas in what should have been a realm of eternal night.

The resulting fire cleansed all that met its path, stretched by gravity into tidal tails which stretched the limits of the void. He was no exception in their conquest, but as the flames bore down on his prone form, the darkness retreated, his limbs unbound. He couldn't have asked for more. Freed from his shackles, he got back to his feet, no less defiant than he had been before.

Moments later, the storm finally ran its course.

Healing his most pressing injuries with a much more powerful Diarama, though his hearing had returned, the silence that followed was deafening in an entirely different sense.

The look of surprise from the one above him was likely just a figment of his imagination.

How Is This Possible?

Explain This Heresy.

"A miracle. Nothing more."

And he meant that in the truest sense.

Because Nyx was a concept. Something beyond his means to defeat.

But not every victory came as a result of one side standing over the other.

It was worth reiterating that their fight was a war of attrition. One he was fated to lose. But he wasn't the one fighting against a timer. She was.

A timer that had just struck zero.

"What you've acquired is the power of the Universe."

"Literally, space itself."

"By now, any realization is not a miracle to you."

All that remained was one final act of defiance. Not because it was necessary, but because he was human. A single boy who had made a bet against humanity and their collective desire for an end. A bet in which the odds stacked against him had been astronomical. Insurmountable, even.

A bet that his determination was enough to defy those odds. A declaration that the bonds he'd built could reach the insurmountable. A statement that the light of a single soul was enough to create a miracle.

A bet that he'd just won. A declaration signed in blood. A statement that had become an indisputable fact.

Even if no one else would know. Because no one else would know.

Stuck in this dimension from which there was no return trip, separated from any witness to chronicle the events that transpired, he'd like to think he'd earned a small moment of smug grandstanding. To celebrate as a party of one.

An amusing idea came to his mind. A scene from a movie he'd once seen with the rest of his friends. It was a clichéd ending, enough so that he recalled it had gotten a long and drawn-out sigh from more than one amongst the audience. Ken had loved it though. He had, as well.

It had taken him much longer to put his thoughts back then into words. But he understood now. He liked clichéd endings. Adventures that ended happily ever after. The romance between a princess and her knight in shining armor. Friendship that could conquer any and all adversities.

He raised his right arm in gesture, forming a finger gun with his hand, pointing it at his opponent.

This was his victory. Their victory.

"Bang."

And then he exploded.

Petty much?

So Be It.

Champion Of Fools.

Find Peace In Your Absurdity.

It wasn't the most noble of ends. But it was an end. On his terms.

Watching as he and his surroundings were engulfed yet again in fire, he drew great comfort from that fact. Though the searing heat was no less painful, though the smoke was no less choking, though the scent was no less nauseating, it was power that infused his veins instead of weakness. A power he was well familiar with. One that had saved him time after time. The Sea of Souls flooded every inch of his psyche, and he drank from it in abundance.

Despite himself, he laughed. Looking his immense foe directly in the eye, he smiled.

He smiled because he believed a hero's final moments should be spent smiling. Especially if he was saving someone.

And what he'd just done would save everyone.

Not much longer now.

The next time his consciousness began to fade, it was not darkness that overtook him, but light. The light of men's courage, their hopes, their dreams. Bestowed to him from the bottomless well of potential that'd long since become one with his soul. He embraced them, all of them. The surge of influence that materialized from that act pushed the presence of Death back, and for a moment, just a moment, he found himself standing before something else entirely.

It was a grotesque and towering figure, shrouded in dusk and adorned with an aura that was… familiar. Worrisomely so. At its feet swirled a veritable maelstrom of Shadows, many of which he was familiar with, and many more he was not. Its body was a chaotic fusion of twisted limbs and ghostly tendrils, colored in the black of darkness itself. Its face, if it could even be called as such, was a mask permanently set in a haunting depiction of suffering and anguish. From atop its head rose a set of twisted horns that only added weight to its demonic visage, and from within, waited crimson eyes that radiated a light of murderous intelligence. Its mouth was a jagged, open maw that salivated constantly for men's fears. And as if the first head wasn't monstrous enough, it possessed a second upon the same shoulders, like demented conjoined twins.

It was the very definition of cosmic horror, the kind of threat that induced madness in even the sanest of minds.

Before its presence, he felt an overwhelming weight of malevolence and despair, and the contrast with his prior adversary was such that he recognized it for what it was. Nyx harbored neither malice nor hostility for humanity, but if that was the case, then what catalyst had initiated the Fall? Another was needed, one who fostered that which the mother night did not.

And just like Nyx, this was no Shadow, it was…

It was…

…Oh.

So that's how it was.

The beast struck before his realization could fully sink in. A misshapen claw raised to crush him through the act of sheer size alone. He met it head-on, a multitude of spells racing to the forefront of his mind. Each one an arcane mystery capable of stopping this creature in its tracks. Yet, he only needed one.

So long as he could endure this next attack, he…

"Your contract has now been fulfilled."

"You were… truly…"


Time passed. As time does. Or at least he assumed as much.

His awareness of his surroundings was hazy. His consciousness burdened with the weight of deep introspection, the sort he associated with a new resolution within his heart preceding an evolution of the Arcana he carried. He knew that the date had somehow moved forward without him, but couldn't pinpoint where that knowledge came from. He had changed but didn't understand what that change was nor how it had come about.

His memories were a… remnant of a much greater whole. Fragmented compared to what they should have been. He tried and failed to recall what was lost, involuntarily stopped at the same blank spot again and again. The opening ceremony for the new school year? Meeting Aigis on the school roof? His body and mind succumbing to exhaustion?

He decided it was best to ignore it. For now, at least. It wasn't the first time he had felt something like this, nor would it be the last. His experiences within the Velvet Room had taught him that some things were simply too difficult, too alien, for the human mind to grasp. That clarity was not something you could force, and that trying to do so anyway would result in bringing about the sublime instead. Would result in an introduction to the kinds of things humanity wasn't supposed to know. Would open a door to the realm of thought where the only conclusion was that good men went mad. Men like Mitsuru's grandfather. Men like Ikutsuki-

Enough.

He grunted, cutting off the thought at its roots.

Distracting himself by looking at his surroundings, he found himself standing on the platform of a familiar station. A place very close to his heart, unrelated to the location itself, but because of the people he met there.

Iwatodai.

Or for him, the place where it all started.

Before him was a familiar train, stopped beneath familiar constellations, diminished by the lights reflecting off a familiar skyline. It was all so real. Enough so that, for a second, he entertained the thought he really was back home, that the gap in his memory was a few hours at most. Had it not been for the last detail.

He sighed. How many times had it been now?

It seemed that, once again, a life-altering decision loomed before him.

It was the silence that gave it away, that had shattered the illusion.

Even at night, Tatsumi Port Island was a place bustling with activity. It was a consequence of the many facilities run by the Kirijo Group that operated all hours of the day. The only time he could ever recall seeing the streets this empty was during the Dark Hour, except that in this case there wasn't a single coffin in sight, any unearthly glow cast down from the moon, nor any signs of a Tartarus threatening to rise above the cityscape.

This wasn't any byproduct of Nyx or the Dark Hour. It wasn't even his home to begin with.

But it was something he was particularly intimate with.

Much like the Velvet Room, it was a manifestation of both mind and matter, a place built beyond the veil of the physical world. It was a construct given form through his connection with the Sea of Souls, and much like that residence that existed between dream and reality, this too was something that lay between the planes of existence. A domain without any history but through which his actions still carried consequence.

Or to phrase it in a manner reminiscent of a certain Velvet Host, a place separated from the waking world, a testament that only the dreamer could remember the dream.

A dreamer who was purposely ignoring the underlying issue at hand so that he could wax philosophical instead.

He sighed.

So, at risk of repeating himself, he had a choice to make.

One that, if his suspicions were correct, could result in exceptionally dire consequences indeed.

The question: Was this an ending to his story? Or the beginning of a new chapter?

As if to punctuate that statement, with an iconic chime, the doors of the train slid open. Simultaneously, from the depths of his mind lost memories sprang forth.

He remembered now. Nyx. Erebus. The Seal.

Then came the confusion. He had to correct his footing to stop himself from stumbling at the sudden migraine. Pressing a hand to the side of his face in a vain attempt to get a grip on himself, for a second the world became a blur of colors as everything became too bright, too intense, like being stuck on the receiving end of a surgical light. The overload of sensory information left him all the more grateful for the silence. It didn't take him long to identify the cause.

That's right, there was that as well.

He should've been dead.

More memories. More answers. Though these ones were foreign to him. Drifting endlessly amidst the depths of the Sea of Souls. Elizabeth pushing him away with a bitter expression. Mirrored reflections of a life he didn't recognize. Something about responsibility?

A girl mired in regrets, her smile one of self-derision, bleeding from a wound that must've been fatal. The image of a halo shattered, a future lost, one after another. So many voices, calling for him by name. Some out of respect, others affection, more still out of desperation. What was it they were saying?

…Sensei?

It all disappeared as quickly as it'd come. The memories. The migraine. The regrets built upon regret. And there was still something he was forgetting, something he promised he'd never-

The confusion remained, however. Once he was certain it was over, he found that while he was still lacking the context needed to piece it all together, he at least understood the full gravity of the choice to be made here.

His first option was that he could turn away from all of this. Whatever this was. He could get off this platform, head back to the dorms, and return things to how they should've been. He would return to his world once more as the Great Seal, though this time, with a little extra incentive. He wasn't sure how she had done it, but Elizabeth had somehow turned back the date, a full year before the Fall. He'd have the opportunity to relive those wonderful months he'd spent with SEES, to relive a life he'd already lived, and maybe even fix some of the mistakes he'd made along the way. But this was not a chance to change things. Nyx would once again be unbound, the Seal would need to be reforged, and he'd once again have to part with those he held closest to him. He'd be accepting a sealed fate. A destiny written in stone.

The second option would reverse the clock in a different world, the ramifications of doing such an unknown to him. In doing this, the fate of that world would burden his shoulders. What surprised him was his lack of outrage at this fact. He should've felt resentment that someone had the gall to claim he still had obligations to uphold, that he hadn't sacrificed enough to live the rest of his days in peace, but despite his efforts, nothing came. What he felt instead was acceptance, an impatience even. What surprised him further was the knowledge without knowing that his subdued response wasn't the product of another's manipulations, as he so wanted to suspect, but was instead the result of an assurance that came from him but wasn't him that these thoughts were his and his alone. It was disturbing, to put it mildly. But no one else would risk being this insufferable, to put it bluntly.

And that was the crux of the matter, wasn't it? This… persistence he was facing.

Because his reply should've been instant, a second of hesitation at most. If he were to inherit the role of a savior regardless, then who else would he choose to save, if not the friends that held his heart? If that meant he had to cut the ties they shared, however briefly, then he'd just weave them together all the stronger to make up for it. If the cost of undoing their previous mistakes was that new and uncertain ones would arise, then they'd cover for each other's flaws as they always did. And if saying goodbye for a second time proved itself to be too great a price to pay, then he'd lean on them in his time of weakness knowing they'd be the ones to drag him out of it.

No, his reservations had nothing to do with doubt. His convictions were stronger than that. His friends deserved more than that. But that couldn't change the fact those very convictions were the center of the conundrum he faced.

At some point during his musings, he'd moved over to one of the windows in the station. Connected to an elevated railway as it was, he had a clear view of the streets below, and just like the rest of the station, there wasn't a soul in sight. But that wasn't the goal of his search. Although he didn't have a direct line of sight on the building proper due to the surrounding metropolis, the location of the dorms from here had long since become a detail permanently etched into his daily routine. Stuck in his thoughts, he subconsciously placed a hand against the glass, as if it were a mirror that could give him the answers he sought if he just stared long enough.

His reflection gazed back, its expression one of reassurance, as long as you overlooked the small trace of disappointment swimming in its blue depths. They both knew he already had his answer.

It was about time he stopped fighting against it.

When all was said and done, his friends were safe, and his world too had already been saved. Returning to them, resetting everything they'd accomplished, would be an act of pure self-interest. It would be a betrayal of those bonds he treasured more than life itself, if for no other reason than because he'd be harming the people he treasured more than life itself. It couldn't be overstated, that regardless of how much he would've loved to see them again…

…he wouldn't be the only one who would have to say goodbye a second time.

And those were merely his thoughts on the matter. Unfortunately, as a Persona-user, particularly one with the Wild Card ability, he had a rather unique relationship with his subconscious. He'd likely never be alone with his thoughts ever again, and even now, amidst his silent deliberations, he listened to them. The voices of those who were him but weren't him. To the guidance and wisdom they freely granted to him through the Arcana merged with his soul. Though that was perhaps summarizing the experience a bit too literally.

He chuckled. Except, for Persona, everything they did was literal.

It wasn't as though he was hearing some type of auditory hallucination, a back-and-forth with voices conjured up from the ether. It was… deeper than that. More focused than that. A dialogue that transcended limiting concepts such as time or experience. His mind was whole, but his summoning of multiple Persona meant he often had to face facets of his personality he was completely unfamiliar with. On occasion that meant contending with the extremist ideals spawned from murderous rage, the zealot's faith, or shameless degeneracy. But more often it entailed pondering the words of the meekest, the fearless, the finest. And in this instance, both groups were telling him the same thing. For the first time, ever and possibly forever, the Sea of Souls was of one accord.

Had they been here, after they had embraced him, thanked him, and expressed how much they loved him, the next thing his friends would've done was shove him onto that train.

…when he came to, it was to find that at some point the hand he had pressed against the station window had become a fist. His subconscious had been seconds away from punching it to remind himself of where he was. He shook his head to cast off what vestiges of the vision remained.

An autonomous manifestation? He groaned. He needed to be more careful. That impression had been so palpable and unexpected he'd nearly mistook it for reality. Igor had emphasized that the newest tarot card in his ownership was particularly special, one of a kind to be specific. Apparently, he still hadn't fully grasped the implications of what that meant.

But he had more pressing matters to contend with right now.

Their thoughts. Their dreams. The final words that had been denied of them. Much like the experience he'd had in the Velvet Room as he listened to the voices of everyone who supported him, the bonds he shared with his friends revealed everything.

Of course, they all wanted to see him again, more than anything in fact. But not at the cost of reversing the time they'd already spent together. Not at the expense of his path ending in another dead end. Because they'd also moved on, had accepted the fact his sacrifice couldn't be prevented, and that none of them could've filled the role instead. His second option? The one that opened the potential for him to live out a new life, a full life, even if it meant carrying that world on his shoulders? That there was even a possibility for him to finish school? To start a career? To raise a family? To die a natural death?

Had they been here, they would've considered it a miracle greater than anything they'd ever hoped for, that he could experience everything they'd thought had been taken from him.

So that begged the question: Why did it matter that they weren't here? Especially…

His migraine was returning.

Remember, Minato.

…especially when it wasn't their voices that the Sea of Souls was demanding he answer. Voices whose faces he couldn't remember despite his best efforts otherwise. A girl he shared a bond with whom he'd been trying to recall this entire time. Someone precious to him, on the same level as SEES even, and he knew that was true regardless of how many times he got the response such a thing was impossible.

So yeah, apparently this other world may not have been as foreign to him as it should've been. A world that, unlike his own, was anything but safe. For either him or for those dear to him. And no, this time, he wasn't referring to SEES.

Allowing himself one final melancholic look of the home that'd given him so much, he turned away, and took his first step forward.

To create their miracle. No matter how many times it took.


Minato Arisato began his day by waking in a cold sweat.

He tried, and failed, to calm his racing heart by reminding himself it was just an ordinary dream. No more threatening than the average nightmare. One that had been haunting him in his sleep with increased frequency in recent days. Which probably implied it wasn't so ordinary to begin with.

Something was coming. He just didn't know what. Or when. Or how.

Couldn't have asked for a better start to his day. He held back a sigh.

Deciding that more sleep would be a futile endeavor at this point, he began his usual morning routine. Changing out of his sleepwear into something more comfortable to move around in, as he expected, his roommate was already up by the time he finished remaking the bed of his one-bedroom apartment. Entering their shared common space, he headed for the kitchen to make breakfast for the two of them, turning on the television news to see what recent controversy Kronos had gotten themselves mixed up in the day before. He needed to know ahead of time if he should expect a crowd of journalism students on his front doorstep this morning. Again.

Once they were both finished with their respective meals, he returned to his bedroom to quickly grab the track jacket he'd left on his desk chair the night before. Tracing his way back through the common area and then their entryway, he found his companion there to greet him once more. Following a quick set of stretches to warm up his legs and get the blood flowing, he locked the door of their third-story room on their way out, letting his partner lead the way as they made the outdoor descent from their manshon-styled residence. Ignoring the occasional blank-eyed stare that he'd grown accustomed to ages ago as they made it to the street, after checking the time on his phone, they were off.

Looked like he woke up early enough that they had time to fit in one of their longer routes. He got no complaints about his suggestion. His roommate was quite fond of their morning jogs.

With his body slipping into the monotony associated with muscle memory, his thoughts wandered. That dream of his prior to waking up had brought up old memories.

His expression became wistful. Old memories. He'd lost track of when he'd even started making the distinction.

Noticing an elderly couple headed in the opposite direction, he and his companion moved to the far end of the sidewalk to let them pass. He nodded to them as they slipped by, consciously overlooking the fact they both had the face of a pug. It was rude to judge someone based on their appearance after all, and it looked like the two of them made for a wholesome set together otherwise.

And no, he wasn't implying something else through the use of metaphor either.

This city was quite overcrowded by non-human species, in fact.

His gaze turned up, reflecting on the implications of that in silence for several minutes. As time moved forward, the morning sun gradually outshined the expansive ring of interlocking sigils that illuminated the sky all hours of the day. A massive spinning halo one could view regardless of where they found themselves in the city, supposedly spanning the whole continent even, though he'd never verified that particular hearsay for himself. In the distance, a radiant beam of light rose from the city center, as if it intended to pierce the heavens themselves until it disappeared amidst the drifting clouds overhead. It had no official name, nor any recorded history of where it had come from or how it had got there, but the denizens here all recognized it as the Ring of Light. As far as his own research went, no one had ever bothered to question its purpose beyond that, as if such a thing was a common sight you could reasonably expect to find just about anywhere.

…this city was strange.

As if to demonstrate that sentiment, as he idly watched the various cars that passed while waiting at a crosswalk, a Cromwell tank pulled out from the exit ramp of a nearby garage, attempting to merge with the other traffic. Without the reaction of even a single horn, the pedestrian vehicles made room for it as if embracing another of their own. And as if that wasn't eye-catching enough by itself, several girls dressed in the sailor uniform of a nearby high school were seated behind its turret, each of them openly armed to the teeth. One was talking to someone on her phone while reloading a magazine for her assault rifle. Another was fiddling with the grenades hanging from her bag as if they were some kind of fashion accessory. Another still was swinging her feet back and forth off the rear railing, head bobbing to a song only she could hear as she painted decals on her rotary cannon. The similar art styles made it apparent that the exterior of the tank had likewise become a canvas for the girl's expression at some point in the past. Comparatively, was it even worth mentioning the different colored halos that floated over each of their heads?

Apparently not. None of the other pedestrians around him so much as blinked.

Though that might've had something to do with the fact all of them were robots. Considering their faces were merely an LED imitation of human emotion, it was arguable whether they even had eyes to begin with.

His further thoughts on the matter were forcibly caught off as their walk symbol finally flashed green.

The return leg of their circuit turned out to be just as uneventful as the first half. Once they were back behind the safety of closed doors, his roommate, a NEET in every respect, hopped onto the couch and began flipping through channels to find something more interesting. He himself began to undress, shedding his jacket and shoes as he covered the remaining distance between him and their bathroom.

Exiting the shower some minutes later, he pulled out his phone and snapped a photo of himself, using his reflection in the mirror to make sure he got the angling right. Once that bit of evidence was safely encrypted within the usual archive, he pulled out a piece of tape measure from one of the sink drawers, as well as a note file on his smart device titled Daily Progress Report. Following the instructions outlined for him in the header, while purposely ignoring the unnecessary steps he was certain had nothing to do with keeping a workout log, he began filling out the prompts for the date and time.

When he was done, what he had was a list of measurements. Waist, chest, arms, legs, and the list went on. Loathe as he was to reflect further on his loss, he had to admit it was something of a confidence booster to know he'd still had a couple more centimeters to grow before his untimely demise in stopping the Fall. He stood a bit broader than he had during his high school years, his muscles more defined, his stance more intimidating, and if the numbers in his memory were accurate, he would've athletically ranked above average in most parameters for someone of his age bearing Japanese lineage. Akihiko would've been proud. He also would've failed to express that pride before it collapsed into a fierce competition streak once he realized that meant the two of them stood shoulder to shoulder.

For what it was worth, at least physically, adulthood had been kind to him.

Unfortunately, he couldn't say the same of all his relationships, namely this one. Opening MomoTalk he found the usual recipient, sent off the numerical updates as well as his supporting evidence, and went so far as to include a couple of sarcastic remarks while he was at it. With that, he dusted his hands of the matter and chose to forget all the parts he was involved in. Until tomorrow, at least, when the whole process would begin anew.

Such was the burden of having friends, he supposed. He lost count of the number of times he'd had to reach outside his comfort zone to strengthen the bond he had with one of his Social Links, but those behavioral patterns had become a core aspect of his character in time, and they hadn't failed him yet. Friendship was no fickle concept in his eyes, and when done right, invoked a change within one's heart that blessed them as well as those dearest to them with the capability to endure any and all hardship.

Though he did miss the signs that he was doing things right, that the affection he was extending to others was felt and returned in kind. He yearned for the sounds of shattered glass as he toppled another wall within the fortress of a person's heart. He listened in vain for the ethereal voice of the collective unconscious proclaiming their bond had released an Arcanum's innermost strength. And he longed for that coalescence of power that would manifest within the Sea of Souls as a newcomer joined their symphony.

Yet he was also mysteriously content. While there was the boy who'd lived for nearly a decade in isolation and prayed for the confirmations those days were behind him, there was also the child who had come to terms with his mortality and climbed Tartarus anyway knowing he didn't need them. Both were aspects that characterized who he was as a person, existing in harmony with the countless other facets that formed his psyche. And that, perhaps more so than anything else, led into the real explanation for his depressive mood.

I am thou, and thou art I…

A phrase that had become true in the most literal sense.

For as he stared at his reflection, it was the light of the Universe that gazed back. An azure brilliance within his eyes that spoke of his encounters with the sublime. A covenant that burned just as brightly as his determination had on top of that tower.

Which came with its own inconveniences, considering he still hadn't found a way to turn it off.

And while he still had yet to fully comprehend its meaning, it had nonetheless come at a cost. Confirming what he already knew, he called on them, requested their council, only to meet failure. The Sea of Souls maintained its silence, just as it had done so since he'd first woken up in this world.

He had questions, so many questions. But he'd wasted enough time standing in front of this mirror waiting for answers he knew wouldn't come, not today at any rate, and certainly not while he was standing here disrobed with a blank look in his eyes. Completing the rest of his morning tasks, a couple of minutes found him crouched beside his roommate, ending his routine with what was undoubtedly the most important item—and decisively his favorite.

In that same time, said roommate had moved to the floor, and was currently busy presenting his stomach.

He complied with the silent request, honoring the true master of their household with an offering he knew both of them would be happy with:

By petting him head to toe.

"I'll be back to pick you up this afternoon."

"Arf!"

"Don't get into any trouble with the neighborhood kids this time."

"Awuu…"

"Unless it's to keep them safe."

"Woof!"

"You know who to contact if anything happens."

That one got him a silent, confused tilt of the head.

"Or maybe you don't. We'll work on that later. Stay safe, Ryoji."

"Arf!"

"Good boy."

Their morning ritual officially marked complete by the Seal of Brotherhood™, he slipped into the leather jacket and gloves he kept by the front door, patting his pockets to make sure his keys were still where he left them. Checking the time on his phone one last time, he did a quick series of mental estimates, comparing the results with the time he'd agreed to meet. He nodded with a soft grunt of approval.

Good, he should be arriving just as Millenium's gates were opening for visitors. As he stepped out of his apartment though, he saw the gentle orange hues of dawn giving way to the vibrant blue of mid-morning. He paused, taking a moment to appreciate a sight he once believed he'd never witness again. Drawing in a deep breath of the crisp morning air, he was reminded of another cliché he'd grown fond of: Sometimes, you really didn't know how to cherish something until it was gone.

It was a new day in Kivotos, and for the sake of all those who had ever loved and supported him, even if they were worlds apart, he was determined to make the most of it.


A/N: Japanese trivia of the day: the term "manshon" is one used to refer to apartment buildings or residential complexes that meet certain criteria. The more you know. Yes, I could've just referred to it as a condominium and called it a day. But try and make me, English puritans!

And before anyone asks: Yes, he did get it officially trademarked. General Student Council investigators are still baffled as to how he got his proposal past the censure preventing ridiculous requests, let alone how it managed to find its way to the GSC President's desk. My muse has silly ideas, and I am nothing more than a flesh puppet to its whims.

On a more serious note: Greetings, been a while. Most of you are probably new because it's been long enough now that the old crew has either died off or lost interest, but for those of you returning: Welcome back. For those of you who are new here: Hope you enjoy your stay.

Not much else to say at this point. Wish I could claim this idea came about as a result of my fascination with Blue Archive's lore and a desire to add my own interpretations to the community discussion, but that would be a blatant lie. I just want to write scenes of Minato giving out headpats until he becomes a master of his craft while fawning over the cutest bundle of fox-dog-ninja fluff since G41.

Yes, I do live vicariously through my protagonists at times. Your point? Doesn't change the fact you'll have to pry my adorable daughter-wife from my cold dead hands.

…If I had one.

C'mon Nexon, where the hell are my cute Nin!~Nin! figures? You know they'd sell like hotcakes, you damn lolicons.

*sigh*

…I digress.

This episode of cringe was approved and brought to you by the Shanhaijing Educational Group Service. Representatives will be available next chapter to handle all of your questions. I regret nothing. That is all.