"How do you kill Death?" The question contradicts itself. It pisses Makoto off that a sentence like that even left his mouth. This kind of stupidity is more of a Junpei thing. But he needs to know. He has to. "How? Tell me!"

The anger builds up inside, bolstering the desperation, a need for an answer, and the drive to push on, even though Makoto knows it's meaningless. He's killed everything that's stood in his way before, destroyed anything foolish enough to face him down. There has to be a way to kill this one. This wall stands in his path toward finally moving past his parent's death and finding happiness for the first time in his short, pathetic life filled with nothing but pain and sorrow.

Things can't end like this. They just can't.

The figure Makoto speaks to just sits there. Uncaring or unable to care.

"You can't." Sadly and ironically, the embodiment of the Arcana Death, not to be confused with the avatar he's so desperately begging for answers to destroy, replies. "Death is the end. There is nothing that anyone can do to halt its coming."

The blue-haired young man, who rants and raves toward his copy, sits atop his bed, calmly watching the boy with a crestfallen countenance. Makoto rages. It's been minutes, but it feels like hours since he entered his room. He's in a prison, inescapable and tight, enclosed walls wrapping in on him. The guard, Pharos, he's desperately trying to reason with for escape away from this tortuous decision placed solely upon Makoto's scrawny and bony shoulders.

It's dark, late into the evening, barely past midnight on the frigid December night.

The promised night. 31st of December, where Makoto and his Arcana came to an agreement precisely a month before. Makoto would choose what he'd decide to do with his and S.E.E.S's lives. To face destined death in a futile assault and rage against the dying of the light or fade silently into the night.

A cruel cruel decision to place on one such as Makoto Yuki. For a solemn and stoic boy whose ubiquitous loneliness has jaded all views toward anything of actual importance, 'I don't care.' has become a catchphrase.

But right now, he cares too much to let any of them die.

"Ryoji, after all we've been through, I can't let things end." Makoto whirls on the boy sitting patiently on his black-plaid duvet. The frantic begging and movements do nothing to wipe the sombre expression wracked across the young man's face. "Please! Tell me what to do! I-I don't know what to do!"

"You can accept the end." Ryoji, Pharos, Death's representative, whatever name is his true one, calmly replies. "But I know you. That's just not possible, right?"

Makoto stems his fervent pacing for a single statement. "I-I don't know."

Makoto's leg bounces up and down as he tries to race through strategies, using the skills he was forced to learn throughout the year. Forced is too harsh a word. Makoto's slow-burn adoration for S.E.E.S pushes that thought aside as fear begins to rewind its way up from his soul.

"They…" Makoto struggles to force the words out, tightening his hands to grasp something of use within the meandering uselessness of his brain. "They matter too much. Everyone here has something to live for, something to prove to themselves. They can't just die. It's not… It's not fair."

Tears well in his eyelids, something Makoto thought was impossible after so long.

"I-I finally have people that matter to me. And—and I matter to them. It's—It's not fair…."

"Life isn't fair," Pharos speaks up while Makoto rubs at the fountain pouring from his eyes. "Death is the ultimate equalizer. We die, so life has meaning in all of its unfairnesses. There's nothing to be afraid of, Makoto. But for whatever it's worth, I'm sorry."

Makoto stands in silence for a while longer, chuffing in breaths through quivering lips and clenched teeth, wiping uselessly at the unceasing waterfalls dripping down his face. Pharos gives him his silence, allowing the poor boy to grieve and work through his pain.

To accept the answer, he was given his question.

"I-I don't wanna die!" Makoto wails. "I don't want them to leave me either! Junpei, Yukari! They want to do stuff! Grow, be adults!"

"They have both made great strides toward bettering their future and working past their respective traumas." Ryoji somberly agrees.

"And-and Fuuka!" Minato continues, not listening or caring to Ryoji's words. "She's finally found what she loves doing! She can't die now!"

"She was listless for so long."

"Mitsuru." Minato's voice breaks as the wind leaves his sails, and all he's left is exhaustion and sadness. "She just lost her dad. And Shinji. God, Shinjiro…" He falls to the floor, sniffling with his hand on his face. "He wouldn't have wanted this. I can't… Jesus, Akihiko… he's seen so much pain."

"Tragedy follows the three of them like old bedfellows." Pharos grimaces. "It's a shame for ones so bright and talented."

"What about Ken? Koromaru?" Makoto suddenly asks, catching the Arcana off guard with the sudden aggression. "Do they deserve to die? A ten-year-old boy and his dog?!" He jumps to his feet, bounding on Pharos and gripping his lapels. "Is death the answer for them, too?!"

"Makoto, calm—"

"Tell me!" The roar pierces the room's almost funerary atmosphere with a flaming desire for retribution to answer his burning question. "Tell me, you bastard! Are we all doomed to die, never amounting to anything because you won't let us?! We didn't ask for this! Are you just going to let us die like you tried with Aigis?!"

"Yes." Is the simple response. "If you accept my deal, then yes."

That freezes him, chilling all magma-like rage pooling in his Sea of Souls.

"What…?"

"If you accept my deal and kill me, death is the only option." Pharos' simple answer is punctuated by his sombre stare, piercing Makoto. "I… you've given me much in this past year, Makoto. I want you to know that. Everything you've faced and been through has been nothing but a cruel joke."

The boy can't be hassled to acknowledge anything more. His grief-wracked mind is drawn into a melancholic stewpot of memories, recollections of the days he spent with his friends. The ones who forcibly taught him that it's okay to be alive. Junpei and his crappy jokes, the young man with a goatee that doesn't fit a boy his age, trying to make himself appear older if only to trick himself into believing it true.

He and Makoto fought a lot throughout the year. Junpei's jealousy of Makoto's skill, an inborn ability to destroy all that stood in his way, was pungent. While Makoto never asked for his powers, he would never deny the edge they gave him in battle. The eggshells were straining. However, it all changed when Junpei found something — Someone — who saw him for who he really was.

That was all he needed. To be recognized.

Yukari, the girl that refused to be ignored. The opposite of Junpei, but oh-so similar in many ways. Both lived in the shadow of a parent, a father they could not move past. Yukari's growth came from her ambition to be better than she was and finally make amends with her estranged mother, who was lost in the grief of her husband, just as Yukari was in her father. She's moving past her grief with the support of her mother. Something Makoto can never do, as anguish lingers heavily in his soul like an old friend. It's a part of him, and it always will be.

Mitsuru is the same as him. Her grief is a part of her as well, and Makoto desperately hopes she doesn't let it consume her. Mitsuru has been the literal rock of S.E.E.S, holding the group together with what seems to be paper clips and staples. Still, she's done her best, and Makoto would never disrespect the young woman for doing as much as she has, with what she has to spare. Her strength, tenacity and kindness are matched only by her astounding beauty. The loss of her father at the hands of the traitor has done much to slow her down, and worry sits like soot heavily at the bottom of the group. Makoto has had to take up the reins, standing in for the true leader of S.E.E.S as she parses through the multiplying stages of loss, particularly of someone you love more than life itself.

Akihiko. Oh, Aki. Makoto looks up to the boxing star, like the brother he's always wanted. He can't die, not when he's finally forgiven himself for the burning of his orphanage and being unable to protect his sister. There's nothing worse than wasted potential. Akihiko can become the best of them all, especially with Shinji acting as the wind beneath his sails, driving him forward through any obstacle standing in his way.

…

Shinji…

…

…

Ken Amada. An elementary-aged boy who lost his mother. Driven forward solely by revenge and the desire to kill the one responsible. Ten years old and entangled in fury. Makoto always held a soft spot for the boy. Ken reminds him of himself. Angry at the world and unable to lash out. Makoto moved past that, however. Ken resolved to kill Shinji as he believed him to be his mother's killer.

Shinji no doubt felt the same.

Only sadness followed. Shinji died, but not by Ken's hand.

Murder. Strega came. The story's finished; everyone is going to die anyway. There's no point in reminiscing.

Who cares. God doesn't. If He, or they, or whatever the hell it is up there dictating how things exist, Makoto's friends wouldn't be forced to endure these awful experiences.

All this death. Pain. Torment. Sadness.

What's the point? Why are we even alive if we're only ever fated to die?

Maybe he should just take Ryoji up on his deal. If only to speed up the process. If Death comes for all, why keep it waiting?

Why be alive in the first place?

Makoto has nothing to live for. His family is dead. Nobody ever wanted him in the first place. If everyone kept living, they'd all just leave him as they grew, and he stagnated within the despair of being alive. Where's his happy ending? Why doesn't Makoto get to move forward?

It's not fair. Not at all.

"Smile, To-Chan~! The world's not ending yet!"

Suddenly, Makoto's thoughts are pulled toward a girl. The very girl he's decided to give his life to. She forced him to realize that it was okay to be alive — that whatever life he had wasn't wasted by leaving him the sole survivor of that crash ten years ago on the Moonlight Bridge.

Her smile. Her lips atop Makoto's. Her body melded with his own; the warmth of her shape and anatomy was burned into his mind, filling him with such love and intimacy that he vowed everything he had to her protection. The very smile that saved him from himself. Makoto's other self, if you will.

Eurydice herself. A woman he'll chase into hell itself to glimpse her once more.

Her voice sends shivers down his spine every time he hears her speak. The way her lips touch his ears, the sound of her laugh, everything.

She's given him all he's ever needed. Makoto owes her more than he can ever give.

All of S.E.E.S has given him so much. His love for them indeed dwarfs any other affection anyone can provide. He won't let them die for anything. Their happiness is the one thing Makoto truly understands. His desire to protect their smiles is overpowering.

Makoto Yuki won't let them die.

He has his answer.

Akinari's words, the dying author, stuck with him from the moment he heard them until this very moment, finally make sense. All is clear, the world makes sense, and it is beautiful.

"So for me, or you, or anyone… The meaning of our lives is something we make but don't get to see."

Makoto turns to face his reflection seated atop the bed with a tearful grin. "I know what I have to do."

Where Akinari's magnum opus was his book, the happiness of Makoto's friends and the protection of their smiles are what he lives for — What he'd die for.

"I know what the answer is."

Ryoji quirks his head, confusion pure across every feature. "To… what question?"

"I'm not going to kill you." Makoto's bright smile just confuses Ryoji further. He panics, not expecting this unfolding development. Ryoji can't understand why he'd do this. He gave him a choice, to kill the Arcana of death and accept Nyx's coming without a care or face Nyx in a doomed fight where they'll die painfully and meaninglessly.

Makoto can see all of this unfurling through the rapid emotions unfurling across the other boy's face. They've been together longer than they haven't. Makoto has been with Ryoji longer than anyone, and he can read his features like a book. They're one and the same.

He thought the choice was obvious.

"Why…?" Ryoji asks — no, pleads. "Why? I don't understand! You have— there's nothing you can do!"

Makoto just looks at him as he rants and raves, with no regret, no resentment. Just… peace and happiness.

"If you were told to choose between my death and whatever was coming, what would you choose, Ryoji? Would you do it?"

That forces the Arcana to freeze. He wants to open his mouth, spit out that; of course he would! It's what he was made for!

But…

"I…" Ryoji starts. His voice failing, wobbling and turning along with his emotions. "No. I-I…"

"It's okay." Makoto says, wrapping his body tightly against his friend's. "I'm right there with you. I won't kill you, Ryoji Mochizuki."

Memento Mori. Remember Death. Remember, you will die.

The train car clatters, audible through Makoto's headphones. He thinks about where he's headed just barely through the thrumming drumline.

Lifting his head up from his phone, he flips it closed with a clack. His dark grey eyes are drawn through the window to the large yellow moon reflecting off the Tatsumi-port harbour.

Closer to his destination than he thought, Makoto guesses. What a mind-numbingly long ride.

He tightens his hold on the handlebar with a grimace and feels the train shift, beginning its turn toward his destiny.

Ten years. A decade. Too long.

I will Burn my Dread!

He sighs. It's gonna be a long night.

"Iwatodai, this is Iwatodai station. We apologize for the delay—"

—

Makoto steps onto the platform, pulling out the map he was given before setting off on his journey.

Take the train straight to the end, and get off at the final station. Follow the route forward until you reach a brick building—

The smashing drums and roaring guitar in his ears do little to mask the laughter of teens heading off to who-knows-where at this time of night.

It's late. Gotta be close to midnight.

Thank god for his MP3.

"Not gonna matter to them much, anyway." He mumbles out to himself, staring apathetically at a group of students that strayed too close to him.

A can is kicked down a set of stairs where it echoes like rattling chains, and more laughter ensues.

I will Burn my Dread—

The music cuts, as does all sounds of laughter and electricity around him. Lights shut off that shouldn't be, like someone just pulled the plug. No emergency lights take over, either.

Ah, it must have been closer to midnight than he thought.

"Whatever." He says as he glances back down at his map. It's a little harder to see now, though.

A green tinge takes over the usual black shadows that tend to follow this darkness as Makoto lifts his face to the skylight and catches a glimpse of the sickly yellow moon.

It doesn't help much with illuminating the area for such a big, ugly light.

Blood pours from the glass, probably from the rain it used to be spilling through the hinges like slime.

To anyone else, this situation would be terrifying, but to Makoto?

It's a Tuesday.

A particularly chilly Tuesday, too, he notices as his neck catches some wind. He sidesteps a coffin and begins his walk toward the station's exit in silence, only accompanied by his footsteps and his boots splashing in a puddle of blood.

A scream echoes across the empty city skyline, and Makoto uses that as his excuse to leave the area a little faster.

Not his problem.

With his hands in his pockets, Makoto saunters down an empty street. Without much care, he bobs his head up and down to inaudible music, the one downside of midnight. Being able to blast tunes usually makes walking so much more bearable. He can ignore everything around him and just focus on the destination. But right now, he's gotta listen to people screaming and squelching, meaty sounds that usually take up this time of night.

It's pretty annoying.

Squinting his eyes, Makoto tries to spy a sign on one of the many dead street lights. The intersection is just as empty as the last one. A few cars filled with coffins strew the road, but not as many as his old home. Around now, back there, they'd be filled to the brim, bumper to bumper and driven by coffins. It's a pretty sweet gig, getting into the cars and taking their wallets and whatever was left in the back seat or glove box. Bought him many different things that he usually wouldn't be able to afford.

Judging by the lack of drivers here in Tatsumi, though, that scheme might not work like it used to.

Ah, he can't make out the sign. With a grunt, Makoto pulls out his map once more to try and figure out where he is.

"M-Makoto?" The boy in question doesn't jump but is surprised by a voice that isn't his. Is someone else alive during this time? "Yuki Makoto?"

He turns upon his name, facing a girl with her knees pulled to her chest. Around her are empty cans labelled with what he assumes to be alcohol brands. She sits on the steps leading upward into an… office? That isn't quite right. She isn't old enough to be a salary woman, and that's only punctuated by the fact she's wearing the exact same school uniform as he is.

What's with the cans, then?

Her auburn hair — almost pinkish — is tied up in a messy bun. She's… painfully ordinary. Pretty, but the kind of pretty you can see anywhere on the street if you know what to look for. Makoto'd know. He spent a reasonable amount of time around those types of women.

The pinkness lining her cheeks makes the boy question if the cans are hers. It'd lend credence to his streetwalker view of her, but something about the girl staring up at him widely as if he were a ghost catches Makoto's interest.

What stands out to him is her sharp ruby eyes. They spark something in the back of Makoto's mind, forcing away the thoughts of her being a call-girl with the brightness of those two pretty and kind gemstones.

He's offended he'd even think that, and he doesn't know why.

"Uh—"

She jumps to her feet acrobatically and elegantly. A stark-white holster rests atop the frills of her skirt. Is Iwatodai so bad a town that girls need to carry a weapon for defence? Her long legs give him a glimpse of the milky white and jaggedly marked skin beneath her skirt.

Scars? They're freakishly deep, too. Dark skin, contrasting alarmingly against the pale white, is taught from opening and re-openings. Deep-set wounds evidently tell stories of a deep and interestingly complex past.

Makoto doesn't care enough to ask, though. About the gun, either. Who's he to say what she can and can't use for self-defence.

"I-I've been waiting for you!" She stutters — slurring and getting up in Makoto's space, forcing him to jerk back. "When I heard you were coming back, I couldn't help myself! We have so much to catch up on—!"

He pushes her back, palming his hand against her breast and forcing her out of his bubble. Makoto sniffs, noticing a smell he doesn't quite recognize but feels familiar when she enters his personal space. She flinches, looks down at his arm, then up at his face. The girl blushes, a small smile stretches, and apologizes as she tucks back a strand of hair.

Ah… cute.

Either way, because this girl has been expecting him, it's safe to assume this is where he's supposed to be heading. Makoto's new home for the year, as he tries to parse why he's even back in Iwatodai in the first place.

Talk about luck.

Makoto clears his throat, glad for the icy features that refuse to melt he calls his face.

"Do I know you?"

Her face, the complete and utter opposite of his own, drops as he asks his question with all the expressions she can create. Ah, it's a little unfair. He wishes he could do that.

"Ah." The girl mutters. "Kotone?"

Makoto continues to stare at her as she gives the name as a question. Is that supposed to mean anything?

"S-Shiomi?"

"Are you asking me?"

"No, that's—It's my name." 'Kotone' shakes her head. "You… really don't remember me?"

"No."

A second of silence passes, and Makoto doesn't stop his stare. Kotone looks down. A look of something he doesn't quite understand passes across her face. Her brows are furrowed, and her lip is pulled heavily downward. He does not expect her expression to draw a complete one-eighty when she raises her head.

Kotone's bright smile lights up the dark and green-hued street.

"Well, we should probably head inside, huh?" She laughs. Makoto kinda likes the sound. "The people around here don't usually like when teenagers are out past midnight."

If the only 'people' that'd give a crap weren't coffins, he'd agree with her.

He'd also want to comment that she's the first person he's ever met that isn't a coffin when midnight hits. If he cared, he'd ask what it all means, why it happens, and how she's awake too when everyone he's ever told about this secret time just tried to prescribe him pills.

But Makoto Yuki doesn't care. And he never has. He nods in agreement with the girl and climbs up the steps first.

The heavy oak door opens with a creak, and he steps into the building. It's brightly lit, surprising considering everything outside is pitch-black. The green plush carpet coating the floor masks the sound of his boots that'd normally clunk against whatever interior he enters. Speaking of the interior, the main hall of this place is seriously nice. A little ritzy, but Makoto considers anything with leather chairs and a retro television that has no place being in a modern room like this in today's day and age ritzy.

Whoever owns this place must be well off. That's Gekkoukan for you, he guesses.

"Ah! You made it!"

Makoto is caught off guard by yet another person that's not a coffin. He turns to face the voice, and a boy sits behind the counter at the entrance. Wearing black and white striped pyjamas, almost like prison overalls. From… the 1930s.

The boy wears a strange smile, waving his arms outward to reveal a sheet of paper in a red duotang. It's a full smile but lacks warmth, like a doll or a statue. A faulty copy of an expression he's seen but never experienced.

"Sign here."

For some reason, Makoto doesn't find anything wrong with this situation. The little booklet appeared out of nowhere before his eyes, and it didn't strike him as weird or unordinary. For such a strange boy, it's almost like meeting an old friend he hasn't seen for a while.

Makoto, unable to find any reason not to, or maybe he's just unable to stop himself from listening to the child, moves toward the paper sitting atop the counter, waiting for him with an elegant blue and gold pen. A dotted line calls for his name to be written atop it.

"… what's it for?"

"Oh, you know." The young boy waves his hand flippantly, disappears, and reappears closer to Makoto in front of the counter. He blinks, holding his eyes closed for a second to make sure he isn't hallucinating. The boy's still there when they open. He's still smiling, too. "It's a contract. Y'know, a paper that states you'll take any and all responsibility for your actions."

Makoto moves forward, past the child and grabs the pen. Before signing, he gives his new 'friend' a glance. "And the catch?"

"The fate of the world if you fail to keep your end of the bargain." His smile doesn't drop an inch. "It's pretty straightforward. You don't have to sign, but I think you should."

"Right." Makoto nods slowly. After a second of looking it over, he shrugs and scribbles in his name. "There. Is that good?"

Upon turning around to face the child, he isn't there.

"Nobody can escape time," Pyjama-boy speaks into his ear. Makoto jumps at the proximity, his breathing increasing in pace, alarmed and freaked out by the kid impeding upon his personal space. The child continues his deadpan smile, holding the red-covered contract over his right eye. "It's a one-way trip, delivering us all to the end. You can't run away or hide."

Makoto evens out his breath, then opens his mouth to ask what he means. But no words can form or exit his lips.

The contract disappears from the kid's hand as shadows from the corners of the brightly lit room close in on Makoto, covering everything around him in black. The child disappears in the dark, leaving nothing but a whisper of his voice behind.

"And so, it begins."

"Who's there?!" This time, a girl's voice cracks into Makoto's eardrums with its high-pitched squeal. He turns, noticing that the bright room he was in before is dark like it should be within this weird time. Upon squinting his eyes to see who it was that spoke, he realizes a girl in pink is gasping, holding a gun up to her head.

Well. At least now, he'll get to see what kind of mess she'll make. Guns always seemed like a messy way to go. Them and knives. Guns would be faster, but there's always that weird and slim chance you'll survive. One man survived with a railway spike being shot clean through his head. He died 10 years later, but still. Throwing yourself off a building definitely takes the cake for him on speed and efficiency. The adrenaline rush alone just might make it worth it by itself.

It's been a long time since Makoto Yuki has felt anything.

"Yukari, wait!" The girl from outside, Kotone, he thinks her name was, suddenly bursts forward from beside him. "He's—"

"Ah, Yuki." Another girl joins in, red-haired and severe, as she stares at Makoto from behind the suicidal pink girl and puts a hand on the gun, gently lowering it to her waist. Yukari's shivering, hyperventilating. The redhead tries to smile, but it looks mocking. He'd be irritated if he gave a crap, and he wouldn't blame Yukari for actually feeling that way. "You're a little later than we expected. You'll have to forgive Takeba for her reaction."

"I don't blame her." Makoto simply says. He's thought about a reaction like that for a long time, just not as a retaliation toward someone he doesn't know entering his dorm. However, he doesn't judge how people cope with fear. Shrugging, he looks over at Takeba, just as pink in her cheeks as her cardigan. "Nice gun. Are you in a history club?"

"Wha—no." She replies with a shake of her head. "A-archery. Mitsuru-senpai, is he…?"

"You should head to your room." Mitsuru interrupts. "Your luggage came in yesterday, so unpacking might be good before you head to bed. Takeba, Shiomi, can you show him the way?"

"Yep, sure can." Kotone steps forward and grabs Yuki's arm. He can't even wrench it away before she starts leading him onward. "C'mon, Makoto! I'll even help you unpack."

"First name already?" Makoto huffs as she pulls.

"Oh- uh, sorry." Kotone sighs. "Bad habit of mine."

"Really?" Takeba-san asks as she joins them upon reaching the stairs at the back of the Dorm. She must have chilled out. She seems a little more focused than before. "You only recently started calling me Yukari, and we've been in the same class since the first year."

Kotone just looks back and smiles sheepishly.

"Whatever." Makoto grunts. "I don't really care, either way."

The Journey has begun.