Trails in The Sea of Souls (Persona 3/Legend of Heroes: Trails of Cold Steel)

BraveArmament · Jun 24, 2023

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Trails in The Sea of Souls
Volume I - Prologue
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Shimmering shards of ice surrounded him, the crisp chill of the frozen air reaching every corner of the chamber; each shard refracted the light like a kaleidoscope, a beautiful carpet of glimmering ice which seemed to wrap around him. Silence reigned within the room, not even the slightest whisper of wind caressing his ears, as if time itself had halted in reverence for the scene before him.

He slowly surveyed his surroundings and set his gaze upon dozens of people, each one encased within their own translucent tombs — each one imprisoning a soul within its confines, their faces etched with a blend of sorrow and torment, trapped in a poignant tableau of suffering. For a fleeting moment, he closed his eyes, the weight upon his chest pressing down with a gravity beyond measure.

These people would survive, for such is their fate, yet the guilt he felt is often too much to bear. What he had done was nothing more than a necessity, an agonizing choice made for the sake of the greater good, and yet the remorse lingered like a specter, refusing to dissipate — hope intertwined with the guilt, a desperate yearning that his actions would bring solace to more lives than they had scarred.

A breath escaped from his lips, expelled as a wispy vapor that curled delicately into existence; its ghostly trails meandered through the air, an ephemeral dance before it vanished into the ether. The wildcard, a figure of enigmatic power, stood in reverent stillness, his mind adrift in aimless contemplation — his thoughts through the labyrinthine corridors of his heart, silently pondering what his comrades would make of him now.

Would they even recognize him as the same person that stood beside them as they climb and fight their way through that infernal tower?

Would she?

He could almost feel her presence standing beside him in that moment; a faint, melancholic smile made its way onto his lips.

Mitsuru...

He could still remember how firmly she defended him back then, her eyes ablaze with burning anger as she confronted her fiancé who had spoken ill of him. The way she boldly stood in front of him before unleashing a flurry of words that he had never expected to hear.

Even now, the mere thought of her caused his heart to swell with longing…

With a feeble motion, he lifted his hand, the tip of his finger slowly brushing against his lips. Memories came flooding back as he recalled that day when she asked him to stay with her just a moment longer — the subtle blush on her cheeks as she peered upon him with those crimson eyes of hers; how it had felt as her supple lips pressed onto his own, a single kiss that seemed to last an eternity, until finally, it melted away into nothingness.

The memory of that bittersweet embrace was something not even time itself can take away from him...

Oh, how he yearned for her… for them.

A fragile sigh escaped from his lips — quivering and laden with emotion — as he acknowledged the impossibility of reclaiming those cherished days, the loss of that irreplaceable presence that he had continued to hold dear. Time had stripped those moments away, relegated them to a realm beyond reach, forever stuck to the recesses of nostalgia.

He had done what was necessary to protect the world and those few souls who meant everything to him… and yet, his heart bore a weight of anguish that could never be assuaged — a sorrow that seeped beneath his skin, a haunting specter that loomed with every thought of them.

Perhaps this was to be his fate, to carry a burden that will last an eternity...

"I chooseth this fate of mine own free will..."He whispered to the empty air, determination lacing his voice, resonating with the resolve that burned deep within.

No… he had made that fateful decision, and he would embrace the consequences, no matter the hardships that lay ahead. There was no time for dwelling in sorrow, no room for the caress of regret; in the end, it was for their sake — the very people he held dear, those whose existence had shaped his destiny — that he had relinquished his everything. It was only fitting for him to shoulder this weight and honor their legacies, utilizing every fiber of strength woven within his being.

And so he shook his head, casting one last lingering gaze upon the multitude of frozen souls scattered around him, fortifying his spirit before pivoting on his heel; with resolute steps, he ventured deeper into the labyrinthine facility, the path ahead beckoning him to continue his solitary journey.

A hint of urgency began to pulse within their veins as they advanced further into the facility; the frigid air seemed to tighten around them like a vice, its icy tendrils began to haunt the group with its ethereal whispers — a foreboding tale of stillness and unease.

Their surroundings had undergone a chilling transformation since their initial arrival; the dimly lit hallways now adorned with a tangible sense of desolation — each exhalation materialized as a wispy cloud, an ethereal dance that mingled with the ambient fog. The cold clung to their skin like an icy hand, sending a shiver cascading down their spines and compelling them to draw their jackets tighter, their hand clutching onto whatever remnants of warmth they could salvage.

"It's too quiet…" a hushed whisper escaped from his lips, his voice a fragile thread against the backdrop of the echoing footsteps as they ventured deeper into the facility.

"Be on your guard," one of their instructors cautioned, the gravity of their tone hanging in the air as they cast a wary glance around. "We still have no clue as to what is happening here."

As they delved further into the labyrinthine depths, a suffocating ambiance descended upon them, enveloping their senses with a weighty oppression. Eventually, their path led them to a colossal chamber, its walls coated in a thick layer of hoarfrost… yet even so, their initial awe was swiftly transformed into horror and dread as their eyes beheld the grotesque tableau concealed within.

Dozens upon dozens of figures, frozen in time, encased within what seemed like solid blocks of ice — silent screams etched upon their faces, an eternal anguish immortalized within the icy tombs that held them captive.

The group stood transfixed, terror and apprehension pulsating through their veins as they slowly comprehended the reason behind the eerie stillness that pervaded the surroundings… and before words could form upon their lips, their instructors barked orders, fracturing the silence, urging the group to divide into teams; some embarked on the daunting task of examining each frozen form, while others remained on standby, each prepared to face any unforeseen threat that may still linger in the room.

Nevertheless, it did not take long for the realization to sink in, a damning truth that rendered them speechless.

"They're still alive…" murmured a fellow cadet — a descendant of the Nord Highlands — his voice laced with a profound sympathy as he gazed upon the imprisoned souls, disbelief etched upon his face. "And it looks like they've been this way for a while now."

A solemn nod conveyed his agreement, their shared understanding a testament to the gravity of the situation. Their eyes then alighted upon another guard, similarly encased in an icy prison a few meters away from them — the soldier's countenance contorted in terror, his visage a portrait of fear-stricken desperation.

The black-haired cadet could only stand in silent contemplation of the matter while a million questions raced through his mind. Who was responsible for all that happened in this place? How did it come to pass? Why?

Before his thoughts could further drift away, a distant sound broke the eerie silence within the chamber; it came from further inside, reverberating through the air like a thunderclap. There was no mistaking it, for he, and everyone else in the group had heard it countless times before. It was-

"Gunshots!" One of the instructors exclaimed, the words resonating within the chamber like a clarion call.

Like a well-rehearsed symphony, the group sprang into action at the all-too-familiar sound, their training and reflexes kicking in and melding together seamlessly.

"Cadet Regnitz, Cadet Craig, you both stay here and inform the others of what we've found." The other instructor commanded, her gun and sword poised and ready, her stance embodying her unyielding resolve as she prepared for the unknown that lay ahead. "The rest of you, follow me!"

"Yes, Ma'am!" He acknowledged the command in unison with the others, his voice tinged with fear yet fortified with unwavering determination.

Before their minds could fully grasp the unfolding events, everyone had already taken their positions for departure and begun advancing deeper into the facility, racing forwards with urgency burning at their heels.

The air crackled with a desperate urgency, propelling them forward as if guided by an unstoppable force — their pounding footsteps resonating throughout the chamber's frozen walls, navigating the intricate tunnels of ice with an unstoppable momentum similar to a raging wildfire that refused to be contained.

Hundreds of motionless figures lined both sides of their path, their form akin to frozen sentinels as the group ran passed them at a breakneck speed — their cold and lifeless gazes a mute witnesses to the tragedy that had happened moments prior; the weight of their somber expressions etched itself deeply within their memories, an indelible imprint that defied the passage of time, as if the entire realm had been swallowed by an everlasting stillness.

"Come on!" Bellowed one of their instructors ahead, her voice echoing loudly within the hallway. "Hurry! Keep moving!"

Though the gunshots had long since fallen silent, the lingering fear and panic continued to surge within their hearts, intensifying with each passing second. The group's collective determination propelled them forward even harder, their limbs pounding against the unyielding ice — an unrelenting rhythm that betrayed the tense atmosphere that enveloped them. With each stride, they raced toward an unknown fate, fueled by a desperation to avert the encroaching crisis that might befall the empire.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they arrived in a colossal chamber. At its epicenter stood a solitary behemoth of a computer terminal, its surface bathed in a gentle azure glow… yet even so, it was not the piece of technological marvel that seized their attention; it was the figure standing with unwavering poise in front of it, his back turned towards them.

Even without a visual to tell them who this person might be, an undeniable aura could literally be seen exuding from this enigmatic individual, the wispy blue thread of light capturing the undivided focus of the entire group almost immediately.

"Hold it right there!" One of the instructors called out, his voice laced with authority, yet tinged with a hint of trepidation. "Step away from the terminal! Now!"

Every eye fixed itself upon the figure in preparation for whatever the mysterious individual might say or do next; a collective chill coursed through their spine, breaths held in suspended anticipation as the stranger's silhouette stood motionless… and just when it seemed like everything had settled into an unbearably tense silence, an all too familiar voice filled the air.

"Class VII," the figure stated plainly without even turning around, his voice steady and resolute, devoid of any kind of wavering despite the precariousness of the situation. "You are finally here..."

Strength emanated from his words, a palpable undercurrent beneath his rigid facade as the intruder gradually pivoted to face their group, his gaze falling upon each and every single one of them without showing any sign of fear or hesitation in the face of their overwhelming number.

Shock reverberated through his entire being as he beheld the familiar figure, recognition flooding his senses at the sight of stranger's countenance. The person standing before him was none other than the enigmatic individual who he had first encountered years ago, at the fateful day when the jaeger had enacted their assault upon his home — the same mysterious man who had extended a helping hand in one of his darkest hour, who had rescued both him and his mother from the clutches of despair.

His savior, his hero...

"▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️ ▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️" He whispered, awe and gratitude intertwining within his voice as the realization struck like a lightning bolt, illuminating the memories that had been concealed in the depths of his soul.

Proofreading and Editing by – (Try to send me a private message if any of you are interested)

Author's Note: This is just me writing random stuff that kinda pops into my head. I'll think about continuing this story if enough people are interested, but for now, I'll go and focus on my Honkai Impact fanfic. This is going to be Minato x Lianne by the way... I think? And maybe Rose? Who knows... Will it develop into a harem? Maybe, though probably only like... 4 girls? 5? Eh, we'll see...

Disclaimer: Persona 3 belongs to Atlus; Legend of Heroes series belongs to Nihon Falcom.

Next Update: a rewrite of the First Chapter of Trails in The Sea of Souls followed by either Beyond The Veil or Star's Salvation: Lost Echoes.

BraveArmament · Jun 24, 2023

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Trails in The Sea of Souls
Volume I - Chapter I
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The crystalline objects in his hand hummed with a soft resonance, their multicolored glow casting vibrant hues onto his face as he observed the group of monstrous beasts succumbing to their demise; their bodies disintegrating into fine particles, reminiscent of ashes dancing in the morning light. These sparkling gems, these… sepith — said to be born from the very essence of the earth itself — possessed an otherworldly energy that granted remarkable abilities to those who knew how to harness them.

Carnelia — the fiery red crystals — shimmered with a warmth akin to the scorching flames of a roaring bonfire, their radiance pulsating with an intensity that matched the ferocity of an inferno. Resembling fragments of solidified earth, the pieces of Amberl exuded an earthly fragrance, reminiscent of freshly turned soil after a gentle rain; Sapphirl — in contrast — possessed a tranquil azure glow, akin to the serene surface of a tranquil lake on a clear summer day, and carried the faint scent of the ocean breeze. Shimmering with an ethereal brilliance, Esmelas, the shards of verdant green, shone with a brilliance reminiscent of the dappled sunlight filtering through a dense canopy of leaves in a secluded forest.

Nohval, Goldia, Argem…

Each and every single one of them held within their crystalline mass a small fraction of the power that permeated this new world — a power that could potentially reshaped the very fabric of reality itself…

"Messiah…"

He turned and watched as the feminine figure before him bowed her head in deference, her sandy locks of hair cascaded down her back like a golden waterfall; the Saint Banner in her grip fluttered gently in the morning breeze as if whispering an ancient hymn — a solemn tribute symbolizing a gesture of respect and devotion.

Jeanne d'Arc…

Also known as 'The Maid of Orleans' and a legendary figure from the annals of history, she was one of the few Personas that graced him with their presence the instant he had called upon them; her ethereal form shone with a divine glow, illuminating the surrounding forest with a soft, yet brilliant light — her presence, a beacon of hope and unwavering resolve. The glorious hues of the young woman's immaculate armor shimmered with an otherworldly radiance, each intricate detail carved with precision, as if imbued with the spirit of the heroine herself.

Ever since he had obtained the power of the Universe, his Personas had undergone a massive transformation, their appearances and mannerisms now mirroring the essence of living beings; no longer mere abstract concepts, they possessed a tangible vitality that breathed life into their very existence. Each of his Personas now embodied unique traits and carried an air of authenticity that surpassed their previous incarnations; they interacted with him as if sharing a tangible existence, their expressions mirroring a range of emotions that were once elusive — they spoke and responded with subtlety and nuance, their gazes filled with wisdom and understanding, their presence no longer confined to the realm of imagination.

"Thank you…" He murmured, his voice barely audible, a whisper that blended with the rustling of leaves and the gentle melody of a nearby stream; his words of appreciation — sincere and heartfelt — resonated through the air like a delicate melody, carrying with it a sense of profound appreciation for the unspoken bond they shared.

A moment of silence ensued, broken only by the symphony of nature surrounding them… and in that stillness, the maiden's azure eyes met with his own, their depths reflecting a myriad of emotions — admiration, camaraderie, and a mutual understanding that transcended the barriers of time and space. The corners of her lips curled upwards, a smile that radiated warmth and reassurance, her unwavering gaze like a lighthouse guiding lost souls in the midst of a storm. With a graceful motion, the young woman inclined her head, her golden tresses glimmering in the dappled sunlight; her nod — a wordless response — echoed through the forest like a silent symphony, a gesture that spoke volumes, carrying with it a message of acceptance and gratitude.

As the sunlight filtered through the canopy of trees, casting enchanting dappled patterns on the forest floor, the holy maiden slowly dematerialized before his eyes, her ethereal form dissipating into faint blue motes of light — the particles danced and swirled in the air, creating a mesmerizing spectacle before gradually fading into the ethereal embrace of the forest; it was a departure that held both grace and melancholy, leaving behind a fleeting sense of reverence and nostalgia.

He watched as the last remnants of the young woman's presence fade away with a forlorn sigh, his gaze lingering on the faint trail that dispersed into the morning air like fragments of a vanishing dream. The man who had sacrificed everything now stood alone the tranquil forest, surrounded by towering trees that whispered secrets of the past, their rustling leaves adding a gentle melody to the atmosphere; his cerulean eyes glistened with a mixture of weariness and determination as they turned and settled upon the evoker in his hand, a weapon that had long since accompany him on his journey — the metal gleamed softly in the morning light, its surface polished to a mirror-like sheen, reflecting the verdant hues of the forest like a pool of shimmering memories.

With a deft and practiced motion, he twirled the evoker around his finger, the smooth, cool metal spinning with a mesmerizing grace; it was a motion born from familiarity, a ritualistic dance of reassurance and readiness — the weapon a conduit through which he called forth the power hidden within his soul.

After a brief moment of contemplation, his hand stilled, and with a solemn reverence, he holstered the evoker at his side; it nestled snugly against his hip, its presence accompanied by the gleaming blade that his attendant had left for him as a gift upon his arrival onto this new world. They both serve as a constant reminder of the burden he carried, the weight of his responsibilities, and the sacrifices he had yet to made.

Putting the shards of sepith into one of his pocket, he retraced his path through the verdant forest with resolute steps — the ground beneath his feet felt firm and alive, offering a reassuring connection to the earth itself. Rays of sunlight pierced through the dense foliage, casting ephemeral spotlights on the forest floor, painting a mosaic of warmth and tranquility; the air carried with it a faint scent of pine, its aroma intermingling with the delicate fragrance of blooming wildflowers, creating an olfactory tapestry that invigorated his senses as he embarked upon his next endeavor.

The chime of the doorbell reverberated through the air, its melodic notes carrying a fleeting sense of anticipation and granting him a brief respite from his venture as he stepped into the dimly lit shop. With a passive air that betrayed a hint of familiarity with the surroundings, Minato allowed his cerulean eyes to adjust to the muted lighting, revealing a quaint and rustic interior that exuded a sense of timeless charm; the scent of aged wood mingled with the aroma of freshly brewed tea, creating an atmosphere that felt both comforting and nostalgic.

Wooden shelves lined the weathered walls, each adorned with an assortment of trinkets and curiosities; glass jars containing colorful spices and dried herbs stood in orderly rows, their vibrant hues reminiscent of an artist's palette. The air danced with the fragrant whispers of cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves, evoking memories of cozy winter evenings he had spent by her side — soft rays of sunlight filtered through a lace curtain, casting delicate patterns on the worn wooden floor, as if nature itself was adding its artistic touch to the scene.

"Hmm?" An older man, his eyes crinkled with age and wisdom, peered at the Wild Card over the rim of his spectacles as he shuffled behind the counter. The shopkeeper's voice, tinged with a hint of amusement, broke the tranquility of the space. "Back so soon, lad? Here for another errand for little Kasia, are ye?"

Minato could only offer the man a small nod, the corner of his lips tugging slightly upwards in a subtle acknowledgment.

"Well, don't let me keep you then," the shopkeeper said with a chuckle, his hands deftly moving across the countertop. "I reckon ye know the way around this place by now."

With another nod of his head, he navigated through the narrow aisles, his attention drawn to the vibrant array of cooking ingredients that beckoned to him from their meticulously organized displays; he reached out, fingertips grazing the rough surface of a plump, crimson tomato, its skin as smooth as polished glass, promising a burst of tangy flavor with each bite. Nearby, a burlap sack overflowed with earthy potatoes, their golden skin hinting at the promise of a crispy exterior and a fluffy interior, akin to miniature orbs of smoky delight. The wild card continued to pick a few necessary ingredients for his culinary endeavor, his hand plucking a bundle of fresh thyme leaves — their aroma mingling with the earthy scent of the rosemary sprigs, infusing the air with a savory allure.

Minutes passed before he found himself standing at the counter once again, a small gathering of ingredients in a woven basket cradled in his arms; the shopkeeper's eyes crinkled further, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips as he observed the assortment of items nestled within the confines of the container.

"Well, these are different than what Kasia usually goes for…" The older man remarked, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Trying to help around the kitchen, are we?"

Minato's expression remained impassive, but a flicker of amusement danced in his cerulean eyes as he gently set the basket down on the worn wooden counter; he reached into his pocket, retrieving a small pouch containing the few pieces of crystalline objects he had managed to collect during his recent battles — the shards, each possessing a unique hue and radiance, glimmered in the dim light of the shop, their otherworldly energy encapsulated within their translucent form.

"Sepith? Now, where did you get these?" The shopkeeper inquired, his gaze flickering between the vibrant shards and the enigmatic young man before him. "Last I check, Amberl, Carnelia and Sapphirl wouldn't drop around here except from…" Realization dawned upon the man, his voice trailing off with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. "Ah, I see…"

"Fanged Wolves…" Minato paused momentarily, his voice a soft murmur that blended with the hushed atmosphere of the shop. "The ones in the forest near the highway to Celdic."

"Well, I'll be… never thought a young lad like you would help us get rid of those pests." The older man's tone carried a hint of admiration as he examined the shards, his eyes tracing the intricate patterns of light refracting within them before letting out a soft chuckle. "At least the problem is solved… certainly better than to wait for those lazy bums in provincial army to finally get off their asses. I swear those bastards have been dragging their feet lately; not that I expected anything different, what's with their Noble master and all." He stroked his grizzled chin, lost in thought for a moment before turning his attention back to the Wild Card. "Tell you what, lad; I'll take these off your hands. Consider it a favor for taking care of those pests. Eh, how about we say… six hundred mira for every curim?"

Minato considered the man's offer for a moment, his gaze flickering over the shards before meeting the older man's eyes; with a subtle nod, he accepted the proposition, understanding that it was a fair exchange — at least, according to his limited knowledge regarding this new world.

The shopkeeper's wrinkled face broke into a wide grin, revealing a few missing teeth as he reached under the counter and produced a weathered scale on the counter — its brass surface glinting under the subdued lighting.

"Just place the sepith on one side of the scale," the shopkeeper said, his voice filled with a mixture of warmth and business-like efficiency. "I'll handle the other one."

The Wild Card followed the instructions, carefully arranging the shards of sepith on the scale, their colorful glow casting a mesmerizing play of light and shadow on the worn brass surface; a worn and weary hand danced across the balance, making minute adjustments until the scale's equilibrium was achieved.

"There you go; one point thirty eight curim," the shopkeeper announced, his voice tinged with satisfaction. "Six hundred mira for each curim, so eight hundred and twenty eight mira for everything. Not bad, lad, not bad at all…"

The coins clinked softly as they cascaded onto the counter, their silver gleam a star contrast against the weathered wood; his hand reached forward, his fingers deftly collecting the currency, feeling the cool touch of metal against his skin — his eyebrows raising slightly at the amount he had received as he tallied the coins in his palm. Granted, it wasn't a significant difference, but the unexpected generosity certainly piqued his curiosity.

"Eh, don't mind the little extra…" A hint of a knowing smile tugged at the corners of the older man's lips as he observed the Wild Card's reaction. "Me, Boyd and Karla already agreed to put in a request at the Bracer Guild if those Provincial Army bastards failed to respond to our concerns. Might as well it to someone who deserves it, right?" He let out a hearty chuckle, the sound resonating through the quiet shop like a melody of camaraderie. "Seriously, lad… consider it a token of our appreciation for taking care of those pesky creatures and sparing us further trouble. And no need to pay for these ingredients; it's not that much, anyway…"

"… thank you, Mr. Callahan." Minato offered a slight nod, his expression grateful yet reserved; he tucked the additional mira into another small pouch, placing it securely within his pocket.

"Bah! We're the one who should thank you… at least now the merchants from Celdic could send their product without risking their caravan to the wolves."

With the transaction complete, he bid farewell to the wizened old man, his steps carrying him towards the exit of the dimly lit shop… and as he pushed open the creaking door, a sliver of morning sunlight spilled into the space, casting a soft golden glow upon the worn wooden floor — illuminating the particles of dust that danced in the air like ethereal sprites; the warmth of the sunlight enveloped him as he stepped outside, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby trees, carrying with it the scent of blooming flowers from a nearby field.

Minato inhaled deeply, savoring the sweet perfume that enveloped him, his senses awakening to the vibrant symphony of nature's harmonies. With each step he took, he found himself drawn deeper into the rural landscape that sprawled before him, its rolling hills adorned with a patchwork quilt of emerald-green fields and picturesque farmhouses nestled among them like jewels in a crown; the vibrant colors of the wildflowers, dancing in the gentle breeze, painted a breathtaking tableau that stretched as far as the eye could see, imbuing the scenery with an ethereal beauty… and while he much preferred the urban hustle and bustle of his previous life, he couldn't deny the allure of this rural landscape that unfolded before him.

Still, to think that there would come a day when he could finally find himself free from the burden that is the Great Seal… Elizabeth certainly came through with her promise.

It was a sensation he had long yearned for, a liberation from the shackles that had bound him for so long… yet even so, the realization brought forth with it a mix of emotions within him — relief, exhilaration, and a lingering sense of uncertainty. He continued his leisurely stroll, the soft rustling of leaves beneath his feet providing a gentle rhythm to his steps; the distant chirping of birds and the rhythmic hum of insects provided a soothing soundtrack to his thoughts, creating a tranquil ambiance that seemed to harmonize with his newfound sense of freedom. His gaze wandered across the sprawling fields, taking in the sight of farmers tending to their crops with diligent care, their figures moving with a graceful synchrony that spoke of years of labor and love poured into the fertile earth.

'It's peaceful,' the wild card thought to himself as he silently contemplated the scene before him. 'Too peaceful…'

Shaking his head to clear his mind of the errant thoughts, Minato decided to continue on his journey, his azure eyes scanning the horizon for any signs of his destination; in the far distance, a faint silhouette emerged, its form gradually growing clearer as he approached. A row of house stood proudly against the backdrop of the azure sky, small parts of their weathered wooden exterior adorned with blooming ivy, as if nature itself had sought to claim the structures as its own — smoke billowed from a number of chimney, its gentle tendrils reaching towards the heavens, a signal of warmth and domesticity amidst the sprawling countryside. High in the sky, the sun cast its warm golden rays upon the landscape, painting long shadows that stretched across the rolling hills, creating a patchwork of light and shadows that danced in harmony with the gentle breeze.

The Wild Card allowed another forlorn sigh to escape from his lips as his steps slowed before coming to a halt, his hand reaching into the depths of his back pocket; his fingers brushed against the surface of something cold, a metallic object which he had grown all too familiar with.

The key of her oh-so-precious motorcycle… it was… a memento — a small token that held a world of emotions and unspoken promises.

Retrieving it from its resting place, he brought it to the front of his face, the sunlight catching the glint of the polished metal; his grip tightened ever so slightly as the memories of his lover and the time they had spent together flashed in his mind… and as he continued to stare at the key, a bittersweet smile tugged at the corners of his lips — tinged with both longing and resignation. The waves of emotions that coursed through him in that moment seemed to take a hold on him, filling his mind with scenes of what their future could have been had he not been burdened with the duty of being the Great Seal.

A soft exhalation escaped from his lips, his gaze fixed upon the glimmering key that held a myriad of untold stories within its metallic frame as he slowly re-adjusted himself from the wistful mood he had found himself prone to lately. With great reluctance, he brought the key back into his pocket, feeling its familiar weight against his thigh — a constant reminder of the sacrifices he had made and the path he had chosen. The surrounding sounds of nature and the gentle caress of the breeze served as a gentle backdrop to his contemplation, as if the world itself understood the weight he carried and offered a moment of solace.

Returning his focus to the present, Minato took a deep breath, his gaze lingering on the row of houses before him, each one a symbol of warmth and belonging; he waited a few moments longer before finally moving forward, even more determined to help out his benefactor as much as he could for her kind hospitality these past few days.

The peace which blanketed the area was only disrupted by some occasional rustling of foliage as his benefactor attentively watered her plants — unseen from his field of vision yet visible from his 'Mind's Eye' — her action were accompanied by a song akin to a calming lullaby. Intertwined with this melodic backdrop, one could hear the quiet laughter of a child drifting through the air as the housewife fussed over her son's attempts to help, his small hands clumsily mimicking her actions with an earnestness that would've surely brought a tender smile upon her lips; the golden rays of the sun filtered through the leafy canopy above, casting a warm glow upon the scene as if nature itself was basking in the tranquility that enveloped the small abode.

Standing by the counter, he gently wiped his hands on a pristine white towel, the soft fabric absorbing the residual moisture from his fingertips — the faint scent of rosemary and thyme clung to his skin. His gaze swept through the array of ingredients that adorned the countertop; chunks of tender beef — marbled with delicate veins of fat — glistened under the soft glow of the kitchen lights, their deep crimson hue resembling precious gems awaiting transformation. Nearby, a medley of vibrant vegetables rested in a rustic wooden bowl, their colors an artist's palette come to life — the vivid orange of the carrots, the earthy browns of the onions, the verdant greens of the celery, and the fiery red of the bell peppers, all waiting to contribute their distinct flavors to the culinary symphony he was about to conduct.

'Remember… when you cook, you have to respect the ingredients.'

With the grace of a practiced cook, he moved about the kitchen, his movements fluid and deliberate, each action carrying a sense of purpose; his hands danced across the cutting board, the sharp blade of a knife slicing through the ingredients with precision, the rhythmic sound of the metallic tool meeting the wooden surface a gentle percussion to the orchestra of flavors in the making. The room filled with notes of sizzling oil as he carefully seared the beef, its rich aroma mingling with the fragrant herbs and vegetables — the heat of the flame seeping into his very being as he stirred the pot with a seasoned wooden spoon, coaxing the ingredients to mingle and meld into a delicious harmony.

'Take it from me; you gotta cook them at low heat. They'll taste better if they're cooking until they just start to get burned.'

A bead of sweat formed on his brow as he transferred the beef to a waiting plater — its surface bronzed to perfection — his movements effortless yet precise as he scraped the crunchy brown bits stuck to the bottom of the pot. His hand reached out and proceeded to toss the thinly sliced carrots, potatoes, celeries, and onions into the pan, allowing them to soak up the flavorful remnants left behind by the seared meat — the vegetables sizzled and crackled, their vibrant colors intensifying as they absorbed the aromatic essence that permeated the air, their once firm textures yielding to the tender touch of the heat.

'To protect everyone, huh? Nah, that kind of thing doesn't suit me...'

With deft motions, he added a dash of red wine, the liquid gliding across the sizzling surface, its intoxicating bouquet weaving seamlessly with the symphony of scents already present… and as the wine evaporated — leaving behind a rich residue — he sprinkled a pinch of salt, the fine grains cascading delicately like sands in an hourglass, imbuing the dish with a delicate balance of flavor.

'… no way. It's not gonna happen, I ain't repeating that shit… suck it up, kid.'

While the stew continued its slow dance on the stove, releasing tendrils of mouthwatering fragrance that enveloped the room, his attention turned to the leftover potatoes that patiently awaited their turn for transformation — his hands expertly gripped a knife, the blade glinting in the warm glow of the kitchen lights as he swiftly sliced through the golden orbs. With a touch of finesse, the Wild Card coated the slivers of potato with a smoky paprika-infused oil, the vibrant red hue resembling a sunset painted across their surfaces. He arranged the seasoned potato slices on a baking tray, their symmetrical patterns akin to an artist's brushstrokes upon a canvas; the tray was then placed inside the preheated oven, the door closing with a soft click, sealing in the anticipation that hung in the air.

'Heh… this is how it should be.'

"… this is how it should be," Minato murmured softly to himself, his voice barely audible above the gentle crackling of the stew and the distant sounds of laughter that drifted through the house.

Hours passed as he continued to cook, distracting himself in the rhythmic dance of flavors and scents that filled the kitchen, his concentration unyielding and his movements graceful… and as the final touches were made, he carefully hung his apron on a hook near the kitchen entrance; his fingers brushed against the fabric, the rough texture a somewhat familiar sensation that evoked memories of times past. — a wistful smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he gazed at the apron, his mind transporting him back to a different kitchen, a different time.

Shinjiro…

Letting out a weary sigh, Minato squared his shoulders and proceeded to call out for the small family, his voice soft yet clear enough to resound throughout the house; his benefactor was the first to arrive, followed by her son, his hand clutching onto his mother's skirt as he peeked at the table with wide, curious eyes.

It was admittedly a quiet yet enjoyable dinner, the silence being broken only by the boy and his mother's gentle laughter. As the two conversed, there were many moments when the young woman took her time to appreciate his handiwork in preparing the meal; her eyes sparkled with a gentle sort of admiration, wordlessly mouthing out praise and approval without making it overly obvious. Her son, however, was far less subtle with his enjoyment than his mother had been, cheering up just after taking one bite of the stew.

The rest of the dinner was a peaceful affair, their pleasantries exchanged and stories shared over meals that Minato had prepared… and once nightfall came upon them, he retired to his sleeping quarters with a sense of content, hoping that the peaceful atmosphere and days would remain as such in the future.

He watched the night sky from the window of his room just as he had always been ever since his arrival in this foreign new world; the gentle light of stars glittered and twinkled as they moved across the dark horizon alongside wisps of cloud on a frail breeze. Adrift in thought, he gazed into the abyss that held unknown secrets beneath its depths — secrets that remains fleeting to the majority of mankind. Moonlight cascaded through the window, casting a silvery glow upon the room, illuminating the corners and casting elongated shadows that danced upon the walls; the soft luminescence lent an ethereal quality to the space, as if the very essence of the moon itself had seeped into the atmosphere, infusing it with an otherworldly tranquility.

Unfortunately, despite his aching body and his mind's call for a much needed respite, the Wild Card just couldn't rid himself of that mental habit where he would wait and watch for the arrival of the Dark Hour — that urge to stay on high alert just in case something out of the ordinary, no matter how unlikely, would happen.

That same internal impulse kept pushing him to maintain his vigilance and never let it down in times of danger; it was a sense of duty he had been so accustomed to during his past years, one that seemingly remained embedded within him still — an unbreakable part of himself that could not easily be forgotten despite the numerous confirmation that the Dark Hour did not exist in this world.

Minato allowed a heavy sigh to escape from his lips as he turned around and made his way towards his bed, the plush carpet beneath his feet offering a gentle caress as he walked with measured steps; the walls, painted in a soothing shade of pale blue, seemed to exude a sense of calmness that enveloped him as he moved closer to his destination, his hand reaching for the envelope resting on top of a nightstand — its ivory surface a stark contrast against the polished wood. His fingers brushed against the smooth texture of the paper, tracing the delicate ridges of its seal, as he lifted it gently, cradling it in his hands like a fragile treasure.

With the envelope in his possession, he approached the edge of the bed and gracefully lowered himself onto it — its soft mattress inviting him to seek solace and rest — his form sinking into the plush comfort beneath him. The fabric of his immaculate white shirt rustled softly as he settled against the headboard, his lean frame finding a comfortable position amidst the embrace of the pillows; a warm glow radiated from the orbal light on top of the nightstand, casting an ambient light that bathed the room in a soft radiance, its gentle hum filling the air like a gentle lullaby.

The faint scent of lavender wafted through the air, mingling with the subtle fragrance of the parchment in his hands, creating a soothing olfactory symphony that eased the tension in his weary muscles. Minato's eyes, pools of deep azure, flickered with a mix of anticipation and excitement as he turned his attention back to the small envelope, his slender fingers delicately prying open the seal, allowing it to unfold like a fragile flower unfurling its petals to reveal the hidden treasure within.

He knew that he had read the letter countless times by now, yet its familiarity seemed to offer him a certain level of comfort. The paper felt smooth and soft beneath his palm; the great care with which the message had been written evident in every single sheet — its content detailing his attendant journey and her attempt to set him free from the Great Seal.

It had been one of the precious few items his benefactor had found with him when she had first discovered him laying unconscious in front of her house. The other items included his Evoker, the fake firearm still retaining the scuff marks it had gained through the thousands of battles he and the rest of SEES had experienced during the Dark Hour; Mitsuru's motorcycle key had also been one of them, before he took the object and place it in his pocket along with a small photograph depicting him and the rest of SEES.

The last item that had came along with him was something that the attendant herself seemed to had made specifically for him; a glance to his side revealed a single longsword leaning against the wall — its blade reflecting the light in the dimly lit room as if trying to capture his attention with its enticing shimmer and lustrous shine.

A small note had also been attached to the weapon's handle, obviously written by Elizabeth herself.

'A small gift for my dear guest, worthy of the Redeemer of Man, of the one who represent the might of the Universe…'

The sheer beauty of the weapon was enough to take his breath away when he had first saw it, and he had realized that it is, in fact, a Nihil Blade — the Wild Card's various Personas reacting differently at the slightest contact with the special material used in its creation.

He returned his gaze back towards the letter and quietly read its content with ease, having memorized every single word at this point in time as if they were written on his heart; his fingers traced the last few sentences of the correspondence, that same words always putting a gentle smile to his face every single time he read them…

'Rest assured, my dear guest, for we will meet again…'

Eventually, Minato folded the paper and put it back onto the nightstand, extinguishing the orbal lamp with a small flick of his fingers as he move his feet under the covers of the blanket; surrounded by heavy darkness, he slowly closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep — the same comforting words being his last thought as he allowed Hypnos to claim his consciousness…

.

.

.

That is… until the explosions began.

Proofreading and Editing by – (Try to send me a private message if any of you are interested).

Author's Note: Rewrite for the prologue and the first chapter of the story is done! Finally! You know, I never realized how… bad, my writing is. Guess it's a good thing I decided to do a rewrite, huh? Well, okay, the ending of the chapter is practically a copy paste from the original version, only with a slight twist to it. I might've gotten a bit too lazy… haha~ Ah, and if any of you is wondering, then yes, I used the Jeanne from fate as a reference to the Persona's appearance since the one from SMT is kinda meh. Update will be a bit more regular compared to before, though Remnant of Void & Flame will continue to be my primary focus, so… anyway, thank you for taking the time to read the story. Hopefully it won't be a complete waste of your time.

Disclaimer: Persona 3 belongs to Atlus; Legend of Heroes series belongs to Nihon Falcom.

Next Update: Either Beyond the Veil or Star's Salvation: Lost Echoes, whichever I feel like doing first.

BraveArmament · Sep 1, 2023

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Trails in The Sea of Souls
Volume I - Chapter III
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A single wave of his hand... that's all it took to render the enemy's feeble attempts to attack completely ineffectual; their weapons were reduced to little more than shattered metal and splintered wood, as if their very existence had been unwritten by a power beyond their comprehension. Torrents of ethereal fire erupted forth from a thousand radiant pinions — divine flames as pure and righteous as the first light that had ever graced the dawn of creation — blessed conflagrations that surged like a tidal wave of sanctified fury, consuming the darkness that dared to defy their brilliance.

Those sacred flames danced like the whispers of seraphs, a manifestation of divine retribution that licked at the very essence of the forest, transforming the atmosphere into an altar of fervent purification; it was a holy wrath that engulfed the surroundings with a brilliant incandescence, as if the heavens themselves had descended to cleanse the world of its impurities.

I have witnessed the unfolding of creation long before your mortal existence was kindled by his divine will... my eyes beheld the emergence of life from the cosmic symphony of stars, and I have borne witness to His grace as He lifted you from the mire of your origins, finding within you a spark of potential...

Amusement painted the Archangel's features, a serene smile tugging at the corners of his lips — a smile that held the tranquil wisdom of ages past; the terror radiating from the men before him — their faces caught in a tableau of fear and awe — only heightened the beauty of the moment, their realization of the vast gap between their power a testament to their insignificance... yet at the same time, his mirth was laced with an unspoken sorrow, a lament for the souls who had strayed so far from the path of righteousness.

You — all of you — have been given a chance to flourish under His benevolent gaze, to carve a destiny guided by the very hands that had shaped the cosmos itself... and yet, you squandered that divine gift, allowing the darkness within your hearts to warp your souls into instruments of suffering and despair; you did not hesitate to wield it with arrogance... with avarice, and with cruelty.

The words that flowed from his lips held a cadence of ethereal music, a symphony of divinity and reverence that resonated with the very essence of the forest; they carried a weight of solemnity, an echo of the eternal truths that had shaped the universe since time immemorial.

Know that within the sacred tapestry of existence, every soul is but a thread woven into the cosmic fabric... a thread that may choose to shine with the brilliance of stars or become entangled in the web of darkness...

Minato continued to stand within the burgeoning inferno, a figure of serene determination amidst the sanctified conflagration, the fire not daring to singe even a single strand of his hair; the flames, borne of Helel's divine might, danced around him in an intricate ballet of purification, each flicker a testament to the holiness of the Persona that he had summoned into being — his presence exuded a sense of calm amidst the divine chaos, an unwavering pillar that stood tall even as the world around him burned with the brilliance of heavenly wrath.

Your choices — misguided and malevolent — have led you astray from the path of virtue; beset by the temptations and frailties of the world, your souls were tarnished by the stain of malevolence and greed...

Helel's gaze shifted, his eyes locking onto each individuals as if peering into the depths of their very souls, unraveling their existence to unveil the truth hidden beneath the layers of deceit and darkness. A profound stillness enveloped the clearing, the silence punctuated only by the crackling flames of divine retribution... and as if compelled by an unseen force, their knees buckled beneath them, their bodies sinking to the ground like supplicants before the altar of divinity. Their arms fell slack at their sides, their fingers no longer possessing the strength to clench or grasp; their eyes, once filled with arrogance and malice, now reflected naught but a glimmer of humility and fear, a realization of the boundless chasm that separated their mortal insignificance from the celestial might before them. It was as if an invisible hand had taken hold of their very essence, bending their wills to the overwhelming majesty of the Archangel's presence.

Your lives have been marred by sin and cruelty, actions that have left scars upon your souls — scars that have tainted the purity with which you were once graced... know that the flames of retribution lick at the edges of your existence.

They knelt — not out of choice, but out of an innate understanding that to stand in the face of such being would be an act of defiance tantamount to sacrilege — their bodies bending like reeds beneath the weight of the tempest's fury; the air around them seemed to tremble with a resonance of submission, their silhouettes cast against the backdrop of the raging flames that danced with a fervor that knew no bounds.

Helel merely frowned at the display, his perfect features twisting in a subtle mixture of disappointment and regret, twin pools of endless starlight shone as he gazed upon their prostrated forms — their past deeds laid bare for all to see; the Archangel's smile turned into an outright scowl as he beheld the weight of their sins, his eyes narrowing with an intensity that brokered no room for deception.

Redemption is not a gift to be bestowed upon the unworthy; it is earned through the crucible of self-reflection and repentance — a journey through the darkest recesses of one's soul in pursuit of the flickering light of absolution.

And then, like a crescendo that shattered the boundaries of reality itself, a symphony of light erupted; a pulsating orb of golden radiance — an embodiment of celestial power — formed above the Archangel's upraised palm. Its brilliance intensified, casting an iridescent glow upon the surrounding devastation — a luminescence that seemed to transcend the confines of time and space, a beacon of divine justice that heralded the reckoning to come.

Pray... that you may find your salvation through the baptism of His sacred flame.

With those solemn words, Helel's outstretched hand descended; the pulsating orb of golden energy followed suit, and the world exploded into an inferno of divine retribution...

The forest surrounded her with its verdant expanse, a labyrinthine tangle of towering trees and dense undergrowth; she rushed through the darkness, her heart pounding in her chest like a captive bird, wings beating frantically against its cage. Every step she took seemed to echo with urgency, each crack of a twig beneath her boots a rhythm of apprehension — the moon's pale light dappled the forest floor, casting elongated shadows that danced like specters in the moonbeams.

She moved with a single-minded determination, her blonde hair trailing behind her like a banner of hope; the leaves rustled in protest as her figure cut through the underbrush — a tempest in a tranquil glade — her blue eyes blazed with resolve, their intensity matching the fire that fueled her every step. Lianne's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, her senses were heightened to a near preternatural level. She followed the faint trails left by the Jaegers, the scent of damp earth and the faint trace of pine infusing the air around her, their relaxing aroma doing nothing to affect the adrenaline that surged through her veins. Her pulse quickened, matching the rhythm of the forest's heartbeat — the sound of cicadas and the distant hoot of an owl forming a symphony of nature's nocturnal chorus — her grip on her sword tightened, her knuckles turning white as she surged forward, a blur of steel and determination.

"Stand aside!" Lianne wasted no time in dispatching the fool who dared to stand in her path; the blade sliced through the air with a whistle, its keen edge glinting in the moonlight — she moved with grace and precision, a non-lethal dance that was almost as brutal as it was effortless.

The impact was a sharp crack — like the snapping of a brittle twig — the flat of her blade struck against the man's side; he was sent sprawling like a discarded doll, crashing into the foliage with a pained grunt — the moonlight caught the sweat on his brow, turning it into a silvery sheen that glistened like a trail of tears against his skin. She met his gaze with an unyielding stare, the depths of her eyes reflecting a tempestuous sea — a whirlwind of emotion concealed beneath a mask of icy resolve. In that moment, she was a force to be reckoned with, a warrior untamed by the passage of time; her aura was palpable, a storm gathering on the horizon, a tempest of change that left the Jaeger trembling in its wake... and then, as quickly as it had come, her presence receded — she rushed past him, her braid swaying like a pendulum as she proceeded with her frenzied dash through the forest.

Yet her path was not without interruption...

As she tore through the underbrush, the atmosphere around her seemed to shift; a surge of power emanated from deep within the forest, a palpable energy that crawled beneath her skin and sent shivers down her spine. She skidded to a halt, her boots digging into the soft earth as she turned her gaze towards the source of the disturbance — and there, amidst the towering trees and the veil of night, a pillar of light descended from the heavens, its brilliance illuminating the darkness like a beacon of divinity.

For a brief, suspended moment, she stood in awe — the luminous pillar bathed the forest in an ethereal glow, casting a kaleidoscope of colors that danced like fireflies in the moonlight. The air was thick with an otherworldly energy, a sensation that prickled at her skin like the brush of ghostly fingers. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched the celestial display, her senses becoming even more attuned to the symphony of nature — the rustling leaves, the distant murmur of a river, the rhythm of her own heartbeat — all seemed to harmonize with the cosmic spectacle before her. Time seemed to stretch — to bend — as if the fabric of reality itself were warping beneath the weight of the extraordinary... and then, as abruptly as it had appeared, the pillar of light dissipated, its radiance fading into the night; the forest returned to its tranquil state, the only remnants of the celestial event being the sensation of power that lingered in the air.

Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword, her grip reinvigorated with newfound strength as she tore her gaze away from the heavens, her determination reignited with an even greater fervor. Driechel and his family were still out there, and with the Goddess as her witness, she would not cease her efforts until they were safe from harm.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Lianne dashed into the shadows of the forest once more — her figure disappearing among the trees like a specter on a quest, her single braid trailing behind her like a banner of defiance against the encroaching darkness; the moonlight continued to weave its silvery tapestry, illuminating the path that lay ahead of her as she resumed her breakneck pace — her boots pounding against the ground with an unyielding rhythm that echoed like a war drum in the heart of the night.

He stood amidst the aftermath, the flickering light of the divine conflagration still painting the clearing in shades of ethereal gold. Scorched bodies lay before him, contorted and broken like discarded puppets; what few remained struggled to move, grunting and emitting soft, pitiful cries of pain — their forms were mere shadows of their former selves, their arrogance and malice reduced to nothing more than smoldering embers. The air was heavy with the acrid scent of burnt flesh, a poignant reminder of the consequences that had befallen those who had strayed too far from the path of righteousness.

His gaze swept over the scene with a detachment that belied the gravity of the situation — a mirror to his own inner calm amidst the chaos; the moonlight cast elongated shadows upon the ground, a tapestry woven from threads of light and darkness. It danced like a reflection of the turmoil that had transpired moments ago, a silent witness to the divine retribution that had cleansed the forest of the malevolence that had tainted it; each charred figure spoke of a life once lived, choices once made — a testament to the duality of existence, the fine line between salvation and damnation.

"You did not approve..." The Persona continued to float in the air, his regal form a beacon of divine power; Helel's eyes, twin pools of starlight, bore into the Wild Card's very soul, a silent inquiry that sought to penetrate the depths of his being — his voice was a symphony of celestial power, its resonance stirring the very air around them.

"... no," Minato's gaze met with the Archangel's own, their eyes locking in a silent exchange that spanned the depths of eternity; his lips parted, words forming with deliberate precision as he turned his attention back to the bodies that lay before him, the sound that came out of his mouth soft yet firm like the whisper of the wind through the leaves. "No, I did not..."

"And yet, you have done nothing to stop me from doing so..." Helel's words hung in the air, each syllable heavy with the weight of a truth that resonated with the universe itself.

"..."

His silence was a testament to his acknowledgment of the Archangel's observation, a tacit acceptance that his actions — or lack thereof — spoke louder than words. A sigh — soft and weary — escaped his lips, the sound mingling with the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of a river; his shoulders slumped imperceptibly, the weight of his own choices settling upon him like a mantle of responsibility. The knowledge that his inaction had allowed the divine retribution to unfold — to unleash its judgment upon the unsuspecting souls — was a burden he bore with solemn acceptance; the path that he had chosen to tread was a treacherous one, a fine line that tested the limits of his own morality.

"I am thou, and thou art I..." Helel's voice was a soothing yet solemn murmur, a current of understanding that flowed between them — his eyes never wavered from Minato's, a beacon of empathy that offered a glimpse into the Archangel's own wisdom. "You feel the weight of their sins — the choices they made that led them down this path of damnation."

"... most of them reveled in their sins," Minato nodded slowly, his eyes closing momentarily; he allowed the symphony of sound to wash over him — the crackling of the embers, the faint hiss of lingering heat, the soft moans that echoed in the aftermath. "Yet none are beyond redemption..."

"Indeed, they are not..." His tone held a note of agreement, a resonance that acknowledged the complexity of human nature — the delicate interplay of light and darkness that existed within each individual's soul. "Even the darkest souls possess a glimmer of light within them; redemption is but a choice — a chance that must be seized with unwavering resolve. Nevertheless..."

The Wild Card's gaze shifted, his eyes tracing the contours of the broken figures that lay strewn across the clearing; his lips pressed into a thin line, a mirthless smile that held both empathy and regret. Ironic as it were, he understood the truth in Helel's words, the idea that even the most malevolent of hearts held the potential for change — for salvation — yet, even if that were the case…

"And those who remain..." The words that came out of his lips was a murmur, a soft acknowledgment of the glowing sigil that adorned the cheeks of the fallen — the mark of penance etched into their very flesh, a symbol of their sins laid bare for all to see.

"The morning star," Helel inclined his head in agreement, his regal visage a portrait of solemn wisdom; his gaze shifted, his eyes locking onto the sigils that adorned the cheeks of those who remained — a mark that symbolized the weight of their transgressions, a beacon of hope for their redemption. "A symbol of the dawn, a new beginning — a chance for these souls to cast off the shackles of their past and embrace the light of salvation. What they'll do with this chance, however, remains to be seen..."

"Hmm..." He offered a non-committal grunt in response, his eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced to the side, towards the edges of the clearing — his sharp perception had long since picked up on the presence that had initially piqued his curiosity a few moments prior; the woman stood in the periphery of his vision, a silhouette cloaked in the shadows as she watched the aftermath with an intensity that mirrored his own — her expression unreadable, her motives veiled behind a facade of calm observance.

The moonlight painted her figure in shades of silver and ebony, the interplay of light and shadow adding to her mystique — her presence was subtle, yet it pulsed with a vitality that belied her concealed state; he could sense the quiet strength that emanated from her, a force that seemed to be held in check by an invisible thread. Minato's gaze lingered for a moment, his thoughts a whirlwind of speculation and curiosity; the forest's rustling leaves seemed to echo his thoughts, a symphony of nature that provided a backdrop to the tableau that had unfolded before him.

"My, that one is certainly interesting," Helel's voice pulled him from his musings, a note of amusement underscoring his words; the Archangel's eyes glinted with a knowing spark as they briefly flicked towards the woman before returning to Minato, their depths a bottomless well of insight and mystery. "Though I suppose that is a story for another time..."

His acknowledgment was a subtle inclination of his head, his expression a mixture of gratitude and respect; the air around them seemed to shimmer with a sense of finality, the atmosphere thick with the weight of their unspoken conversation. Helel's presence seemed to shift as he gave the Wild Card a solemn bow, a subtle dance of motes of light that wove around him like fireflies in the night; his form dissolved into brilliance, each particle scattering like stardust as he faded from view.

With a slow exhalation, he turned back from the clearing, his eyes casting one last glance towards the fallen before he teared his gaze away from their forms — his figure melded with the shadows, a lone silhouette against the backdrop of the night; his boots crunched softly against the scorched earth as he began to walk, each step deliberate and measured. As he walked, the presence at the periphery of his senses seemed to stir, a subtle shift in the air that spoke of movement; he glanced towards the figure that had been watching from the shadows — the woman's form was no longer still, her steps overtaking his own as she began speed up in the same direction.

Like a pearl nestled within the velvet folds of night's embrace, the Holy City of Arteria emerged with a sense of majestic allure, an oasis of divine tranquility that beckoned pilgrims and clergymen alike from the far corners of the continent. This sacred haven, bathed in the gentle embrace of moon's silvery radiance, stood as a testament to faith — a bastion of spiritual devotion cradled within the heart of Central Zemuria, its very existence seemed to whisper the secrets of the divine to those who ventured within its hallowed walls; landlocked and ensconced within the arms of the larger countries, it thrived as a sanctuary for those who professed their faith to Aidios and the teachings of the Septian Church.

With a skyline that boasted elegant towers and domes that scraped the heavens, Arteria was a portrait of piety and grandeur, a congregation of spires that etched the night sky with a silhouette that whispered of ancient secrets and divine mysteries. As the clock's hands marched ever forward, the city remained ensnared in the tranquil embrace of the moonlit night; its cobblestone streets, normally teeming with the bustling fervor of the faithful and the footsteps of pilgrims, now lay bathed in a serene stillness, the echoes of devotion suspended in the air like the soft tendrils of incense smoke. The city's heart, the Grand Cathedral, reigned supreme at its center — a colossal edifice that reached towards the heavens with an almost palpable yearning; its golden spires, adorned with intricate carvings that depicted tales of divine intervention, pierced the velvety expanse like the outstretched fingers of an ardent supplicant.

The moon — a silver crescent hanging low in the sky — continued to cast its ethereal glow upon the city's white stone architecture, imbuing it with an otherworldly luminescence. Arched windows glowed like beacons, the soft light spilling forth like a cascade of stardust; the narrow alleys and winding paths were drenched in shadow, a dance of contrasts that lent an air of mystique to the city's landscape. The city's layout — like a labyrinth of devotion — offered hidden alcoves and secluded courtyards where the devout could seek solace in prayer or quiet reflection. Mosaics adorned the walls, intricate artworks that narrated the chronicles of faith, each piece a masterpiece in its own right — a tableau of devotion rendered in a kaleidoscope of colors that seemed to dance in harmony with the moonlight — while banners fluttered in the night breeze, their fabric bearing the emblem of the Holy Grail, a symbol of sacred communion and celestial blessings.

In this solemn hour, the city was shrouded in an almost reverential hush — the nocturnal breeze whispered its secrets through the streets, rustling the leaves and causing candle flames to flicker as if in response to the sacred serenade of the night; the scent of incense lingered in the air, a fragrant embrace that enveloped every corner like a benediction from the heavens above. It was as though the very air held its breath, a collective pause that acknowledged the sanctity of the night; the echoes of midnight prayers seemed to linger like a chorus of ethereal voices, carried on the wind to reach the ears of She Who Dwells Above.

Yet, beneath the tranquil surface of Arteria's hallowed visage, a current of purposeful activity churned — a hive of endeavors concealed from the casual observer. Deep within the heart of the city, in the sanctified recesses known as the Primal Grounds, a circular chamber — a colossal haven of secrecy and power — pulsed with an energy that seemed to vibrate with the very heartbeat of creation. The chamber's walls were adorned with glowing lines, their luminescence casting a soft yet piercing light that bathed the surroundings in a spectral radiance; a crystaline ceiling arched overhead, each facet of its structure capturing and refracting the ambient light in a breathtaking display.

Within this subterranean expanse, relics of ancient power that had been wrested from the grasp of oblivion lay encased within cells of pulsating energy — a harmonious fusion of technology and mysticism, a prison of light that hummed with a subdued resonance. These artifacts, each one a repository of forgotten potential and peril, were contained within the chamber's confines — a convergence of the divine and the forbidden, a testament to the delicate balance that existed between man and the numinous forces that shaped the world. All of them were diverse in form and origin — intricate mechanisms, ornate weapons, and shimmering gems — each one a unique testament to an era long past, to civilizations that had risen and fallen in the ebb and flow of time. It was as if the chamber itself held the breath of epochs, a guardian of secrets that spanned the tapestry of history.

Scattered all around the Primal Ground, individuals garbed in vestments adorned with symbols of faith moved with an air of quiet determination — their figures shrouded in shadows as they navigated the chamber's confines, their voices carrying a weight of reverence and purpose; each movement was deliberate, each task carried out with meticulous care as they tended to the artifacts that lay within the cells of energy. Their hands were gloved in protective fabric, their fingers moving with the grace of experience as they adjusted, examined, and maintained the relics — their brows furrowed in concentration as they exchanged insights and hypotheses, their discourse a symphony of intellect. These individuals — the chosen few entrusted with the guardianship of these artifacts — were bound by an unspoken oath, united in their commitment to keep the balance intact, to ensure that the ancient powers contained within the artifacts did not plunge the world into chaos once more.

High above the chamber, within a balcony that overlooked the Primal Grounds, two figures stood together in silent contemplation. The man, tall and commanding in his presence, gazed upon the chamber with a mixture of concern and resignation — his eyes, a deep and piercing shade of cobalt, held an intensity that mirrored the very depths of the night sky; his attire bore the mark of authority, a uniform that spoke of a lifetime of service to a cause larger than himself.

Beside him stood a young woman, her features a harmonious blend of a serene yet vibrant beauty — her eyes, a vivid shade of scarlet that held within it a glint of determination, were framed by tendrils of greenish-blonde hair that seemed to catch the moonlight like strands of precious metal; her attire bore the sigil of the Church, the cloak's crimson fabric cascading down her form like a river of devotion, while the golden medallion that adorned her neck gleamed with the luster of unwavering faith. Ein Selnate — a name that would one day echo through the annals of the Church's history — stood with an air of tranquil authority that belied her age; her gaze, like a beacon that pierced the shadows, was fixed upon the chamber below, her lips pressed into a thin line as she watched the events that unfolded within its depths.

"What a mess..." The man's voice — deep and resonant — held a tinge of exasperation as he surveyed the chamber's contents, his eyes narrowing slightly as if assessing the gravity of the situation before him; his fingers tapped a soft rhythm upon the stone railing — a beat that mirrored the cadence of his thoughts — his words hung in the air like a sigh of resignation, a sentiment that seemed to echo the collective weariness of those who bore the weight of their responsibilities. "And just when I was about to step down from my position..."

His companion's gaze remained fixed on the chamber below, her expression contemplative as she regarded the artifacts and the individuals tending to them. There was a serene understanding in her scarlet eyes, a recognition of the delicate equilibrium that they strived to maintain amidst the ancient powers that lay within their grasp. A slight movement ruffled the edges of her cloak, the fabric fluttering like the wings of a guardian spirit; her fingers brushed against the golden medallion that adorned her collar, a symbol of her connection to the Church and the divine ideals it represented.

"It appears that the Church still requires your services, Grand Master..." Ein's gaze shifted from the chamber below to the man beside her, her scarlet eyes meeting his with a mixture of curiosity and empathy; her voice, like a melody that danced through the night air, carried a note of understanding laced with a touch of dry humor. "Your retirement will have to wait a little longer, it seems..."

"So it seems..." The man's lips curved into a wry smile, a glint of amusement dancing within his cobalt eyes as he regarded the young woman with a mixture of fondness and respect. "Regardless, I've been holding the position of the Grand Master for more than thirty years. It is time for new blood to take the reins and steer the ship."

"You're old, but you're not that old..." Her reply was accompanied by a light chuckle, a melodious sound that seemed to carry the weight of camaraderie and familiarity; her eyes held a spark of playfulness as she regarded the man beside her, her expression a mixture of admiration and affection. "Do take your time, though; with the world as it is, we could certainly use your guidance a while longer."

"Heh... cheeky brat..." The Grand Master's chuckled, a sound as rich and resonant as the deep sea that echoed through the balcony — a response to Ein's quip and heartfelt sentiment.

Silence stretched between them, a tranquil pause as they both turned their gaze back to the chamber below — a moment suspended in time, an interlude of quiet contemplation amidst the backdrop of ancient relics and the sacred hum of power that pervaded the Primal Grounds. The ambient glow from the chamber's energy cells danced across their features, casting fleeting shadows and highlights that accentuated the lines of their faces. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, it was Ein who broke the silence, her voice a measured and thoughtful inquiry that carried a trace of concern.

"With all due respect, Grand Master, is the situation really that dire?" Her question hung in the air, a question that seemed to echo the thoughts that lingered within the hearts of many; the Grand Master's gaze shifted from the chamber below to Ein, his expression a mirror of somber contemplation as he regarded her with a mixture of gravitas and authenticity.

"... it is dire enough, or perhaps confusing enough, that the council decided to convene a special assembly." The Grand Master's words — chosen with the care of one who bore the mantle of authority — hung in the air, each syllable laden with the gravity of the present situation; his eyes, a window into the experiences and knowledge he bore, bore into Ein's own. "You felt it too, don't you? The moment that pillar of light appeared, every Dominion felt their Stigmas... short-circuited, for lack of a better word." He continued, his voice a low and measured rumble that seemed to carry the weight of years of experience; the balcony's balustrade pressed against his palms, his fingers curling slightly as if in response to the memories that his words invoked. "The disturbances in the septum veins, the anomalies that have been reported from the Empire, the sudden activation of every single one of these artifacts... all of them are pieces of a puzzle that we have yet to fully comprehend."

Ein's scarlet eyes held a flicker of contemplation as she absorbed the Grand Master's words, her gaze shifting to the chamber below as if seeking answers amidst the pulsating energy that surrounded the relics. She had always been a woman of action, one who confronted challenges head-on, and the enigma that had begun to unravel was something that gnawed at her very core — a puzzle that demanded both her patience and her intellect.

"Does that mean that the Church will be taking a more active role in Erebonia? Perhaps an envoy... or an agent to investigate the occurrence? To gather information, and to assess the situation first-hand?"

"If it were only up to me..." He glanced at his soon to be successor, the words that came out of his lips was accompanied with a sigh, a note of rueful resignation that underscored the complexity of the situation. "The Church's actions are not solely mine to decide. Besides, you know as well as I do that our influence is far-reaching but not without its limitations." A soft smile made its way across his features — a bittersweet acknowledgement of the realities that governed their roles. "The Council has convened to deliberate upon the most suitable course of action, though I believe the Pope would most likely agree with your sentiment... and speaking of His Holiness..."

They both turned their gaze to a nearby corridor, their senses attuned to the subtle nuances of their surroundings; bathed in the gentle glow of sconces that lined the walls, a figure gradually emerged into view. The Cardinal's presence carried with it an aura of solemnity, an unmistakable mark of his station within the Church. His face held the weathered wisdom of one who had borne witness to the passage of time, and his eyes — a piercing shade of deep blue — held a profound depth that seemed to contain the mysteries of faith itself.

"Grand Master Bernhart Actares, Dominion Ein Selnate," he began, addressing them with a formality befitting their position. "His Holiness the Pope requires your presence in the Council Chamber, Grand Master. A matter of great import weighs upon us, and your insights are sought."

"Then we shall attend to His Holiness's summons promptly." Bernhart replied, his voice a measured and solemn declaration that echoed with the resonance of his authority, a nod of respect accompanying his words. "Come along, Ein, there is no time to delay."

"Me?" Her form straightened, her scarlet eyes widening slightly as she regarded direct superior with a hint of surprise.

"Of course; I imagine that this matter would be one that require both of our expertise..." His tone held a note of assurance, a certainty that conveyed his trust in her abilities; he gestured with his hand, inviting the young woman to walk by his side as they prepared to heed the summons of their spiritual leader.

"If you say so, Grand Master..."

With that, the two began to proceed along the corridor, their steps echoing softly against the polished stone floor; one would embark on a journey that would be his last, while the other — the young and untested soon to be Grand Master — would forge her first legend amidst the enigmatic threads of fate that wove through the tapestry of their world...

Proofreading and Editing by – (Try to send me a private message if any of you are interested).

Author's Note: I know, I know~ The chapter is fairly short, and the grammar sucks... would've made it a bit longer, like... 7 to 8k? though since I'm not sure if I'll be able find the time to write again soon, I decided to settle with a shorter chapter instead. It felt kinda rushed, by the way~ I also realized that Ein act a bit different here, or maybe a lot more different compared to her character in the game, though to be fair, this Ein is only like 18 years old or something. Her character development will be a bit harder to write, since there's barely any information pertaining to her past, the Church, or Gralsritter's previous Grand Master. Hmm, I guess I'll just make things up as I go! It should be... pretty decent, I think... maybe? I don't know. Anyway, I should be free to write again in another two weeks or so... three weeks, at most. Stupid study trip and all that. You know how it is... I'll try to write whenever I find the chance. Again, really sorry for the shorter chapter, though I hope that you enjoyed it regardless. Please be gentle with your review~

Disclaimer: Persona 3 belongs to Atlus; Legend of Heroes series belongs to Nihon Falcom.

Next Update: Beyond The Veil followed by Star's Salvation: Lost Echoes.

I'll reply to the reviews in a bit... kinda in a rush here, haha~

BraveArmament · Oct 21, 2023

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Trails in The Sea of Souls
Volume I - Chapter IV
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The house lay cloaked within the shroud of night, its front yard drenched in inky shadows as the gate closed behind him with a muted creak. His eyes were glued to the diamond-studded sky as he walked across the cobblestone path, each twinkling star a reminder of the aspirations that drove him. With an air of practiced importance, he entered the dimly lit foyer, where the rich aroma of aged wood and polished leather filled the air. A chill ran down his spine as he closed the wooden door, the memory of his son's longing gaze — a sea of regret he could never forget — haunting him like a relentless specter.

'... no; they can't be a mistake,' he shook off the thought, his mind attempting to push away the gnawing doubt that continued to claw at the edges of his consciousness; the nobleman clenched his gloved hands, the satin fabric rustling with tension as he made his way through the narrow hallway. 'Everything I did — the deals, the alliances, the sacrifices — all for the betterment of our family's name... for Lechter.'

Step by deliberate step, he moved deeper into the heart of the house, his path guided by the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the heavy curtains. His shoes whispered against the hardwood floors as he walked, a clandestine dance choreographed in the name of secrecy. Reaching his hand towards the knob by the hallway's end, he turned the metal with a slow, silent precision. The mechanism yielded only a subtle, restrained click as the door swung open, revealing a world of mahogany and mellowed wisdom.

He surveyed the room, his eyes tracing over the rows of leather-bound books and the antique furniture, all testaments to his aspirations and wealth; a single banner, adorned with the embroidered insignia of his not-quite noble rank, hung proudly upon the paneled wall.

The nobleman allowed a sigh of relief to escape from his lips before he unclasped the ornate brooch holding his coat together, the move revealing the white sapphire-lined vest beneath. He turned his attention toward the cabinet that stood near the window, his steps a measured cadence as he approached its dark, gleaming surface. The sight of amber, shimmering like liquid gold, was a familiar and welcome friend. With a deliberate gesture, he poured himself a glass, the soft gurgle breaking the silence in the stillness of the night; it called out to him with the allure of power and privilege, beckoning him with its promise of escape.

'Soon...' He thought as the glass filled to the brim, his fingers brushing the cool surface; he took a slow, contemplative sip, letting the fiery elixir dance across his tongue — the rich flavors burst forth, awakening his senses as it flowed down his throat. '... soon, everything will fall into place.'

Soft, iridescent light filtered through the fake crystal chandelier above, its translucent fringes casting fractured rainbows across the room as he set the glass down upon the edge of his meticulously arranged desk — the polished surface adorned with documents, contracts, and letters that held the keys to his ambitions. A single portrait of a young boy lay in the corner of his vision; it served as a reminder of what was at stake, a constant source of both motivation and heartache that continued to drive him onward.

Leaning against the desk, the nobleman cast his gaze upon the unfinished letter, its parchment resting neatly beneath the weight of a quill. His mind raced with a torrent of conflicting emotions as he took off his coat, the fabric — a rich tapestry of maroon and silver — sliding off his shoulders before he draped it over the rack by the window, its silken lining catching the meager light like a piece of forgotten glory.

With a heavy exhale, the nobleman proceeded to settle into the plush, burgundy chair, his fingers absently tracing the ornate designs etched into the armrests while its cushion yielded to the contours of his form. His heart raced as he reached for the quill, the feathered tip poised above the parchment as he prepared himself to continue the letter that could very well serve to alter the course of their life.

'Wait for me, Lechter,' his palm brushed the smooth surface of the desk, his fingers trembling slightly as his vision flickered towards the clock hanging on the wall — its brass hands creeping ever closer upon the midnight's realm. 'Come what may, we will both get the respect we deserve...'

It was... different, he realized — the rifle sounding more like a boom rather than the rapid cracks that he had come to associate with the weapon.

The room began to fill with the choking plumes of smoke as he dove to the side, his knees scraping against the rough wooden floor as he angled his body to slide behind the upturned, tattered couch. Flames danced on the furniture, casting flickering shadows that writhed with every breath, while the wooden beams above groaned in protest, the rafters threatening to collapse at any moment. They added to the chaotic ambiance of the burning house, creating a symphony of destruction that played as the backdrop to their fierce battle.

"You're dead, Boy!" The Jaeger growled, his voice a menacing snarl as the floor creaked beneath his heavy boots. "Do you hear me!? Dead!"

The sound of gunfires rang in his ear, and he could feel each reverberating impact as he gripped at the edge of the curtain that had somehow managed to survive the fire's relentless assault. With a swift, and desperate yank, he tore the fabric from its rusted hooks; dust and splinters exploded into the air, the curtain resting momentarily in his hand before he flung the piece of cloth towards the Jaeger.

"D-damned brat; stay still, you little-!" The makeshift shroud billowed within the confined space, obscuring the mercenary's vision as the man fumbled to regain his aim.

'Perfect...'

While the move might not be enough to get him out of his predicament, it had nonetheless bought him the split-second he needed...

His adrenaline fueled instincts took over as he closed the distance, and with a single burst of speed, he lunged towards the Jaeger. The winds parted as he swung his sword in a deadly arc, his bare feet treading upon the charred remnants of a once-loved home — each step sending traces of embers scattering into the air. Metal met metal, the two steel clashing in a shower of sparks as his adversary attempted to parry the assault with his rifle.

Yet... his attempt was not to be.

The young man twisted his body, his muscles straining as he pushed against the Jaeger's weapon; the mercenary's grip wavered, and in that momentary show of weaknesses, the blade found its mark. His sword slid across the Jaeger's rifle, slicing through the barrel and forcing the weapon from the mercenary's grasp. It tumbled to the side, clattering against the burning debris as the man stumbled back.

"F-fuck!"

Nonetheless, the Jaeger was far from defeated; his combat-honed reflexes kicked in, and he swiftly rolled to the side, reaching for the sidearm holstered on his belt. The gun was drawn, and the air was quickly filled with the deafening cracks as shots rang out. Pain seared through his flesh, and the room seemed to shrink around them as the young man began to once again close the distance with a single-minded focus. He could feel the Jaeger's shots grazing his side, the bullets tearing through his clothing and leaving stinging welts in their wake. Still, one shot struck true, causing him to lose his grip on his sword — the weapon clattering to the floor just slightly out of reach.

Before the Jaeger could take another shot, the young man ducked and then delivered a powerful spinning kick, his boot connecting with the Jaeger's wrist. The impact was enough to knock the sidearm from the mercenary's grip, sending the weapon spinning away into the fiery chaos.

Fists and elbows flew, and their bodies collided with brute force. The Jaeger's heavy armor clanked with each movement — giving him a slight advantage in terms of offense and defense — while the young man's speed and agility allowed him the opportunities for quick, precise retaliations. He could feel the heat from the flames licking at his heels as he danced around his adversary, his feet becoming a blur as they landed strikes after strikes against the Jaeger's armored form.

As the fight raged on, the mercenary's frustration grew. He reached for the dagger hidden within his sleeve, and in a desperate attempt to regain the upper hand, he drew the weapon and lunged forward — the edge of the blade leaving a searing trail that welled with crimson. Pain erupted from the gash, and the young man could taste the coppery tang in his mouth as his hand rose to touch the fresh wound.

'Shit... this is bad.'

In truth, he had never been in a fight like this — a fight where the stakes were so high, and every move could mean the difference between life and death...

"Ha! Not so tough now, aren't you, you little punk!?" The man sneered, his wicked grin widening as he twirled the dagger in his hand. "Come on, then; let's finish this..."

His heart pounded in his chest as he dodged another swipe of the Jaeger's blade; the scent of blood and smoke filled his nostrils, and the heat of the burning house bore down upon him like an oppressive weight. He took a step back, his eyes scanning his surroundings for an opportunity to escape, even when deep down, the young man knew that running away had never been an option... not for him and certainly not for the villagers that were being slaughtered outside. Still, that doesn't mean that he's going to go down without a fight. Those two are counting on him, and he was not about to let them down. Not now, not ever...

'... Aidios, be my strength.'

He gritted his teeth and suppressed the sudden trembling in his hands, trying to calm his nerves as he focused on the Jaeger in front of him. The man was large and muscular, with scars criss-crossing his cheek and a wicked grin plastered on his face. If there was any doubt that the man was enjoying himself, then the glint in his eyes and the way he wielded his blade like a toy was evidence enough.

With a sharp intake of breath, he braced himself for another attack, his mind racing to come up with a plan. Should he try to disarm him? Or should he try to play it safe?

"Why won't you just die!?"

His thoughts, however, were interrupted as the Jaeger made his move, lunging forward with his blade aimed straight at his face; the young man's instincts kicked in, and he dove to the side, barely avoiding the blade as it sliced through the air. He rolled onto his feet and sprang into action, his knuckle connecting with the armored plate of the Jaeger as he attempted to retaliate with a quick jab of his own; pain pulsed through his hand as it made contact, and he could feel the shockwaves travel up his arm — his skin breaking under the force of the impact.

The Jaeger snarled, grabbing him by the collar and tossing him across the room. His back slammed into the wall, the collision sending a jolt of pain coursing through his body; sweats dripped down his forehead as he tried to push himself onto his feet, the watery beads blurring his vision as he turned his gaze and looked towards his opponent.

'For fu- this is ridiculous!'

With another blood-curdling scream, the man attempted to lunge at him once more — the dagger in his hand glinting in the flickering light of the flames. Still, this time, the young man was ready. He sidestepped the blade and grabbed hold of the Jaeger's arm, using his own body weight to push him off balance; they proceeded to stumble to the floor, rolling and grappling as they fought for control. Their bodies twisted and turned, his muscles straining as they both struggled for dominance, his fingers digging into the Jaeger's wrist in a white-knuckled grip. He could feel the sharp tip of the blade pressing against his throat, the cold metal threatening to end his life in one swift motion — his heart raced in his chest, his mind a blur of fear and desperation as tears of crimson began to trickle down his neck.

In a split-second decision, the young man diverted the attack, twisting his body so hard that the dagger ended up plunging into his left shoulder instead. Pain exploded through his body as the blade sunk in deep, his muscles spasming as he fought to stay conscious; blood spurted from the wound, staining his black shirt red as he used his hand to grab at the offending limb. With a resounding cry, he proceeded to slam his head into the Jaeger's face, his skull colliding against the man's nose with a sickening crunch. The force of the impact sent the Jaeger stumbling backwards, his grip loosening enough for the young man to free himself and stumble to his feet.

He couldn't help but wince as he spared a look at the wound on his shoulder, his hand gripping the hilt of the weapon that was still lodged inside his flesh. Stream of red flowed down his limb as he pulled the dagger out, the liquid pooling beneath his feet as his teeth gritted in a conscious effort to numb out the pain. A feral growl escaped from his lips as he took a step forward, and with the last of his strength, he flung himself towards the now incapacitated man.

The Jaeger — disoriented and reeling from the devastating strike — attempted to recover, yet in the end, it was too late. With a swift and deliberate motion, he thrust the dagger into the gap between the mercenary's armor, the blade sliding across the segmented plates with a deafening scrape. Blood and gore spewed out as the dagger found its mark, puncturing the Jaeger's flank with brutal precision; the agonized screams of his adversary filled the room as the steel pushed past the layers of muscle and sinew, causing a grotesque spray of blood to erupt from the wound, and the metallic stench of the man's life-giving fluid to permeate the air.

More crimson torrents poured out from the mangled gap as he wrenched the weapon free, the liquid drenching the floor and his own trembling hands in a grotesque display of violence. The Jaeger's futile attempts to halt the bleeding only exacerbated the macabre scene; his fingers scrabbled at the shredded remains of his armor, and a guttural, choking sound escaped his throat as his life force began to ebb away. Without hesitation, he slammed his head against the mercenary's face once more — the impact sending the man's skull crashing back onto the floor below. The young man wasted no time in taking advantage of the situation, and with one final thrust, he drove the dagger straight into the Jaeger's exposed jugular — the blade finding its way towards the pliable flesh beneath, puncturing the artery and delivering a fatal wound. Blood bubbled up from the wound, the crimson liquid spilling over the mercenary's lips and chin in a mockery of life, his body convulsing as he tried to grasp for breath.

"Hah... hah... hah..."

The young man couldn't help but to stagger backward, his hands clutching at his chest as he attempted to calm the frenzied beating of his own heart. The carnage around him was gruesome and grisly; he could hear the sound of his own breathing, see the red smear that was spread across the floor… and he could smell the metallic tang of blood in the air.

It was all too much...

The bile that had threatened to rise ever since everything had first began came surging up his throat in a violent nauseatic wave, and he was forced to take a step to the side in order to avoid vomiting onto the body of the Jaeger. His vision swam, and the room spun as he retched, spewing the contents of his stomach onto the already soiled floor; the acrid taste of bile mixed with the metallic stench of death, creating a repugnant cocktail that filled his mouth and nose. He tried to focus on what was happening around him, yet his mind was foggy and his eyes were blurry. All he could see was the red stains on the floor, the pool of crimson growing larger and larger as he continued to heave, his body racked with convulsions.

"Hah... hah... hah... hah... hah..."

He wiped his mouth with the back of his trembling hand, trying to regain his composure. The adrenaline that had coursed through his veins during the life-or-death struggle was now dissipating, leaving him feeling weak and queasy. He leaned against the wall for support, his body trembling with a mixture of exhaustion and revulsion.

His mind was a jumbled mess, a chaotic whirlwind of emotions as the grim reality of what had just transpired finally began to settle in. Taking shaky steps away from the gruesome scene, he reached out in nothing more than an afterthought, his trembling hand snatching the fallen pistol from the floor — the metallic gleam of the weapon reflecting the flickering flames that continued to dance in the corner of his eyes; his fingers fumbled with the firearm, and he checked the remaining ammunition with a quick, and unsteady glance.

"Three rounds left..." He muttered to himself, his voice a weak and quivering whisper as he tried to take stock of the situation, his eyes going towards the mercenary in a vain attempt to locate any spare resources. 'Right... of course; it's just one thing after another.'

Gathering what little strength he had left, he turned to retrieve his sword, his muscles protesting each movement as he picked the weapon up; the blade — scorched from the flames that had engulfed the room — felt heavy in his grip, its weight serving as familiar comfort in the moment of chaos. The pain in his shoulder and the throbbing in his side acting as a constant reminder of the price he had paid for this desperate fight. His clothing was stained with crimson, and his vision occasionally blurred as he stumbled through the smoky haze of the burning house.

'Just a little bit more... Karin... Joshua...'

With a final, pained glance toward the Jaeger who had now become nothing more than a corpse, Leonhardt let out a long, shuddering breath and staggered towards the door — his boots leaving a thick trail of blood in their wake as he made his way out of the burning house.

His wings sliced through the air, creating a gust of wind that rustled the leaves; their pristine feathers shimmered like stardust, catching the moonlight and refracting it in a dazzling display. The world around him seemed to blur, the moonlight bathing his figure in a resplendent radiance as he made an emergency descent into the depths of the forest. His legs absorbed the impact with a heavy thud, sending a shockwave throughout his body. He remained still for a moment, his chest heaving as his body trembled from exhaustion.

He had pushed himself too far, and the consequences were evident...

Sweat matted his face while his breath came in ragged gasps. An insidious headache throbbed behind his temples, each pulse a relentless reminder of the strain he had subjected himself to. Blood trickled from his nose, the liquid staining his pale lips in a shade of crimson; they proceeded to fall upon the forest floor, every single droplet leaving small, dark splotches amidst the lush underbrush beneath his feet.

'Hmm... well, I am afraid that it is as we had predicted.' The Archangel continued to linger in the corner of his mind, his voice a mere whisper amidst the serenity of the night. 'A direct utilization would be too much, not to mention the fact that you have yet to recover from the time you spent serving as the Great Seal... that, or His lack of presence might have affected us Angels more than I had initially expected.'

'... I'll manage.' With an unsteady hand, he reached up and wiped the blood from his lips, the metallic taste fresh on his tongue as he regained his footing — the pain in his body ignored in favor of focusing on the task at hand.

'Oh, I am certain that you will,' Helel's voice held a knowing resonance — an acknowledgment of the Wild Card's nature... the unwavering resolve and the bonds that had defined his journey. 'Regardless, are you truly fine with leaving them like this?'

'... it won't be a problem.' Minato whispered in his thoughts, his words carrying a sense of trust and conviction; with a slow exhale, he allowed a faint smile to touch his lips, a silent assurance to the Persona — and to himself — that the family would not be left defenseless.

In truth, he had heard enough... what little information he had learned about the mysterious knight had told him that the woman herself had posed no threat; she, too, desired to shield the family from harm, and while the reason behind her actions remained a mystery, he saw no reason to intervene in her particular endeavor, especially when the woman herself seemed to have had no intention in confronting him... though whether that decision would hold true in the long run, remained to be seen.

A slow, deliberate turn of his head brought his attention to the southern horizon, his keen perception dissecting the subtle clues that the night offered. In the silent depths of his thoughts, he considered his next course of action; his eyes — a steady and contemplative beacon amidst the forest's ever-shifting sea of darkness — scanned the distant shadows, past the moon-kissed treetops that swayed in the nocturnal breeze. The forest breathed with life around him, the rustling leaves and the distant hoot of an owl composing a soothing symphony... yet even so, the urgency in the air was undeniable; it weighed heavy upon him, seeping into his very bones — the unmistakable undercurrent of conflict and purpose that pulsed beneath the tranquil facade of the night.

'... and am I correct to assume that you will not be changing your mind?' Helel's question, a shimmering echo in the depths of his mind, stirred him from his contemplation.

It was a question that carried more weight than it should, a query that touched upon the very essence of his existence. Nonetheless, his response was a silent one — a smile, a mere upturn of the corners of his lips.

'Well, now... I suppose I should have expected something like this.' A sigh could be heard within the depths of his thoughts, one that held both exasperation and a touch of fond exasperation. 'Tell me, then... how many do you think you will be able to handle at the same time?'

'... two... maybe three; five would be pushing it.'

'Oh? That is quite the improvement, unfortunate as it is...' Helel's voice — deep and resonant — was laced with a soft chuckle, the Persona's celestial presence shimmering within the depths of his consciousness. 'Still, little Gabriel would be most aggrieved to know that she would not be able to lend you her power in a moment such as this; not to mention the other Personas... though considering the circumstances... well, I suggest you try for someone — or something — whose essence is much more... aligned, with your own.'

'... hmm.' The Wild Card accepted the words with a thoughtful nod, his eyes glancing upward as he began to contemplate his next course of action.

He understood what the Archangel was implying...

Attaining the Universe had granted him an understanding of the vast and diverse manifestations of the human psyche... yet even then, for all the experimentation and trials that he had undertaken in the last few days, he had to concede that harnessing these newfound... 'knowledges', was a complex and daunting task.

The Personas he had at his disposal were a diverse and powerful assortment, each with their own unique abilities and attributes; still, he knew of only four whose essence would resonate in harmony with his current state. One would be too powerful to risk assimilating with, their power so strong that the Wild Card wasn't even certain that he could wield their might with adequate control... at least, not in his present condition. The other two, however — while powerful in their own right — did not possess the attributes required for the task he had in mind.

That left him with only one — an entity whose essence aligned more closely with his own, especially considering his past experience with death.

'Ah... him. Of course; in hindsight, that is to be expected... though do forgive me for saying that I don't particularly like this idea of yours.' Helel remarked, his voice tinged with a faint hint of both reluctance and amusement. 'Nonetheless, I understand your reasoning, even if I have my own reservations regarding your method. Very well, then... since we do not have the luxury of time, I suppose there is not much I could do but to trust in your judgment.'

'...' His breaths slowed, the wind lifting his bangs as he closed his eyes — his features bathed in the moon's silvery glow — a subtle hint of something akin to excitement flashing over his face. 'Come, ▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️▪️.'

Without nary a thought, the Archangel's celestial essence began to recede from his mind, the process leaving behind a half-empty space that was quickly filled with another — one that is much more brutal and visceral in nature; tendrils of shadow rose from the forest floor, their inky darkness coalescing around his form like a living shroud. He could hear the savage, bestial growl emanating from the depths of his consciousness — the primal urge and the all-consuming hunger of the Primordial calling out to him with their chilling, yet oddly comforting intensity.

His clothing, stained with blood and sweat, dissolved into a swirling vortex before reconstituting itself into something entirely different; the long coat billowed as it settled upon his shoulders, its fabric flowing like liquid shadow while gloves of pure white encased his hands — their color a sharp contrast against the obsidian garment. The muck and grime that had stained his shoes faded away as they, too, underwent a transformation, turning from plain black into a pristine white that seemed untouched by the world's filth.

With a swift, and fluid motion, he drew his weapon from its sheath, his fingers brushing against the cold, dark hilt of the blade. It responded to his touch, the subtle hum of its presence reverberating through his very being. The weapon began to shift, its shape changing into something simple yet deceptively effective — its elongated form was as beautiful as it was deadly. A field of flower grew from the ground and began to expand outward, their red petals blooming in a glorious display of color; they swayed gently in the breeze, a veil of scarlet that unfurled beneath him like a sea of crimson silk.

His wings — once the embodiment of the celestial grace — now seemed like a distant memory. They dissolved into the abyss of the night; feathers turned to cold steel, and the air was filled with the eerie sound of metal clinking and clanking together. Four pairs of coffins emerged from his back, each one connected to the other by a series of chains that twisted and writhed, their surfaces adorned with intricate engravings and symbols that moved as though they were alive; they dangled in the air, their links binding the coffins to him in a complex network of ethereal connection.

'Oh, and do try not to let him affect your mind too much...' The Wild Card's face — once exposed and marked by the crimson stains of battle — became encapsulated in a mask of steel as the last remnant of the Archangel's existence retreated. 'After all, the last thing you need is to have his nihilistic philosophy clouding your judgment.'

"... I am thou, and thou art I." He intoned in a voice that seemed to resonate with the very essence of the night. "In the end, we're both one and the same..."

With a final, contemplative look towards the moonlit forest, the Wild Card allowed a wry smile to grace his lips; the mantle of coffins unfurled behind his back, their gentle sway casting long, eerie shadows upon the forest floor as he proceeded to disappear into the dark, starry sky above...

Proofreading and Editing by – (Try to send me a private message if any of you are interested).

Author's Note: I think this chapter is much worse than the usual. Maybe? I don't know... kinda lost all of my motivation before the chapter was even halfway done. Also, I had to cut off an entire section (as well as the ending) of the story cause I realized that the content might be offensive to some. You know, depictions of r*pe and such... but hey, what else can I say? It's Hamel. Anyway, I'll try to tone it down and post it later as a side-story or something. Maybe... or just a brief flashback of what happened in Hamel from Minato's or Karin's perspective. Oh, and I did try to reduce the number of proses. Not sure how it turns out. Ah, well... hope you enjoy the chapter...

Disclaimer: Persona 3 belongs to Atlus; Legend of Heroes series belongs to Nihon Falcom.

Next Update: Divine Resonance? followed by Star's Salvation: Lost Echoes.

Trails in The Sea of Souls (Persona 3/Legend of Heroes: Trails of Cold Steel)

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