There was no warning.

One moment, Goro Akechi was on a train through a bunch of restless souls, or hell, or some shit- he wasn't sure he understood it- and the next, white noise so loud it was quiet absorbed everything. He felt Loki's clawed hand being torn from his, almost heard his roar as he was swept away. He felt the five bloody marks it left. He felt himself go weightless, would have curled up and absorbed impact if he had any sense left in him.

Then Goro felt pain. Agonizing, spine-shattering, throat-shredding pain, like his chest had erupted like a volcano and his heart had been ripped out. His jaw opened and his throat became hoarse, but he never heard any sound. There was so much heat, though. The kind of heat that dissolved into confused numbness because his body couldn't comprehend the severity of the wound.

Suddenly the world became bright with greys and whites and reds. Well, not bright, the Detective Prince part of him reasoned, but brighter than star-speckled black. The fire in his chest faded, turning from my heart's being torn out to I'm stuck under two hundred pounds and slowly being pressed to death. Small steps.

It was then he realized why breathing was so difficult. Something swirled around him- multiple somethings, actually- tearing the breath from his lungs and the flesh from his bones. He felt exposed. Vulnerable, a drop of water in the Sea of Souls.

As he should. He was so insignificant- giving up would really be easiest.

(That wasn't his thought.)

And just like that, a deluge of thoughts, of dreams, of lives crashed like a tsunami into him. He tried to scream, to throw his mental barriers up, but the restless souls jeered and tore through it like paper.

Minutes, days, years washed over him. He plunged a dagger hilt-deep into a man's chest, felt the wind whistling through her hair as she toppled from a roof and felt the impact jar his bones and break open his skin. He lied and stole and killed and died. They lived centuries and centuries. They became male and female and young and old, a suicidal, broken boy and a proud, cruel woman.

(Stop.)

There was a god in the voices' midst, and they could tell because the thousands of years they gained was especially terrible. They massacred millions and far, far worse, with twisted reasons and the power of time by their side. The blood they spilled turned the oceans red, turned the sky red, turned the air red, until they were choking on it-

They were thrown into another life, or maybe they were thrown out of it, into a vicious storm on a tiny raft. They clung on as tightly as they could, but their arms were so weak. Voices howled past him, once they almost recognized in lives past and lives to come. They ripped at his hands, the ocean spray making the raft so slippery. Their fingers slipped for a moment, just a heart-stoppingly terrifying moment, and the ocean pulled at them with glee. With a howl, they lurched and their skin awkwardly slapped against the raft, which began to splinter in the force of the storm.

Oh, the wind and sea did not like that, did they? They screamed, the sound piercing through their brain with no resistance. They were already a part of them, a fact they gleefully abused as they tore open parts of their psyche they never wanted to see again. Their mind was laid bare for the Sea. It lapped up their pain like fine wine.

Their hands began to slip.

(Stop. Please stop.)

The wind and sea hated their resistance, hated them with a bone-deep passion that was almost familiar. They felt guilty. They were still not a part of the greater whole. They were an outcast now. Did they want that?

No.

The voices silenced for a moment or a century. They started to confer, not caring if they heard them.

What to do, they mused as the young soul silently screamed. Their mind was absorbed in past memories, their fingers trembling and weak from cold and pain. What to do... ah.

(They observed a man with long hair, a fake smile, and wine-red eyes. His clothes shifted a few times before settling on white, red, and gold. He smiled disarmingly at the soul, who desperately tried to remember what they were.

What are you doing? The man asked.

(Drowning.) There was nothing else they could say, their hands slipping so.

Ah, the man said sadly. He nodded. Drowning. I drowned too, you know. The man's red eyes never left theirs. He sat on their raft, and it would've overbalanced had they not scrambled into the water. It steadied, but the voices increased tenfold. Their body spasmed. They could not continue for much longer.

I was a prince, he continued. People saw me drowning and they reached out their hands to me. They gave me a raft, just like this one, and I dared to dream.

(Then you are lucky,) said the young soul. They felt as if they were being torn open.

Am I? The prince asked. When I had outlived my usefulness, they laughed in my face, and shot the raft full of holes. I clung to it for hours, pain and fear my only companions. Then it finally sank, and I was conscious for nearly ten minutes while my body shut down. His eyes had grown distant while he told his tale. The moral of this fairytale is that it's better to concede your losses. He placed his hand on their bleeding one. Drowning hurts less if you give in.

Give in. Give in. The words rolled around inside their brain, egged on by the storm and the ocean.

But this raft was all they had left, their ever-splintering piece of safety in a sea of death. They were nothing if they gave in.

So they shook their head, and the prince's face twisted into disgust. He grabbed them by the throat and hauled them towards him. Worthless trash, he snarled.

They could hardly breathe, but they could beg. But they would not leave their pride, so with the last of his strength, they spat at the prince's feet.

(Coward,) the young soul gasped out. (Filthy, rotten coward.)

They were suddenly hurtling through the air, the wind's mocking voices buffeting him, and then they slammed into the black water, and eager currents tugged them to the bottom. They gasped desperately and tasted blood and sorrow. They tried to scream, but the last bubbles of air escaped him.

The ocean tsked, the tide stripping their mind bare and carrying away their secrets. They thrashed, but their movements had become more sluggish, their lungs begged for air. Darkness gathered in their eyes.

Had they lost?

The last thing they remembered before they shut down was a name, and with a last, water-embraced breath, forced it through their heavy lungs, up their throat, and past their lips.

Their eyes slipped shut, and they were gone.

Except that in the darkness, a single golden strand began to glow. A fragment of them- that's all they really were now, a fragment- inched their way towards it, enraptured by its light. They observed it silently, how it brought a foreign emotion to mind, one that must have been passed over by the storm and sea.

Hope.

There were memories here, just below the skin. Their memories, not the endless raging ocean's.

I want you to find the life you were deprived of. I hope that you will be freed soon enough.

Something told them to come closer, and though the tides pulled at them, and though their waterlogged lungs should have dragged them down, they floundered towards it. And reached out.

And suddenly Goro remembered his name. He remembered his mother's warm touch and his father's last words, and he remembered what Goro Akechi was. A serial murderer once, an aimless piece of driftwood being tossed around by the whims of Fate. A name was burned into his brain. How long had it been there for? How had the voices not stolen this from him too?

Ren.

The thread burned warmer, as if it was encouraging him.

Ren, Ren, Ren. Goro scrambled for anything else he knew about Ren, but his mind was scrubbed as clean as the room he never slept in. But he remembered the name, so Ren was important.

The golden thread seemed familiar. It looked almost like Fate's bonds, bonds that enslaved, but it felt like safety. Goro knew this bond. He had one with... with someone else, someone important.

Perhaps, then, it was a bond of fate, but not one Fate itself had woven. Maybe it was one he'd forged. A friendship formed from lies and truths and blood- he hadn't been a very kind person, Goro knew that much. How strong must it be to withstand the torrents of the Sea? How had this Ren known him, and for how long?

Goro could call Ren's name right now and he could find out.

As if responding to that thought, the currents swept back around. It tore at him, tore at the thread, which swayed and frayed and refused to break. He clung to it. If he let go, they would rip his mind to shreds and there would be no him left.

He had to survive. He had to find Ren.

Ren! The tide spat, the storm snarled. The thief! The worthless Trickster! Betrayal!

The words rang true. Ren was a thief. A worthless Trickster. Ren betrayed Goro, or maybe Goro betrayed Ren. But still the thread stood, and it stood strong.

Blind faith, they sneered. Useless brat.

"Fuck you," Goro whispered. Then louder, "Fuck you all!"

They recoiled, and for a moment a million eyes stared at him and he stared back in surprise. The words, the voice. It came from his throat. It came from him. Had he spoken in the eons and seconds he'd been here?

Then they attacked him and the thread, sweeping them both up in a frothing hurricane. Goro clung to the thread, screaming to be heard over the storm and sea and the water in his chest, screaming Ren's name, someone he didn't know, someone who he betrayed and Ren betrayed him too, but the voices were right. Blind faith. That was all he had, and if a murderer could have faith in Ren, then Goro could too.

He lost track of time. There was only pain and the one thread of him left in this sea. Hold on. Hold on. Hold on. Goro was getting tired of holding on.

Goro distracted himself. He imagined the faceless stranger, a hazy form he could barely make out. He cared for this stranger, and the thread still held strong, so surely the stranger must care for him too. A murderer, useless scum like him. Surely he was kind, and if Goro disappeared- well, he doubted Ren would like that.

Hold on became a steady chant, burning his throat but keeping him grounded all the same.

He was getting tired.

And suddenly the golden thread went taunt. The storm and sea hesitated, and in that second, everything vanished.

Dark, he thought.

The thread vanished and panic set in.

"Ren?" Goro gasped out, grasping for the lifeline that wasn't there. He could breathe now, and while his mind felt battered and bruised, it was whole. As whole as it could be with only his mother and father and a stranger occupying it. "Ren?" He sat up.

Hold still! Someone demanded- not evil, he immediately decided, but maybe not an ally. You have to-

Goro tried to speak, but pain burned his chest. Claws tore through his head again, and he let out a strangled scream.

Shit, they muttered. Apologies in advance. There was a ring of metal on metal, and agony bisected his throat.

-

Goro woke up on impact. He bit out a curse as his lungs flattened and his breath cut out. "Wha-" the assassin choked. He cut himself of. This wasn't the remains of the Velvet Room, or Jamestown, or anywhere Goro knew. Where the ever-loving fuck was he?

The assassin sat up, his fingers digging into the dirt. He did a quick check- nothing broken, miraculously, but everything felt bruised. He shook his hair out of his eyes and examined the chest-high stalks around him. "Interesting..." Goro noted the mountains around him, the singular road winding out. "Definitely Jamestown."

His senses told Goro that no one was around. Being an unattended field of what, it was expected, but that meant that he really was alone. Meaning that the Thieves, Trae, and possibly Loki and Arsene (they'd already died once, so they probably had more experience there) were in the Sea of Souls. And probably drowned, like he almost had.

The assassin dismissed the memories of the Prince, the raft, the story that now sounded so familiar, but not fast enough to avoid fury. How dare those bastards make part of him tell Goro to stand down! He would- He would-

Do nothing, said his Persona.

Delight flooded through him, and it was amazing how Goro could really feel his emotions now. They felt so clean and sharp, so strange. So unlike Shibuya's Goro Akechi, the one who could only taste revenge. "Loki?"

You sound surprised. I am rather offended.

Goro gave him the mental equivalent of a raised eyebrow.

I am thou, thou art I. Our bond is stronger than the sea, Shapeshifter. It was forged in blood and fire. You cannot seriously believe I would be swept away so easily. I found you in the Sea of Souls and dragged you out by our bond. I returned with you.

So he was the one who cut Goro in half.

An apologetic spark. It was the first way I believed would return you to your body.

It didn't have to be that violent, Goro was about to say, then snorted. Who was he joking? His life was based around endless, all-fucking-consuming violence. Getting sliced in half in the Sea of Souls...wait...

The Thieves and Trae weren't there. So the Sea took their physical forms as well as their mental forms? No- well, yes and no. Surely his physical form couldn't grab a piece of fuckin' symbolic string, survive literal drowning, and a sword through his chest. That just wasn't something that happened. No, his physical state was probably connected to his mental state. He'd lost a lotta his form when the Sea stole his memories.

Conclusion, he thought, wrapping it up with a neat little bow tie. Lose everything about one's self in the Sea, and one's physical form vanishes, probably becomes part of the Sea.

Goro wondered if the Moirai had been dissolved.

Goro wondered if Ren had been dissolved.

You owe him, correct?

He ran through the things he knew about Ren to decide logically. A single minded bastard- no, logic didn't support that. A determined, single minded individual who was born in Jamestown, a bloody distortion created by it's god. It was modeled after the original, American Jamestown. Bad waters, not much food (despite overlapping a wheat field) and... well, neighbors weren't a problem here. Isolation, perhaps. Ren was a vicious fighter, who'd probably gained grace from his mother- who the thief hated- and his father- who he hated slightly less. He'd been caught by Shido (a bizarre stroke of luck/unluckiness) and sent to Shibuya, where he spent the next year undermining Goro, then proceeded to slaughter a god.

Vicious, wickedly clever, dangerous in every aspect. Chameleon personality. Possibly dead.

Yeah, Goro definitely owed him. Not because Ren's selfish-ass deal with Time probably stopped his plans for world domination. And definitely not because of their "whirlwind romance" as Boss always said with a smirk- all he did was bright Goro to the roof and buy him a thermos. No, it was because Ren was the first person to treat him as a human. He'd cared enough about Goro to develop a literal Palace. It was a fucking twisted version of love, but Goro was a fucking twisted sort of guy.

And because it was his bond that saved you, Loki said with certainty.

You're the worst, he muttered, but there was no bite behind it. Goro had accepted Loki- had accepted part of himself, really- and he'd really been a shitty little bastard by ignoring him. Goro would apologize, but he might've already, and also it was embarrassing.

You said the Trickster had a Palace? Loki's voice was on edge.

Yes...?

And you stole the Treasure?

And your point is?

What bonds do you think he could hold onto, if he was deprived of yours? The god sighed and was probably ticking them off on his now-nonexistent fingers. Most of the Thieves' bonds were shredded upon learning of his Palace betrayal. He severed the bonds between his other Confidants the day he left Shibuya-

How do you know this? Goro demanded.

Kronos kept surveillance on Ren, Loki said briskly. Shut up. Now, that left only one bond, the one he believed dead. That bond was exceptionally strong and could have only been broken in one way... when you stole his heart. Literally, of course. Metaphorically, you surely have already taken it from him.

Goro ignored the last bit. The Treasure. The Treasure had been a ratty book, which Trae had stolen, if he remembered through his Call of Chaos haze... which she'd given to Ren... which Ren had given to Goro.

As if on cue, he felt for the compiled letters in his nearly-shredded jacket. Miraculously, they were still whole.

I sense a disturbance in the-

Goro batted him aside on instinct, the doubled back in his mind.

Look the fuck up!

What the-

The sun rippled and split open horizontally, the sky folding under it, revealing a black and red mass. An eye, Goro thought. The Metaverse. The gap yawned wider. For a moment, Goro thought it would consume the sky and everything below it, but then it stopped. The red appeared to be... sloshing. Like a pool of blood.

Or a sea of blood.

Two tears wobbled on the edge of the lid: one receded sharply and the other slid into open air. The eye slowly closed and the tear in reality knitted itself together.

The tear was falling faster now, and aimed right for him. Goro shoved the letters back in his jacket, launched himself to his feet... but really, there was nothing he could do. His mind was already calculating the speed of the fall...no, Goro being a human cushion would be useless. Better just to clean up the mess if they went splat.

Loki, can you tell who it is?

With your limited senses, nothing.

The teardrop hit the ground and splattered open. Ren's shirtless body sank into the ground, soaked to the skin. As he watched, the red dried and evaporated into mist, which vanished.

Ren. He was fucking alive.

As if on cue, his red-gold eyes drifted open.

Actually, Goro noticed as he took him in. His eyes weren't only gold-flaked red anymore. A vibrant cerulean edged his iris. It was absolutely stunning and shit if Ren's porcelain skin and dark hair and red lips didn't take his breath away before, those damning eyes certainly did. Also, he was shirtless. Right, there hadn't been time to replace it before the Kronos battle, and he looked fucking exhausted as it was. Surely such a trivial thing-

That you're practically drooling over, Loki cut in. This is utterly pathetic. Pull yourself together, Shapeshifter.

"Heyo," Ren mumbled. His voice sounded hoarse, as if he'd been screaming. He probably had. No one would've heard him. "Did you know that it takes both thesis and antithesis to-"

Goro couldn't help what he did next. Despite the absurd circumstances, the fuck eye of Sauron that just tossed reality out the window and then gave it back, and the literal hottest guy on the planet laying half-conscious in front of him, he really couldn't. It's just not in him to stop himself.

He stepped forward and punched Ren in the face.

Ren's head cracked against the soft dirt. He shook his head with a grunt of paint. His nose was bloody. "You bitch, that was my-" he paused to spit blood. "That was my fucking tongue. I still need that."

"That was for all the trouble you put me through."

Then Goro swept in for a kiss. Ren tasted like blood and roses and saltwater.

"And that," he huffed, pulling away, "was for saving me."

Ren blinked at him, confused. "I saved you?"

Goro explained as quickly as he could, not willing to linger on the memories, and he nodded. "That... well, I suppose that makes sense. I remember... some sort of light, and holding onto it, and dying." He winced. "Arsene stabbed me, I think." His eyes widened. "Arsene! Where-"

Ren went quiet for a moment, and a smile spread across his face. "Yeah," he murmured aloud. "Yeah, you're right. Sorry." He looked up at Goro and dragged himself to his feet, only to get back on his knees again. He rested his head on the ground.

Oh, this should be good.

Shut up, Loki.

"Goro, I'm so fucking sorry I caused you so much trouble." Ren's voice was slightly muffled by the dirt. "You were forced into this entire thing because of me. I thought of you as-" He struggled to force it out. "As something for me to possess and understand, like some fucking toy." Ren spat it out, disgusted. "I have no excuse. Fuck forgiving me. I'll accept any punishment-"

"Shut the hell up, Ren." Goro tilted his chin up with a finger. "You got us into trouble, you got us out. Problem solved. Really, we're just waiting on the Thieves who're still in the Sea." He shrugged. "And I don't give two shits who lives or dies, beyond you, so you're all good."

He expected such a callous statement to be met with disgust, but Ren just looked exhausted. The Thief stood and offered Goro his hand. "Another thing I will carry with me," he sighed. "Not all of them will live, and I certainly know who might die."

As Ren said that, the skies tore open again. Three drops fell into open air, gleaming red in the sunrise. A mirrored tear tracked down the thief's face.

Only three people out of seven- well, five of ten, really, if Goro counted Ren, himself, and Trae. The girl hadn't stood a chance, had she? Her power was in Jamestown. She would never have escaped.

The drops burst as they hit the ground, and Ryuji, Ann and Futaba spilled out. Ren's eyes gleamed with tears. "Shit," he breathed. "I was right... Oh fuck..." He seemed to be in shock. Goro, as much as he wanted to tell Ren how little these people mattered, knew that their opinions differed on the subject. Besides, he was focused as hell on the rift in the sky, hoping there would be one more.

It still hasn't closed, said Loki hopefully.

Maybe she wouldn't make it. Maybe she didn't have anyone to hold onto. Her power was attached to Jamestown, and with it gone, there was no way she'd-

On cue, a fourth droplet fell from the sky and splashed apart in front of them. Green-gold eyes and brown, sodden hair. Tanned skin, small hands, and a little smile. Trae peered up at him innocently.

"Hello," she said. Her voice was higher-pitched than before. Trae was nine again, her eyes wide and soft and exuding innocence. She examined herself. "Goro, why do I look like I'm nine?"

He shrugged, too relieved to really care. "The Metaverse is weird as shit. The monster cat turns into a normal cat, so I guess you're nine now."

She puffed out her red-flushed cheeks. "Are you joking? No! I have been alive for over a century! I refuse to believe I'm stuck in the body of a nine-"

There was a furious cry from across the field. Ryuji shot to his feet. "What the eff d'ya mean, Leader?" he roared.

The noise woke Ann and Futaba, who instinctively examined their surroundings for enemies. When they found themselves in an unassuming farm-thing-place, they seemed confused as to why Ryuji was screaming in Ren's face.

Ren, for his part, was utterly calm. Too calm. Goro saw his face shut down, his eyes loose their luster, his hands stop fidgeting. His constant shuffling stopped, drawn back in favor of predatory stillness. He became a blank slate... no, Goro realized. He recognized that version of Ren. He was a fuckin mirror.

"Whatzgoin'on?" Futaba mumbled. She looked sleepy. Actually, it was a wonder she wasn't passed out. Little Medjed was notorious in the Thieves for being able to sleep anywhere.

"I'll tell ya what's goin' on," Ryuji snarled. "Leader," he spat the word, "said that the others are effin dead!"

Ann whipped around. Her blue eyes glowed furiously. "Excuse me?" Her arms crossed and her gaze burned into Ren. "I think you'd better explain."

Futaba's eyes were wide and fearful. She, Goro thought, was most likely thinking of her mother.

"If they haven't come out by now," the thief said simply, "They're most likely dead."

"Well, we don't know for sure!" Ann cried. "How can you say that about our friends?"

Ren's mirror expression faltered. Fury swam in his gaze. He looked every inch his father, the vicious, cunning Wolf. His lips parted, mouthing words Goro could barely see. They're not, he was saying.

They're not... what? Oh, why was he so shit with context clues? His teachers always berated him for it. Call him paranoid, but Goro was always looking for deceit, not despair. Although an argument could be made that they were the same thing...

"I'm sorry," said Ren. He stood his ground. "But I realized who would live and die the instant I came out. You see, each of you... you have someone or something you would die for, right? Some... purpose you would give your life to achieve?"

Ann's mouth opened to deny it, but she paused. Thinking. Her eyes dropped to the ground. Shiho.

Ryuji's fiere expression melted away. Shock replaced it. His mother.

Futaba's eyes shone with tears. Boss.

But Trae didn't look ashamed or afraid or sad or grieving. She looked dead ahead, and while her eyes shone, there were no tears. There was a steady, unflinching pride there, the sort of pride at having something no one could steal from her.

He admitted to himself that he was a bit jealous.

Of what? Loki asked. You have Ren now, and the world is yours for the taking. You are not the same as you were. Do try to remember.

Right. Shido was dead. He couldn't hurt Goro anymore.

The loyal Thief's shock became fury once more. "But you were the one who forced us here!" he cried. "We were told you were in danger, and when we found you had a Palace-" He cut himself off and bit down on his lip. He was grieving. "They would be alive if not for you, you bastard!"

"You were... told?" Ren's facade melted away. His eyes narrowed. "By who?"

By whom, Loki corrected.

"I-" Futaba stopped. "C'mon, you're joking! We fell for the most basic mastermind trick in the book!" Ann gave her a confused look, and she went on. "Cause a problem, then be the solution! Kronos went for our Personas! Didn't you hear them in your dreams? They said that something was wrong in Jamestown."

"And Kronos is Ren's fault," Skull snarled.

Ren didn't refute it.

"Nothing to say?" Ann demanded.

He was silent, and she scoffed. "Fine, then-"

"My fault," Trae said. All eyes snapped onto her. She didn't look the least bit afraid. "Kronos created me and Jamestown. It would be easy to make it go bye-bye." She bowed to them. "Sorry."

"Haru was right," Futaba murmured. "One for many, that's what video games always say. We should have done the sacrifice and killed Kronos."

Trae's face fell.

Ryuji turned his back. "Goodbye, Renren," he growled. Ann followed him, and Futaba cast a last glance towards them, her eyes shining with tears.

"They- they don't mean it," she stammered. "Trae, it would've been easier, but it- it didn't happen. A-and Arsene still would've stopped Fate, or they would've killed all of us." Futaba's eyes landed on their faces and lingered on Goro's. He had the inexplicable urge to look away. "You're always welcome to come back," she said, then ran off with the others. The revving of an engine sounded, then Makoto's truck rattled onto the road.

Ren sighed and collapsed into the dirt. "Fuck."

"That was shit," Goro agreed, flopping down next to him. "So... what now?"

"That's a bad word," Trae added, sitting on Ren's left. "But I wanna see the world, and if I look like this, I can't do much exploring yet. So I'm gonna stay with you guys!"

Ren gave her a tired smile, and Goro could see the tears tracking down his face. "That's great, Trae." He turned back to Goro. "I fucking hate them all," he whispered. "They were useful to me- but I love them all- I want them all to fucking live, and I can't even save them! What's the use of power when I can't even use it anymore?"

He was silent for a moment.

"Arsene, I don't have-" Ren waited a moment more. "I... no, I'm confused right now. Please. Just... just give me a little time." He looked at Goro with a tired smile. "I'm sor- no, I should be honest. This is absolute shit. My confidants and relations in Shibuya are shot. I'm starting over, and you probably don't even have access to your money. We're cut off entirely. What now?"

"You're not cut off," Goro said, mildly offended. "You've got me, don't you? 'Cause of you, I got Loki back. I owe you- and I'm done lying to myself."

"Oh?" Ren opened a dazed eye. "Finally going to confess your undying love, are you?"

"Didn't I already- oh, for fucks sake, yes," Goro sighed. "That was the least goddamn romantic confession ever, attic trash." He leaned over and kissed Ren again and savored the moment. No one was killing them: practically a novelty!

"Ewwww," Trae whined. "You're grooooossss."

Ren smiled at him through half-lidded eyes.

"We're going to Shibuya," Goro decided. "I'm getting every fucking cent I'm owed from Shido, one way or another, and then we're going wherever we goddamn want. But for now." Goro leaned on Ren's chest and heard Trae giggling. "Let's just sleep." He grinned and brushed the stack of letters in his jacket, and he saw Ren's fingers brush a nondescript, fake gold watch.

"We have all the time in the world."

-END-

words: 5005

Thank you all so much for reading!

Note: Haru, Morgana, Yusuke, and Makoto are dead. Yes. Why? They didn't have something worth their lives, something they'd die for. Haru and Morgana are self-expalitory, but Yusuke's controversial. Is his life not dedicated to art? I'd say no, because art was tainted in his view by Madarame. No matter how much he pursues art, he'll never get rid of that stain. Now, Makoto. She has Sae, but after literally so long with Sae picking on her and being scary as shit, Makoto's feelings on the subject are probably pretty mixed.

If anythin else needs to be explained, such as stuff about the world I built or anything else, please drop a comment!!

Thank you so much for reading, and I love you all!!!

Robin