April 23rd, 2012, with Akeno, Afternoon.
High above the Gremory estate, the sky had become a vast, open training ground. Akeno Himejima, the Queen of Rias Gremory's peerage, moved through the air with a grace that belied the intense concentration on her face.
Her wings, dark and elegant, beat steadily as she navigated the treacherous currents created by her trainer. Below, the world was a patchwork of green forest and manicured lawn, a beautiful but dizzying backdrop to her aerial dance.
Cendrillon, the Ash Princess Persona, was a whirlwind of motion on the ground. With each practiced, powerful kick and pirouette, she didn't strike at Akeno directly, but at the air itself.
She swung her glass-booted leg in a wide arc, and a visible gust of wind, compressed into a near-solid wall of force, shot upwards towards the flying devil.
"You are doing great, Akeno! I'm getting excited!" Cendrillon shouted, her voice carrying easily on the very winds she commanded. Her movements became faster, more exuberant.
Akeno banked sharply, the razor-edge of the wind gust slicing through the air where she had just been.
"No! Don't lose control, Cendrillon!" she called back, a note of genuine alarm in her voice. The memory of the first day, of the annihilated forest and Cendrillon's devastating Ziodyne, was still vividly etched in her mind. "Last time you nearly destroyed the entire forest!"
Before Cendrillon could reply or escalate her excitement further, a new, high-pitched voice piped up from the edge of the tree line. "It's enough Cendrillon, hee hoo. It's Jack Frost's turn now, hee hoo."
The form of Jack Frost hopped into view, his nose twitching, his eternal smile fixed on his face. He had just returned from observing Koneko's training session.
"Already?" Cendrillon whined, her exuberance deflating like a balloon. She gracefully bounded over to the demon doll, her movements still a ballet of precision.
"Please, Jackie, just five more minutes!" she pleaded, scooping Jack Frost up into her arms and shaking him vigorously like a child trying to get the last bit of soda from a can.
"This is not a game, hee hoo," Jack Frost stated flatly, completely unperturbed by the violent shaking, his black eyes staring blankly ahead.
"Fiiine," Cendrillon said, pouting dramatically as she set the doll back on his feet with exaggerated care. She turned her sorrowful gaze to Akeno, who was now descending for a landing, her wings folding neatly behind her.
"Akeno, our playtime is over... it's Jackie's turn now." She sounded like a young child being told recess was over.
Akeno touched down softly, a slight smile touching her lips despite her exhaustion. She crouched down to be at eye level with the new trainer. "Oh, what a cute doll," she said, reaching out to pat Jack Frost's head.
"I appreciate the compliment, hee hoo," Jack Frost replied, puffing out his chest. "But I am your trainer now, hee hoo." His wide smile seemed to grow even wider. "I suggest you run, girl!"
Before Akeno could process the command from the seemingly harmless creature, his tone shifted. "Now. Bufudyne! Hee hoo!" he shouted.
Akeno's smile vanished, her face paling. The air temperature plummeted. In front of Jack Frost, a massive statue of himself, sculpted from pristine, glowing ice, erupted from the ground. It stood for a mere second before detonating with a sound like shattering crystal.
Thousands of razor-sharp ice shards flew outwards in a deadly cloud. Akeno flinched, raising her arms instinctively, but no shard reached her. They all fell harmlessly short, melting against an invisible boundary a few meters away. It had been a warning shot, a display of power perfectly controlled.
"Don't underestimate me just for my appearance, girl, hee hoo," Jack Frost said, his voice cheerful once more. He made a small hop, landing effortlessly on Akeno's shoulder. He patted her cheek with his soft white hand. "However, you are lucky, hee hoo. I know when to listen, unlike Cendrillon, hee hoo." He looked immensely pleased with himself.
"Jackie! Why are you being so mean with me?" Cendrillon lamented, her shoulders slumping.
"I just said the truth, Cendrillon, hee hoo. I meant no offense to you, hee hoo," Jack Frost apologized, though his tone was matter-of-fact.
"Enough with chit-chatting, hee hoo," he declared, turning his full attention back to a very stunned Akeno.
"Akeno, Cendrillon trained your body and spirit. Now it's my turn to teach you magic, hee hoo." His black eyes gleamed with an unsettling enthusiasm.
April 23rd, 2012, with Koneko, Afternoon.
In a different, more secluded part of the woods, the sound of impact was not against air, but against solid matter.
Makoto stood silently, observing as Koneko, the rook of the peerage, exchanged blows with the Greek god Apollo. The god, for his part, was primarily on the defensive, his focus less on offense and more on ensuring his immaculate red and white uniform remained unsullied by dirt or sweat.
"The Hanged is doing well," rumbled the voice of Izanagi-no-Okami, the Creator God Persona, who had manifested beside Makoto. His immense presence was contained, a quiet power observing the scene.
"Although I would prefer if she utilized the full extent of her heritage. But I can see it is still too difficult for her. The psychological barriers are formidable. Perhaps in the future, she will be able to overcome the obstacles of her past and defeat her inner demons."
"We can't hope to resolve everything now," Makoto replied softly, his gaze fixed on Koneko's determined face. "We could risk causing her more harm. The important thing is that Koneko is feeling better now, that she's moving forward."
The Messiah and the Creation God watched as Koneko pressed her attack. Apollo, though appearing bored, blocked her strikes with a flawless, almost lazy efficiency.
He had learned his lesson after a severe scolding from Jack Frost earlier; the demon doll's fury had been a surprising and potent force, a blizzard of reprimand that had even given Izanagi-no-Okami pause.
Now, Apollo dared not voice his complaints, though his preoccupation with his wardrobe was evident.
With a loud, focused battle cry that seemed too large for her small frame, Koneko launched another punch. This time, Apollo, judging the force behind it, decided evasion was preferable to a block that might wrinkle his gloves. He sidestepped with fluid grace.
Koneko's fist, meeting no resistance, continued its trajectory and collided with the thick trunk of a centuries-old oak tree behind where Apollo had been standing. There was a sickening crunch of splintering wood. A web of fractures spread instantly from the point of impact, and with a groaning sigh, the massive tree tilted and crashed to the forest floor.
"You wanted to punch me with something like that, Hanged?" Apollo whined, examining his gloves with relief. "My poor, elegant handwear would have been seriously bruised if that was the case!"
Koneko merely puffed out her cheeks in annoyance at the god's antics, but she used the moment to lean against a nearby tree, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she caught her breath.
"Why did you call me Hanged, Lord Apollo?" she asked, her politeness a careful strategy to avoid triggering his more theatrical tendencies.
"Because you are the Hanged Man Arcana," Apollo replied, his tone shifting to one that was surprisingly straightforward and devoid of its usual flourish.
Seeing that the training was proceeding smoothly and without the earlier friction, Makoto decided it was time to check on Rias. He turned without a word.
"I am following you, Universe," Izanagi-no-Okami stated before dissolving back into the blue light of Makoto's mind.
As Makoto emerged from the dense cover of the woods into the open grounds near the mansion, a familiar brilliant light flared before him. The Wanderer's theurgy activated, and from the shimmering energy stepped Elizabeth, a thoroughly ruffled Quicksilver and the formidable figure of Susano'o-no-Mikoto.
"Universe, I am sorry! Heek!" Mercurius crowed, immediately flapping over to hide behind Makoto's legs, his feathers visibly trembling.
'Mercurius?' Messiah's voice echoed in Makoto's mind, surprised by the Roman god's panicked state.
"Elizabeth," Makoto said, his gaze shifting to his attendant. "Didn't I ask you to remain in Kuoh Town?"
"A little visit can't hurt," Elizabeth replied with blithe nonchalance, her smile unwavering.
But all of this was background noise to Susano'o. The God of Storms stood frozen, his eyes locked on Makoto. The bold, confident warrior was gone, replaced by a man seeing a ghost. His jaw was slack, and his golden eyes were wide with a storm of emotions too complex to name.
Noting his stunned silence, and understanding the reason for it, Elizabeth took a subtle step back, creating a space for the god to approach.
'Susano'o,' Izanagi-no-Okami's voice identified the god for Makoto.
Without a word, Susano'o began to walk forward, his steps heavy on the grass. When he finally stood directly before Makoto, the dam broke. Tears, not of sadness but of long-suppressed grief and guilt, began to stream down his face, tracing paths through his rugged features. The proud warrior was crumbling.
"F-father," Susano'o choked out, his voice a ragged whisper. He fell to his knees as if the weight of centuries had finally become too much to bear.
"I-I... I NEVER HAD THE CHANCE TO APOLOGIZE, FATHER!" he roared, the shout torn from the depths of his soul. He slammed a fist into the ground, the earth trembling faintly. "I WAS A STUBBORN AND FOOLISH KID! YOU WERE RIGHT, FATHER..." He was trying to physically expel the guilt that had festered within him for eons.
Makoto remained silent, his expression neutral but not unkind. He understood that this was not for him, but for the presence within him. He was a conduit, a catalyst for a confession millennia in the making.
'Izanagi, do you wish to speak with him?' Messiah asked internally.
'Yes. I do.'
"WHEN I DISCOVERED YOU DIED... defending us... protecting all of Japan... I COULDN'T COME TO FORGIVE MYSELF!" Susano'o continued, his voice cracking. "Even when my exile from Takamagahara was abolished, even then I never came to apologize! I was too prideful! I never tried anything to mend our relationship until your death... I tried everything to cope with it... Everything! I blamed the Christians and their damned war that forced you to fight the Heavenly Dragons! I blamed Amaterasu and Tsukuyomi for letting you go alone! I just tried to blame someone for your death! I was blind to the truth! I refused to admit the fault was mine and mine only!"
He finally gathered the courage to look up, his tear-filled eyes meeting Makoto's gray ones. The raw, unvarnished pain in his gaze was profound. "I missed you, Father," he admitted, the simple words carrying the weight of a thousand years of regret.
In response, Makoto raised a hand. Blue light coalesced, and Izanagi-no-Okami materialized once more, his divine form towering yet grounded. The Creator God crouched down, placing a firm, fatherly hand on Susano'o's trembling shoulder.
"Do not cry, kid," Izanagi's voice was deep, resonant, and held no room for platitudes. "I am not the father you know, and you are not the son I know. However, what is certain is the truth of your words. The truth of your heart. I can see your sorrow, Susano'o, and I am honored you are telling all of this to me."
The words were harsh in their honesty, but they were the only kind of words that could reach the god of storms.
"I know," Susano'o replied, his voice quieter now. Even though he knew this Izanagi was not his biological father, the rejection still stung. "But, hearing your voice is... Argh, I don't know how to express it! It's relieving, I guess. You have the same voice as my father. The same presence and way of speaking. Ah, you didn't even try to tell me some reassuring words. You immediately told me how things are, and that's probably why I didn't have the best of relationships with my father. All of this, it is just like you, Father. That's more than enough for me to call you as such, even if it sounds stupid or delusional."
A bittersweet smile finally broke through his tears. The Father he knew was in this Persona—blunt, unwavering, and utterly truthful.
"Stand up, Susano'o," Izanagi commanded. "You have no reason to feel guilty. Your father died because he was ready to face whatever stood against him. Even if he never told you so: he never hated you."
"How can you tell it with so much confidence?" Susano'o asked, his voice barely a whisper.
"Personas exist in the hearts of every living being with consciousness. The same goes for you, Susano'o," Izanagi explained, his tone that of a teacher imparting a fundamental truth.
"Every being with a spark of self-awareness that has ever existed influences us. I am, at the same time, every instance of the god Izanagi and no one. You, too, fuel my existence. Perhaps I am not enough to satisfy your desire to make amends with your Father, but when arriving in this realm, all of us, even if by a small margin, changed. If we want to help the Universe save your world, we must adapt. I accepted it immediately; I am not the type to refuse change. I gladly accept it as the course of things, without letting it take over."
He paused, letting his words sink in.
"So know this, Susano'o. Even if you do not consider yourself a worthy son, a real father will never refuse his own blood."
With that final, solemn statement, Izanagi-no-Okami dissolved back into light, returning to the depths of Makoto's mind.
Silence fell over the clearing, broken only by the gentle rustle of leaves and Susano'o's slowing breaths. The God of Storms slowly rose to his feet, his posture straight, his expression calm and collected, the tempest within him having passed. He then did something unexpected; he offered his hand to Makoto in a formal, human gesture.
"My name is Susano'o-no-Mikoto, proud Shinto god of storms and sea. Child of the Creator God Izanagi-no-Okami," he declared, his voice firm and clear. "I promise I will not let down my father's legacy, and I will help you deal with whatever this Nyarlathotep wants to do with my world. I offer you my allegiance, Makoto Yuki. Takamagahara and all of Shinto will be ready to support you. This I swear."
Watching the scene unfold, Elizabeth felt a profound understanding dawn on her.
"The power of a Wild Card is not to harness godly powers," she whispered to herself, recalling her sister Margaret's wisdom. "Their true power is to create bonds. The bonds which strengthen their hearts, making them able to face everything. Even if Makoto relinquished his Wild Card to Aigis, he remains one. You were truly right, sister. Only now I understand that Makoto isn't who he is thanks to the Universe; he is who he is because he has the strongest power of all. Connecting people."
A soft smile touched her lips. "I once again underestimated you, Makoto."
"Have you said something, Attendant, heek?" Mercurius asked, still hiding.
"Yes," Elizabeth replied, her playful tone returning. "Remember when Lord Susano'o talked about cooking some yakitori? Isn't this a perfect occasion to try some roasted roman god?" She grinned as Quicksilver's feathers puffed up in terror.
Makoto looked at the offered hand, then back at Susano'o's earnest face. He reached out and grasped it firmly. "I look forward to working with you, then."
Susano'o's handshake was vigorous, a snicker finally escaping his lips. "Perfect! A toast is needed then! What do you prefer? Sake? Shochu? Or umeshu?"
"Nothing," Makoto replied flatly. "I can't drink. I'm still seventeen."
Susano'o blinked, then laughed, a real, hearty laugh this time. "Oh, right! I forgot." He clapped Makoto on the shoulder. "When you turn eighteen, then, remember: I will be the first one with whom you will drink, okay? It's a promise."
In that moment, a new connection snapped into place, a thread of fate weaving itself into the grand tapestry.
Elizabeth's voice echoed in the space between Makoto's soul and the universe.
I am Thou. Thou art I. Thou hast established a new bond. Thou shalt have the Universe's blessing when choosing to create personas of the Tower Arcana.